he is at the water’s edge, standing, watching the departing family. Marta looks round at him, and he smiles, then squats down and puts his hands in the water. Marta pushes her children on.
– The river turns further up. You’ll be walking east again soon.
Marta stops. Her heart turns over. Her daughter has hold of her arm.
– I don’t want to swim, Mama.
The twins push at her sides, two sets of eyes fixed on the man at the shore.
– It’s not deep. Tell her, Mama.
– We saw the bottom.
– Mama, no.
Marta knows he is watching her, but the stranger keeps quiet, and keeps his distance. She crouches down, shifting the weight of the bundle across her back. She lifts her baby boy, holds him tighter, full of misgiving. The river is wide. Thirty metres, maybe more.
– I can help you. I swam across before.
Marta waits one minute, two, and when he doesn’t move she shrugs the bundle higher onto her shoulders, walks down to the water, keeping a few metres between herself and the man.
– Mama.
– I know, Ani.
She can see the bottom, but it is chest-deep. Over head-height for the twins. She looks over at the remains of the bridge. Each of the pillars has a wide base, a shelf just below the surface. The stranger points.
– We can swim between the pillars, rest on the shelves.
– It’s too deep.
– We’ll take it in stages.
Ani calls to her mother from where she stands with her brothers.
– I don’t want to, Mama.
– Only four metres between the pillars.
– Quiet, Betim.
– Only four metres, easy.
– Leka, I said be quiet.
Marta turns back to the stranger, shakes her head.
– Our things will get wet.
– It’s hot. You can dry them, camp for the night.
– The bags are too heavy.
Marta walks back to her children, lifts the bundle onto her back again. The stranger runs along the bank, gathering driftwood. The boys join in.
– Only the big bits, boys. Bigger, twice the size.
Marta watches.
– What about a boat?
– I’ve been walking the river for days. No boats.
Ani kicks the ground next to her mother. Marta looks on as the man gathers driftwood with her sons.
– How will I get the baby across?
– Tie him to me. I’ll swim with him.
– No.
The stranger ties the wood together into a frame. A handkerchief at one corner, his shirt at another, Betim offers his vest for the third and Leka ties off the last corner with a sock. The stranger carries the frame down to the water. The bag sags through the middle, heavier on one side than the other, but it floats.
– I can pull it, see? I’ll take this over first, come back for the bundle.
Marta doesn’t look at him. She can see the road snaking off into the distance on the other side of the river; can feel the breeze on her face, blowing from the east.
– It will take half an hour, an hour at most. You can dry your things. Walk on in the evening.
Marta picks at the knot holding the bundle to her back.
– It’s safe over there. You can rest, stop for the night.
– I’ll take the baby, not you.
– Very good.
The stranger takes off his boots and ties the laces together, draping them around his neck. He wades out into the water until he is waist-deep and starts swimming, pulling the bag after him. When he gets to the first pillar, he waves. Water streams out of his sleeve in an arc, and thetwins both laugh and wave back. They run to the water’s edge, but Marta stops them.
– Yes, wait. I’ll come back and help you.
The man gestures them away, then turns and swims to the next pillar. The boys crouch, watching, tying their laces together as the stranger had done. Marta squeezes her daughter’s hand and tells her to take her boots off.
The stranger is past the middle of the river, now. Still swimming. He hasn’t looked round again, and Marta wonders absently if he will come back and help them. She calculates what is in the bag. Food and clothes . The last tins of meat. But no money, no valuables. No great loss . The
– The river turns further up. You’ll be walking east again soon.
Marta stops. Her heart turns over. Her daughter has hold of her arm.
– I don’t want to swim, Mama.
The twins push at her sides, two sets of eyes fixed on the man at the shore.
– It’s not deep. Tell her, Mama.
– We saw the bottom.
– Mama, no.
Marta knows he is watching her, but the stranger keeps quiet, and keeps his distance. She crouches down, shifting the weight of the bundle across her back. She lifts her baby boy, holds him tighter, full of misgiving. The river is wide. Thirty metres, maybe more.
– I can help you. I swam across before.
Marta waits one minute, two, and when he doesn’t move she shrugs the bundle higher onto her shoulders, walks down to the water, keeping a few metres between herself and the man.
– Mama.
– I know, Ani.
She can see the bottom, but it is chest-deep. Over head-height for the twins. She looks over at the remains of the bridge. Each of the pillars has a wide base, a shelf just below the surface. The stranger points.
– We can swim between the pillars, rest on the shelves.
– It’s too deep.
– We’ll take it in stages.
Ani calls to her mother from where she stands with her brothers.
– I don’t want to, Mama.
– Only four metres between the pillars.
– Quiet, Betim.
– Only four metres, easy.
– Leka, I said be quiet.
Marta turns back to the stranger, shakes her head.
– Our things will get wet.
– It’s hot. You can dry them, camp for the night.
– The bags are too heavy.
Marta walks back to her children, lifts the bundle onto her back again. The stranger runs along the bank, gathering driftwood. The boys join in.
– Only the big bits, boys. Bigger, twice the size.
Marta watches.
– What about a boat?
– I’ve been walking the river for days. No boats.
Ani kicks the ground next to her mother. Marta looks on as the man gathers driftwood with her sons.
– How will I get the baby across?
– Tie him to me. I’ll swim with him.
– No.
The stranger ties the wood together into a frame. A handkerchief at one corner, his shirt at another, Betim offers his vest for the third and Leka ties off the last corner with a sock. The stranger carries the frame down to the water. The bag sags through the middle, heavier on one side than the other, but it floats.
– I can pull it, see? I’ll take this over first, come back for the bundle.
Marta doesn’t look at him. She can see the road snaking off into the distance on the other side of the river; can feel the breeze on her face, blowing from the east.
– It will take half an hour, an hour at most. You can dry your things. Walk on in the evening.
Marta picks at the knot holding the bundle to her back.
– It’s safe over there. You can rest, stop for the night.
– I’ll take the baby, not you.
– Very good.
The stranger takes off his boots and ties the laces together, draping them around his neck. He wades out into the water until he is waist-deep and starts swimming, pulling the bag after him. When he gets to the first pillar, he waves. Water streams out of his sleeve in an arc, and thetwins both laugh and wave back. They run to the water’s edge, but Marta stops them.
– Yes, wait. I’ll come back and help you.
The man gestures them away, then turns and swims to the next pillar. The boys crouch, watching, tying their laces together as the stranger had done. Marta squeezes her daughter’s hand and tells her to take her boots off.
The stranger is past the middle of the river, now. Still swimming. He hasn’t looked round again, and Marta wonders absently if he will come back and help them. She calculates what is in the bag. Food and clothes . The last tins of meat. But no money, no valuables. No great loss . The
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