No Heaven for Good Boys
Page 1
No Heaven for Good Boys is a work of fiction. Apart from the well-known actual people, events, and locales that figure in the narrative, all names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to current events or locales, or to living persons, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2020 by Keisha Bush
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Random House, an imprint and division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.
RANDOM HOUSE and the HOUSE colophon are registered trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.
Grateful acknowledgment is made to Random House, an imprint and division of Penguin Random House LLC, for permission to reprint seven lines from “The First Elegy” from Selected Poetry of Rainer Maria Rilke by Rainer Maria Rilke, edited and translated by Stephen Mitchell, translation copyright © 1982 by Stephen Mitchell. Used by permission of Random House, an imprint and division of Penguin Random House LLC. All rights reserved.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Bush, Keisha, author.
Title: No heaven for good boys : a novel / by Keisha Bush.
Description: First edition. | New York : Random House, [2020]
Identifiers: LCCN 2019054027 (print) | LCCN 2019054028 (ebook) | ISBN 9780399591969 (hardcover ; acid-free paper) | ISBN 9780399591976 (ebook)
Subjects: LCSH: Senegal—Fiction.
Classification: LCC PS3602.U8388 N6 2020 (print) | LCC PS3602.U8388 (ebook) | DDC 813/.6—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019054027
LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019054028
Ebook ISBN 9780399591976
randomhousebooks.com
Title page, chapter opener, part opener images: copyright © iStock.com / © Mellok, © ulimi
Book design by Andrea Lau, adapted for ebook
Cover design: Rachel Ake
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Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Epigraph
Part I.
Chapter I.
Chapter II.
Chapter III.
Chapter IV.
Chapter V.
Chapter VI.
Chapter VII.
Chapter VIII.
Chapter IX.
Chapter X.
Chapter XI.
Part II.
Chapter XII.
Chapter XIII.
Chapter XIV.
Chapter XV.
Chapter XVI.
Chapter XVII.
Chapter XVIII.
Chapter XIX.
Chapter XX.
Chapter XXI.
Chapter XXII.
Chapter XXIII.
Chapter XXIV.
Chapter XXV.
Chapter XXVI.
Chapter XXVII.
Chapter XXVIII.
Chapter XXIX.
Chapter XXX.
Chapter XXXI.
Part III.
Chapter XXXII.
Chapter XXXIII.
Chapter XXXIV.
Chapter XXXV.
Chapter XXXVI.
Chapter XXXVII.
Epilogue
Author’s Note
Dedication
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Every angel is terrifying.
And so I hold myself back and swallow the call-note
of my dark sobbing. Ah, whom can we ever turn to
in our need? Not angels, not humans,
and already the knowing animals are aware
that we are not really at home in
our interpreted world.
—RAINER MARIA RILKE, “THE FIRST ELEGY” (Stephen Mitchell, translator)
Ibrahimah slumps against the trunk of an ancient baobab tree and sets his red tin can between his feet. The tree’s gnarled, flowerless branches twist and bend over a wide, empty road with only a single white line running down its middle. It is late morning and the road is quiet, free of people, traffic, houses, or businesses. Just dry, parched earth stretching as far as the eye can see, with a scattering of baobab trees. Above, the sky is overcast and gray, but the air is warm. While his cousin Étienne and the other boys from the daara debate how to spend the afternoon, Ibrahimah’s eyelids hang heavy and his thoughts drift to his mother. The warmth of her touch, the sound of her voice, and the scent of her skin exist now only in memory.
Just as his daydream is about to take full possession of his consciousness, a ball of fire streaks toward him, landing on his knee. His slack muscles spring tight and his almond eyes stretch wide as teacups—the apparition is a tiny red bird cocking its head, as if to get a good look at him. Not knowing whether to shoo the bird away or call for his cousin to witness the spectacle before him, he watches quietly and hopes that it is some kind of fairy, like the one his sisters told him would come for a tooth beneath his pillow.
“Fairy godmother?” Ibrahimah squeaks in Wolof.
The creature shakes its small head.
“You can understand me?”
The bird moves its head up and down.
Ibrahimah’s mouth forms a circle and his eyebrows arch.
“Are you here to help me?”
The bird tilts its head back and sings a melody that the boy has heard before. He sees his village, Saloulou, and his mother flipping small pieces of lamb on the grill. His sisters chase one another, pulling the pigtails they can catch, and his father carries a box of vegetables from their farm. The image of home gives way to the small red bird’s fleeing tail feathers. Ibrahimah’s eyes linger on his knee, where the bird had landed, then he turns toward his cousin, who stands beneath another tree several feet away, out of earshot.
“Étienne! Did you see?” Ibrahimah yells, jumping to his feet.
Étienne turns away from the conversation he is having with Abdoulaye and Fatik, two other boys from their house. “See what?” Étienne shouts back.
“The bird! On my knee! He could understand when I talked.”
Ibrahimah races over to explain.
“So do you want to go or not?” Abdoulaye asks.
“Go where?” Ibrahimah asks, his mind still focused on the bird.
“The zoo!” Abdoulaye says, scratching at a patch of eczema on his bald scalp.
“You should have seen the bird on my leg! It talked to me!”
A silver Mercedes Benz passes by, its tires sticky against the newly paved road. Ibrahimah turns his head, but the car is going too fast for him to ever have a chance at begging from its occupants.
“Cousin, the day is passing, and once people get out of school and work, they may not let us in,” Étienne says, impatience lurking at the corners of his mouth.
Ibrahimah’s eyes drift back toward the empty sky. “You missed it,” he mumbles, following behind the three older boys.
Ibrahimah stands below the chipped blue arch that poses as the entrance to the Parc Zoologique in Hann Mariste, on the eastern rim of Dakar. The zoo is a little over an hour away by foot from Marabout Ahmed’s ho
use in Ouakam, but the boys rarely abandon their normal route unless they hear of a good opportunity like free food, or a chance to make money. Excursions like this take too much time, and as the Americans like to say, time is money. But with Marabout gone, the hours from sunrise to sunset belong to the boys, and not even Étienne has been to the zoo before in the five years he has lived in Dakar. Ibrahimah’s cousin walks up to the window now and strains his neck to speak to the woman sitting on the stool inside the booth.
“Niaata for four boys?”
The young woman looks down at Étienne.
“Six cent.”
Étienne begins to count out six hundred francs from the coins in his palm, but the young woman slaps her hand on the counter to get his attention.
“No, just go in,” she says, pointing to the black gate that spontaneously clicks open. Étienne looks up at her in surprise. She replies with a wink of her eye.
“Give them a tour. The rush won’t arrive until later, when school is out,” she calls over to a man standing on the other side of the gate, wearing a dark-green park uniform.
The man pulls the gate further open. Excited, Ibrahimah pushes past Abdoulaye and Fatik and bumps into the slim, dark-skinned park ranger. Lush tall trees sit behind the man, and a dirt path. It doesn’t look like anything exists inside. Ibrahimah is curious to see what lies within.
“Are you ready?” the man asks.
“Yes!” Ibrahimah squeaks in excitement.
“Have you seen lions before?”
Ibrahimah shakes his head no. The others mimic him.
“Pumas?”
“No.”
“Gorillas?”
The boys look at one another.
“Hyenas?”
Silence again. The man chuckles and motions for the boys to follow him.
“What do I smell?” Ibrahimah asks, scrunching up his nose after taking a few steps.
“The chimpanzees,” the guide tells him as they come upon a large metal cage to their right.
A large chimp gazes at the boys in boredom.
“Wow, it’s a monkey!” Ibrahimah says, moving closer to the cage to stare at the animal. He has seen small monkeys climbing in the trees back home, but he did not know they grew to be so tall and fat.
“Dance, dance,” the man instructs the animal, clapping his hands.
The chimp stands up and flaps its arms, then flips over backward and swings itself toward them, sticking his arm through the fence. The man hands Fatik, the boy standing closest to him, a piece of banana from the bucket near Tiki’s cage. Fatik pops the banana into his mouth and chews without a second thought. The chimp screams at them, jumps up, and bangs its hands against the fence.
“No, no!” the man says, stepping forward to hand the chimp a chunk of banana. “You’re supposed to give Tiki the banana after he dances. He dances for the food.”
Fatik’s eyes open wide with embarrassment as Ibrahimah, Étienne, and Abdoulaye fall into a fit of laughter.
“Dance, dance,” Ibrahimah instructs Fatik.
“Shut up.” Fatik pouts.
The man digs out an additional four bruised bananas from the bucket and hands them to the boys.
“These are for you to eat.”
Ibrahimah sets his banana in his red tin can for later.
“Dance, dance,” Ibrahimah shouts to Tiki.
The chimpanzee stands up, flaps his arms, does a half flip, and then swings his body over to the gate and shoves his arm out, palm facing up. Ibrahimah accepts a chunk of banana from the guide and passes it to the animal. Tiki’s palm feels cold and rough, and he meets Tiki’s eyes for a second before the monkey swings away again. The guide ushers the group along, with Ibrahimah bringing up the rear of the pack.
He whispers the word “chimpanzee” to himself as the guide winds them down a narrow dirt path hugged by trees and plush grasses. The low growl of a beast rises up from behind a small group of park rangers and Ibrahimah’s heart beats faster in anticipation. Within another cage, this one smaller than the chimpanzee’s home, is a large four-legged golden-brown animal. Its skin is smooth and taut, its square jawline similar to Fatik’s face.
“This is a lion. He is Lion King. King of the jungle,” the guide says to the astonished faces of his group.
“Oh!” Étienne says.
The lion paces back and forth about ten feet, the length of its mosaic-tiled home, in a hurried manner.
“Why does he do that?” Étienne asks.
“He is restless,” the guide says. “Calmez-vous, Lion King. Calmez-vous.”
The lion growls, then releases a deep sigh of resignation and plops his large muscled body onto the floor.
“He is sad,” Ibrahimah whispers.
“Why?” Étienne asks.
“This is not his home, just like Dakar is not our home,” Ibrahimah says, and walks away leaving the group and the beast behind.
The guide tells him to hold on and wait for him, but Ibrahimah continues to walk; he is too impatient to wait. He wants to see everything, right now. His sisters would love to see all of these wild animals. Fatou, his eldest sister, would surely be able to identify each of them from her studies in school, and Binta, the youngest girl, would be scared, with Aisha somewhere in between trying to be brave like Fatou but really feeling scared like Binta.
Ibrahimah approaches a cage with a golden-brown beast standing inside its metal-and-ceramic holding pen. This animal does not have a large furry sprout of hair framing its face; instead it’s got a bald head, like himself and Étienne. He wonders if this creature is as unhappy as the Lion King. When the group catches up to Ibrahimah he turns and asks the guide, “Is this the Lion Queen?”
The man raises his eyes in amusement.
“Not quite,” the ranger says, “but you are a smart one, young man. This is a female lion. She does not have the large mane as the adult male lion does. Her name is Nala.”
Ibrahimah steps closer to the cage, and the lion lets a low growl escape from the back of her throat. Before the guide can stop him, Ibrahimah grabs onto a bar of her cage. She looks at him, her head tipping to the side for a fleeting second before she approaches.
“No!” the guide yells out.
The lion licks Ibrahimah’s fingers and he giggles. He lifts his hand from the fence and sticks his arm inside, petting the creature’s head with the light touch of a child. The lion turns her head into his arm and licks his wrist. The guide snatches Ibrahimah away from the cage.
“That is not safe, young one. You have to behave or the tour will end early.”
Nala roars and jumps up onto the fence, standing on her hind legs, front paws resting on the bars.
“This is not your baby,” the ranger says to her, motioning toward Ibrahimah as he pulls him away from the cage.
Nala roars again, louder.
Ibrahimah turns his head as the man pulls him away and catches the lion’s eye. She drops down from the fence and watches him before slinking away.
“The animal likes you, Ibrahimah!” Étienne exclaims, resting his arm across the back of Ibrahimah’s shoulders.
“She does!” Ibrahimah says as he peels his banana. He offers Étienne a piece but his cousin shakes his head no.
“But I guess you should be careful like the man says. Life would be much harder if you only had one arm,” Étienne says.
Ibrahimah gasps but then sees that Étienne is joking. Still, he cannot deny that his cousin is telling the truth.
“Remember when that dog attacked the boy?” Étienne asks.
“Yes, what about it?”
“That’s what I’m talking about. The lion is much bigger than the dog.”
“Ton-ton, can a lion eat a dog?” Ibrahimah asks the guide.
“Like that,” the guide says with a snap of
his fingers.
Perhaps the animals are spirits here to protect Ibrahimah, because the lady lion surely was not interested in eating him. The next cage they approach has an animal that looks like Nala but has dark spots.
“This is an African lion,” Abdoulaye proclaims with authority, mimicking their guide with a puffed-up posture.
“How do you know?” Étienne asks.
“His skin has black dots on it.”
That does not make sense to Ibrahimah. The lion’s skin would have to be the color of all the dots to be African.
“No, no, little ones,” the tour guide interjects, “all of these animals are African, and this one is a cheetah. He is a fearsome beast. He runs faster than any animal alive. He can get to top speeds faster than most cars.”
The animal walks around his small pen in a slow methodical manner. If only Ibrahimah had the power of a cheetah, he would return home and nothing could stop him.
“How did you capture this cheetah if he’s the fastest animal alive?” Étienne asks.
“The only way man knows,” the guide tells them. “With guns. They shot him with medicine so strong that he fell to the ground. One minute he was king, and the next he was like the rest of the animals here. At the mercy of mankind.”
“Does he ever get to run?” Ibrahimah asks.
“If we let him out, he would run and never return. But he has been away from his home so long that he would just terrorize the people of Dakar, because he has no way of finding his way back to South Africa.”
South Africa is as far away as America. Two years ago, his sister Aisha drew a map of the world at school and brought it home to put up on the wall in the bedroom that he shared with his three sisters. He would gaze at the picture, amazed at how many other places existed in the world. One day, Fatou showed him where South Africa was on the map, although he was more interested in learning about America. His mother was always talking about a girl from America who had lived in their village many years before.