The Shadow Walker by Michael Walters Page B

Drew’s eyes, appeared to be a leisure version of the herdsman’s robes, a brightly colored flowing gown wrapped with a gold sash, his feet enclosed in finely embroidered leather slippers. Drew wondered if this was the typical dress of the average Mongolian at home, or perhaps simply a more overt expression of the dandyism which, in his professional life, Nergui appeared to confine largely to his choice of ties.
    As he entered the apartment, Drew had been surprised to find that Nergui was cooking the meal himself. He had hardly struck Drew as the domesticated type, so it was incongruous to see him standing before a cooker, stirring and tasting the contents of the array of pans.
    â€œThere. It is fine. It is all under control,” Nergui said, leading him into the lounge area. “Fifteen, twenty minutes, it should all be ready.”
    Nergui offered him a beer, and also produced two bottles of red wine for the meal. “It’s not bad,” he said, apologetically. “Bulgarian. It’s difficult to get any better out here.”
    Nergui was a relaxed host, and Drew felt no discomfort even though they initially sat in an amiable silence. It was clear that Nergui had much on his mind, and he said little until he had served the first course—a spicy soup containing chicken and prawns. Drew expressed his compliments on the quality of the food.
    â€œI’m afraid it is far from authentic local cuisine,” Nergui said. “But then you should probably be thankful that it is not authentic local cuisine.”
    â€œI wish I could produce food like this.”
    â€œYou don’t cook at home?”
    Drew shook his head. “Not really. I mean, basic stuff but nothing like this. My wife’s the chef.”
    Nergui nodded. “You have children?”
    â€œTwo,” Drew said. “Boys. Eight and ten.”
    â€œThat must be exhausting.”
    â€œIt can be. Especially for my wife, when I’m working long hours, which seems to be most of the time. So she tells me, at least.”
    Nergui smiled. “Does she work also?”
    â€œShe’s a teacher. Primary school. Young children.”
    â€œHard work, then. I imagine you don’t have an easy time, if you are both working in these kinds of jobs?”
    Drew thought about it. The question might have felt intrusive coming from someone else, but Nergui just seemed genuinely interested.
    â€œIt can be,” Drew said. “We both end up working long hours at times. Sue has preparation to do. And I think the work is very tiring for her. But we seem to get through all right, most of the time.”
    â€œThat is good,” Nergui said, sincerely. “I enjoy living alone, but there are times when I envy people like you.”
    â€œWell, likewise,” Drew laughed. “Sometimes a bit of solitude would be welcome.”
    â€œI’m sure,” Nergui nodded. “I’ve never really known anything else.”
    â€œYou’ve never—?” Drew stopped, embarrassed, unsure how he had been intending to finish the sentence. Been married? Been in a relationship? Anything sounded crass.
    But Nergui seemed untroubled. “I was married once,” he said. “Briefly. A long time ago.”
    â€œOh. I’m sorry.”
    â€œDon’t be. As I say, a long time ago. It was the reason I first went to the West.”
    â€œReally?”
    â€œA long story. I met a young woman—a journalist from the US. This was what, fifteen years ago? I was working for the government here. My task was to show her around, look after her.”
    Something about the way Nergui spoke the last words madeDrew look up. Again, it occurred to him to wonder about Nergui’s background. What had been his role in the government, in the days when this country was still a satellite of the Soviet Union? And how precisely had Nergui been charged to “look after” the journalist? For that matter, had he