The Second Day - Miriam

When Miriam opened her eyes at first light she realised that the dream holiday had changed into something completely different. She knew something terrible must have happened to Tony. Where has he spent the long, cold night? – Miriam wondered. Had he come to a settlement or met somebody, he would surely have phoned so that we wouldn’t be so worried. Since he hasn’t done so, he must have had a serious accident; maybe he has hurt his leg…

She felt anything but fresh, yet Miriam got up and got ready for the new day because she expected the rescue operation to start very soon. And so it did: at 6.40 am Mr Nolan came to the bungalow and told her about the meeting he had had at 6.00 am with Steve Tyson and Leon Lescott at which they had divided the first tasks among themselves. Tyson and Lescott had already set off towards Prison Farm, the only state institution of its kind, because its manager, Mr Liburd, offered his help over the telephone.

At 6.15 am Nolan also called the local New Castle Police Station and informed the policeman, Glasford, about the failed search on the previous evening and about the plans for that day.

Nolan needed Miriam to tell him as much as she could about the route her husband was taking on his way to Nevis Peak, so that the search operation could focus on it. Miriam wasn’t able to give him any precise information, because Tony hadn’t told her much about his plans, neither had she thought of asking him more about his route. She could only remember that a few days before they had visited the highest settlement called Golden Rock, where Tony had enquired about the routes leading to the mountaintop. They had taken a taxi to Golden Rock because the place was on the other side of the island, too far for them to walk there. However, she knew for sure that Tony had planned to start his walk at Nisbet and go past the hotel Mount Nevis, where he had stayed the year before, and from where he had set off one morning on a short trip towards a smallish hill, the one with an aerial on its top.

Nolan understood that the hill Miriam referred to could only be Round Hill, which wasn’t a part of the central volcanic mountain of Nevis Peak, but a much smaller, and really the only other, “mountain” on the island. He concluded that if the tourist had headed from Nisbet past the hotel Mount Nevis, he must have chosen the route called Upper Round Road. This would first take him through the settlement and later along the uninhabited terrain towards the saddle stretching between Nevis Peak on his left and Round Hill on his right. Nolan also knew that in the settlement of Fountain Village, situated on the saddle, Tony had had two options: to turn left towards Nevis Peak or to turn right in the direction of Round Hill, as he had apparently done on that short trip the year before.

He asked Miriam to check which documents Tony had left in the hotel. He needed the photograph and personal details from Tony’s passport so that the rescuers would know who they should be looking for, and perhaps also for the preparation of a missing-person flyer. Nolan also asked Miriam to give him a few of Tony’s clothes, mainly the ones that hadn’t been washed, so that the sniffer dogs from the Prison Farm would know his smell. Miriam gave him everything he required.

When asked whether Tony would choose to climb a well-trodden route or something off the beaten track, Miriam answered that, being a rational man, he would have chosen a well-trodden and marked route. She thought that had he climbed the mountain off the beaten track he would have surely hired a guide, especially as he knew there were a few guides on Nevis. Nolan considered his last question to be of the utmost importance, so he asked it, in a slightly rephrased form, for a few more times. Since Miriam didn’t have an exact idea about the locations of the places on Nevis, and in particular the distance between the hotel and Golden Rock, and since she mentioned for a few more times how Tony had enquired about a climbing route in Golden Rock, Nolan left with an impression that the search should be started in the area around Golden Rock, especially because there were no marked routes leading from the Nisbet side of the island to the mountain.

Nolan informed Steve and Leon about his decision and these two men, together with a group of prisoners who volunteered to help the rescuers (Samuel James, Trevor Hector, James Allen, Philmor Seaton) and ten sniffer dogs went towards the area of Golden Rock where they began the search.

On his way towards the hotel reception, Nolan was approached by a Nisbet employee, Leroy Nisbett, who told him that at about 6 am on the previous day he had met a person who matched the description of Mr Tomažič, on the Upper Round Road heading towards Fountain Village. This piece of information made Nolan doubt that Tomažič had really chosen to start his climb from Golden Rock.

On a small island like Nevis, alarming events are rare, so Nolan decided at 7.00 am to inform the prime minister, Mr Vance Amory, about the missing person and the actions taken so far. However, when he phoned the prime minister, Mr Amory’s wife answered the phone-call and told Nolan that her husband wasn’t on the island because he was attending a parliamentary session on the neighbouring island of St. Kitts. Mrs Amory also told him that she was expecting her husband to phone her shortly and promised she would pass on the important information to him.

As an experienced security officer, Nolan knew that he should get in touch with the officer responsible for dealing with such a crisis, Llewellyn F. A. Newton, a disaster-preparedness coordinator. It is understandable that on Nevis the word disaster mainly refers to disastrous hurricanes that can occur during the rainy season, but at the same time Mr Newton and his team were also in charge in the event of other exceptional situations. Nolan informed Newton about the Tomažič incident at 7.10 am and one hour later Newton phoned him back telling Nolan that he had done everything necessary to start an official rescue operation. He was going to be personally in charge of the operation while cooperating closely with others, mainly the Nisbet employees and the police officers from New Castle and Gingerland.

As early as 9.15 am Newton came to Nisbet, where the first meeting of the head rescuers was held in the Coconut Restaurant. Apart from Nolan, the other participants were the guide, Jim Johnson, and the inspector, Austin Lescott, together with three other police officers. They quickly discussed all the urgent matters and decided how to organise the operation that day: apart from searching in the area around Golden Rock, they were also going to search around the settlement of Fountain Village, situated on the saddle. There they would go in both directions: left towards Hog Valley and right towards Spring Hill.

In the meanwhile, Miriam started a new day that wasn’t much different from the following seven days. More than anybody else she wanted the search for Tony to be as intense as possible and she would have liked to be involved in it, however, she also had to stay with the children. She even suggested to the head rescuers that she should join them, but they thought it would be better for the children to stay with her instead of being with people they didn’t really know. The other rescuers’ argument was the fact that Miriam didn’t have the experience needed for a search on dangerous terrain. On the one hand, she so much wished to hear the comforting news that her husband had been found, on the other, she got a chill each time the telephone rang, thinking: Will I now hear the worst? In addition, she had to conceal her enormous worries from the children – had she not done that, the situation for all of them would have been even more difficult. As it was, the children remained unburdened with the problem. Miriam tried her best to continue the lifestyle they had got used to over the previous days.

When Toni and Mariansa woke up that morning, their first question was: “Why hasn’t daddy come back yet?”

“I don’t know, sweethearts, I really don’t know, but I’m sure he is all right. Maybe he has sprained his ankle and has to wait for the rescuers to come and bring him back on a stretcher…”

“Will it be today?”

“Yes, your father will surely be back today.”

It is interesting to note that on the following days Nolan was comforting Miriam in a very similar way: “Of course it is very likely that your husband is alive. It had happened before that somebody was missing for several days, but in the end the rescuers found him alive.” A few days later he added more details to his account of the previous accidents: “There were cases when people spent a whole week in the jungle and were still rescued in the end.” However, he began to feel increasingly uncomfortable at the end of the first week. He thought that Miriam wouldn’t believe her husband could survive any longer than this in jungle.

At the breakfast the waiters and waitresses were specially kind to the Tomažič family because the news about the missing guest had already spread among the staff, though not yet among the other guests. That’s why Toni and Mariansa laughed more than on other such occasions, whereas Miriam only had a few bites of food. She was constantly staring at the silhouette of the mighty mountain stretching right in front of them. Tony is there somewhere, but where? Is he suffering? Is he hungry and thirsty? Maybe wounded? Some thoughts were even darker, but Miriam was pushing them out of her mind.

She thought the best thing for the children would be to spend the morning at the swimming pool. So she told everybody that they could always find her either at the pool or in their bungalow. They spend the mornings on all the following days in the same way. Whenever there was an important telephone call for Miriam, the staff came to collect her, or they simply put the call through to the telephone nearest to her. When the children weren’t in the water, they were playing on the sand of the nearby beach or they asked their mother to read to them. It was good that a few days before the children and their father started the second Harry Potter book, which Toni particularly enjoyed listening to.

When it was close to 2.00 pm, Miriam became even more nervous because that was the time for her to call Tony’s mother in Slovenia. Her mother-in-law is old and walks with considerable difficulties, so the decision to leave her alone was a difficult one, but they arranged for her to get food and other necessary help while they were away. During previous holidays she got used to the custom of receiving a phone call from her family every day at 7.00 pm Slovenian time. This meant a lot to Tony’s mother and it was good for the family to know that she was well. While on holidays this time, they also phoned her every day; because of the time difference it always had to be at 2.00 pm local time. However, there was an exception: last Tuesday Tony told his mother he wouldn’t call her on the following day because he was planning to go on a trip. Instead, he was going to call her on Thursday. Hence, that day Tony’s mother must have been waiting for the phone call, but Tony couldn’t phone her and Miriam couldn’t bring herself to do it either – she didn’t want to lie to her, but telling the truth to her mother-in-law was even more difficult. She could even have a heart attack, Miriam thought. I will take some risk and wait until tomorrow when I won’t have to conceal the bad news any longer.

Miriam’s mother was much younger and healthier, but still, Miriam couldn’t tell her the bad news either, so she decided not to call Slovenia at all that day. The mothers couldn’t help them in any way, but a phone call would surely make them worry a lot.

This decision spared Miriam a lot of painful explaining, but it also increased the burden she was carrying. Had she confided in her mother, she would have probably had a good cry and then perhaps felt a bit better.

The Nisbet staff looks after their guests well, among other things they also help them organise their arrival and departure. Hence, that day an employee, Steve, approached Miriam and reminded her that their flights to Orlando, planned for the following day, were uncertain. The decision to cancel the flights wasn’t difficult: even if Tony had been brought back that instant, they still couldn’t have simply packed and left for Orlando on the following morning. So she handed the flight tickets over to Steve to cancel them.

The Nisbet management, especially Kathie Johnson, did their best to help Miriam bear the heavy emotional burden. For this purpose they also brought in Dr Judy Sonnenberg, a professor from the neighbouring American medical university, which had just that year been opened on Nevis. Kathie introduced Dr Sonnenberg as her acquaintance and an American compatriot to Miriam over their afternoon tea. A trained psychologist, Judy performed her role so well that Miriam didn’t realise until the end of her stay on Nevis that she was getting the necessary therapeutic help; she simply accepted Judy as a compassionate friend that approached her in an unobtrusive way, making it easy for Miriam to confide in her and giving her a lot of comfort and encouragement. All of this was possible mainly because of Judy’s warm, straightforward personality and her readiness to fully devote herself to another human being. She didn’t find it difficult to sit up with Miriam late into the night, help her put the children to bed or even assist her with some other urgent tasks.

In the meanwhile, the search for the missing person continued. The policemen, various volunteers and, above all, many members of the Nisbet staff, were walking in the lower parts of the two mountains, Nevis Peak and Round Hill, calling out the missing person’s name and seeking possible new details about the tourist from the local people. The temporary coordination committee, chaired by Newton, was also trying to find a more efficient way of organising the rescue operation, which would mainly be searching from the air. However, there was no helicopter on Nevis. There were, of course, small planes, but they weren’t suitable for low flying, and were all the time used for regular flights. Newton called the head of the rescue service on St.Kitts, Mr Edmead, and asked him whether it would be possible to get aerial help from the US Coast Guard, the best-equipped organisation of its kind. The officials from St. Kitts did send a request for help, but received a reply that the US Coast Guard did not have the authority to carry out a rescue on the mainland. The French authorities from the island Martinique also refused help. Newton and Nolan then agreed that on the following day they would try to get a helicopter from American authorities.

Traditionally, the formal dinner in the Great House restaurant is, on Thursdays, replaced by a barbecue on the beach, so Miriam, Toni and Mariansa were obliged to attend it though they weren’t in the mood for such events. Already at afternoon tea, Judy kept them company, and she stayed with them during the barbecue as well. Considerate restaurant staff – the always-smiling Roslyn was especially popular with the children – were bringing food to the family as they sat in a quiet corner. On a few occasions they also brought them news about the rescue operation, unfortunately, each time it was bad news. That night there were many more mosquitoes on the beach than usually, and Mariansa seemed to be their favourite target. The family, therefore, soon had to leave the barbecue and seek shelter in their bungalow.

Before sleep they all prayed for their father, holding the Rosary that Tony’s mother had given to them just before this journey with a wish that they would use it often and pray for a safe return.

At 9.30 pm the children fell asleep and Miriam positioned all the window blinds in such a way that she could see out – she knew that she would be awake for most of the night staring into the direction from which her Tony might come.

Her heart trembled when, after 11.00 pm, somebody knocked at the door. But it was only Roslyn, who was finishing her work at the barbecue dinner, and just wished to say a few more comforting words to Miriam. She told her that a lot of people were looking for her husband and that in the morning she had also been looking for him in the area around her village, called Buttlers, crying out: “Anton! Anton!”

“Thank you, good Roslyn, thank you, good people.”

“Good night. I hope they will find Tony tomorrow.”

From my book: Second Place of Birth: Nevis

The Third Day - Tony

The third day also began well before daylight. Since I was lying on my back for most of the time, I can clearly remember my view of the sky surrounded by the silhouettes of both canyon walls. These were, especially towards the top, thickly overgrown, and in some parts the plants grew together over the middle of the canyon, forming interesting shapes in the dark. Right from the beginning the image to me looked like a portrait of a young man, and as time went by this impression became even stronger. My hollow was sometimes quite dark, especially when the passing clouds covered the sky; on other occasions it was very bright with the light coming mainly from the growing moon. When the monkeys were at their most lively and noisy I could occasionally see a moving figure for a split second. The sounds they were making were loud, and close enough to frighten anybody. However, I remained rational and calm, knowing that there were no big animals or beasts on the island, and I didn’t let my imagination scare me with eerie questions about when and why they were so close and mysterious.

I preferred to focus on the wonderful singing of the birds and insects. I have to say that the night sounds in the jungle are beautiful and full of mystery. I knew some of them, mainly the sounds of the cicadas and crickets, from the Adriatic coast where I usually spend my summer holidays. But there were also other, very different, sounds coming from the birds, mainly the parrots. I was especially attracted by a sound that, I believe, must be typical of Nevis. I still don’t know which creature makes it, but the sound is surprisingly similar to the sounds that the Nevis musicians produce when playing the steel drums. The Caribbean islands are the world centre of a diverse, ethno-pop music that includes European, African and American elements. The music from Nevis usually isn’t included on the compilation CDs, though it certainly deserves to be. I find the music of Nevis one of the most original features of the Caribbean. One explanation as to why it isn’t so popular around the world may be the fact that it is mainly instrumental music.

During the nights I had to spend in that hollow I came to believe that the music must have been created in an attempt to imitate that wonderful and mysterious night sound coming from the Nevis forests. I can’t describe this sound; I can only say that its monotonously nostalgic tune evokes melancholic and romantic feelings in me. It has a calming and comforting effect, and in other circumstances it would probably have sounded like a pleasant lullaby.

And how badly I needed the comfort! The third day was breaking and I began to understand that what was happening to me wasn’t a minor accident, but a serious incident that would leave a lasting mark on my life. I thought to myself, if they don’t find me today, I might easily die in this hole. I began to see my situation in a different light: will I have to seek reconciliation with God and take leave from this world? Once again, I started my day with a prayer: Father, for you all things are possible; let this chalice pass from me!

How I would welcome the morning sun to warm me up! But I can’t expect it before midday, and even then it will only reach me if there are no clouds above this part of the mountain. No, there won’t be much sun today – I can feel the raindrops. What if my only dry clothes – the two tee shirts and a pair of shorts – get wet? They certainly won’t get dry by the evening, and if I have to sleep out here again tonight I will freeze to death in those wet rags.

Logical thinking showed me there was only one way out of this situation: I quickly took all my clothes off, wrapped them in my rucksack, and squeezed the rucksack under a rock. Well, I thought to myself, in a situation when people would normally put on more clothes to keep them warm, I have to take everything off and expose my body to the rain and wind. How drastically my position in the world has changed in just a few days! And what shall I do now? Shall I stand up, lie down or crouch naked in the rain? Most importantly, I have to stretch out my tongue and catch a few drops of water. Soon the rain is bucketing down on me. I notice that the water is filling the leaves and plastic bags that I have prepared for this purpose. Finally I will have a drink of water again.

As the rain falls, I crawl gingerly to one of the plastic bags and have a few sips of water. Oh, how good it feels! This is certainly much better than that brownish liquid that I “recycle” every few hours. However, I soon realise that the collected water isn’t quite clean. At the bottom of my “containers” there is some sort of sediment made up of various bits of plants. I understand that because the canyon is so narrow the rain doesn’t come down in a straight line, but bounces off the tall branches and leaves up there between the two walls. When the raindrops trickle down the leaves, Mother Nature “plants” a few things into the water, mainly the seeds that have to spread around in a variety of ways. I only hope there are no animal “implants” that would upset my bowels. To avoid such a problem, I filter the collected water through my white vest. Each time I pour the water through it, the vest becomes dark with all the bits that get caught on its surface. Something tells me this water will cause me problems.

And so it does! When the rain stops after about fifteen minutes I dry up a bit and put on my clothes – but immediately I have to take them off again due to strong cramps in my stomach. I realise I have got serious diarrhoea. This is the last thing I need: to lose the so-much-needed liquid in this way. But it’s exactly that – I have to find a place for my toilet. Should it be in the most distant part of my dwelling? No, I was careful enough to take into account the possibility of a longer stay in my hole and the night-time calls of nature. I knew that in the dark I couldn’t move far from my nest. Hence, I emptied my bowels only a few metres away, into a gap between two rocks. And I certainly did empty my bowels well! The contents were pouring out of me. I knew I was losing a lot more liquid than I had just consumed, and so I decided to stop this practice.

That day I focused my attention on the sky and the faraway sounds. Those were suspiciously similar to the sounds I had heard the day before, which made me think that I was hearing only the planes on their regular flights and that the air rescuers weren’t on their way. Maybe they will walk up here, I thought. In my anticipation of their arrival, I often cried out: “Help! Heelp! He-elp! Na pomoč! Hello!” Then I listened to hear if somebody was calling me, but all I could hear were the echoes of my cries. I was puzzled: How come they aren’t here yet? Nevis isn’t that big, and Miriam must be urging them to look for me. Well, maybe the sports planes aren’t suitable for low flights because they would have to avoid mountain ridges and several clouds. Or, maybe there is no helicopter on the island. In this case they will perhaps bring one from a neighbouring island …

I thought that in the meantime I could check again to see if it really wasn’t possible to get out of that hole on my own. Can I climb downwards? – I asked myself. Not even in my dreams: the canyon is far too deep and slippery. What about the sidewalls? They are too vertical to climb. Only the part where I fell down is perhaps a possibility. I give it a try, but I soon stop, thinking: Even if I don’t fall off immediately, I will surely fall after the first three or four metres. I’d better wait; they will find me eventually.

In the meantime the weather cleared up and at midday a few, much needed, sunrays shone on me. I waited for them on one side of the hollow and then followed them, as they were moving towards the other side. There, I had to take leave of them after just one hour. I could see that the sky above my part of the mountain was still quite clear so that the rescuers could spot me from the air, if they flew over. I listened hard all the time, even when I dozed off a bit. I had hardly slept at night, which meant that I was far from fresh and rested, and therefore I had a few naps during the day.

I became very excited when, at about 2.00 pm, I finally heard a distant sound – this time quite different from the sounds of the planes. I knew it was a helicopter. They are looking for me, I thought. Salvation is close! I jumped to my feet, grabbed hold of my long stick to which a white plastic bag was attached, made sure that everything else was in place and waited, waited … Yes, the sound is coming closer! It is very strong. This must be a very big helicopter. Now, what is this? Is the sound going away? Well, just for a short time, then it grows louder again. Of course, they must be surveying the area. Can I already see it through the narrow opening of the canyon? No, not yet. But it is very loud, so it must be low … I can see it now. Yessss! I see its profile. It is round and has a long tail. I wave and shout though the men in the helicopter can’t possibly hear me: the noise of the engine wouldn’t allow it. Can they see me? – I wonder eagerly. If they look in my direction then they will surely see me as I can see the windows of the helicopter. It is gone … It flies away. Well, it will come back, – I encourage myself. And next time it will come even closer. My excitement reaches a peak. I rest a bit, so that I can later wave and shout again. What will they do once they spot me? I don’t think they can descend into here or attempt to rescue me directly from the helicopter by using a rope. They will probably first make a sign to let me know they have seen me. Maybe they will also throw something to me. It is possible that they have prepared packs of drinking water so that I could first have a good drink. Yes, that would be the best thing. Then they will perhaps inform the other rescuers, so they can reach me on foot, and bring the ropes and to help me climb out of the hollow. But that will take time. Well, I can wait as long as I know they have found me. I only need to know they have found me.

But they haven’t found me yet. The helicopter has been away for too long … When will it be back?

Nothing. Nothing. I can’t hear any encouraging sound. And the time passes. Did they run out of fuel and go back to fill up? I soon realise that nothing more will happen today. It will soon be 6.00 pm, when night falls. Tomorrow then …

I was very disappointed; but I was even more hopeful than before. My thoughts went like this: If they have managed to come so close today, they can do the same tomorrow. However, our trip to Orlando will come to nothing. Will we have to change our plan so that we can at least catch our trans-Atlantic flight home from Miami? Will we do that or am I just kidding myself?

Only then I realised that I shouldn’t have any illusions. I was involved in a very serious accident and the situation was extremely dangerous. Maybe I won’t survive this at all.

As if I wanted to demonstrate how I was coming to terms with reality, I picked up a sharp stone and started to chisel the words “Day 3” into the wall. I thought that if they found me only after my death they would at least know how long I had survived and that they could have saved me if they had come earlier. Before nightfall I described the past events and my current situation into my digital camera that could make sound recordings. With the automatic shutter release, I also took a photo of myself showing three fingers.

When I realised that the stone I had picked up for chiselling was very useful, I approached my fatal wall and started removing the moss from it. I was doing this more out of some kind of vengeance than in any attempt to start climbing that dangerous wall. However, in order to “work” higher up the wall I had to pull myself up a bit; and to ensure that in the event of a fall I wouldn’t hit hard rocks I rolled a few decaying tree trunks to the base of the wall.

Before I could make my bed I had plucked more leaves from all around my hole, but then I began to worry that I would soon run out of fresh leaves if I was going to continue using them up like this. What’s more, my concern for nature awoke in me. I began to think, that each time I should take only a few leaves from the plants instead of pulling them out without any plan. In this way I would leave some fresh leaves for other days and use them then if necessary.

Just before nightfall I experienced another small joy. In the thickest part of my dwelling I found a few samples of a very useful, few-metre-high plant, which I named after my Slovenian hometown: Domžale plant. After having had a better look at it, I could see that the lower part of its stalk consisted of special small ventricles in which water was stored. I took one stalk and later, when I turned in for the night, I slowly began to chew it. That night and on the following day, I had to go to the toilet so often that in the end my bowels were completely empty.

That night dragged on even more than the other nights. I kept my wristwatch on all the time, but only rarely could I see its hands. In the meantime I was only guessing how much time still separated me from the daylight I longed for so much. I prayed a bit, I thought a bit, I dozed off for a while and had a few dreams, I moved around a bit in my “bed”, got up, “replaced” the liquid in my plastic bottle, went back, covered myself with the leaves, dozed again, later I looked into the sky, rearranged the leaves on my body, dozed off … And look: the day is breaking, soon it will be bright enough for me to tell the time from my watch. What could the time be now? It must be two, maybe even three in the morning. Then the moon appears so that I can finally look at my watch … This can’t be true! It is only a quarter to nine in the evening. This night is going to be very long. I am cold. I don’t try to stop the shaking of my body; on the contrary, I’m even reinforcing it in the hope that the shaking will warm me up, at least a bit.

When I wake up once again, I am really quite sorry that I have woken up because in the last fifteen minutes I had the most beautiful dream. In it I could see my relatives and friends in the most wonderful surroundings; and they were all so kind and good. As if I had been in heaven … I believe that many people have died in exceptional circumstances (on the snowy mountains or in the Arctic) with a smile on their faces, just like the little match girl.

I would like to fall asleep again and have the same dream, but I can’t do it – the sleep and dreams don’t return to me again.

And when I can’t sleep, I think, think …

I find this hole, in which I am held against my free will, utterly unpleasant and repulsive. However, the hole is entirely natural and, in spite of all its dangers, innocent and so full of life in the middle of the blooming and sweetly-scented nature. I don’t yet feel the presence of death and I believe that even if I do feel it later, it won’t be as terrifying as it can be in certain circumstances that are manipulated by man.

How much more terrifying and utterly unjust it must have been for the tens of thousands of innocent Slovenes who, AFTER the Second World War, were killed in Slovenian hollows. And they weren’t killed by some evil, foreign soldiers, but by their fellow countryman. I can’t help thinking about my poor uncle – my mother’s brother, France Vodlan. We still don’t know in which hollow his bones lie rotting.

My mother hid the truth from me about her brother until I was fifteen-years old. In a similar way, thousands of other Slovenian parents had to hide the truth from their children. Had the children known it and mentioned any of it at school or to their friends, they could have become labelled forever and their lives would have been even more difficult. I know a woman of my age whose mother never told her when, how and why her sister was killed. All her life the mother kept the painful secret to herself and only now the daughter understands why she so often found her mother crying alone.

Among her six brothers, France was my mother’s favourite. Of all the boys, he was the most considerate and protective towards his little sister who, as the only girl in the family, always had to fight for her place.

He was a trained shoemaker; a keen athlete, he fell desperately in love a few times and was at the peak of his youth when the Second World War broke out. The Germans occupied the part of Slovenia where my mother’s family lived and soon the resistance against them was organised. A few of my mother’s brothers were mobilized to join the German army, others were deported to Austria, but France voluntarily joined the partisan fighters in 1943. (Under the leadership of communists, the partisans fought against the occupying forces and also for the social revolution.) Until the end of the war, France stayed with the Second Company of the so-called Šlander’s Brigade. Since he was stationed in the area around his home, my mother often visited him, bringing him food and clothes. On those occasions they also often got involved in deep conversations, which meant that my mother got an insight into the development of the resistance, as well as into her brother’s moods and beliefs.

They both soon understood that the “ordinary” partisans were being badly abused. Their leaders, the well-organised communists, were pulling all the strings and the leaders’ prime aim wasn’t the liberation from the occupying forces: they wanted revolution and to take power. Very early on the communists began to behave in a very arrogant and violent way and didn’t allow any other form of resistance against the occupying forces. Any forms of resistance that weren’t in line with the main strategy were explicitly forbidden, and those fighters that weren’t subordinate to the communist rulers were killed. Hence, during the Second World War there was also a brutal civil war taking place in Slovenia.

At the beginning of the war all the partisans were sleeping and eating under the same conditions, but soon differences began to emerge: the meals for the leaders were richer and tastier than the meals prepared for the others. France was becoming increasingly puzzled by all of this; at first he was still naïve, and it took him some time to see through the communist conspiracy. I was deeply moved when, years later, my mother repeated the words France had once said to her: “You know, Mitska, I believe Slovenia will be liberated, only I won’t be able to enjoy its freedom – I feel I will die before that time.”

He did live to see the end of the war – but it didn’t bring him liberation, instead it brought him a cruel death. By early spring 1945 he became fully aware of what the communists were plotting and, as a result, he left the partisans. He didn’t want to demonstrate his break with the partisans in a particularly emphatic way, but when he fell ill with malaria he joined the home guard, who looked after him. (The so-called home guard was a group whose main aim was the fight against communism.) Though he had no real wish to join the other side – the home guard was then in anything but an enviable situation – he sought refuge with them in order to save his life (otherwise the partisans would have killed him). However, during those last days of the war, he certainly didn’t hurt, let alone kill, anybody. My mother believes that he never killed anybody during his two-year involvement in the war.

When, at the beginning of May 1945, the country became “liberated”, he was immediately arrested and taken to a camp near Ljubljana, where people were gathered just so that they could later be slaughtered. With the frantic sounds of victory celebrations still coming from the distance, thousands of victims of the Slovenian civil war spent their last days in the inhumane conditions of that camp. My mother kept in touch with France during the month of May and the first half of June. She could send him her regards through some kind acquaintances and got the same in return – none of them dared to say anything else.

Soon the slaughtering began, and it can’t be compared with anything else in the history of our nation. During the whole four years of the war there hadn’t been any such large-scale killing as we experienced after the war. The only aim of this horrible act was to exterminate the members of any political opposition, and in this way the communists got rid of most of the people who could prevent them seizing power. Without any legal procedures the new political leaders killed tens of thousand members of the home guard and other political opponents, together with their family members, including a lot of children.

The most tragic and ironic part of this story lies in the fact that most of these political opponents initially managed to escape from Slovenia through the tunnel that links our country with Austria. There they surrendered to the victorious western allies, but the British Army, using the pretence of sending them to Italy, packed them into cattle trucks and sent them back to Yugoslavia where they were seized by the partisans. My uncle was spared the “trip” to Austria, however, he was killed, along with other victims, at one of the mass execution sites whose locations are now finally known to the Slovenian public.

How inhumanely and brutally did the intoxicated killers treat the desperate prisoners! After the decision to kill them was taken – and that decision must have been made at the highest political level – its execution was treated only as a difficult logistical problem. The main question was where to put thousands of bodies. The executioners remembered that some parts of Slovenia were rich with special geological features, deep sinkholes, into which they could throw the dead bodies. Since the transport of dead bodies is much more complicated than the transport of live ones, they organised special trains and trucks that took tens of thousands of victims, at precisely planned intervals, to the killing sites.

Every one of them must have known that they were going to be killed: before getting on a train or truck, they had to take off all their clothes and with sharp wires they were tied together in pairs. Before leaving, the executioners pulled several gold teeth from the mouths of the victims, took from them even the smallest items of their property and humiliated them in various other ways.

In the forests of the so-called Kočevski Rog, the soldiers of the new regime drove their fellow countrymen out of the trains or trucks, put them in lines in front of the holes, which were a few tens of metres deep, and machine-gunned them so that the dead or wounded bodies were toppling into the depths of the holes. They were landing on top of each other, many of them still alive. They were gasping for breath, swallowing or throwing up blood and trying to remain at the top of the pile by pushing away other bodies. Every few hours the executioners took a short break to rest and reload their ammunition, and then some of the victims exchanged a few whispered words among each other, careful not to break the deadly silence that was filled with horror.

How is it possible that we know all of this? It’s because, in spite of very strict security measures, some of the captives managed to escape. They went abroad and there they told the story of this atrocious crime.

The victims that were lucky and skilful enough managed to dig their way up towards the top of the pile consisting of hundreds of bodies. There they lay low, using the limbs of other bodies to protect themselves so that they could even survive the final evening explosions with which the executioners wanted to cover the bodies and hide forever the evidence of their evil acts. After a few days, when an unbearable stench of decaying flesh and blood spread around in the summer heat, the guards became less attentive. Then, during the night, three or four people managed to climb out of the abyss by using the leaning trunk of a fallen tree. Naked and wounded, they crawled off into the night.

Man can be so much more cruel and malicious than nature; and those unfortunate people, though surrounded by hundreds of fellow sufferers and being in the heart of their homeland, must have felt so much more unhappy, deserted and forgotten by the world than I feel now on this small Caribbean island. My suffering has been caused by a series of unfortunate events; theirs was caused by sheer hatred and malice.

The present Slovenian leaders haven’t been able to completely conceal these events from our recent history from the people. However, they are trying hard to minimise the importance of these events. I know this because of my own experiences in the area: for a few years I chaired a committee investigating the slaughter that took place after the war in my hometown of Domžale. The members of those parties that continued the politics of the previous regime were constantly trying to hide facts from the committee, or were taking the right to decide who among the dead victims deserved to be remembered and who was a national traitor because of his supposed collaboration with the Germans. Only with great difficulties did we manage to put together a list of about 280 local victims, and during that process I got acquainted with many very tragic stories.

I can recall an interesting example that illustrates how merciless the political rulers were even when they decided on the posthumous reverence – a custom that every decent society has respected for thousands of years. I think it was in 1944 that the partisans killed a young man from the village of Dob, next to Domžale, who had right-wing patriotic views, and buried him in a meadow near a forest. After the “liberation” his parents and brothers wished to move his remains to the cemetery in their village, but for several years the local authorities continued to deny them the right to do so. One night, five years after the war, the brothers finally took the courage to dig up the remains of the deceased and hide them in the basement of their home. When a few years later the father of the killed man died, the family made use of the fact that the father had a leg missing and put the remains of the dead brother in the empty place in the coffin. The father and son were then buried together. The family told me that at the meal after the funeral they enjoyed having an extra glass of wine marking, in this way, the occasion when they successfully tricked the authorities that hadn’t allowed them to carry out the most basic customs of any culture. From then onwards the family was much more at peace on the annual All Souls’ Day (even the name of this traditional Catholic holiday was abolished by the new regime and replaced by the Day of the Dead) when standing at the grave which, though bearing only the name of the father, also held the remains of the brother.

The ghastly events that took place in the intoxicated euphoria created by the people who, at the end of the war, happened to be on the winning side, are still not sufficiently well known to the rest of the world. Among another things, this is also due to the feelings of guilt of the British authorities that still don’t admit they made a fatal mistake. The President of Yugoslavia, the cunning Marshal Tito, must have already then managed to trick the British, as he later managed for decades to skilfully play the role of an amiable and enlightened dictator, and whose funeral in 1980 was attended by the cream of international politics.

It is a well-known fact that in May and June 1945, Tito already had a firm grip on power throughout the whole of Yugoslavia by forcing the military and civil institutions to submit to a completely centralised form of politics. We can’t even imagine that a very expensive operation, during which tens of thousands of war prisoners were executed, could have been carried out without Tito’s explicit agreement or even his order. We can also be certain that the Slovenian communist leadership, chaired by Edvard Kardelj, was fully aware of, and also in agreement with, the executions organised in Slovenia. And this systematic violence, which denied Slovenian people their basic human rights, wasn’t only a short, turbulent, post-war period, but a process that lasted for many years. Even in the fifties, Tito still maintained a concentration camp – the closest one to Western Europe – situated on the Croatian island of Goli otok (the barren island). There he kept his political opponents and thus, in the middle of the most beautiful Adriatic Gulf, this small island turned into a true hell for its prisoners.

It is sad that even today there are still streets and squares in some Slovenian towns that are named after Tito, and that in the capital, Ljubljana, the monument dedicated to Kardelj still boasts in front of its citizens.

It is also sad that the new Slovenian state still hasn’t got enough courage to make use of its legitimate legislative institutions – like the courts, prosecutor’s office, police – with which to start, at least symbolically, the charges against the main figures of the previous clique that committed crimes during or after the war, or gave orders for mass killings. Ironically, at the same time, a Slovenian court is successfully leading a case against a member of the wartime home guard, accusing him of killing one person. If he gets convicted – while none of the communists responsible for the war, or post-war, mass murders, is brought to court – it will be an utterly unfair abuse of jurisdiction for political purposes.

However, time will find an appropriate place for everything, if not sooner, then a little later. The school textbooks will then place Tito next to Hitler, Mussolini and Stalin.

I am certain that the Slovenian wartime organisation, the home guard, will one day be rehabilitated. I believe that it was one of the most splendid and noble movements in our history (later Demos bore the same qualities). I understand that on every side of the war there are individuals who use the lawless circumstances to feed their vile inclinations. The crimes spurred by such conditions were committed on both sides: the partisan and the home guard. The post-war propaganda managed to use a few such cases in order to accuse all political opposition of holding distorted and dangerous views. And this attitude has been maintained until the present time. However, the truth about the basic issues is slowly, yet persistently, coming to light.

What other movement or idea could be more legitimate and worthy than the home guard? Every individual has the right to protect his or her home, property, loved ones and homeland. This, and only this, was the mission of Slovenian home guard. Its members didn’t follow any other ideology – be it fascist, nazi or multi-ethnic – they were committed to the protection of Slovenia and its traditional values. It is understandable that right from the beginning the members of the home guard saw the communists as their main enemies because they wanted to change the country completely, and made Slovenia join the movement known as the Communist International. Even before the Second World War, the communists represented the main threat to Slovenia. Many far-seeing politicians in Slovenia realised this fact very early on, but they were unable to convince their fellow countrymen to unite and form a strong political movement to act against the danger that was coming from the east.

Time has proved that communism was the biggest threat to Slovenian society. In recent centuries, no other tyranny has enslaved our country so totally and caused so much mental and material damage as communism. If the ideas of the home guard had been put into effect (for which the home-guard members themselves weren’t strong enough), then in 1945 in Slovenia, as in Western Europe, a period of true freedom would have begun: the right-wing political movement would have introduced democracy – not a forty-year-long dictatorship.

Today, the members of the home guard are mainly criticised for their collaboration with the occupying forces, as if that had been the focus of the movement. The main motive of the majority of its volunteers was deeply patriotic, others joined for practical reasons: they wanted to fight the increasing violence of the communists and through them also the partisans. One proof of their sincerity can be found in the lyrics of the beautiful home-guard songs that every honest (and religious) patriot would today still enjoy singing. The home guard’s political and military leaders probably also made a few tactical mistakes, but that doesn’t change the fundamentals of the home-guard movement, which remains one of the tragic moments of Slovenian independence. I believe the time will come when the unjust negative labelling of this movement’s big idea will be removed at last after many years. And this will also have to include a solemn national occasion attended by the most senior representatives of the Slovenian state.

It may be that because of the tragedy in my family – the unnecessary death of my uncle France – I am not impartial in this matter. However, I can’t prevent myself from thinking how unjust it is that the communists (and now the leftists) have been accusing the home guard of collaboration with the occupying forces when communism itself was all the time synonymous with collaboration. Even before the war, the communists worked exclusively in accordance with the instructions of the Communist International, and during the war they were mainly carrying out the orders that came from Belgrade or Moscow. The traditionally servile attitude of Slovenian politicians towards the Serbian leadership continued into the 1990s, until our new right-wing coalition severed links between the Slovenian politicians and their Belgrade patrons. “Nomen est omen” – the expression “partisan” wasn’t chosen by chance; it means “a party member” and so it is clear that the main aim of the partisan movement wasn’t the fight against the occupying forces but the introduction of a social revolution. If their aim had been different, the partisans could have fought under the traditional Slovenian three-coloured flag, not under the red star of the Russian Revolution. Having said that, I also wish to express my deep respect and admiration for all those honest partisans who, just like my uncle, joined this movement because they believed that they were in this way fighting for the freedom of their nation.

It’s been such a long time since I last thought about these issues …

Maybe my accidental fall into this hollow hasn’t been such a disaster: here I have the time to reawaken my memories and decide whether, in the future, I would want to share them with anybody else. For now I don’t intend to burden my children with all those atrocities, but when they are old enough to understand I will tell them everything I know. Future generations should be aware of past events, irrespective of how cruel they were.

This is the attitude that Germany adopted after the war and it proved to be very useful for the development of the whole society.

Slovenia will also have to bite the bullet.

From my book: Second Place of Birth: Nevis

The Third Day - Miriam

On the third day of Tony’s disappearance Miriam knew she should phone Slovenia to tell their close relatives about the accident. She was still hesitant about telling it all to Tony’s mother who couldn’t help them in any way, but could be seriously affected by the news. The first person Miriam decided to call was Zlata Tavčar, the company manager of IUS SOFTWARE, who was, as a co-founder of the company, closest to Tony and most likely to be able to help. Just a week before she had received the Slovenian Chamber of Commerce Award for the best economic performance of a company in 2000. The award had been presented to Zlata at a ceremonial event, which Tony had regretted so much not to be able to attend, and after the ceremony she had left, together with her family, for a much-deserved holiday: skiing in Italy. They were due to be back that very evening; therefore, Miriam decided to phone Zlata at 2.00 pm Nevis time.

As on the previous days, the Nisbet staff again did their best to help the concerned family to get through the difficult moments of uncertainty. For Miriam, Nolan was the main source of information; in addition, that day she also received news from Newton, the coordinator of the whole operation, who came to see her in the morning. Newton told Miriam that, in addition to other ways of searching, they were also using a helicopter that day. This important piece of information gave Miriam new hope that the search would be successful this time. Newton also added: “I have already arranged everything necessary in the main hospital of Charlestown, so that its staff will be ready to admit your husband as soon as the rescuers bring him back because he will surely need immediate medical care.”

Oh, if only it would really be like this, Miriam thought. Then she waited – hour after hour – to hear the news that Tony had been found. However, no such message reached her.

By then the news about the missing tourist had spread all around the island and quite a few people came forward claiming that they had seen Anton Tomažič two days before, on the Wednesday. A few of those claims closely matched the previous reports, according to which, at about 6.00 am, the tourist had been on his way towards the settlement of Fountain Village, situated on the saddle. Some had seen him on the street, others had caught sight of him from their homes (like Leonard Skeete and Joseph Liburd), but none of them was able to say whether, on reaching the saddle, the tourist had turned left or right.

However, the information that was crucial to the subsequent search operation – and in comparison with which the reports about Tomažič’s morning direction sounded entirely irrelevant – came from Westbury Village. It was there that the father of Mr Wigley, the policeman, had presumably seen Tomažič on Wednesday AFTERNOON at about 4.30 pm. A black, middle-aged lady, Winnefred Herbert, from Westbury Village, confirmed Mr Wigley’s report. She told the rescuers that on Wednesday afternoon she had met, in front of her house, a white gentleman on his way back from the mountain heading towards the beach. Her description of the tourist was so convincing that even Miriam, after talking to the lady, was sure that Mrs Herbert had seen Tony. The lady described a middle-aged tourist wearing a beard and spectacles, dressed in short trousers and a tee-shirt (in the right colours), carrying a rucksack on his shoulders and a bag, which could have been a camera bag, in his hand. She added that they had even got involved in a longish conversation: jokingly Winny had asked the traveller whether he would marry her, to which he had replied that he was already married with two children and that, in the hotel, the family was waiting for him to come back after his one-day trip. When Miriam asked for more details about the tourist the lady also said that he had several grey hairs in his dark beard, which again corresponded well with Tony’s appearance.

Since Westbury is located to the RIGHT of the saddle at Fountain Village, it seemed logical that any further search operation should focus on Round Hill, which is separated from the main mountain of Nevis Peak by roads and other settlements. Hence, on that day, and for a few more days, even more people were involved in surveying the forests, bushes and the beach area of Cades Bay – all located in the lower part of the island belonging to Round Hill – in an attempt to find any trace of the missing tourist. Who would have focused on the high central area of Nevis Peak after receiving such precise information, confirmed by another person, about Tomažič’s whereabouts in the opposite direction? It seemed obvious that Tomažič had successfully returned from Nevis Peak and had, at the end of the day, been on his way down towards the coast.

This was the reason the helicopter, which the Nisbet management was finally able to hire for three hours from the island of Antigua, didn’t spend much time in the air around the dangerously foggy mountaintop. It only made a few circles there, and some around the extinguished volcano crater; it flew as much as the clouds pressing against the mountain allowed, and then moved away to carefully search the area of Round Hill. The lookout in the helicopter was Nikki Johnson, the wife of the guide Jim Johnson; Nikki was also a guide.

Back in the hotel, Kathie and Don Johnson arranged for another visit that would help the Tomažič family remain calm under the difficult conditions. That afternoon two Catholic priests came to see them: the local Father George and his colleague who ran the parish on the neighbouring island of St. Kitts. Only three percent of the inhabitants of Nevis are Catholics, and the majority of them are white people. As a result, the hotel managers correctly assumed that a Catholic priest was the right choice for their European guests. And so it was: no one could have given them more comfort than Father George. In an unobtrusive way, this pleasant Irish priest started a conversation with Miriam and in the meantime also got close to the children. Instead of offering a sermon based on theory, he was asking them real questions, then listening carefully to what the family was telling him and occasionally made his own comments about the recent events. He was also interested to know whether Tony was a religious man and Miriam assured him that he certainly was. Because of this they very quickly found that they spoke the same language. Just before leaving father George blessed them and prayed with them for Tony’s safe return. He also told them that the churchgoers of his parish would keep praying to God, asking for a favourable outcome, and he promised to come back to them, which he did do on the following days.

After talking to the priest Miriam felt strong enough to phone Slovenia. She decided she would first try to talk to Zlata. She phoned IUS SOFTWARE believing that the experienced and always-friendly business secretary, Mojca Pintarič, would help her find the company manager who, as Miriam knew, was still on her leave. That turned out to be rather difficult because Mojca, too, was on leave. That week, Slovenian schools had winter holidays and a lot of people were away with their children, so Miriam couldn’t even talk to the manager of the partner company, the GV Publishing Group, Slobodan Sibinčič, who was skiing in a Slovenian winter resort. After several attempts, Miriam finally got the number of Mojca’s mobile telephone. Mojca told her that Zlata and her family were due to come home at about 7.00 pm local time and so Miriam decided she would call back later.

While waiting for Zlata, Miriam had to make another difficult phone call: she phoned her mother, Slava Kranjac, and told her immediately that Tony had been missing for three days. Naturally, her mother was shocked, and they talked about when and how to tell the news to Tony’s mother, who would, that evening at 7.00 pm, be waiting more eagerly than normally for the telephone call – on the day before she had, for the first time, been waiting in vain, getting increasingly worried about all four travellers. Miriam asked her mother to phone Tony’s mother and tell her that the family couldn’t get a connection from Nevis to Vir, but that they were alright and would phone her on the following day. Miriam’s mother agreed straight away that this was a better solution than upsetting the frail and lonely, 85-year-old lady with the news that something very serious had happened to her only son, who had been lost in the jungle for three days. Miriam’s mother later did what she and her daughter agreed on, and in this way she also took over some of the heavy load that until then Miriam alone had been carrying. As for Tony’s mother she could spend two more days in the same way she had spent the past two weeks: in anticipation that she would soon be able to hug her two grand-children again and feel free from her usual worries that were with her each time the family went on a journey. However, being deeply religious, the old lady fell asleep each night while praying for the safety of her loved ones.

When, soon after 2.00 pm, Miriam was finally able to speak to her friend Zlata, she burst into tears. She told Zlata that something terrible must have happened to Tony because he had gone missing and the rescuers had been looking for him for three days. It was for the first time that Miriam could cry and release some the fear that had accumulated in her. Zlata was as shocked as if the news had been about one of her relatives – in the past 12 years she had been very close to her business partner, Tony. They were together every day: at work, for lunch and often also at gatherings of both families. Together with her husband, Dejan Stančič, who was also employed at IUS SOFTWARE, and two small daughters, they had just returned from a weeklong skiing holiday; even before they could find the time to unpack, the shocking news hit them. Zlata asked Miriam about the mountain that Tony had climbed, then about the rescuers and the way in which the rescue operation was organised. She knew she needed a few minutes to collect her thoughts and talk the matter over with Dejan, so she told Miriam they would soon call her back. Practical as she is, Zlata also asked Miriam whether she had enough money, and told her not to hesitate to spend it on the costs of the rescue operation, and she could even borrow some money if necessary. Zlata was sure that her colleagues would be quick at helping Miriam find the extra funds needed for Tony’s rescue. Miriam thanked her and told her that she had almost no money because she couldn’t cash in the traveller’s cheques that had Tony’s signature. She also added that until then money hadn’t been a problem because she had been simply adding the daily expenses of their stay at Nisbet to the family bill kept by the hotel. She thought, however, that she would probably need the money to hire the helicopter and the other expenses of the rescue operation.

Instead of opening the mail and tackling various other household tasks that usually need to be done after returning from a holiday, Zlata and Dejan sat down at their table, tried to collect their thoughts, and decide on what actions they should take. They realised that of the people in Slovenia it would have to be them who would carry the biggest load when it came to handling this critical situation. They also thought of Miriam’s brother, Niko Kranjac, who would also be capable of helping them. They both knew Niko well, as they often met him over lunch. Hence, they phoned him and found out that Niko had also just learned of the shocking news. They all agreed that Niko would come to see them on the following morning so that they could discuss the matter and make plans for the future.

In the meantime, the news about the missing tourist spread among other Nisbet guests who were all very kind and considerate towards Miriam and the children. That afternoon Kathie brought another two kind ladies over to Miriam, both from the Nevis Tourist Association. All four women talked in the entrance hall of the bungalow while the two children were playing outside on the grass. By then, Miriam and Kathie had become very close, almost intimate, friends because they had already exchanged several experiences associated with their family lives.

That evening Miriam told Kathie about the suggestion that Zlata had made during their telephone conversation. Though Zlata is a very rational person, she had thought that the rescuers might also want to seek help from a dowser or another person with similar skills. Referring to the Slovenian proverb “when in need, the Devil will even feed on flies”, Zlata had concluded that any technique, including a paranormal one, would be worth trying in order to find Tony. Miriam had promised to ask about such a possibility. Kathie knew about the activities of the American Society of Dowsers and also that some of its members were specialists in searching for missing persons. Without any hesitation she phoned New York, and soon got the names of two such people. One of them was famous for solving several mysteries, especially ones associated with kidnapping and other criminal acts. However, the lady had recently given birth, so she wasn’t available. Nevertheless, one of this lady’s colleagues was able to temporarily take over the matter and asked Kathie to fax a map of Nevis to him. After that, he soon expressed his belief that the missing guest was lost in the area called Eden Brown. Though the area was far from close to the places that Tony had wanted to climb, the Nisbet staff still checked this area, but they never found anything.

After several attempts, Kathie finally managed to get in touch with the main dowser of the society, Ginette Matacia-Lucas. During their telephone conversation, the lady said to Kathie that she found the case very interesting and would be happy to deal with it if her involvement in the matter could be organised so that it would suit her maternal duties. Thus, they agreed that, by using Federal Express mail, Kathie would send her a map, a photo of the missing person and 400 dollars. They also agreed to get in touch again on Sunday, at 12.30 pm, provided the mail reached Ginette on the following day.

One hour before dinner, the much-liked Roslyn visited the Indian Castle bungalow to find out what the children would like to eat that evening. Their father being away, the family had all their evening meals served at the same time, and in that room of the Great House restaurant that was reserved for the children – only that the family ate there a bit later than the other children. As a result of a lot of exercise and fresh air, the children ate well, but Miriam was glancing sadly towards the central hall of the restaurant where other couples were sitting and where, only a few days before, she and Tony had had such a pleasant (their last?) evening.

A little later, there was another sad occasion that stirred the emotion of everybody in the restaurant. When Miriam and the children were leaving the room it seemed that their loneliness had already become a routine, that there was little hope the night might bring a happy end to their unfortunate story. Toni and Mariansa politely said “Good night” to the deeply moved guests.

On the way towards the bungalow, they were looking into the sky wondering whether their father was watching the same stars …

And in their beds they said their regular prayer: My guardian angel, be always with me …

From my book: Second Place of Birth: Nevis