2013-01-11

Zamir had to hurry. Saban and Loran were waiting anxiously for the results of his father’s work. Part artist, part mad scientist, his father’s skills and expertise were sought after by many.

            Their current partners were different.

            In the past, Zamir’s father had come to the aid of many. No matter how much success he brought to others' plans, he almost never seemed to have his kindness reciprocated.

            Saban and Loran were different though. Unlike many others, they had already seen much of the world despite their young years.

            Saban’s Mother had been a translator as part of a diplomatic envoy. As a result, Saban had spent many of his younger years as they playmate of diplomats’ children from all over the world. Loran on the other hand had a much different upbringing. His parents had become American citizens. He had shown an early aptitude for biology, so his parents had wished him to be a doctor. Instead, Loran joined the military after graduation and then went to college with different pursuits in mind.

            In the end, it was circumstance that brought both men back to the village of their forefathers. They had both quickly formed strong ties with Zamir’s father and had made ambitious dreams for their futures.

            And now, all of those plans rested on Zamir’s shoulders.

            Despite Saban’s savvy and Loran’s technical knowledge, none of it could have come together without Zamir’s father’s practical skills. His father also had access to facilities neither of the others did.

            Zamir thought about all of this as he sped on a beat-up old dirt bike down an ancient hillside foot trail. One false move and he would be over a cliff and tumbling down into the rocky gorge.

            The path eventually widened as it met with others until it became more of a dirt road. At the bottom of the gorge it crossed a narrow wooden bridge and headed up and over the last ridge before town.

            As Zamir crested the last hill he saw a haggard looking fellow at the edge of town. It was Loran jumping up and down wildly.

            Zamir came to a stop in front of him, his bike still idling. The older man wore an anxious face yet held out his hand in greeting.

            “Well?” asked Loran.

            Zamir just nodded.

            Loran dropped to his knees and threw his hands into the air.

            “Praise be to Allah!” he shouted, tears running down his face. “I knew those were the right microbes, I knew it!”

            “I have to go,” started Zamir. “Is Saban at the place?”

            Loran just nodded.

            A few moments later, Zamir arrived at his destination. As he turned the bike off and parked it, he shook his head. The old, abandoned restaurant looked just like he had remembered it. He pushed his way past the loudly tinkling beaded curtain, his eyes taking a minute to adjust to the darkness with in.

            Inside, half a dozen surly men sat sipping dark liquid from glasses. A man in the middle wearing fine white clothing and a thick moustache stared him down intensely, then spoke.

            “Well?” he asked.

            “It’s ready, Saban . . .” Zamir answered, trailing off.

            The small crowd erupted in cheers.

            Saban picked the youth up under his arms and twirled him around.

            “We are saved!” Saban shouted. “With Zamir’s father’s cheese, made from the samples Loran took, I will be able to restore a piece of our Albanian heritage. We will have fresh Byrek again!”