were put at a tiny table and told that the first strawberries of the year had just arrived “from the south.” Martya consulted with the small man in their own language, asked whether I, too, would like coffee, berries, and cream (nodding as she said it), and ordered for the three of us.
“You are Amerikan,” the little man said.
I said yes and asked how he knew, hoping he would say he had seen my passport.
He shrugged. “I have heard your name, and you speak German with the accent of an Amerikan. Those suffice. It is difficult to change your Amerikan dollars here. Give some to me and I will change them for you.”
I have traveled enough to know when I am being asked for a bribe, but I was, not sure how big a bribe he wanted. I saw his eyes widen a trifle when I got out a hundred dollars. “Could you change this for me? These big bills are hard to change even in America.”
“I will try,” he said. He took it from me, held it up to the light, and put it into a tall, old-fashioned wallet with a catch.
Bowls of strawberries and cream arrived, together with cups and a carafe of good coffee.
After a cautious sip of his coffee, the small man made a steeple of his fingers. “To begin, let us dispose of the matters that brought you to my attention, sir. You have engaged the ruinous house in which I discovered you. You, or possibly another who used your name. Since I found you there, I am inclined to think it was you yourself.”
I nodded. “It was me. The official at the Mounted Guard who rented it to me knew I was foreign but made no objection.”
“That,” said the small man, “is scarcely a matter of wonder, sir. There is no law against foreigners renting, leasing, or purchasing houses here. It is entirely within the law.”
I thanked him for clarifying the point.
“There is, however, a person under citizen detention whose name is your own. Were you aware of that, sir?”
“Sure I am. I’m him.” I stirred my coffee and sipped a little to straighten up my thoughts. “As a foreigner I’m pretty unfamiliar with your law. I guess you know that.”
“I do, sir.”
“My understanding is that I have to live in the house of the citizen who’s looking after me, but that I can leave it to shop, go to clubs, see a movie or a play, or eat in cafés like we are now, as long as I go back to my host’s house at night.”
“You must sleep there, sir. That is correct.”
Martya said, “He sleep there last night. To this I swear.”
“I am inclined to believe you,” the small man told her, “but you force me to inquire concerning your own status. Do you yourself sleep there?”
Martya nodded. “With my husband. Yes, always. My husband own the house, which he buy with money my father leave us when he die.”
“I see. You were not sweeping its floors when first I saw you, but answering the door of the ruin this gentleman has engaged.”
“He desire to rent this house. I come with him to help. He is my cousin from America.”
The small man nodded. “I understand. How unfortunate that he should be arrested! Can you tell me why he engaged the house?”
“He say he wish a house near ours, but he does not pay much. It is such a house, and large. I do not decide. He decides.”
“I see.” The small man turned to me. “Can you tell me, sir, why you engaged this house?”
I put down my spoon. “Are you asking me why I wanted a house, or why I chose the one I did?”
“Both, I think.”
“Okay. I came here—I mean, here to your country—to collect materials for a travel book. I’m good at them. If you want to check up on me, I’ll give you the name and address of my publisher back in New York.”
The small man waved my offer aside. “I doubt that it will be necessary. Why did you come without a passport?”
“I didn’t, I had one. It was taken away from me by your border guards.”
The small man nodded. “They thought it fraudulent, sir. That it was or might be. Such passports are
“You are Amerikan,” the little man said.
I said yes and asked how he knew, hoping he would say he had seen my passport.
He shrugged. “I have heard your name, and you speak German with the accent of an Amerikan. Those suffice. It is difficult to change your Amerikan dollars here. Give some to me and I will change them for you.”
I have traveled enough to know when I am being asked for a bribe, but I was, not sure how big a bribe he wanted. I saw his eyes widen a trifle when I got out a hundred dollars. “Could you change this for me? These big bills are hard to change even in America.”
“I will try,” he said. He took it from me, held it up to the light, and put it into a tall, old-fashioned wallet with a catch.
Bowls of strawberries and cream arrived, together with cups and a carafe of good coffee.
After a cautious sip of his coffee, the small man made a steeple of his fingers. “To begin, let us dispose of the matters that brought you to my attention, sir. You have engaged the ruinous house in which I discovered you. You, or possibly another who used your name. Since I found you there, I am inclined to think it was you yourself.”
I nodded. “It was me. The official at the Mounted Guard who rented it to me knew I was foreign but made no objection.”
“That,” said the small man, “is scarcely a matter of wonder, sir. There is no law against foreigners renting, leasing, or purchasing houses here. It is entirely within the law.”
I thanked him for clarifying the point.
“There is, however, a person under citizen detention whose name is your own. Were you aware of that, sir?”
“Sure I am. I’m him.” I stirred my coffee and sipped a little to straighten up my thoughts. “As a foreigner I’m pretty unfamiliar with your law. I guess you know that.”
“I do, sir.”
“My understanding is that I have to live in the house of the citizen who’s looking after me, but that I can leave it to shop, go to clubs, see a movie or a play, or eat in cafés like we are now, as long as I go back to my host’s house at night.”
“You must sleep there, sir. That is correct.”
Martya said, “He sleep there last night. To this I swear.”
“I am inclined to believe you,” the small man told her, “but you force me to inquire concerning your own status. Do you yourself sleep there?”
Martya nodded. “With my husband. Yes, always. My husband own the house, which he buy with money my father leave us when he die.”
“I see. You were not sweeping its floors when first I saw you, but answering the door of the ruin this gentleman has engaged.”
“He desire to rent this house. I come with him to help. He is my cousin from America.”
The small man nodded. “I understand. How unfortunate that he should be arrested! Can you tell me why he engaged the house?”
“He say he wish a house near ours, but he does not pay much. It is such a house, and large. I do not decide. He decides.”
“I see.” The small man turned to me. “Can you tell me, sir, why you engaged this house?”
I put down my spoon. “Are you asking me why I wanted a house, or why I chose the one I did?”
“Both, I think.”
“Okay. I came here—I mean, here to your country—to collect materials for a travel book. I’m good at them. If you want to check up on me, I’ll give you the name and address of my publisher back in New York.”
The small man waved my offer aside. “I doubt that it will be necessary. Why did you come without a passport?”
“I didn’t, I had one. It was taken away from me by your border guards.”
The small man nodded. “They thought it fraudulent, sir. That it was or might be. Such passports are
Similar Books
