‘You defend Miloševi?’ asked the young woman. She could barely keep her seat.
‘Milošević,’ said László, ‘is a cynical and dangerous man. In fact I believe he is mentally ill. But is this about Milošević? It feels like a tribal matter. A blood feud.’
He thought she might slap him for this, but Emil laid a hand on her arm and switched the talk to Bosnia. He spoke of the massacre at Srebrenica, the camps at Omarska and Manjaca, of killers like Arkan and Mirko Jović, and the systematic rape of women and girls by men who masked their faces because they were neighbours.
‘This will happen in Kosovo too,’ he said. ‘Trust me. It will all happen again. At least the Bosnians had an army of sorts. They could fight back.’
‘And you have exhausted all peaceful means?’ asked László. He glanced at the young woman, from whose slender limbs there seemed to emanate a convincing shimmer of violence. ‘Ibrahim Rugova seems a genuinely good man.’
‘Rugova is a good man,’ said Emil, ‘but he is not a man of action. He could not stop a hundred and fifty thousand Albanians being thrown out of work. Doctors, teachers, all those in state employment. He has not stopped the apartheid in the schools or the suppression of our language. He has not stopped detention and beatings. Did you know, monsieur, that any remark critical of Serbia is considered a “verbal crime” punishable by two months’ imprisonment? Did you know that thousands have been summoned to police stations for what the authorities call “informative talks”, interrogations that last for three days and for which no justification is ever offered? They are making their lists, monsieur, and one day they will use those lists and they will not be interested in talking. You know what the Serbs call the Albanians in Kosovo? “Tourists.” They mean to get rid of us, monsieur, and only when it is too late will the world take notice. Is it not accepted everywhere that a man has the right to fight in defence of his life? His family?’
There was a great deal more of this, though from the moment Milošević had stripped Kosovo of its autonomy, László had entertained no serious doubts about the justice of the Albanian cause. The unhappy Serbs with their deranged leader were in thrall to a mythology cooked up in the nineteenth century and reheated by nationalist communist demagogues a hundred years later. What was it he had heard it called? ‘The politics of fantasy and hatred.’ But it was one matter to denounce a regime while sitting at the dinner table among friends, quite another to assist the operation of a group committed to its violent overthrow. There could be no doubt any more whose company he was in. Did Emil Bexheti already have blood on his hands? Where had he been when the rector of Pristina University was attacked in January?
Twice during the meeting the cellphone rang. Most of the talking was done by the voice at the other end, to which Emil paid respectful attention. Towards the end of the hour he poured László a glass of lukewarm water from a bottle of Volvic.
‘In ’56,’ he said, coming to the point László had been expecting for some time, ‘did you question the legitimacy of armed resistance?’
‘No,’ said László.
‘Though you knew it was not a game? That people, many people, would be killed?’
‘We were a country under occupation.’
‘You fought for your freedom.’
‘Yes.’
‘You still believe that was right?’
‘Yes. But it might be worth your remembering that we lost. A good cause is no guarantee of victory.’
‘So the sacrifice was futile?’
‘No,’ said László. ‘Something was achieved, though it’s hard to say exactly what. They showed us our weakness, but we also showed them theirs. Certainly nobody who saw what happened then was surprised at the speed of the collapse in ’89.’
‘It was more than that, monsieur. You set an example for the entire world.’
‘The best of them did. Though in an affair like that there is always much brutality. Lynch mobs. Summary executions. It wasn’t always very edifying.’
‘I know that some consider you a political fatalist. I am, of course, familiar with your work. But I ask you once more, in all earnestness – were you and your comrades wrong to take up arms?’
László shook his head.
‘Would you deny to others the right to do likewise?’
‘Obviously I could not.’
‘Then may I assume you would not oppose a movement that pursued objectives comparable to those you once fought for?’
‘Why would I oppose it?’
‘Would you support it?’
‘Perhaps.’
‘Actively or passively?’
‘You would make a good Jesuit,’ said László.
‘Religion,’ snarled the young woman, ‘is essentially fascistic.’
‘And you,’ said László, ‘would have made an excellent Party member. You have a head full of slogans.’
Emil said: ‘You can help us, monsieur. The risk would not be great. You are now a successful and respected man. I do not ask you to throw this away.’
László frowned at the other’s conceit. ‘Perhaps I want to throw it away. Perhaps I am not at all what you think I am, Monsieur Bexheti. Do not have too much confidence in your research. But suppose you now tell me, in the most specific terms, what it is you want of me.’
There was a pause. Emil nodded. ‘I have your solemn word that you will speak of this to nobody?’
‘Very well.’
‘Not even to Monsieur Engelbrecht?’
‘Not even to Monsieur Engelbrecht. Not immediately. Here, however, you must trust me to manage things as I see best.’
Before the woman could object, Emil signalled his agreement. ‘We are in your hands, monsieur.’
‘Let us say we are in each other’s hands,’ said László. He wondered what would happen if he betrayed them. Would a police launch fish him out of the Seine? He prepared himself – ready now to imagine almost anything – but what they wanted of him was so simple his first reaction was a sharp disappointment. They wanted a courier. A postman. Someone who would carry a case abroad, and then come home.
‘Nothing more?’
‘Nothing more.’
‘And what does the case contain? Documents?’
Another pause.
‘Money?’
‘As I am sure you already know,’ said Emil, ‘for several years there has been a tax on all émigré Albanians to pay for the parallel republic. For the schools and the hospitals we were forced to establish for ourselves. Now there are many who want us to be more active in the defence of our rights. They are prepared to give generously in order to make that possible.’
‘Money to buy guns.’