The Man with the Red Bag by Eve Bunting Page A

perfectly comfortable and perfectly safe. You should come.”
    But even as I was listening I was watching Charles Stavros. His napkin covered the red bag on his knees. He was drinking coffee, his bandaged hand on the bag, the cup held awkwardly in his left hand. Now and again he lifted the napkin to gently pat his thick mustache. He saw me looking at him and gave a small nod.
    I nodded, small-ly, back.
    â€œYou didn’t bring the dictionary for Mr. Stavros?” Grandma asked.
    â€œNo. I didn’t think he’d want to read it on the raft, going down the Snake,” I said. Last night I’d remembered about today’s raft trip and felt immediate relief. I could postpone his reading the letter for a little longer. Which was a cowardly thought, but one thatcame to me nevertheless. It was important that he read my question. But maybe not today.
    Declan came by, table to table. “We’ll drive to the Snake River,” he said. “Bus outside in a half hour.”
    I was first on. By the time Stavros came aboard, his map was safely back in its place.
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    Scotty parked close to the river.
    â€œEveryone!” Declan called. “Please leave your bags and cameras and other paraphernalia on the bus. Scotty will be here. I’d prefer it if you didn’t take anything with you on the raft. Safety precautions.”
    â€œShould we take our jackets?” one of the Texans asked.
    â€œI don’t think you’ll be cold. Maybe wet. But a jacket is okay.”
    As we lined up to get on the raft, I managed to stand next to Geneva and nudge her away from the others. I filled her in about the map and the circle, which I called “the Big C.” I told her about how Stavros couldn’t read my letter, which meant he wasn’t Greek even though he’d tried to bluff it with all that talk about baklava and hummus. About howI’d kept watch on him last night. About my clever paper-in-the-door plan.
    Geneva gave a little whistle and rocked back and forth with her hands in her jeans pockets. She pulled her Cody Rodeo Queen cap down so it almost hid her eyes.
    â€œSo, he can’t understand Greek and he’s mapping out the best place to put the bomb.” I hated the way she drawled it out, like some old-time movie villain. If she’d had a waxed mustache, she’d have been twirling the ends. Not a single compliment about my paper-in-the-door routine. Or my no-sleep night.
    The line was moving and we had to join it. “There’s more,” I told her quickly. “But look, since I had to watch him last night, do you want to help me tonight? Take a turn?”
    â€œGet real!” she muttered.
    â€œWhy am I not surprised?” I said. This girl wanted the excitement but none of the work. If I were paying her I’d fire her, right now.
    Then I heard Declan arguing with Charles Stavros.
    Geneva grabbed my arm. “Listen,” she hissed.
    â€œI’m really sorry, Charles,” Declan was saying. “Maybe you didn’t hear. I’d prefer that you don’t take your bag on to the raft.” As usual, Stavros was clutching it.
    â€œI have to take it,” he said, and he turned away, putting an end to the discussion.
    â€œMr. Stavros. Really,” Declan called after him, then spread his hands in an “I give up” gesture.
    I hurried so I was directly behind Charles Stavros as we got into the raft, even though I knew it might be dangerous. He was whispering something, not to me, not back to Declan. The words were to himself, or to the bag. “I will never let you go again,” he said.
    Never let what go? Who go?
    What was in that bag?
    I felt jumpy. But not for long. The raft trip was too good. I decided it ranked right up there as a life experience along with a dogsled ride I’d had once up on Mammoth Mountain in California and I wasn’t going to waste it, Greek or no Greek. But still, I checked on Stavros and