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Yeah, like Davila said.“There are land mines buried on the hillsides?” John asked.
“Most no.” Parviz made an equivocal gesture, tilting his flattened palm from side to side:maybe yes, maybe no.“From Russia. Big boom.” The driver sketched a mushroom cloud in the air with his hands. “No go off path.”
John and Davila tossed a look between them, and then Davila said to Parviz, “You do understand that throwing a very big rock onto a mine will make it explode, right?”
“No mines here.” Parviz was shaking his head. “No worry.”
“How do you know?”
“Because,” Parviz said, as if this were the most obvious thing in the world, “all boom done.” He held up two fingers. “This many since last boom.”
“Years?” Davila asked.
“No, month.” Gesturing for them to follow, the driver turned away. “Come, we drive.”
They stared after Parviz’s retreating back for a few seconds before Davila said, “Did that make you feel better?”
“No.” John studied the sign again. “Tell me what else bothers you about that thing.”
“You see something?”
“I don’t want to prejudice you. Just look. Tell me what you see.”
“Sign warning about Russian landmines,” Davila recited. “Snow, rocks all around the sign...none that seem to have done anything. I mean, there’s no crater.” Davila shook his head. “What are you seeing that’s got you worried?”
“Two things.” He ticked off the first with a thumb. “How’d the sign get there to begin with?”
“As a warning. The Russian Army,” Davila began then broke off when John shook his head. “What?”
“You’re not getting it. I understand what the sign says. But how did it get onto the slope? Someone had to put it there, right? Bet if we searched along the road up there, we’ll find the metal pole sawed in two.”
“Okay, so someone tossed it there...” Davila winced as the van’s engine coughed then gave what sounded like a very wet splutter before grumbling to life. “So, what? Maybe they decided there’s nothing to worry about.”
“Maybe not about mines, but...” Parviz gave a short blat of the van’s horn, which John ignored. “Take another look. What’stherethat shouldn’t be?”
He saw from the way Davila’s face smoothed that he had finally seen what John had spotted.
“Okay,” Davila said, “this could be a problem.”
They walkedin silence back to the waiting van. Even with the windows shut, John heard the thump of heavy bass. Parviz had exactly three tapes.Tajik rock band, the driver said. After two days of the same three cassettes over and over, though, John was surprised his eardrums hadn’t started to bleed.
“He’s not careful,” Davila remarked, “he’s going to start another slide with that stuff.”
John let out a short bark of a laugh. “Dibs on the back this time.”
“Be my guest,” Davila said, one foot on the running board. “You know the music’s only just a little bit softer back there, right?”
“I got AirPods,” John said. As he trotted around to the driver’s side, he flicked a look at the mountain slope. Something gnawed at the base of his skull, a sense that he was missing yet another thing that ought to make him worry. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting to see. In retrospect, he understood that his subconscious had snagged on something well before his conscious mind caught up and just wouldn’t quit nagging.
Whatever the case, though, hedidlook—and then thought,Hunh.
And realized they might have another problem.
“So,Parviz!”Davila had to practically shout to be heard over the music blaring from the driver’s speakers. “Mind if I ask a question?” Leaning forward, he dialed the volume to something that didn’t send vibrations shuddering throughout the vehicle. “Your English,” he said, at normal volume. “It’s pretty good. Where did you learn?”
“American television.” Parviz beamed. “I do for tourists. Most English come other way, from Osh. Way far.” He flapped a hand. “In Kyrgystan. I drive them from there.”
“You get a lot of tourists?”