I was walking down a cafe-lined boulevard next to the river when I saw it. It hadn't occurred to me that they would be here now in large numbers and I was taken by surprise when I spotted a female hand with the now familiar Embe tattoo on it. I noticed it twenty-five feet away. The skin color was too light to be Poppy. She sat in the courtyard of the Cafe Grossmunster reading a newspaper. I went in the front door, paid for a cup of coffee and stepped out into the courtyard bordering the sidewalk. She sat alone. The newspaper obscured her face. Luckily there were no vacant tables when I came out and I limped over to her's.

"Do you mind if I join you?"

"No, not at all," she said in Slavic accent that sounded a little like Bulgarian. She didn't lower the German language newspaper.

Hanging my cane on the edge of the table, I took a seat. I sipped my coffee and watched the river traffic as I thought about what to say. "Your accent, is it Bulgarian?"

She ruffled the paper slightly and shifted in her seat. "I am from Poland."

"Interesting," I said.

"What is interesting? Being from Poland? Not very," she said sardonically behind her white paper.

"No, I find the accent interesting," I said defensively. "I'm usually very accurate about them and I wouldn't have thought Polish."

She turned a page and continued reading. "Do you speak Bulgarian?" she asked in a mocking tone in Bulgarian.

I almost choked on my coffee when I heard it. "Yes, I speak Bulgarian. My name is Evan," I responded in my old native tongue.

She folded the paper neatly and placed it on the table. "Now that is interesting. My name is Nadya," she said, offering her hand across the table. She was thin and her tattooed hand felt bony in mine. She had very typical Slavic features; a large narrow straight nose, cold grey, steely eyes, a wide sloping forehead, and a strong jaw. She looked to be in her thirties but I couldn't help wondering how old she really was.

"Nice to meet you, Nadya. I hope you don't mind me interrupting you."

"I do not mind. Your Bulgarian is excellent. I thought the only Americans that could speak Bulgarian would be with the CIA. But you do not look the part at all. Where did you learn it?"

"I lived in Bulgaria a long time ago," I said smiling at her.

She gave me a curious look as though she were trying to figure it out. She reached for her coffee at the edge of the table then stopped. "Hello there, I remember this," she said picking up the cane. She turned it from side to side inspecting it like an old friend you barely recognize. "Evan? Not Evan Michaels?" she asked.