"Hey, mister! You want girl? Very beautiful, very cheap."
Without breaking stride I glanced down at the young fellow who had materialised out of nowhere and was now trotting to keep pace with my long legs.
"To buy or rent?" I asked.
Usually the question was enough to get rid of touts such as this, either confusing them, so that I was out of range by the time they had worked out what I meant, or giving me the opportunity to say, "Nah, I only buy," if they were quick off the mark.
"You want buy girl?" The young chap stopped and stared at me in surprise, then took a couple of quick steps to catch up. "Hey, mistar! I got girl for sale."
"Oh yeah?" I sneered at him. "Sale, not rent."
"Yeah, mistar. Four tousand dollar. You buy. Good price."
It was my turn to stop and stare.
"You've got a girl for sale? You mean, I keep her?"
"Yeah, mistar. Four tousand dollar." He grinned ingratiatingly. "Good souvenir."
I turned and started walking again.
"No, too expensive. No girl's worth that much."
"Ok, mistar. How much you give, eh?"
I waved my hand in a dismissive manner and carried on walking.
"Tree tousand dollar, mistar. Only tree tousand."
"Nah, still too much."
In another hundred yards or so I would be back on the main street and from there it was only a block or two to the spot where I had parked my campervan. I felt sure the tout would back off when we got to the lights and bustle of the main street, but even if he didn't, once I was back at the van it was slam the door and goodbye Mr Creep.
"Ok, mistar. Two tousand dollar. Very good girl. No run away, no talk."
"Oh yeah? A woman who doesn't talk?" I turned my head briefly. "I'll believe it when I see it."
"No talk, mistar. Doctor cut." He pointed to his mouth.
"What?" I stopped again and stared at him. "What do you mean?"
"Doctor cut," he repeated, opening his mouth and pointing down his throat. "No more talk. Doctor cut foot also. No run away."
"You bastard," I breathed and then, thoroughly sickened, turned and started walking again.
"Mistar, you English?"
"Yes," I snapped.
"This girl English, mistar. English girl. Very sick."
I glared at him with distaste.
"You bastard," I repeated. "She's probably dying with syphillis or something and you're trying to get your last little bit of money out of her."
He looked at me uncomprehendingly. "English girl, mistar," he repeated. "You buy. Take for England."
"Five hundred," I offered, acting on some quixotic impulse.
"No, mistar. No five hunred." A pleading note crept into his voice. "My boss no take five hunred. One tousand five hunred. Last price."
I thought of the wad of travellers' cheques in the shoulder bag I wore under my coat.
"All right," I said. "One thousand dollars - travellers' cheques."
"Travel cheque?" The tout looked dubious. "You no got dollar."
"No," I said. "I've only got travellers' cheques. American Express. Take it or leave it."
"One moment."
To my surprise the tout whipped out a mobile phone and dialled a number. A minute or more went by while I fidgeted and he yabbered away in Polish, then at last he took the phone away from his ear and pushed the button to disconnect.
"Ok. One tousand dollar. Travel cheque. My boss bring girl."
"Not here," I said. "Bring her to my car."
"Your car? Where your car."
"Just round the corner," I said, waving vaguely towards the main street.
"We go."
He started to walk and I strode after him until we were side by side. At the main street I gestured to the left and we turned in tandem. Two minutes later I pulled the keys out of my pocket and pushed the button on the remote. The indicator lights on the van flashed and the tout stopped.
"This your car?"
"That's right."
I opened the door and slipped the key into the ignition. The tout pulled out his phone and did some more talking, presumably giving instructions to whoever it was that was bringing the girl. When he finished he leaned towards me and whispered.
"You show me money, mistar. Travel cheque."
I turned away from him and felt under my coat for the travellers' cheques. I stripped a dozen or so off the wad and then turned back to him and counted them out.
"One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten. One thousand dollars."
The tout held out his hand.
"When the girl comes," I said, holding the travellers' cheques out of his reach.
We stood like a pair of cowboys facing each other down outside the Last Chance Saloon for what seemed like ages and then, looking over my shoulder, the tout's eyes lit up. He waved his arm and shouted. I stepped away from him and put my back against the side of the van before turning to see who he was shouting at.
It was a tall, slightly built man pushing a wheelchair in which sat the hunched up figure of a girl - or, at least, someone with long hair. Her face was hidden behind the strands of dark hair that hung from her head and her body was covered by a blanket that was tucked up around her chin.
"Here, mister. This girl for you."
"Ok," I said, moving towards the back of the van. "Tell him to put the girl in the van and I'll give you the money."
The tout said something and the tall man wheeled the girl up to the open door of the van, stooped down and lifted her easily out of the chair and into the van. I took out my pen and, leaning against the side of the van, started to sign the travellers' cheques.
"Here you are," I said a moment later. "A thousand dollars."
The tout snatched them from me and counted them once quickly and again more slowly.
"Right?" I asked.
"Right," he nodded. "Good."
He said something sharp to the tall fellow, who walked slowly up to him. I took a step back.
"Keep your distance," I said, thrusting one hand into my coat pocket and pretending to hold something there.
"No problem, mistar," the tout said, backing off in his turn. "No problem. We go."
He spoke again to the tall fellow who looked at me, nodded slightly and then the two of them turned and went off, pushing the wheelchair in front of them. I watched them go and only when they had disappeared round the corner did I realise that they had taken the girl's wheelchair.
I shrugged. I wasn't about to go after them.
I walked up to the driver's door and pulled it open. The girl was sitting in the driver's seat, stark naked. She can't have been wearing anything under the blanket and that, presumably, had gone with the wheelchair.
"Budge over," I said, gesturing towards the passenger seat.
At the sound of my voice the girl turned her head and looked at me blankly, her mouth slightly open. Her eyes were completely expressionless.
"Budge over," I repeated, gesturing to her to move.
The girl didn't move and I wondered if she had understood me. I reached out and gave her a fairly hefty shove, which half turned her away from me. She still didn't move, but I could now see that her hands were tied behind her back.
"Damn. Wait there."
I pulled the keys out of the ignition, shut the door and went round to unlock the side door of the van. I climbed in and locked the door behind me, then made my way past the cupboards to where I could get hold of the girl, heaving her clumsily out of my seat and past the gear lever to drop heavily into the passenger seat. Her legs dangled uselessly and she made no attempt to help me.
I slid into the driver's seat, replaced the key and started the engine. Although I had no objection to sharing the cab with a naked girl, she was clearly visible through the windscreen and it occurred to me that it might occasion comment, even here in Warsaw. As I pulled away from the kerb I pulled my seatbelt across my lap and did it up, at the same time scanning the mirrors to see if anyone appeared to be following me.
Half a mile down the road I turned left into a side street and then followed a course of alternate left and right turns through increasingly quiet thoroughfares until at last I pulled up in a short cross street between two long rows of buildings. Only blank walls overlooked me, so unless someone came along the street, I was safe from observation. I was pretty certain that no one had followed me.
I turned to the girl, who was sitting with her head down.
"Let's free your hands," I said, getting out of my seat and leaning over her.
There was no response and I had to push her forwards so that I could start to work on whatever it was that bound her wrists. She didn't resist but neither did she help. She just sat there submissively and let me do what I wanted.
It wasn't a piece of string, as I had thought, but a wide plastic tie that, once fastened, was impossible to undo. I reached into my pocket for my Swiss Army knife, snapped open the small blade and with one swift, careful movement sliced through the tie. I closed the knife and reached behind me to put the tie on the worktop, for later transfer into the bin. When I turned back the girl hadn't moved; her arms were still behind her back.
"I'll bet they've glued your hands," I said, more to myself than to her.
I reached down and slipped my hand between her palms. They were entirely free.
"They didn't," I sounded slightly surprised. "You can move your hands, love."
Still she didn't move and I had to take hold of her upper arms and push them forward, then lift her hands one by one and drop them in her lap.
"Good grief!" I exclaimed as her hands came into view.
Whoever had bound her must have pulled the tie excrutiatingly tight, for her hands were positively blue.
"You poor thing!"
I took her right hand and chafed it until it was warm, then did the same for her left hand. I was struck by her curious passivity. Only once did she lift her head to look at me but as soon as our eyes met she lowered her head again.
"Your circulation must have been cut off," I remarked, chaffing vigorously. "They'll probably hurt a bit as the blood comes back, but it won't be for long."
There was no response. Of course, I wasn't expecting her to speak. I had no doubt that the wretches who had kidnapped her and held her captive had done exactly what the tout claimed. Somehow they had operated on her - cut out her vocal chords or something - so that she couldn't make a sound. Still, she might smile or shrug her shoulders or something.
A few minutes later, with both her hands feeling warmer and looking pink, I put them back in her lap and gazed at her in perplexity.
"Look at me," I ordered.
When there was no movement I put my finger under her chin, lifted her head and turned it so that she faced me. Her eyes flickered up to me for a moment and then dropped and a moment later she closed them - closed them wearily, I would have said.
"Do you understand English?" I demanded.
Her eyes opened and for a moment there seemed to be a glimmer of something behind them and then she dropped them to stare at my lap.
"Do you understand English?" I said again, a sharp note in my voice.
Almost imperceptibly she nodded.
"Good."
I let go of her chin and her head dropped forward.
"Listen," I said, reaching out and lifting her head till she had no choice but look at me. "I don't have any women's clothes here, but I'll get you one of my shirts and you can put that on. After that we'll drive out to the camp ground for the night and in the morning we'll have a think about what to do with you. Is that all right?"
I didn't expect any response and I didn't get it. As soon as I released her chin, her head drooped again, but I got up and fetched one of my shirts out of the wardrobe.
"Lean forward," I ordered.
I pushed her forward and draped the shirt over her back. In the dim light that came in from the street outside I could see her backbone clearly, defined by shadows, and was horrified at how painfully thin she was. When I lifted her arms to push them into the sleeves they felt like two tiny sticks and I handled her gently for fear that I might break something. I fancied that she helped just slightly as I dressed her, but that could have been imagination.
I had intended to do up just two or three of the shirt buttons - I'm only human, after all - but when I came round the front and looked at her more closely it was the most un-sexy thing I have ever seen. A bit of wrinkled skin sagged on her chest where her breasts should have been and her ribs stood out plainly. Lower down, where normally a mere glance would be enough to set your heart racing, the skin was so tightly stretched over her hip bones that it was painful to see.
I did up all the buttons and then pressed her back in the seat and fastened her seatbelt.
"There we are," I said, as brightly as I could manage. "I reckon twenty minutes or half an hour to the camp ground."
It wasn't a bad guess, for the drive through the traffic and out along the dark country road took almost exactly twenty-five minutes. The man in the cabin recognised me - or more likely the van - and came out to raise the barrier, and I drove back to my pitch near the toilet block.
"Right," I said after switching off the engine. "Here we are."
I swivelled round to face her. "I don't normally eat at night - can't be bothered - but I wonder if you'd like a bite to eat? It's getting late, so I won't cook a full meal, but how about some eggs and beans on toast and a sausage or two?"
At the mention of food the girl raised her head and slowly turned it to stare at me, her eyes wide open. Unfortunately her mouth was also wide open and I saw a thin trickle of saliva running down her chin from one corner of her mouth. It made her look particularly stupid and I began to wonder if I had bought myself a half-wit.
"Shut your mouth, love."
I reached out with one finger and gently pushed her chin up. She swallowed hard and then dropped her head and resumed her study of her knees.
"Now, we need to get you down the other end of the van, love. Can you stand up?"
Once more she looked up at me, her mouth open, but as our eyes met she seemed to remember and with a visible effort shut her mouth and swallowed hard again. I held out my hand to her but she made no move to stand up or to extend her hand to take hold of mine.
"Is there something wrong with your legs, love?" I asked.
I reached down and lifted her right leg, raising it to rest on my knee. To my horror her foot dangled loosely. I took hold of her toes and moved her foot up and down and from side to side. She stared at me blankly while I manipulated her foot, but dropped her head as soon as I let her leg slide down off my knee.
"You poor thing," I said, putting as much sympathy as I could into my voice. "Look, while we're at it, can you talk?"
The girl raised her head and looked at me blankly.
"Can you say anything?" I persisted. "Come on, try to make a noise."
There was no response and after a while I gave up waiting and stood up. As soon as I moved the girl flinched away from me and hastily put her arms behind her back. Her head went down, her shoulders hunched and she sat motionless, the absolute picture of submissiveness.
"It's all right, love," I said gently. "I'm not angry with you."
I raised her head to look at me.
"Come on now, give me your hands."
She stared at me blankly, though I thought that her eyes moved slightly as if she was trying to read my face. I had to take hold of her arms and pull them round in front of her.
"Now come on, let's stand up. I'll help you balance."
I lifted her hands and pulled her gently to her feet, moving slowly and carefully, partly so as not to frighten her and partly for fear of snapping her pitifully thin arms. When she was finally upright I moved one hand down to her waist and held her against me. Her head came up to the level of my shoulder.
"Now I'm going to try and pick you up," I told her. "Can you put your arms around my neck and give me a hand? There isn't much room in here, you see."
I wrapped her arms around my neck, then put my arms around her waist and lifted. I was pleased to feel her arms tighten instinctively around my neck.
She hardly weighed a thing and once I had backed down between the seats I could turn easily and carry her down to the sofa-bed at the rear of the van. I lowered her gently and when she was seated reached up and detached her arms from my neck.
"There you are," I said. "You just sit there and I'll nip out and connect us up, then we can have dinner."
I opened the side door and went out to connect up the mains cable, the water supply and the waste pipe. When I got back into the van the mains lighting had come on and I was able to see the girl clearly for the first time. Her face was pinched and thin, with large dark circles around her eyes and what could have been a bruise on one cheek. Her hair was lank and stringy and clearly had not been washed or brushed for a very long time indeed. I'm never much good at reading ages, but I would have said that she was in her thirties, though it was hard to tell in someone so thin.