The Man with the Red Bag by Eve Bunting Read Free Book Online Page B

showdown had been postponed. What would he do when he read the question? But now—oh my gosh—he was unzipping the carry-on, right there, on his lap, across the table from me. He was going to put my letter in there next to…to whatever. I wanted to stand up and get a good look, but there was no way to do that. I sat tall, half leaning across the table. He had only pulled the zipper across about six inches, enough to slide the letter inside. I got a quick glimpse of something in there, something big and bulky and black, with a long, stringy black cord. And then the zipper closed again. I dropped back into my chair and managed to knock my fork to the floor. It landed with a soft, carpeted thud.
    What had I seen? I had no idea. Were bombs that big anymore? Weren’t they small and electronic now? Maybe it had to be a big bomb for a big explosion.
    Our waiter came then with our menus and a clean fork for me. And I hadn’t even asked for one. I tried to calm down as I studied the menu.
    â€œYou’re not really having a hamburger, are you,Kevin?” Grandma asked. “There’s lobster and salmon and—”
    â€œI like hamburgers.” I sat back in my chair and brought the picture of what I’d seen in the bag back into focus. What was big and black and shiny? It had been shiny, hadn’t it?
    The waiter had taken our orders, and now Grandma was talking to Charles Stavros. “So you don’t speak Greek, Mr. Stavros?”
    â€œNo. My parents brought me here from Athens when I was only two.”
    â€œThat’s why you don’t have an accent,” Grandma said.
    â€œRight. My mother was American, from Illinois. She’d met my father on a trip with some school friends. My father…” He paused, lifted his hand for a second from the bag, and rubbed his bandage. “My father loved this country. My sister and I were true Americans from the start.” He smiled, and his teeth flashed under his mustache. “The only Greek we ever spoke was ‘baklava’ or ‘hummus.’”
    â€œBoth delicious,” Grandma said.
    Was all this true? Our meal arrived, and I carefully picked the raw onion out of my hamburger. I was wondering what to do next. If only I could get that red bag of his! But how?
    â€œYou’ll let me borrow your Greek dictionary tomorrow, Kevin?” Stavros asked.
    My insides quivered. “Sure.”
    â€œMaybe I’ll learn how to speak my own native language before this trip is over,” he said.
    Saudi? I thought. Iraqi?
    He stood again as we said good night.
    â€œSleep well,” Grandma said.
    On the way back to our rooms, she and I stopped in the gift shop and I bought a glass globe with a snow scene inside for my mom. I knew she’d love it.
    Â 
    Later, sitting on my bed, I studied the map again. My head was buzzing with so many questions I thought I’d never get to sleep. I got into bed at last, spread my blankey square over my pillow, and buried my face in it. It smelled of the apples I eat in bed every night at home, and of the shampoo my mom makes me use because it’s organic and won’t hurt thehair follicles or something. It smelled of home, and for a minute I lay there feeling lonely and scared even though Grandma was right in the next room.
    I stared at the ceiling and the big-bladed ceiling fan that was slowly turning and turning. Suddenly a thought came that was so awful I sat straight up. What was Charles Stavros doing right this minute? Geneva and I could watch him pretty well all day, but what about the nights? And wouldn’t a terrorist prefer to be active at night? The Tetons weren’t enclosed in his map circle, but still. We had to watch him, just in case. I couldn’t sit outside his door from now till morning, though. That was ridiculous. And even if I did that tonight, I couldn’t do it every night. There were seven nights left, including tonight. I’d die