by Thomas Ryan
A marble staircase flowed from the dingy heights down into the foyer like a glacier. The woman descending it had the unmistakable air of management. Prim black hair pinned back behind her ears and a dark-grey trouser suit. She approached Jeff with an outstretched hand.
‘Mr Bradley? I am Aurora, the hotel manager.’
Jeff took her hand.
‘Please call me Jeff. My associate, Sulla Bogdani.’
The woman’s eyes flicked towards Sulla.
‘Yes, I know of Mr Bogdani.’
The voice carried a hint of hostility.
Jeff glanced at Sulla. He appeared to have stiffened but his expression betrayed no emotion. They exchanged a few words in Albanian between them. The tone did not rise above strict formality. The lady shrugged then turned to Jeff.
‘We are in darkness, as you can see.’ To emphasise the point her arm arched through the air with the elegance of a ballerina. ‘There is no electricity. We have a generator, but no guests. It is too expensive to turn on the big machine just to keep an empty hotel warm. Come. Let us go outside and enjoy the sun.’
A courtyard patio boasted tables and chairs bereft of patrons. It overlooked the river and parts of the city. Tufts of green grass struggled through cracked paving stones. Aurora pointed to a corner table then left to organise refreshments.
‘You have a coffee with the manager,’ Sulla said. ‘I am going to stay by the car and make sure it does not get stolen. When the Xhiha brothers arrive, I will come back.’
Jeff didn’t have to wait long before Aurora returned with a waiter in tow. Her eyebrows rose at Sulla’s absence.
‘In the car. Outside. Thinks it might get stolen.’
The waiter placed two espressos and two glasses of water on the table and looked at Aurora. She said a few words in Albanian. He left with the third coffee still on his tray.
‘He’ll take that out to your driver.’
Whatever Sulla’s fame or infamy might be, it didn’t appear heinous enough to warrant discourtesy.
‘Kind of you. Thanks.’
‘The Xhiha brothers are on their way. I think maybe thirty minutes.’
‘Do you know these men?’
‘I know them, but they are not friends. You are going to do business with these people?’
‘I don’t know. It’s a possibility.’
‘I see.’
Was there a warning in her intonation or was it just a matter of accent? Jeff wished Sulla had stayed with him.
‘How long have you been in Kosovo, Mr Bradley?’
‘Please call me Jeff. I arrived yesterday.’
‘A very short time to form an opinion on Kosovo, I think. However, I have no doubt an opinion is forming all the same.’
Aurora’s tone remained non-committal, but Jeff couldn’t help but notice what he judged to be shrewdness behind the eyes. It occurred to him that she may well be forming her own opinion about him. Possibly along the lines that he was an idiot for wanting to do business in Kosovo.
‘How long have you lived in Gjakova?’ he asked.
‘All my life. My house is down the end of that road beside the river.’ Jeff looked in the direction she was pointing. ‘It is not a luxury home such as you have in the West. But it is mine. My children and I are comfortable. This is all that matters.’
‘And your husband?’
Aurora looked down at her coffee then back in the direction of her house. ‘I do not know where my husband is. Dead, I think. No one knows for sure.’
A matter-of-fact statement.
Jeff leaned forward to stir his coffee. ‘I’m so sorry.’
The lady’s eyes settled back on Jeff. ‘The Serbs stopped him one night when he was walking home with a friend. His friend escaped, but they made my husband climb into the back of a truck then it drove away. It was a long time ago. I have heard nothing of him since. Now the war is over. Milosevic has gone. There are no prisoners of war. He must be dead.’
Aurora lapsed into silence. Jeff guessed she had taken herself to the place she must go to whenever she talked of her missing husband. He found himself hoping that she would not become one of those war widows who wasted their lives mourning lost loved ones. Outwardly, she appeared to be strong and resilient, but he suspected just beneath the surface lay a well-hidden fragility. An image of Kimie came to mind, of her sitting at the kitchen table with the same faraway look. He dismissed the the thought. He would find Arben.
11.
The Xhiha brothers ambled across the courtyard twenty minutes late. When he saw them arrive Sulla left his car and dogged their every step. Upon invitation, the brothers slid into the chairs bedside Jeff. Sulla sat opposite. He crossed his arms and glared at them. Jeff suppressed a smile. Sulla’s naked hostility would have been difficult to ignore.
The shorter brother mumbled something to Aurora. She didn’t translate. There were apparently no apologies for their tardiness. It irritated Jeff, but he kept his mouth shut.
‘Mr Bradley, this is Ahmed and Skender Xhiha,’ Aurora said.
Sulla had referred to them as peasants. They certainly bore scars of the harsh existence that Jeff knew to be the life of country folk in Eastern Europe. Both men wore white felt qelesche hats shaped like cut-in-half eggshells on their shaven skulls. Both looked skeletally thin, sunken-chested and unshaven. They could have been anywhere between thirty and sixty. Jeff thought Skender and Ahmed would both qualify as models for an anti-TB poster campaign. He knew the disease was rampant in this part of the world.
‘Skender has no English skills. Ahmed understands a little,’ Aurora said. ‘I suggest for the purposes of this meeting they speak in Albanian and I will translate.’
‘That’s fine by me.’
Sulla added a terse comment in Albanian. The brothers’ heads spun towards him, rope-like veins bulging behind the leathery skin of their necks. Sulla leaned forward and fixed his eyes on them. Jeff stiffened. But the brothers turned their attention back to Aurora.
The shorter Ahmed claimed that he and his brother had inherited the property from an uncle. Neither had any experience with wine and they had employed a manager to oversee day-to-day operations. When Jeff asked how the uncle had come to own the land and how long he had owned it before that, Ahmed said he did not know. The Serbs had killed their uncle and it had come as a big surprise that they were his beneficiaries.
‘Allah has blessed them with good fortune,’ Aurora translated.
Ahmed bared an incomplete set of yellow teeth in the semblance of a grin at Jeff. The laugh that came out of Sulla sounded little short of scornful.
‘These are fairy tales, Jeff.’
Ahmed hissed a sneer at Sulla. Sulla’s chest heaved. The colour of his face and the way his eyes almost popped out of his head suggested to Jeff that at any moment he’d leap from his seat and grab Ahmed by the throat. There was little doubt in Jeff’s mind either that the brothers were lying. However, he had to remind himself that he was not here to debate land ownership. He was here to find Arben. With a quick shake of the head he threw a warning glance at Sulla.
‘Look. I came to Kosovo to buy a vineyard. The lawyer, Tomi Mema, told me these two wanted to sell their vineyard. I’d like to look over the property. Today, if possible.’
Aurora translated.
Ahmed turned to his brother. Skender shrugged and muttered something. Eyes flicked back and forth between Jeff and Sulla like a sparrow wary of a cat.
‘Ahmed says he was told by the lawyer that you are a friend of a man named Arben Shala,’ Aurora said.
Jeff shrugged in an effort to appear unconcerned. ‘Mr Shala is an acquaintance. I met him in New Zealand. Have they seen Mr Shala?’
A brief exchange between Aurora and the brothers.
‘Ahmed said he came to the vineyard and made some trouble and then went away. They h
ave not seen him again.’
‘Tell them I was given to understand the land belonged to Mr Shala,’ Jeff said.
Another exchange. Two pairs of eyes shot at Jeff.
‘The courts declared their ownership documents that are valid,’ she reported. ‘Ahmed says nothing else matters. They are the legal owners.’
‘Would they know where Mr Shala might have gone?’
Jeff knew he was pushing his luck. The next exchange with Aurora left the brothers looking agitated. Both glared at Jeff.
‘No, they say they don’t. Ahmed wants to know why you are so curious about Mr Shala.’
‘I’m a businessman. I like to know exactly what I’m dealing with when it comes to money. Mr Shala said he is the owner and now these men say they are the owners.’
Hardly had Aurora finished addressing the brothers when Ahmed spat a response at her.
‘He says the court has confirmed them as the rightful owners.’
‘They’re definite about that?’
‘They are most emphatic about it, Jeff.’
‘Then would you please tell them that as far as Mr Shala is concerned there’s nothing more to discuss. Ask them if I can see the vineyard today.’
After Aurora’s translation the brothers turned aside, heads down, and mumbled to each other. Jeff looked at Sulla. He didn’t react to whatever it was they said.
‘They are not sure today is possible,’ Aurora said.
‘It has to be today. I’m only here for a few days and I have a lot of meetings to attend.’ Jeff stood. ‘If they aren’t interested in selling, then I’ll say goodbye.’
Following Aurora’s translation, Ahmed looked across at Sulla then said something to his brother. Skender nodded.
‘They agree for you to go today,’ Aurora said.
Jeff nodded.
Sulla said, ‘They drive. We follow.’
Sulla followed the Xhiha brothers’ battered red Toyota hatchback out of the city centre and onto the road to Prizren.
‘Okay, Sulla. What the hell was that really all about back there?’
‘These men are animals. Now you have seen them, maybe you believe me. In Kosovo, family is family. To my father, Arben is family. Because of this he is like a brother to me. An enemy of Arben is an enemy of mine. These sons of pigs are stealing his land. Maybe they have killed him.’ Sulla glared through the streaked windscreen, knuckles showing white on the steering wheel. ‘I should cut their throats and be done with it.’
Jeff speculated how much of Sulla’s hostility was genuine and how much rhetoric. For the moment, he leaned towards genuine.
‘We need to find out about Benny first, Sulla. Then you can do what you like.’
Sulla’s smile reminded Jeff of a shark. ‘It will give me great pleasure.’
‘Hang on. What’s that up ahead?’
‘NATO checkpoint. Do not worry. They will hassle us a little then send us on our way.’
Rifle slung across shoulder, a helmeted soldier stepped out onto the road. He gestured Sulla into an unsealed lay-by. An officer in a greatcoat bearing distinctive German insignia on the lapels pointed to the spot he wanted Sulla to park. Standing in the turret of an armoured personnel carrier just metres away, a soldier leaned across the barrel of a .50 calibre machine gun pointing in their direction. Jeff doubted the weapon had a live round up the spout but would still have preferred it to point elsewhere. Six more soldiers stood next to the carrier. All wore flak-jackets. Three stepped forward and surrounded Sulla’s car. The officer tapped on Sulla’s window. He gestured Sulla and Jeff to get out.
‘There are still problems in Kosovo, as you can see,’ Sulla said, opening the door.
The officer confronted him. ‘Documents.’ He snapped out the order as if he was addressing a platoon.
Although the man’s brusqueness irked Jeff, he took his passport from his jacket pocket and held it out, but not far enough. His small triumph was to observe the man having to stretch to collect it. Sulla leaned into the car and pulled a plastic bag from the glove box. The German studied Jeff’s passport, then glanced up at him over the top of it.
‘You’re from New Zealand,’ he said in English. ‘What were you doing here in Gjakova?’
‘I am here on business. This man is my driver.’
‘What type of business?’
‘That’s confidential.’
‘You will tell me what I want to know when I ask,’ the German barked.
In the military Jeff had obeyed authority without question, but that was usually from men he respected. He was a civilian now and not about to give this arrogant bastard anything more than strictly necessary. He fixed his eyes on him and said nothing.
Sulla passed his papers across. The officer averted his gaze from Jeff and snatched the documents from Sulla’s hand.
‘Search the car,’ he yelled.
Jeff noticed the Xhiha brothers had pulled their car over to the side of the road a hundred metres ahead. Ahmed had climbed out and was leaning on the roof watching.
After several minutes one of the soldiers yelled an all-clear. ‘You may go now.’
The officer passed everything to Sulla, including Jeff’s passport, then spun on his heel and walked off towards the next vehicle to be checked.
‘This happen often?’ Jeff asked as they drove away.
‘All the time. Kosovo is Kosovo. KFOR, NATO, whatever you want to call them, they need to do something to fill their days so they stop motorists.’
‘What are they looking for?’
‘Guns, explosives, drugs, contraband, whatever they can find.’
‘And do they find any?’
‘Of course. All the time. Everybody has a gun. We are just like America. Except for the money and jobs.’ Sulla laughed at his little joke. ‘And like in America, someone is always getting shot.’
‘Sounds like the Wild West.’
‘This is the Balkans. There is no difference.’
‘May Allah cause the Xhiha brothers to die a thousand deaths.’
Sulla’s voice came as a growl as he followed the brothers’ Toyota across a muddy potholed field with pretensions of being a parking lot. The car lurched. Jeff bounced forward in his seat, banging his knee against the dashboard. Sulla breathed another curse and drew his car to a halt.
The windowless brick building they stopped behind was in need of plaster and paint and, from what Jeff could see, a new roof as well. A man wearing white overalls came out to greet them. The Xhiha brothers fell in behind him.
He spoke to Sulla in Albanian.
‘This man is the manager,’ Sulla said to Jeff. ‘His name is Astrit. He speaks English.’
The manager beamed and shook Jeff’s hand. ‘Welcome. You’re interested in buying into this vineyard?’ he asked.
With some surprise Jeff thought he noticed a touch of London cockney accent. ‘Your English is very good, Astrit.’
‘I lived in London for two years. Then the authorities found me and sent me home.’ He grinned. ‘No visa.’
Jeff decided he liked Astrit. ‘Yes, it’s true that I am looking to invest.’
From a distance Jeff observed that the vines looked in much better shape than those he’d seen on the slopes as they entered Gjakova. But certainly nowhere near the pristine condition of the vines at Boundary Fence.
‘If you do decide to buy, don’t worry about the staff and myself. We would work very hard for you. There are thirty hectares of vines, a processing plant and a house. There’s fifty hectares more we could plant, but for the moment there’s no point. The three hundred thousand bottles we produce each year is just for the local market. Unfortunately, Kosovo has a wine glut. If we could export, it would be different, but we cannot. Sending goods out of Kosovo is difficult.’
‘I wasn’t aware of a blockade
,’ Jeff said.
‘Not a blockade like they have in Africa or Cuba. No, it’s different here. Kosovo is a non-country. It has no trade agreements. The Serbs use this as an excuse to not allow goods to cross their borders, unless of course it is something they want. This also applies to Macedonia and Montenegro. We can only ship goods through Albania but that is a road to nowhere. Bandits steal the trucks.’
Despite Jeff’s earlier misgivings, it seemed Arben had been right. Kosovon wine could cover the losses from their crop failure. The Serbian province, once at the heart of the Yugoslavian wine industry, was awash with unsellable bulk product and Yugoslavian wine was readily accepted in the New Zealand market. Not that that mattered. The bulk wine would only be used for blending. But shipping the wine to New Zealand might prove more difficult than either of them had first thought.
Ahmed and Skender Xhiha grew bored with the discussions in a language neither fully comprehended. They left Astrit to show Jeff the vines and facilities. The vines needed feeding but they had been pruned competently. Up close, any disorder in the vines had more to do with the posts and wire than the plants themselves. Inside the factory, four men and two women in white overalls looked up as Jeff, Sulla and Astrit entered. Astrit yelled something in Albanian. Jeff received smiles all round, with an additional bow from the women’s scarved heads. The women returned to pushing corks into the necks of filled bottles and passing them to the men for labelling and packing into cartons.
‘What type of wines do you produce?’ Jeff asked.
‘Reds, mostly. Cabernet is our specialty. Would you like to taste?’
‘Sure, why not?’
Astrit took a bottle from the line and poured some of the red liquid into a sherry copita. This amused Jeff. The building might be falling down around their ears, but the tasting glass was international standard. Astrit took a step back. The manual production line came to a halt as all the workers watched in anticipation. The tasting had clearly taken on more than casual significance. Jeff’s verdict – whatever it might be – would affect all their futures. Now was not the time to mention he was far from an expert in wine differentiations.