but the children were gone. It must have been then, watching the debris and corpses float toward her in the ship’s lights that something had broken in her too, another overheated engine.
“There’s the chance of another one,” Mihai said. “A boat. The British are watching Brindisi now, so we’re trying to get one here.”
“Should I know this?”
“Why not? We have no secrets from each other. Except the ones you don’t tell me.”
Leon looked over at him. “I don’t know who he is.”
“So you said. Well, a surprise for both of us. Eine kleine Überraschung .”
“You’re so sure he’s German.”
“Who else comes out this way? The Americans. First they put them on trial. Now they take them home. A change of heart, very useful.”
“You can’t put everyone on trial.”
“Why not? They wanted all of us dead. No exceptions.”
“Anna’s German.”
“A Jew. It’s different.”
“That’s what they wanted everyone to think.”
“In that they succeeded. Now we know who we are.”
“Where are you getting the ship?” Leon said, changing the subject.
“Trabzon. Of course a wreck. But if it can make it this far, why not Palestine?”
“A freighter?”
“Maybe for your tobacco. From Trabzon. Tobacco and hazelnuts.”
Leon pointed out the windshield. “Pull up here.”
“I don’t see anyone.”
“They’ll see us.”
They parked in the drop-off area by the quay. A few boats bobbed against their mooring posts, launches you could hire, their owners probably keeping warm in the café on the other side of the road. No one else around.
Mihai put on a knitted sailor’s hat, pulling it over his ears. “Let’s hope they’re not late. It’s freezing.”
They walked over to the edge of the pavement, looking out at the black water. Any minute now, unless the boat had had to dodge a patrol around Garipçe.
“The money’s already arranged?” Mihai said. “You don’t want to hang around bargaining.”
Leon tapped his breast pocket. “On delivery.” He looked over at Mihai, clamping his ears for warmth. Two men standing in the cold, outlined by the café lights behind them. Up to what? They’d have to move soon.
“Hear that?” A boat being put in gear, the noise moving toward them, their shadowy figures spotted from the water.
“Right,” Mihai said, “one, two, three. Let’s go. You pay, I’ll get Johnny in the car.”
The fishing boat, still without lights, now swung toward the quay, throwing out a rope.
“John?” Leon said, feeling foolish, as if it were a password.
The passenger nodded. Thin, smaller than Leon had expected,about Mihai’s height. A heavy woolen jacket. He shoved a step box against the gunwale.
Mihai pulled him up out of the boat, gripping his hand. “Come on. Car’s over there. Get in the back,” Mihai said in a rush, then stopped, his eyes on the passenger’s face, reading it.
Below them the fisherman started talking in Turkish, Leon answering before he got louder.
“My bag,” John said, nodding to a duffel bag in the boat. “I have a bag.”
For a second Mihai didn’t move, still staring, until John looked back at him, a question mark. “I’ll get it,” Mihai said finally, breaking his own trance. “The car. Over there. Hurry.”
“It’s all right?” John said to Leon, suddenly anxious, a what’s-wrong expression.
Leon made a shooing motion. “Fine. Get in the car.”
“And my money? What about my money?”
Leon took an envelope out of his pocket and handed it down. The fisherman started to count the bills.
“It’s all there. Throw us the bag and get out of here.” Behind him, he heard the car door slam. “Before anyone sees.”
“Ha. Before anyone sees you .”
“Just throw up the goddam bag,” Mihai said, edgy, putting one foot on the boat, reaching out.
“First I count,” the fisherman said. “Who are you anyway? Nobody said two. One man.”
“Count it, then,” Leon said, impatient now, watching him
Learning to Kill: Stories