“The ground shall have no objection.”

“After all,” I said, “one ought to leave as little as possible to chance.”

“Especially when there is so much pleasure in the planting.”

“This is true, too.”

“I love you,” she said.

And so we undressed a second time and moved again to her straw mattress and labored there most happily for the greater glories of Macedonia. Once more my marvelous son slept placidly through the joyous cries of love. And when it was over, I clung to her until she appeared to drift off to sleep. Then I drew away from her and covered her with blankets.

“I wish you could stay with me forever,” she murmured.

“So do I.”

“Why must you go to Latvia?”

“It’s a long story,” I said. And she stirred, as if prepared to ask for that long story, but instead she abruptly relaxed and this time she slept as peacefully as Todor.

I put my peasant clothing on once again and sat cross-legged in front of the fire, glancing now at my son and now at his mother, then turning my attention to the map I had drawn on the earthen floor. It would not do to leave the map there, I thought. Once I left Macedonia, it would be better if no one knew where I was going. I used another twig to obliterate the map, then pitched it into the fire and watched it burn.

Why must you go to Latvia?

A good question, a legitimate question. And my answer, while answering nothing, had surely been true enough.

It was a long story…

Chapter 3

Karlis Mielovicius and I crouched in the shelter of a clump of scrub pine. Fifty-odd yards to our right a dozen riflemen crept resolutely forward. When they drew even with us, I extended one arm parallel to the ground. The men stopped in their tracks, then dropped to their knees and brought their rifles to bear upon the ramshackle wooden structure ahead of us. I held my arm out straight and counted to five, then dropped my arm abruptly.