Can I Hide Here With You?

a short story by Jiri Kajanë, translated by Bill U'Ren and Kevin Phelan

Fiction Attic Press is pleased to present this new short story by Jiri Kajanë. If you enjoy this story, you may also like “Food for the People,” the author’s first new fiction in a quarter century, published recently on Fiction Attic.

Leni hands me a tube of sunblock. “For your journey,” he says.

We are in the café at the Hotel Dajti, finishing breakfast. “I’m not sure it qualifies as a journey,” I say. “We will leave and return to the same port. Doesn’t a journey imply forward progress?”

“Didn’t you once tell me that progress comes in many forms?”

Just then, I see the hotel elevator doors open. The Greek Alternate Minister of Maritime Affairs is standing tall, sunglasses in one hand, a simple duffel in the other. She surveys the lobby, spots us, and approaches the table. We rise.

“So, this must be Leni,” she says, stepping forward.

“May I introduce you to Madame Greek Alternate Minister.”

They shake hands in an exaggerated manner, and this official gesture from the unofficial Leni disarms me for a second. “Enchantée, Madame Greek Alternate Minister.” French. Another surprise.

“Cora,” she says. “Just Cora.”

“Good luck today on your journey,” says Leni, turning to head back to the kitchen, presumably to check on the bread since it is his day to prepare the byreks.

Cora calls after him, “Luck has little to do with it, Leni. I have a fine boat, a pleasant breeze, and,” she adds, looking at me, “a strong deckhand. We will be okay.”

“I have no doubt,” Leni says, disappearing through the kitchen door.

Cora sits down and eyes Leni’s barely touched buke shtepie and jam. Then she notices my empty plate. “Good,” she says. “At least one of you ate.”

Aware that she is watching, I quickly finish the last of my coffee.

“Shall we?”

“We shall.” She takes a quick bite of Leni’s bread, then sets it down and follows.

Outside, my assistant Endrit is waiting in front of the car. As he turns to open the rear door for Cora, he gives me an excited grin. Endrit is wearing a black suit and chauffeur’s hat. I can’t remember the last time I saw him in a suit. In my small office, I allow my assistants to dress casual in the hopes that it will improve their creativity and increase their work product. Still, I appreciate Endrit’s effort. He has somehow gotten the best saloon car in the motor pool—black, official, nicely washed and appointed. From a distance, the whole scene makes me look almost like the Deputy Minister of Slogans that I am.