Fat-Joe jumped out of the car with a smile on his large, round face and held the door for Keira.
The sweet smell of pine and eucalyptus hung in the warm spring air.
Daud Pasha led Keira over a small area of rough ground that marked the front garden, rapped on door of the cottage and entered without waiting for a response.
Quarter-length pelmets of embroidered lace hung from poles, blocking the windows on either side of a small open fireplace. The mantel was draped with a floral-patterned cotton cover on top of which sat a mix of faded black-and-white images in small wooden frames: a curly-haired child, a rural village scene, a handsome man in suit and tie, his hair swept up in a fifties-style DA.
Set hard against the skirting on either side of the fireplace, resting on wooden pallets, sat two mattresses that doubled up as settees – covered in red woollen throws with an array of dull cushions and pillows lining the wall. Behind one of the settees, hooked onto a picture rail that ran the length of the wall, was a pair of worn workman’s trousers, a large framed sketch of two cherubs holding hands and a guitar with only three strings. A long, narrow tapestry showing a street scene of Tirana in sepia tones covered the wall opposite.
There was no television, no books and – save for the photographs on the mantelpiece – no other ornaments.
The small kitchen-diner also housed four chairs and a table at the far end, seated at which was a middle-aged couple whom Daud Pasha introduced as Korab and Leonora. Korab was easily recognisable as the guy in the photograph. His hair – still slicked back – was grey and thinning now; his once smooth face was scored with deep grooves. Leonora looked nervous as she surveyed the photographs Keira had laid out on the table in front of her. She was shaking her head from side to side. ‘Po. Ajo është e saj.’
Keira looked to Daud. ‘What’s she saying? It isn’t Kaltrina?’
‘The opposite! She is saying she recognises her niece.’
‘Why is she shaking her head?’
‘I am telling you before, we have different customs. In Albania, when we shake our head from side to side it means yes. If we nod it means no.’
‘Can you ask them when they last saw Kaltrina?’
Daud spoke to the couple in Albanian. Leonora shrugged and made a face.
‘Do they know what happened to Kaltrina’s parents?’ continued Keira.
Daud answered for them. ‘I already asked them this last week. Leonora is Valbona Dervishi’s sister. The boy, Ermir, was found at Valbona’s home in Dushk when the neighbours heard shooting and are calling the Policia. The Policia phoned Korab and Leonora to pick the boy up. They bring him here to look after him, but they have no money and don’t know what to do with boy. They know who is responsible for what has happened at the house and worry that they will come here. They don’t want any trouble.’
‘What did you tell them?’
‘I say what you told me. That you have money for the boy from his mother, but they think you are here maybe to try and buy the boy and take him away.’
‘I’m trying to make things right. Can you tell them I’m only here to help. Is the boy here?’ asked Keira, picking the photographs off of the table.
Leonora seemed to understand and pointed to the back of the house. ‘Ai është duke luajtur jashtë.’
‘He’s outside,’ said Daud.
‘Can I see him?’
Daud spoke to Leonora again. When she answered this time her eyes filled with tears. ‘Ai nuk flet. Sytë e tij nuk janë këtu. Ata ia ngul sytë në asgjë.’
‘She is saying that he does not speak. His eyes are not here; they stare at nothing. He has only the shadows for friends now.’
‘Would it be okay for me to see the boy?’ said Keira directly to Leonora. ‘I don’t want to upset you, or the child, but I have to be sure it’s him. Is that okay?’
The woman shook her head and replied, ‘Po.’
Daud and Keira followed Leonora through a small pantry area to the back door and out into the garden.
At first the cleared patch of ground at the rear of the building appeared to be empty, then Keira caught a movement over by a large oak in the far corner: a young boy sitting on the ground with his back to her rocking gently back and forth.
‘Ermir!’ called Leonara. The boy didn’t respond. She tried again. ‘Ermir!’
This time the boy turned and glanced over at them. He was no more than five years old, but his soft, round face and hard stare gave the impression of someone much older.
‘Would you mind if I showed him the photographs?’ Keira held them in front of her and gestured to Leonora. ‘It’s okay?’
The woman looked uncertain, but again shook her head.
As Keira approached the boy he flinched and turned away, as though he was expecting her to strike him.
She moved round and squatted directly in front of him.
‘Ermir.’ She spoke in a soft, low tone. ‘Ermir, my name is Keira. Unë quhem Keira.’
The boy kept his focus on the ground. Keira placed three photographs face up on the dirt in front of him and waited. She was in no hurry, prepared to give the boy as much time as he needed, but out of the corner of her eye Keira could see Daud Pasha shifting around impatiently and wished that this encounter was taking place in private.
The sound of the river far below and the rustle of branches caught in the current of warm air from the valley floor faded until there was nothing left but the stillness between them. Eventually, the boy lifted his head and stared at Keira, holding her gaze until she started to feel uncomfortable. After a while he glanced briefly at the photographs and spoke: ‘Pastë e butë’.
The tone of the boy’s voice was as flat and emotionless as the expression on his face.
‘“Pastë e butë”? What is “Pastë e butë”, Ermir?’ asked Keira, but the boy turned away and she knew instinctively that it was over.
The encounter – as brief as it was – had been difficult, but Keira had seen enough. Picking the photographs up from the ground she slowly rose to her feet and left Ermir staring vacantly at the patch of dry earth in front of his crossed legs.
Back in the kitchen Daud was eager to conclude the deal.
‘You will pay now the rest of my fee?’
‘The money’s back at the hotel.’
Ermir’s aunt spoke in Albanian, gesticulating with her hands before falling into a chair and burying her head in her arms as they rested on the table.
Keira had to wait for Daud to translate. ‘They have no money and Ermir is a burden on them. They know they have no option but to look after him. Leonora says she has prayed for someone to help them and you are the answer. She loves the boy like her own, but they need help. He is troubled and cries if they leave him. It is very difficult to work when they cannot leave him on his own.’
Leonora lifted her head and stared up at Keira.
‘If it is money that has been left to the boy,’ continued Daud, translating as she spoke, ‘she will give thanks for this miracle and blesses you for saving him. She misses her sister Valbona and young Kaltrina and wishes they would come back. Every time someone comes to the door she expects it is them. She says she would rather be poor and have them alive than rich like Sahit Muja and be in this situation.’
Keira knelt down and put her arm round the woman’s shoulder in an effort to comfort her. ‘Please tell her not to be upset. I have to go back to the hotel now and think of the best way to handle this, but I will make everything all right.’
Daud produced an official-looking form from his jacket and smoothed it out on the table. ‘Do you want her to sign this just now?’
‘No, but she will have to at some point. Does she have any documents saying that she is the legal guardian?’
‘Yes, I have copy I can give you.’
‘Can you ask her if she knows what Pastë e butë means. The boy said it when I showed him the photographs.’
‘I don’t have to ask, replied Daud Pasha. ‘It means
“Mummy”.’
Four
By the time Keira arrived back at the Hotel Shkop the sun was dimming the last of its rays. The final few kilometres of Fat-Joe’s route took them along the coast road with views out across the Adriatic as far as Brindisi in southern Italy. Colourful rows of parasols and sunbeds littered the beach in front of the various hotels that lined the edge of the large bay.
As attendants folded loungers and collapsed umbrellas the first of the early-bird holiday-makers were starting to appear on the streets looking for somewhere to eat.
The lobby hummed with the sound of couples at low glass tables murmuring across their cocktails. The doors leading to the pool area lay wide open, allowing a cool sea breeze to flow through the lounge as waiters and waitresses glided between tables with trays of drinks and bar snacks.
Keira spotted the old guy who’d given her the message by the pool earlier that morning, John-with-a-kiss, serving a table, the same placid look on his face, but wearing a different uniform now.
The receptionist waved her over – ‘Miss Lynch?’ – then handed her an envelope. ‘Message for you.’
‘Thanks,’ replied Keira folding it and putting it in her trouser pocket unread.
Daud Pasha was at her elbow. ‘You want to find a table here or go somewhere more private so that we can talk.’
‘Maybe see if there’s one outside; I could do with a smoke,’ replied Keira. ‘You find a table. I need to go to my room for a second.’
‘You getting the rest of the money?’
‘Yeah, that. And I need to pee.’
‘D’you want a drink?’
‘The coldest Korça they have, please.’
Keira was heading for the stairs when a thought struck her. ‘Mister Pasha.’
Already on his way out, Daud Pasha turned back, ‘Yeah!’
‘Don’t order anything hot. My guess is you’ll be leaving before they’ve had a chance to light the hob.’
*
The envelope the receptionist had handed Keira lay torn on top of the bed, a sheet of A4 bearing the hotel’s logo sitting alongside with a typed message on it.
Keira stood out on the balcony and tugged on the tight single-skinner she’d rolled until the end glowed a fiery orange and she was able to draw down some smoke.
On the patio area below Daud Pasha sat at a table with his back to her. As she leant out over the balustrade to get a better view he turned – somehow aware that he was being watched. He looked up and caught her peering over at him. Keira cursed under her breath as she ducked back out of view.
After taking another slug from the bottle of beer she’d lifted from her mini bar and drawing hard on her cigarette to finish it off, Keira left the room and headed downstairs. As she approached the table Daud made that clicking sound with his tongue again and threw her a look. ‘Your beer was cold when they brought it; now, I’m not so sure. What happened – you need to shit as well?’
Keira slipped into her seat without answering and eyed the packet of cigarettes sitting on the table in front of him. Without asking she reached forward, picked it up and tapped one out. ‘You have a light?’
Daud stared at her for a few moments like he was going to take her on, but then thought about the money she owed him and decided to play it cool until she’d handed the rest of it over. Flexing his hip, he reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out his Zippo. He held the lighter up without thumbing the spark wheel.
Keira didn’t budge, just sat, waiting to see how far he was willing to push it. After a moment she decided to nudge the tension a little further. ‘Is this another one of your customs?’
Daud looked back with a puzzled expression on his face: playing it like he didn’t understand.
‘In my country that’s considered impolite, not to light a lady’s cigarette.’
‘In my country it’s considered impolite to keep someone waiting. I figure you’ve already had a smoke out on your balcony, so maybe you’ve got a nicotine buzz goin’ on s’making you act a little crazy.’
‘You’re not going to give me a light?’
‘It’s not your cigarette.’
‘I paid for it.’
‘How’d you figure that?’
‘I gave you all that money this morning.’
Daud screwed his face up. ‘Only half! You didn’t give me all. This is what I’m saying: you got that lady logic thing going on there. The money is mine.’
‘I thought it was a deposit.’
‘Sure, but I made a mistake earlier; it’s non-refundable. You employed me to find the boy and that’s what I did. Then, the whole journey home you don’t say a word. Just staring out the window, pretending you’ve got the car-sick thing.’
‘I wasn’t pretending. You and Fat-Joe really need to have a conversation about personal hygiene. Usually a return journey from an unfamiliar place seems quicker, but that took twice as long.’
‘You’re doing it again. Being disrespectful. I see you up there hanging out on your balcony, keeping me waiting without asking. Then you come down here and take my smokes without asking and I don’t see you carrying the rest of my money unless you got it hidden somewhere on your body. You want me to go hunting for it?’
‘Now you’re being unpleasant. I’m only asking you to light my cigarette.’
‘It’s not your cigarette. See, now I’m thinking twice about even giving you this,’ said Daud, making to put the Zippo back in his pocket. ‘If I give you my lighter, you gonna want to keep that too?’
‘Maybe.’
‘Okay, your cigarette, my cigarettes . . . either way, lady, you’re starting to piss me off. What’s say you take them all.’ He threw the packet over to her, then continued. ‘Just give me the rest of the money and I leave you to have pleasant evening in your hotel. All I want is for you to pay me what you owe then I can go back to the office and finish off the paperwork.’
‘Where is your office?’
‘Why, you want to come visit?’
‘Yes! I was thinking I could come by tomorrow and drop off the rest.’
Daud Pasha shook his head. ‘Lady, if this is your way of telling me you’re sitting there empty-handed, I got to tell you this is not a good situation.’
‘This is my way of telling you that the address at the bottom of your emails doesn’t exist. The reason I didn’t come down from the room straight away: I was reading a message from my secretary back home saying your office is nonexistent.’
‘You can come with me now if you like and I’ll show it to you.’ Daud tilted his head to the side and smiled.
John-with-a-kiss appeared over Keira’s shoulder and held out a lighter.
‘You want a light, Zana?’
Keira lifted the cigarette to her mouth and, taking Xhon’s hand, lit her cigarette. Before letting go she gave his wrist two quick squeezes.
‘Daud, this is my friend John-with-a-kiss, he works in the hotel. John, this is Mister Pasha.’
John looked over at Daud Pasha and nodded, but got nothing in return. ‘John’s son and I are going out on a date tomorrow night,’ continued Keira.
John-with-a-kiss was straight on it. ‘This is right. He looks forward to it. And, he will be picking you up here if that’s okay.’
‘What is it he does for a living again?’
‘Policia: but he is promising to leave his gun at home. You got enough holes in you.’
‘Thanks for the light, Xhon.’
‘Is no problem. You need another beer?’
‘Sure. This one got warm while I was on my balcony trying to figure out the best way to repel an annoying little mosquito before I got bitten.’
‘You want a nice fresh one?’
‘Actually, I’ll wait until Mister Pasha has left, so that I can enjoy it without getting a nasty taste in my mouth.’
John-with-a-kiss left the table without asking Daud Pasha if he wanted anything.
‘You think you are getting me worried with your little act t
here. You think I care your “boyfriend” is Policia. You don’t know anything.’
‘I know that the best client a lawyer can have is the boss of a criminal organisation,’ said Keira, tilting her head the same way Daud Pasha had and returning his stare.
‘Yeah?’
‘Yeah. I’ve never met one yet that isn’t polite, courteous, does what they’re told. Because at their heart they are just businessmen and they know I’m going to do my best for them because my business is the law.’
‘You’re a lawyer? You’re way too pretty to be a lawyer.’
‘And you’re just ugly enough to be a cheap little hustler. You and your muscle man Fat-Joe Jesus are at the lower end of whatever organisation it is you work for. I can tell by the way you conduct yourself that you’re not the boss, you’ve got no class: just an employee near the foot-soldier end of the line. You’re one of those guys, oversleeps in the morning, leaves for work late and wonders why their life’s spent stuck in a traffic jam. Are there bears in Albania?’
‘Lady, you are so random. What the fuck do bears have to do with anything?’
‘Do you hunt?’
‘Bears?’
‘Anything.’
‘No, I don’t hunt.’
‘Don’t ever take it up.’
‘Yeah? Why’s that?’
‘A bear has a brain one third the size of most humans, but they can pick up the scent of shit from miles away. They’d smell you coming before you’d even left your house.’
For a moment it looked as though Daud was going to throw a punch, but he managed to hold it together: only one thing on his mind now, ‘Just give me the money.’
‘You’re not getting any more money, Mister Daud. In fact I’d like you to return the cash I’ve already paid. Or I’m going to have to have a word with my date tomorrow night and maybe ask him to come and get the money from you.’
Daud leant towards her and spoke under his breath. ‘You’re making a big mistake, crazy lady. I’m going to give you one last chance to pay up and we stay friends or I’m going to get up and leave, but what happens after that is out of my hands. You asked me to find the boy and I find him.’
Walk in Silence Page 2
