by Ishmael Beah
She thought of Frederick Cardew-Boston and his dance, which had revealed a more interesting person than the pompous young fellow she had first met. She touched her cheeks, where she could still feel his warm breath.
Her thoughts shifted to Namsa. She wondered what the little one was doing and whether she was sleeping well, fending off the torment of her memories without Khoudi’s comfort tonight. She thought about the rest of the family in turn, what each had done for the remainder of the day and how it had come to a close. She would find out tomorrow, but she had already decided that she wasn’t going to tell them about her own day. She did not want to bring her little family into the fold of her new world just yet, or it into theirs.
The drumming of a heavy downpour announced itself, muffled by the thick walls and tight windows. The rainy season was beginning. It was a harder time to live in the old plane, which leaked a little more each year. That was the reason she and Elimane had first gone looking for another home, and had found this one.
Her eyes caught a framed black-and-white photograph on the wall. It was a family portrait: mother, father, and three children—two girls, who looked to be about ten and five, and a little boy of three or so. The girls wore matching dresses embroidered around the shoulders and necklines, and the boy was in a dark caftan. The children were all smiles, showing teeth and leaning in to their young parents. The picture had been there the last time she was here, though she could have sworn it was hung elsewhere, in a hall rather than in a bedroom. She was staring at it, trying to see beyond the smiles, when at last she fell asleep.
7
We just have to find the right person, so that no one runs away with our money,” Elimane said. He was putting on his old suit jacket, in an effort to look the part of a man in possession of the amount of US currency they were going to change. He was well aware that one ploy for someone to steal it would be to accuse him of having done the same. Even on the occasions when they’d changed smaller amounts, they always had a plan. Elimane would dress presentably, and beforehand they’d research what the street value of the money should be. The others would shadow him, just in case.
Khoudi had gotten back to the plane early in the morning. King’s property, king’s property, everything is correct, she had whistled as she approached, and Namsa had replied, but hadn’t run to greet her as she usually did. Nor did Khoudi see her in any of the usual guarding locations when she came into the clearing. She was just starting to worry when she heard Namsa giggling. Khoudi turned and saw a bush shaking. Namsa had so completely adorned herself with leaves that Khoudi had passed her a few times without noticing.
Namsa was delighted by Khoudi’s amazement, but her tone turned serious. “You didn’t come back last night,” she said. “Are you starting to leave us?” And though Khoudi hastened to reassure her and to change the subject, asking about Namsa’s adventures since they had last seen each other, her own sense of uneasiness nagged.
Inside the plane she found Ndevui and Kpindi snoring—even in their sleep, the two competed with each other—but Elimane had already gone to get food, and when he returned he greeted her more formally than usual and avoided meeting her eyes. Now everyone was ready to go but Khoudi, which was so unlike her that the others questioned her with their eyes.
“We do not all have to go,” she said. She pointed out that people tended to feel more desperate in the aftermath of a holiday, which could put the family’s home at greater risk than normal.
“Yes, and it’s also a good day to change money—a holiday always pushes the exchange rate higher,” said Kpindi. “And with no business happening the last couple of days, we may also be among the few changing, so that will give us the upper hand too.”
“Just tell us you don’t want to go today,” said Ndevui, knowing that Elimane was already annoyed, and Namsa’s face registered her disappointment at Khoudi’s not going. But Khoudi was tired, and it was weighing on her that she had to return rested to Kadiatou’s shop to begin the work of repaying her. She didn’t want to leave her debt unattended.
“So, who wants to go?” Elimane asked curtly, and when all of them raised their hands except Khoudi, it was settled. They left carrying the sheets of plastic they used over their heads when it rained, as the skies threatened. Elimane was the last to go, and from the look he gave her, Khoudi could tell that he suspected something was off about her.
“I know you are going to make sure we get a good rate,” Khoudi said, attempting to dispel the tension. “Perhaps you will buy yourself that book about the Nile that you had told me about, eh?” Elimane smiled despite himself, pleased that she had remembered this detail of an earlier conversation, and the mood of their parting lightened.
Khoudi waited at the entrance of the plane for the last sights and sounds of the others to disappear before she allowed herself to immerse entirely in reliving the details of the previous night, or to consider how she felt about it all. It was not the dinner or the dancing afterward that was drawing her, she realized, though that other life was indeed enticing. The driving force was more an almost intolerable desire emerging within her these days to embrace what she was becoming, and a growing frustration with the need to swing between two worlds while that was happening.
She closed the door of the plane most of the way, but not completely. She wanted to be safe but also able to help if one of the others returned suddenly in need—the habit of preparing for the worst was second nature to her. Then she sat on her bed and looked around at the other small beds. All of them except Ndevui’s were neatly made, with their tattered blankets and sheets. Next to each was a sack of belongings, mostly clothes, except in Elimane’s case, where the books outnumbered everything else. How would he run away if he had to? She imagined him struggling with the sack, as it would probably pain him to lose his books more than anything else, and smiled at the thought. Makeshift as their little home was, she was comfortable here, and her body was already entertaining sleep more readily than it had the night before.
She thought about all that had come to pass in this space. There was that time they had decided to celebrate Elimane’s birthday inside and nearly set the plane on fire. Another time they returned home to discover that they had not closed the door properly, and found a deer sleeping in Ndevui’s bed. The deer had panicked every time they tried to get it out, and it tore their sheets to pieces and broke some windows. Ndevui and Kpindi ended up having to kill it, so they had had meat for days, until they tired of it and buried the remainder of the carcass so that the scent wouldn’t attract other animals. And then there was the time the army was searching the area for criminals, and everyone was being asked for identity papers. Those who couldn’t provide them were supposed to be followed by officers to their homes to prove that they lived at whatever address they had stated, while those who had the money simply paid off the soldiers. The little family, having neither papers nor money, stayed put in the plane for three days, eating bread and butter and taking turns being read to by Elimane and making up stories and jokes.
So much had happened here that it was difficult for Khoudi to imagine a life elsewhere, and yet there was that nagging feeling that pulled her elsewhere, out into that parallel world. She looked out the windows and imagined the plane as a real plane taking her on a trip around the world. “Well, Miss Khoudiemata, where have we set our sights on this time?” the pilot would ask as they took to the skies, the clouds awaiting her answer. Lulled by this reverie, and then by a patter against the windows as the rain started up again, Khoudi let sleep fully take her body at last.
* * *
—
She was awakened by the roar of an incoming plane. It was so loud that it seemed to make her bed shake. Something was strange, and it took her a moment to realize what it was. Incoming planes normally arrived twice a week, late in the afternoon. There were also unscheduled planes that came and went during the night, without the full waking functionality of th
e airport. The family was used to irregular flights interrupting their sleep, and after their night working for William Handkerchief, they had a better idea about what such comings and goings meant. But an irregular daytime flight was an unusual occurrence. Khoudiemata sat up and went to the cockpit for the binoculars. She searched the sky, blurred with gray, until she spotted the airplane, its green body pulling away from the clouds. Her gaze followed it as it descended toward the airfield.
She lost sight of the plane in the trees, but her imagination readily supplied what her eyes could not see: The aircraft rolling to a stop. The men emerging and offloading mysterious cargo or bodies or both. The plane taking off again, and everything returning to normal, as if nothing had happened. And sure enough, before long, the green plane shot up into the sky and disappeared into the clouds.
Khoudi’s body had lost the desire to seek sleep again. Besides, she wanted to get to the city and back before the others returned. She took her raffia bag and headed for 96 Degrees.
Her things had stayed dry in their plastic bag and hiding place. She changed into one of the black dresses, but it felt strange to be wearing only underwear beneath. She decided to wear the jeans under the dress, and to take the same bag as the night before.
Once again, as soon as she was on the main road she began to attract looks and honks. When she reached the commercial district, she stopped at a kiosk and bought the simplest phone available, and a SIM card to go with it. While the phone was charging, she found the paper where Manga Sewa had written his name, and as soon as the phone had enough power, she called one of his numbers. She did not want to sit next to strange men or boys now that their eyes followed her everywhere. Waiting for him to answer, she admired her reflection in the window of a shop nearby. Who was the striking woman sprouting out of that invisible girl?
“Hello, hello,” said a familiar voice. “This is the taxi service of Manga Sewa.”
Khoudi felt an urge to giggle, amused at the snappy way he answered his phone. Even his hello telegraphed: Let’s ride quietly, or exchange thoughts, or laugh, or sing, or cry, or be angry but never bitter. Hello. But it was not the little family’s manner to give away so much of their mood to a stranger—or a near-stranger in this case—so she suppressed her laughter.
But he recognized her voice anyway and remembered where he had dropped her off. Was he nearby?
“Yes, I am nearby. Always nearby,” he said, and this time she did laugh. He was quite a good businessman, this Manga Sewa!
And he truly must have been nearby, because he arrived within ten minutes. He waited without blowing his horn as she retrieved her phone and explained to the kiosk owner, who had been sitting with his head in his hands, watching her movements, that she wasn’t going to pay the extra fee since she hadn’t had time to fully charge it. She was braced for a battle, but the man simply smiled and said, trying to catch her eyes, “Come and charge your phone anytime, beautiful woman. You will bring me luck.” She had an impulse to shout at him, but a little thrill as well, and while she avoided his gaze, she also held her tongue. She was beginning to understand the power her new way of being in the world gave her, and to take control of it for her own ends. Knowing that he was watching her, she made her way to the taxi and got in. And as soon as she was inside, she relaxed. Manga Sewa greeted her with a smile, but his gaze was simply welcoming, and it put her at ease.
“Welcome, Miss Khoudiemata,” he said, and something about the way he pronounced her name told her how genuinely happy he was to see her, and she felt happy too—so happy, in fact, that for a moment she forgot to be surprised that he knew her name, which she had avoided giving him.
“Your friend used it last night,” he said, and she was surprised again, at her own inattentiveness. Of course. Ophelia had been tipsy and talkative, and for that matter, probably so had she.
Emboldened, she asked if she could finish charging her phone with the charger on his dashboard. “You are welcome to it, Miss Khoudiemata,” he said, lingering on her name again as he took her phone.
“So where to today?”
She described the location of Kadiatou’s shop, and he set off. Today he said nothing, only glanced at her from time to time in the rearview mirror. But as he pulled up in front of the shop, he said, “Have you ever lost something, and after you have given up finding it, the most wonderful thing happens?” He looked back at her, his face full of unreadable emotion.
“No,” said Khoudi, a bit overwhelmed by this display, “but I often wish I had.” Attempting to lighten the mood, she added, “And I am glad if that has happened to you. This time, take care not to lose it!” She reached for her phone, and he swiftly unplugged it and gave it to her. But this time, when she tried to pay him the fare, he refused.
“Today your advice paid for the trip.” He jumped out of the car and came around to open the door for her.
* * *
—
Kadiatou beamed like a proud big sister when Khoudiemata entered the salon. And before Khoudiemata could even utter a greeting, Kadiatou took her by the hand and brought her to one of the empty chairs, where she proceeded to touch up Khoudi’s hair.
“You want me to owe you for the rest of my life? Is that it?” Khoudi was smiling, but she was also serious. In fact, it occurred to her that she had enough money from what she had corrupted at the beach simply to pay her debt. But it was work to which they had agreed.
“I honestly don’t need extra help,” Kadiatou said. “But I did want to see if you were willing to do what it took to get what you wanted. And young as you are, I enjoy your company.” Kadiatou spun the chair around to look at Khoudi directly, her face carrying the burden of words that remained on her tongue. Khoudi wondered whether somehow Kadiatou had discovered her address, and her story.
“You have an admirer on whom you have put your feminine magic so badly!” Kadiatou burst out with laughter.
“Badly? What do you mean?” said Khoudi, at a loss.
“You remember when I told you that you were discovering your power? Well, it has been unleashed earlier than I thought,” said Kadiatou, but she said no more.
Khoudi decided she didn’t want to push her—it was better to wait until Kadiatou spoke of her own accord. Besides, she wanted to get back before the others did. She stood up. “Since you are speaking in tongues and have made it clear that you don’t need me to work for you, I am going to go,” she said. “But I will come see you again soon. I do want to pay you back somehow.”
Khoudi said goodbye to Kadiatou and her friends. A customer who was just arriving held the door for her, and as Khoudi turned to thank her, she noticed how the woman’s eyes were following her. Kadiatou, greeting the customer, looked past her to Khoudi with an expression that said, “See, this is what I’m talking about! Even other women feel your power and magic.”
Khoudi took out her phone and began to dial Manga Sewa’s number, but then she stopped. She would walk instead. She paused to text Mahawa at the number she had been given—why not do as the others did? Then she set out. With each step, she realized, she was becoming more comfortable with how she was carrying herself. Yes, she was drawing attention, but the attention wasn’t entirely bad. It was, she recognized, a form of power.
“Khoudiemata!” Someone was calling her name. But who did she know who would shout her name like that in public? Certainly none of her little family. She turned around and saw that Frederick Cardew-Boston was running after her. As he approached, he stopped running and straightened his suit. The closer he came, the more nervous he seemed.
“Is everything okay?” Khoudi said, but it wasn’t until she touched his shoulder that she realized she was the one making him nervous. He did not respond, only leaned forward and kissed her on each cheek, attempting nonchalance but arriving at awkwardness. Where had all his confidence and sophistication gone?
“So what are you doing wandering aroun
d town without your driver?” Khoudi ribbed him. “Are you sure you are going to be okay? You might break your feet on this rough sidewalk.”
“You are funny,” he said, regaining a little of his composure. “I go places without my driver—I am an independent man! But I am glad to have run into you.”
He averted his face and eyes as he spoke. Khoudi knew he was lying, yet she was enjoying his company, nevertheless.
“Can I buy you lunch?” he asked. “I know a place nearby. That is, if you are not busy and haven’t yet eaten. Even if you have, come sit with me and have a drink while I eat.” His phone rang, but he ignored it.
“Okay, I will let you buy me lunch,” said Khoudi, “if you promise that we will have a great conversation.” She tried to catch his gaze. She thought he was very handsome when he was shy like this, and she was enjoying making him nervous.
“Great conversations are what I do best,” he said, mustering bravado. “Otherwise, what is the point of talking?” He extended his arm. “Shall we?”
She took his arm and they strutted along together, making a joke of it. At the vaulted entrance to an unmarked building, they stopped. A guard opened the door for them, and they walked up three flights of stairs, their footsteps echoing. They pushed open a metal door and arrived on a veranda-like deck enclosed in glass. A number of people, some their age but most of them older, sat at tables overlooking the street, eating and drinking and talking.
Frederick Cardew-Boston moved through the crowd with an ease that suggested deep familiarity, and the staff acknowledged him with a kind of reverence that suggested a deference not just to money but to power. Who was this fellow, and who were his family? And did she really want to know yet? Maybe it was better just to enjoy the dream, not to analyze it while she was in it. There would be plenty of time for that when she awoke.