The Small Boat of Great Sorrows Read Online Free Page A

authorities never bothered to inform his family that he was on his way, or even that he had escaped. For all Jasmina and Sonja knew, Vlado was still back in their besieged apartment, biding his time until his next monthly phone call to Berlin, still braving the bombs and the bullets. Which is why when he showed up on their doorstep on the eleventh floor, fresh off the train, he’d been something of a shock, making for an awkward moment or two.
    Since then the international authorities had forgotten him. There hadn’t been a single visit, letter, or phone call, either to thank him or to let him know what had occurred in his wake. It was as if he’d been dropped into one of the holes at Potsdamer Platz.
    Until now.
    The American opened his mouth to speak.
    â€œHerr Petric?” he said.
    â€œVlado Petric. Yes. And please, speak English. Mine is a little out of practice, but it is still better than my German, Mr. . . .”
    â€œPine. Calvin Pine.”
    Pine stood, tall and bony, reminding Vlado of the big construction cranes that loomed above him at work, like praying mantises in search of a meal. Being an American, Pine smiled and held out his right hand for a firm shake. The only people who grinned more in this part of the world were Japanese tourists. But the smile at least had a glimmer of mischief at the corners, a boyishness that made it hard for Vlado to feel put upon. His light brown hair was as stiff as broom straw, with various sectors in revolt. And when he spoke, at least he kept his voice down, unlike the noisy Americans you saw rattling down Unter den Linden in bright clothes and running shoes, shooting videos of everything that moved, griping about exchange rates and whatever they’d just paid for lunch.
    Vlado wished he’d had time to clean up, wished he’d shaved that morning, wished he hadn’t just stepped from a huge, muddy hole in the ground. He wondered what sort of impression he must be making.
    â€œYou’re from the embassy?” he asked.
    â€œActually, no. From The Hague. The war crimes tribunal. I’m an investigator.”
    Vlado knew of only one matter, a single name, that could have brought the tribunal to his door, and it had nothing to do with his work back in Sarajevo, where the criminals he’d dealt with were smugglers and black marketers, commonplace murderers intent on money, not ethnic slaughter. All he knew of the tribunal he’d learned from a Bosnian in Berlin, someone whose name he didn’t wish to utter just now—someone, it now appeared, who had gotten him into deep trouble. If that was why Pine had come, this would be an unpleasant evening indeed, for Jasmina as well as himself.
    â€œWhy do you need to speak to me?” Vlado asked, knowing he must already sound like a suspect. Probably looked like one, too, reaching for his cigarettes and staring at his feet.
    Pine seemed to note the change. He paused briefly before plowing ahead. “Because we need your help. We’ve got a job we think you might be interested in.”
    The answer was a pleasant surprise. Vlado glanced toward Jasmina, as if she might offer a hint of what came next, but she only shrugged. “I’ll make more coffee,” she said. “And Vlado, why don’t you ask our guest to sit. You’ve both been standing for the past five minutes. You look like gunfighters in an American Western.”
    Vlado translated her remark for Pine, who grinned and folded himself back onto the couch. He had that American way of informal amiability, the salesman’s knack for banter, for easing into his surroundings. As they sat, Vlado saw Sonja peeping around a corner.
    â€œThis is my daughter, Mr. Pine,” Vlado said. “Sonja, who I haven’t even said hello to yet.”
    He coaxed her out with a smile, but she wasn’t yet ready to forgive Pine, who had taken her usual spot on the couch. It was where she and her father always sat at