The Atheist's Messiah: Yanif

by Saul Dobney

He opened it and read through the detail, a complex of medical jargon. Jill had scribbled on the paper. Surgery. Chemotherapy. Rest.

  “Oh no,” he murmured.

  He took Jill in his arms and hugged her tight and she started to cry onto his shoulder again. “Can they clear it?”

  Jill wiped a tear from her eye and looked at him. “The doctor couldn’t say. He did more tests, a more thorough examination. He's taken more samples. He said there will need to be surgery and then treatment and maybe then it will clear. But there’s only a fifty-fifty chance.”

  She put her head on his shoulder once more and held him. “I’m scared James. I’m scared.”

  He pressed her to his chest, gently rubbing his hand across her back.

  After some moments Jill released her husband and took a tissue from the box on the worktop to dry her bloodshot eyes. “This is too much. Too much. Why now? Why? What I have done to deserve this?”

  “It's OK. You’ll pull through. I know you’ll pull through. We’ve got to make arrangements, sort out specialists. I can look after you now.”

  He took her hand and raised it to his lips, kissing it softly. “What are the next steps?”

  Jill blew out a long breath. “The lymphoma results will be in next week followed by another biopsy and internal examination. It's a real bugger, I've got so many things I want to do. Your march for starters.”

  “Let's take it one step at a time,” said Dr Hill. “I'll tell Nicholas we need some more time. We have bigger priorities.”

  “And tell Tim about it too,” said Jill. “I don't want the two of you fighting and stressing me out. I need all the support I can get.”

  “Sit down. I’ll make you some tea,” said Dr Hill.

  “You will not,” said Jill. “I’ll make the damn tea. Something to make me feel useful and not so bloody useless.”

  36. Dinner with Mr Coombe

  “You left the twins at home?” asked Mr Coombe as he took Yanif and the others through the dining room to the verandah of his house. The house was large and modern with a high ceiling above the lounge. Bookshelves and water colour pictures of blue seas and far-off places dotted the walls.

  “Kwasi and Mosi are playing football,” replied Eshe.

  “Football? That's a sissy’s game,” said Mr Coombe. He handed an aperitif to Eshe. “Rugby’s a real sport. Did you ever play rugby Tremus? You look like you’d have made a fine second row.”

  Tremus shook his head, breaking his gaze from the rush of colours of the flower filled fields that lay below the verandah. “I know nothing about rugby.”

  “We just played soccer and baseball when we were growing up,” said Eshe. She took a glass from Mr Coombe and handed it to Yanif. “You couldn't stop Kwasi and Mosi. Yanif didn't care for sport though.”

  “And you Riaz?”

  “The only games I know are poker and blackjack,” said Riaz.

  Mr Coombe laughed.

  “Mr Coombe—” continued Riaz.

  “Niall, please.”

  “—Niall, you have such a fine house with wonderful views. But I was wondering, why did you choose to come to Kenya?”

  “We came over with the distillery six years ago. Selling Irish spirits out in Africa seemed like a good craic at the time. I wanted some adventure. Something a bit more glamorous than a grey wet morning in Dublin or London. And the job came up and Teresa and I took it, thought it would be good for Tabitha.”

  Yanif noticed a photo that sat on the sideboard in the dining room. Tabitha, Mr Coombe and a woman in wetsuits and life jackets were waving out of the picture.

  “Teresa?” said Yanif. “That is where the sadness is?”

  Mr Coombe breathed in sharply. “You are an insightful man young.” He took a moment to compose himself, then brought the picture out to the others.

  “This is my wife Teresa. She was taken from me, and from Tabitha, about a year ago, not long before Tabitha was diagnosed.”

  He handed the picture to Yanif.

  “Before you ask, it was a traffic accident. Out getting her hair done and the next minute a car's, run her down. Didn't even stop. There was nothing anyone could do. I wasn’t even there. Just this terrible phone call to the office.” He wiped his cheek to hide a tear.

  Yanif placed his hand on Mr Coombe’s arm and the others lowered their eyes unsure of what to say. Mr Coombe walked to the verandah balcony and stared out to the fields, then drank a slug of drink from his glass.

  “Still the world carries on,” said Mr Coombe filling the silence. “It has to carry on for Tabitha. She’s the one I worry about now and I can’t blame Nairobi or Kenya, it could have happened anywhere.” He took another drink. “The strangest thing, is that since last week Teresa’s been in my dreams with you at her side Yanif and angels in the background. Something the children were saying to me. It’s like God is telling me something.”

  “Are you religious ?” asked Eshe.

  “You won’t believe this, but I trained to be a priest for a while. The old dog collar and all that. When I was leaving school in Dublin, the church or the brewery seemed like the only two long term prospects available to an Irish lad.”

  “And why didn’t you become a priest?” asked Eshe. “It is a good job, no?”

  “I got, well… disillusioned,” said Mr Coombe struggling for the right word. “There we were, these randy young teenagers and there were these doddery sixty year old priests trying to tell us how to behave. And, if I’m honest, I found I enjoyed female company rather too much. I mean I believe in Jesus and all that and I still enjoy a good Dublin mass, but it stopped making sense here.”

  Eshe looked at him seeking an explanation.

  “We did go to church at first. It’s a good way to meet more people. But you’d listen to the priest going on about abstinence and how contraception and condoms are evil and then you’d walk out of the church and there would be all these wee hands thrust out in front of you begging because they’d lost their parents, and it just seemed to me that the Roman Church and the Holy Father would prefer orphans to condoms.”

  “But you do believe in God,” said Eshe. “He cares for us. He’s sent us Yanif.”

  “I’m coming to the conclusion that there is God and there is the Church and one shouldn’t be confused with the other. But we should eat. I want to find out more about you, Yanif.”

  He led them into the dining room and they took their places at the long mahogany table set with pristine silver cutlery and cut-glass wine glasses. A housemaid unwrapped the table napkins and laid them on each of the visitors’ laps.

  Tremus leaned over to Eshe and whispered in her ear. “Now I know what it feels to be the King of Kenya. This is a feeling I could get to like.”

  “Mr Coombe sir, this is a dream,” said Riaz. His eyes were moist and his cheeks glowed. “We do not know how to thank you for your hospitality. When I was a child my father was a chauffeur and my mother a cook, and now I am sitting at a table having servants serve my dinner to me.”

  “It comes with the job here,” said Mr Coombe. “I never had anything like it before. I'm sure back home I'd be living just the same as you.”

  “I doubt it,” said Eshe. “The boys are sleeping Tremus's workshop. At least Yanif, Tremus and Mosi and Kwasi do. Riaz has his flat in the city.”

  “A workshop? Four of you,” said Mr Coombe. “But you have rooms? A kitchen, surely?”

  Tremus shook his head. “There is one room and a wash-room no more. We have divided it up into sleeping areas. It’s not so bad. We can cook outside and we have more money for food now.”

  “And I should have told you,” —Eshe put her hand on Tremus's wrist— “I’ll need to join you at the end of the month. If that's OK?”

  Tremus gasped at her in surprise. “What?” he exclaimed. “Why is that? Your job? The hotel? I will go and see Mr Gates. I will make him see sense.”

  Eshe shook her head. “It’s not Mr Gates, Tremus. The hotel… . There are not enough vi
sitors this year. So they are letting me go. Me and another maid. Mr Gates said I can work again when things pick up.”

  Mr Coombe interjected. “I hadn’t realised that things were so bad. I know the economy is disintegrating, but I thought—”

  “It’s OK,” said Eshe. “We’ll survive. We're Kenyans, we know how to get by.”

  “Look, I shouldn’t really talk about money at dinner, but how be if I say I’ll help you out? Give you some money to keep yourselves going so as Yanif can do his good work? He’s got me intrigued and I’d like to know what happens. And I think I can help you out with a place. The business has an empty house in Nairobi. How are you arranging things?”

  “We don’t have anything set up. Just an agreement amongst ourselves,” said Tremus.

  “Well you’ll need some way of organising things, a bank account or something. Here’s what I’ll do. I’ll arrange to make a donation once a month for Tabitha and for me while you're helping her. But only so long as you do me the kindness of coming to dinner once in a while. Would that be acceptable to you?”

  “Absolutely,” said Riaz. “It would be our pleasure.”

  37. The Chama

  Riaz drove Tremus, Yanif and Eshe back to the workshop almost unable to stop smiling.

  “Yanif did it,” said Tremus shaking Yanif by the shoulder as they arrived and met up with the twins at the workshop. “Thirty thousand shillings from Mr Coombe each month. Plus we have the money from Mr Eden. And there are more visits to come and Mr Chiumbo's party next week.”

  Kwasi and Mosi clapped and bounced around the workshop and each slapped Tremus on the hand.

  “That's five thousand shillings each,” said Kwasi. “About what we made on the farm. We could —”

  Riaz coughed and put his hand up to interrupt them.

  “I have been thinking,” he said. “This is not the right way to split it. Mr Coombe was my customer, and my sale, so I should have a bigger share. Like a commission or an incentive.”

  “Hey Riaz. Why are you always trying to cheat us?” roared Tremus. “We work together. And remember you still owe us money from Mr Eden. And your car.” He stepped forwards, overshadowing Riaz.

  Riaz cowed back and shrank into the gloom.

  “Mosi, Kwasi and Eshe spent so much time knocking on doors and we’ve all worked in the villages,” continued Tremus.

  “But the door knocking and the hospice didn’t work,” said Riaz. “Mr Coombe was my customer, Mr Eden was my customer.” Riaz waved his hands in resignation. “I can’t help it if none of you can make business. And I have been driving you around in my car for days. Gas doesn't grow on trees. There are the phone calls. Who is going to pay me my expenses for the investments I am making?”

  A storm of anger crossed Tremus’s face and he grabbed Riaz's throat.

  Yanif stepped in to separate them, prying Tremus's fingers away.

  Tremus breathed deeply and as he controlled his anger. “Riaz. I have had enough of your playing. We work together. We take equal shares. No special deals. We split what we earn equally.”

  Eshe touched Tremus gently on the shoulder. “I don’t agree with Riaz but there are expenses Tremus. We do need to make an arrangement like Mr Coombe said. If we are arguing about money now, what will it be like if there is more. Besides, shouldn’t Yanif most? He’s the one who heals people.”

  Yanif shook his head. “Tremus must decide. Money is not for me.”

  Riaz breathed in and nodded. “OK. OK. Look, I know how we do this. We still need to cover my expenses and investments. But once this is paid we take equal shares. We form a partnership or a union. They call it a Chama in Swahili. The money from Mr Coombe and the others comes into the Chama, then the Chama pays for expenses and from what is left, we each take a salary. If there is any remaining we can split it.”

  “But who would manage the money and keep the records. We need someone who can deal with finance,” said Eshe.

  “You’re not offering to do it, are you Riaz?” said Mosi.

  Tremus glared at Riaz. “It should be someone we can rely on.”

  Riaz stepped back, appearing offended by the insinuation.

  “Kwasi knows an accountant,” said Mosi. “Or rather someone who works with the district office in the finance department. He dated her a few times last year.”

  Kwasi smiled. “She’s pretty and works hard. But she has a child already and she was looking for something serious and, well…”

  “But you could speak to her?” asked Eshe.

  “Sure. She has some issues in her job at the moment.”

  “What sort of issues?” asked Tremus.

  “She’s, well, a little too honest for her own good. Everyone knows that projects need a little bit of commission and palm-grease to move things along. Everyone except Angelie that is. She won’t let anything through without paperwork. Her work friends said that if you get Angelie on your case you might as well open a paper-making factory, the number of things she checks and wants documents for.”

  “That doesn’t sound so bad,” said Eshe.

  Riaz hissed. “Sounds like a complete nightmare. How can anyone get anything done with such a jobs-worth? Better she stays in the finance department than works with us.”

  “The thing is,” continued Kwasi, “that she has to check up on people in her office to make sure they are doing things right. Her boss got someone in who was,” —he paused to find the right words — “let's say, negotiating a settlement. Angelie walked in and saw money changing hands and the next thing her boss is being arrested. They’re terrified of her. Someone even put a snake in her bag.”

  “And you think she could work with us?” Riaz raised his eyebrows.

  “Her heart’s in the right place. Her daughter, Salina has a thing with her eye so she'd love to meet Yanif. I'd like to see her again, if you know what I mean.” He nudged his brother and winked.

  “Well that sounds perfect,” said Eshe. “What do you think Tremus?”

  Tremus had been sitting quietly thinking. “The Chama sounds right to me. We must make good management with the money. Some of us are a little less careful than others,” he said fixing on Riaz. “So if we know she can be trusted then I think we should ask her. If we have problems we can ask someone else.”

  “Riaz?” asked Eshe.

  Riaz took his time to think. “OK. No commission and everyone the same. But that means everyone has to work. I don’t want to waste time chasing lost causes,” he said looking at Eshe.

  “We are settled then,” said Tremus. “The Chama will be formed.”

  38. Bird watching

  “I hope you don’t mind me visiting,” said the chaplain. Nicholas was standing in the doorway of Dr Hill's house under crisp blue sky with frost sparkling on the garden in the morning sun. “I've come to check up on you. They said you haven’t been into college for a couple of weeks now.”

  Dr Hill sighed. “It’s OK Nicholas. I'm just taking some R&R. A bit overstressed and overworked and too much bad news recently. Come in. Come in.”

  The chaplain rubbed his feet on the doormat and stepped into the hallway. “They said Jill was ill.”

  “You haven’t come to pray for me or anything?” called Jill from the kitchen.

  “I can if you’d like,” said the chaplain.

  “Not bloody likely,” shouted Jill. “Do you want a tea?”

  “I can’t stay. I came round to discuss the vigil. The committee want to check it can go ahead. They're worried you're getting cold feet.”

  “I want to do it,” said Dr Hill. “I do. Don't look so surprised. I've come round to thinking that it's time to take a stand. We've got to speak out against religious violence. I've asked Tim Spearman to come if you don't mind.”

  “What? Tim's coming too?” called Jill from the kitchen. “You two really have made up.”

  “Well, I've invited him, but he's not replied yet.”

  “That'll be more like it,” said Jill. “I'll bet you
a penny to a pound he won't come.”

  “Excellent,” said the chaplain. “I'll start putting wheels in—”

  Crash. A metallic bang from the kitchen interrupted him.

  “Jill. Jill is everything all right?” Dr Hill ran into the kitchen, startled by the noise.

  “It's OK James. Just a pan,” said Jill picking up a casserole dish from the floor.

  “You scared me.” He sat down at the breakfast table, his face glowing pink and beads of sweat appearing on his forehead, breathing in bursts like a steam train, hands shaking.

  “It's OK James, really.” Jill put her arms around his head and hugged him to her bosom.

  Dr Hill squeezed tight closing his eyes, trying to control his heart rate.

  “James?” asked the chaplain. “Is everything all right?”

  Dr Hill released his wife and wiped his brow with his hand.

  “He's been getting panic attacks Nicholas,” said Jill. “It'll pass.”

  Jill stroked Dr Hill's hair. “It'll pass James. You need to take a walk, get a little bit of air.” She kissed her husband on the forehead.

  “I was on my way to the Magog Hills,” interrupted the chaplain. “A bit of bird watching on my day off. Perhaps you'd like to come?”

  Dr Hill raised himself to his feet and swayed, stretching his neck to ease the tension. He blew out a long breath of air and gripped the sill of the window. “You know I used to be a twitcher as a teenager. I still have my log-book upstairs.” He paused watching a robin flit along the fence in the garden. “Are you going for anything special?”

  “I’ve been reliably informed that two lesser spotted woodpeckers have been seen in the woods. I was hoping to see them.”

  “You know where they are?” asked Dr Hill.

  Nicholas nodded and touched his nose. “Inside information – a little birdie told me.”

  “You’ve still got your binoculars,” called Jill. “Why don’t you go out? A bit of country air will do you good. Take your mind of things. I can cope without my knight in shining armour.”

  “We can just sit in silence and watch the birds,” said Nicholas. “I'll understand completely if you don't want to talk.”