The World According to Bertie - Alexander Hanchett Smith [108]
For a moment or two, Domenica hesitated. There were no sounds coming from Antonia’s flat, so the builders were probably not there. But if they were not there, then who, if anybody, was? Had Antonia perhaps left the door open by mistake when she went out on some errand? If that were the case, then it was Domenica’s duty, she felt, to check up that all was well and then close the door for her.
Domenica crossed the landing and pushed Antonia’s door wide open. ‘Antonia?’ she called out.
There was silence, apart from the ticking of a clock somewhere inside the flat. She went in, peering through the hall and into the kitchen beyond. There was no sign of anybody.
‘Antonia?’
Again there was only silence. Then, quite suddenly – so suddenly, in fact, that Domenica emitted a gasp – a man appeared from a door off the hall. It was Markus, the builder.
‘You gave me a fright,’ Domenica said.
Markus looked at her. He was frowning.
‘Where’s Antonia?’ she asked. There was something about his manner which worried her. It was something strange, almost threatening.
‘Where is she?’ Domenica repeated.
Markus said nothing as he moved behind Domenica and closed the front door.
71. Green Ginger Wine
Anthropologists, of course, are no strangers to danger. Although relations between them and their hosts are usually warm, developing in some cases into lifelong friendships, there are still circumstances in which the distance which the anthropologist must maintain reminds the host of the fact that the anthropologist does not, in fact, belong.
This may not matter if one is studying a group of people not known for their violent propensities, but it may matter a great deal if one is, for instance, taking an interest in organisation and command structures within the Shining Path in Peru. Or looking at gift-exchange patterns among narcotraficantes in Colombia: here, at any moment, misunderstandings may occur, with awkward consequences for the anthropologist. Indeed, awareness of this problem prompted the American Anthropological Association to publish a report entitled ‘Surviving Fieldwork’, which revealed that anthropology is one of the most dangerous professions in the world, with risks ranging from military attack (2 per cent) to suspicion of spying (13 per cent) and being bitten by animals (17 per cent).
Domenica had experienced her fair share of these dangers in the course of her career, and had discovered that physical peril had a curiously calming effect on her. While some of us may panic, or at least feel intense fear, Domenica found that danger merely focused her mind on the exigencies of the moment and on the question of how best to deal with them. Now, trapped in Antonia’s flat – or so it appeared, once Markus had closed the front door and was standing, solidly, between the door and her – Domenica quickly began to consider why it was that she should feel threatened.
The closing of the door may have been a perfectly natural thing for Markus to do; a builder working within a house would not normally leave the front door open. And, of course, the Poles would not be affected by the paranoia and distrust which have affected those countries where it is considered unwise for a man to be in a room with a woman unless the door is left open. That ghastly custom, insulting to all concerned, would not yet have reached the less politically correct shores of Poland, thank heavens, and long may they be preserved from such inanity, thought Domenica.
She found her voice. ‘Now, Markus,’ she said. ‘I know that you don’t speak English, and I, alas, do not speak Polish. But my question is a simple one: Antonia?’ As she pronounced her neighbour’s name, Domenica made a gesture which, she thought, would unambiguously convey the sense of what she was trying to say – a sort of tentative pointing gesture, ending in a whirl of a hand to signify its interrogative