“The only things that are missing are an official decision about who killed Brownington, and knowing what happened to the eagles. I don’t know if we’ll ever get either one.”
“Not all mysteries have tidy endings.”
“Well, if we can’t get the loose ends all knitted up, the least you can do is take me fishing before I have to go back to Boston.”
“Zee will catch a fish for you if you can’t catch one yourself.”
“Truly manly men don’t need women to catch their fish for them,” said Zee, clutching his arm and batting her lashes.
“You got that right, baby,” said Quinn, leering at her.
We fished East Beach and caught up with the blues just north of Leland’s Point. The fish weren’t thick but there were enough to keep us busy for half an hour before they went on their way. Nice seven- and eight-pounders.
“You can take home as many of these as you want,” I said to Quinn. “We’ll fillet them and loan you a cooler. When you get back to Boston you can feed them to your girlfriends and lie about how you caught them all.”
“I wish you wouldn’t talk about other women while Zee’s listening,” said Quinn in a theatrical whisper.
“Other women?” cried Zee. “Oh, woe, oh, woe! I thought I was the only one!”
“Damn you, Jackson,” hissed Quinn. “Now you’ve done it. You’ve broken the poor girl’s heart!”
At home, while Zee and Quinn drank lazy martinis on the balcony and watched the kids play with the cats in the yard below, I scaled and filleted the fish. I was putting the last of them into the fridge when the phone rang.
“This is Mahsimba,” said the familiar voice. “I have just received a telephone call from Charles Mauch. He wants to see me.”
I felt a little rush of emotion. “What about?”
“The Zimbabwe eagles. I thought you might want to come along.”
“When?”
“Now.”
“Where are you?”
“In John’s study.”
“I’m on my way.”
I reported the call to Zee, declined Quinn’s request to accompany me, said I expected to be home for supper, and drove to the Skyes’ farm. Mahsimba was waiting for me on the front porch. Together we headed up-island.
“Did Mauch give you any idea about why he wanted to see you?” I asked.
“Only that it concerned the birds.”
I found Mauch’s driveway and stopped in front of his large house. He opened the door when we knocked and looked first at me, then at Mahsimba.
“I didn’t expect Mr. Jackson.”
Mahsimba’s voice was gentle but firm. “I suspect that if it were not for Mr. Jackson, this meeting would not be taking place. I think it’s appropriate for him to hear whatever it is that you want to tell me.”
Mauch inclined his head. “As you wish. Follow me, please.”
He led us into the same room where we’d talked before, but there was a difference. On an ornate table stood two soapstone stelae, each fronted by a crocodile and topped by a stone bird.
Mauch stood to one side as Mahsimba and I approached and studied the sculptures. When at last we looked at him, he spoke.
“As you see, the eagles are here.”
“And were here before, no doubt,” said Mahsimba.
“Yes. But things have changed since our previous meetings. Brownington is dead, two Duartes are dead, and now Miguel Periera is dead. That is a considerable number of dead men, Mr. Mahsimba.”
“The deaths of Matthew Duarte and Miguel Periera really had nothing to do with the eagles, Mr. Mauch.”
“Not directly, certainly. But the pattern of violence impresses me, as does the ongoing search for the eagles by people who come from far lands. People such as you, sir.”
“You are in no danger from me, Mr. Mauch.”
“No? But what of Mr. Brownington’s successor?”
“I cannot speak for Brownington’s successor.”
Mauch nodded. “Precisely. I have no interest in being hunted down by secret agents. Better, I think, to separate myself publicly from these lovely, bloody birds. After due consideration, I’ve concluded that I should give the nation of Zimbabwe the first opportunity to purchase them.”
“Indeed,” said Mahsimba. “And what price do you have in mind?”
“Normally I expect to make a profit on all of my financial transactions,” said Mauch, “but in hopes of improving cultural relations between our nations, I’ll part with them for what I paid.” He adjusted the cuff of his shirt and named a figure that I pretended did not impress me. “My purchase of the eagles was, of course, completely legal, since the birds were exported from your nation before it was, in fact, the nation it has since become, and certainly before any laws prevented such exportation. I mention that only to indicate that I have a perfect right to sell the birds to other interested parties should your nation decline the opportunity to repossess them.”
He and Mahsimba wore politic expressions.
“I will contact my employers and inform them of your offer,” said Mahsimba. “I trust I may depend upon you not to enter negotiations with other parties before you hear from me?”
“You may.”
“And that you will properly secure the birds until such time as an agreement may be completed?”
“I have a vault.”
“Then, since time is always an important consideration in these matters, we will take our leave so I can make the necessary communications.” Mahsimba paused, then added, “I may presume, of course, that these birds are the actual ones and not something less?”
Mauch spread his hands. “But of course, sir. I am an honest man. I have an international reputation to maintain.”
Polite smiles were exchanged as we left.
“It seems,” said Mahsimba as we drove back to Edgartown, “that my work here is essentially over. I will advise Harare to take over negotiations with Mr. Mauch, and I will return to my home and my job with Interpol. I’ve enjoyed my visit to your country and to your lovely island. You and your friends have been most helpful and hospitable.”
“You’ll be missed. But won’t Crompton’s people be annoyed?”
“Crompton is a professional man who will know a loss when he encounters one.”
“But won’t he be rather miffed at you?”
“No doubt. I’ll be watching my back for a while. But then, I always watch my back. You and Zeolinda must come to Africa. My wife and I would be pleased to be your hosts. Our children are almost the same ages as yours, so your little ones, too, would have companions eager to introduce them to Zimbabwe.”
“You’re married?”
“To a woman as lovely as your wife. I’m more eager to see her than I can say. I increasingly dislike the travels my work requires. I envy the life you lead here, always close to your family. You’re a fortunate man.”
“Yes.”
I got home in time for supper, and afterward went with Zee and Quinn up to the balcony with coffee and cognac.
Quinn was happy because now the only thing he didn’t have was a final, official decision about who killed Brownington.
Off to our right, in the southern sky, the stars that glittered at us also glittered every night over Africa. Beneath them, half a world away, a wife was waiting for the return of her husband, and her children were wishing their father were home.
Eight hundred years earlier those same stars had shone down upon the empire of Monomotapa, where, within towering walls, an artisan in stone was carving a stele adorned with a crocodile and topped with an eagle. A thousand years in the future, long after current empires, including America, had crumbled to dust, those stars would be unchanged.
“Look!” said Zee, pointing. “There! It’s a satellite!”
The tiny light moved steadily across the heavens, a man-made star moving at incredible speed. It was a marvel to match the towers of Great Zimbabwe. We watched it until it disappeared into the depths of the ti
meless, uncaring, and ethereally beautiful sky.
Recipes
All Delicious
PAELLA À LA VALENCIANA
J.W. adapted this recipe from a Spanish cookbook he found at a yard sale.
1 small chicken, boiled (save 2¼ cups of the stock to cook rice; water must be hot)
8 pork sausages (chicken or turkey sausages may be substituted)
½ cup olive oil
1 small onion, chopped
3 cloves garlic, finely chopped
3 tomatoes, peeled and chopped
2 green or red peppers, peeled and chopped
1 tsp. paprika
½ tsp. saffron or turmeric
Salt and pepper
1 cup of rice
6 canned artichoke hearts
½ cup peas
½ lb. cleaned shrimp
Boil the chicken and strip the meat from the bones. Cut the meat into bite-sized chunks. Save the hot water for cooking the rice.
Brown the sausages in some of the olive oil in a large frying pan and cut into bite-sized chunks.
In remaining olive oil, sauté the onion, garlic, tomatoes, and peppers in the same pan.
Return the sausages to the pan and add the chicken pieces and spices.
Stir in the rice and pour in the hot water.
Cook on low heat for about 15 minutes, then add artichoke hearts, peas, and shrimp.
Cook another 10 minutes, until rice is tender, and serve.
Note: There are as many kinds of paella as there are paella cooks. Substitutions for the above ingredients can be made freely. For instance, Phil Craig lately has been using hot turkey sausage in lieu of pork sausage because his wife, Shirl, doesn’t eat pork.
The general idea is to cook all of the ingredients in one dish until they’re done but not overdone.
Saffron is very expensive. You can substitute turmeric.
CHICKEN ENCHILADAS
One of the main differences between these chicken enchiladas and others is that J.W. uses dessert crepes instead of tortillas for wrappers.
CREPES
Combine: 2 beaten eggs, 2/3 cup milk, 1/3 cup water, ½ tsp. vanilla
Combine: ¾ cup flour, 1 tsp. baking powder, 1 tsp. salt, and 2 tbsp. powdered sugar
Pour egg mixture into flour mixture and mix until most of the lumps are gone. Place a 5- to 6-inch frying pan or crepe pan over moderate heat, add a bit of oil, and pour in just enough crepe mix to make a thin cake. Cook, turning once. Repeat. Set crepes aside.
FILLING
Slice 2 large onions and fry in 2 tbsp. butter and a bit of water until tender. Remove, drain, and mix with 2 cups of diced, cooked, skinned chicken, ½ cup chopped pimento, 8 oz. diced cream cheese, and a few shakes of hot pepper sauce. Salt to taste. (Note: Cream cheese is much easier to dice if it’s frozen.)
Spoon about 1/3 cup of filling into each crepe. Roll and place crepes, seam side down, in a baking dish. Brush with milk or cream and sprinkle with 2 cups grated Jack cheese.
Bake in 375° oven for 20–25 minutes.
Garnish, if you wish, with pitted ripe olives, radishes, and coriander.
(Makes about 12 crepes)
FLAN
½ cup sugar
4 eggs
1 cup skim milk
1 tsp. vanilla
Dash of salt
Caramelize ¼ cup sugar in a small, heavy skillet and quickly pour into an 8 ½–inch circular baking pan, tilting pan to coat bottom as much as possible.
Mix eggs, milk, remaining ¼ cup sugar, vanilla, and salt, and pour mixture into the pan.
Set round pan in larger baking pan, fill larger pan to a depth of 1 inch with hot water, bake in a 325° oven for 30 minutes, or until a knife comes out clean when inserted into the center of the flan.
Cool pan on a wire rack, then cover and refrigerate until cold. Loosen flan from the sides of the pan, invert onto a platter, and serve.
(Makes 8 servings)
About the Author
Philip R. Craig grew up on a small cattle ranch southeast of Durango, Colorado. He earned his MFA at the University of Iowa Writers’ Workshop and was for many years a professor of literature at Wheelock College in Boston. He and his wife live on Martha’s Vineyard.
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