Walking up the road toward Kruje through the center of Fushekruje, I was looking for someone I knew. Not looking for anyone specific, my eyes recognized the recognition in the eyes of three boys. As I approached they crowded shoulder to shoulder in an attempt to compose themselves. “Cha bone? Mir?” said Gisti, raising his open right hand to bring it sweeping forward to catch my hand. At the same moment Amarildo was saying “Si ke chen?”
“Mir,” I responded shaking Amarildo’s hand, “Dhe ti?” Inquiring about Ersid’s soft cast, I was told that he fell and injured his arm falling off a bike. He will need the cast for seven days. While we stood together Amarildo asked me for a book. “Nje libre Anglisht?” I asked. “Per chfar?”
“Yo, yo, per shkolen,” he explained. “Me Bashkim.”
“Un nuk kam,” I told him. It was then that I asked if I could take their picture.
At the church jobsite I met Fatjon, a schoolmate of his, and Bashkim. Bashkim explained the deficiencies of the design for the parking lot and play-areas while giving his opinion on design changes that would result in a facility more to his liking. “Every person has their opinion,” I responded through Fatjon. “One hundred people, one hundred opinions,” I said. Bashikim agreed and left abruptly. Fatjon and his friend also departed leaving me to confer over the morning’s progress with Vissy.
On my way home from the bus stop in Sauk I was greeted by my pack. There are five dogs now, all of the young ones died about a month ago. The last time I saw them they were too sick to eat. I wonder if they might have been poisoned, or gotten into poison without realizing it. Max is still among the living, however. He seems to trust me the least of all his street-mates. I tend to long the most for the love of those who spurn my efforts to care for them. I can’t blame old wolf-face though. If I was missing both of my ears and half of my tail I would probably be either cautious or dead.
albaniacalling 