Half the Day Is Night

by Maureen F. Mchugh

Voudoun, she thought. Technological voodoo.

  He started to turn his head and the blue and white said, “Eyes on the screen, Mr. Dai.”

  The features became less plastic, solidified. David was leaning away; in the light reflected from the screen she could see his shoulders and hands tense, pushing against the arms of the chair as if he were pushing up and back, over the back of the chair, getting away from the image in front of him. A woman’s face was drawn out of him. Pulled out of him. It did not seem possible that they could do this. It did not seem right, or fair.

  The ims flickered, slowed, stopped. There was a woman’s thin black face with hard round apple cheeks and great dark eyes. David said, “It is the woman at the casino.” He turned in his seat to look back at Mayla, “When we had dinner at Aphrodite.”

  The blue and white looked at her but she could only shake her head.

  She couldn’t remember the woman at all. Was the memory hiding somewhere in her unconscious? Could they have pulled that face out of her, arising, all unknowing? What else was down there that someone could pull out?

  Stir and stir and stir, and at no time think of a white rhinoceros.

  They wanted David to register for a course in defensive driving and a course on personal security. She wished he could have stayed while she talked to the blue and whites about what she should do now, but they wanted him to do some ID for their records; retinal scans, DNA samples.

  An officer, a blue and white with sergeant’s bars on the sleeves of her uniform told Mayla that she had to continue with her life, that she must not allow terrorism to keep her from functioning. The phrases the officer used were phrases from the paper and the vid, so familiar that Mayla heard them in capitals. “If you Allow yourself to Succumb to Fear,” the officer told her, “They have Succeeded. They have Disrupted Society. The Only Way to Fight Terrorists is make them Powerless.”

  On the other hand, she was supposed to take certain precautions. She was supposed to do A Few Simple Things. “Vary your schedule. Leave for work at different times, change the route you take.” She lived on a dead-end street, she worked at the bank, no matter how she varied her routine she had to start at the same place and end at the same place.

  There was a Delicate Balance between disruption and Normal Common Sense. What, Mayla wondered, would Abnormal Common Sense be?

  “Who was the woman who approached David?” she asked.

  “Her name is Anna Eminike, she is wanted for a number of charges both here and abroad. We are conducting an investigation and we are closing in on these people. In the meantime, just be a little careful.”

  Be a Little Careful, Mayla thought. “Is she part of La Mano de Diós?”

  The blue and white said, “I’m sorry, this matter is under investigation, that is not information I can give out.”

  “Why is she after me?”

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Ling, but during an investigation we cannot talk about the particulars.”

  Had this woman singled her out because of the im in the newspaper? Or because they had seen her in the casino? But when they’d seen her in the casino, how did they find out who she was? David had told the blue and whites that the woman had said she was an instrument of God, that she was God’s surgeon. Wasn’t that what La Mano de Diós believed? That God told them what to do?

  That there was providence in the fall of a sparrow? That God selected them to be the instrument of the sparrow’s fall?

  “Ms. Ling,” the blue and white said, “your dossier indicates you travel quite a bit on business. It might be a good idea to go somewhere for a few days, perhaps the U.S. or Marincite?”

  * * *

  “Mayla,” Polly Navarro said. “I’m sorry to hear about your trouble, but glad Marincite could help.”

  “It’s actually a wonderful opportunity to work with your people on the MaTE restructuring,” she said.

  Polly’s office was as formal as a royal court. The door was tall and wooden, like the doors of the Cathedral St. Nicolas. The whole right side of the office was virtual window. The scene was a city.

  A secretary brought them coffee. He was a young man in a vanilla suit with amethyst cufflinks and buttons. He had amethyst slips in his eyes, too. He was absolutely silent, like a good waiter. Her coffee tasted like surface coffee. She glanced at the window again, not meaning to, and saw Polly follow her eyes. “Hong Kong?” she asked.

  He nodded. “Hong Kong, 2038.”

  Okay. Although why he would want to look at Hong Kong in that particular year eluded her. “Quite a display,” she said.

  “Thank you,” he said. “I like it.” He tapped a little brass control panel set in the desk. “Clear,” he said, “orchids.”

  The window dimmed and came bright, and this time the wall looked into a greenhouse of orchids.

  “Clear, Hokkaido.” Twisted pine trees and mountains, mist and stone. At least they weren’t as bright.

  “Clear, Serengeti.”

  Desert at dusk and below them a muddy drinking hole.

  “Impressive,” she said. Voice activated. The money spent on this office would probably buy her a house.

  “Set,” he said. “I like the space in this one.”

  Lots of it, the plain falling away in a long sweep, darkening to blue in the dusk. Tim would like it, she thought, but it wasn’t exactly her taste.

  “I wonder if you would be willing to talk to someone here regarding a loan for a city project,” Polly said.

  For a moment she was surprised. Not that she should have been, deals usually required favors. “Certainly,” she said. “Mr. Navarro, First Hawaiian would like very much to establish presence in Marincite in any way possible.”

  “I’ll have him call you. Watch a minute,” Polly said, “the lions will come down.”

  She looked at the window. And after a moment they came, bellies swaying and lean hips rocking, to crouch at Polly Navarro’s waterhole and drink with long pink tongues.

  * * *

  Polly Navarro’s “someone” came calling. Saad Shamsi was a gazelle-eyed Pakistani. “Just Saad,” he said, and added, smiling, “rhymes with ‘odd’.” He was an aide with the Marincite City Department of Education and Health (he gave her his card). Aide could mean anything. His job may even have been a real job, although aide could mean anything.

  He wanted a loan for a nursing school and clinic to be built in an area of town called, whimsically, Castle. “Are you familiar with Castle?” he asked, convincingly sincere. “It’s not a very good part of the city. This way we can address two problems at the same time, the need to educate young people and provide jobs, and a way to increase health care.”

  Politician talk. She dropped the chip into her reader and looked at the figures. She could structure a loan proposal, it wasn’t even a very complicated loan. “I don’t foresee any problems,” she said. There was no reason for Polly to send her this loan, it was a nothing loan.

  There was nothing to be understood from Saad-rhymes-with-odd Shamsi, either. He was about her age. He spoke impeccable English, sounded North American rather than Caribbean. Maybe slightly British in his diction but it was hard to say. His suit was appropriate, that kind of neutral gold color that meant he could have bought the suit yesterday or five days ago. Not too expensive, so if he was skimming, he wasn’t making big money, or at least not spending it on clothes. Not flashy.

  “It looks straightforward,” she said.

  “Good,” he said. “I mean, I didn’t expect much problem.”

  “So why are you working with me?” she asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  She shrugged. “Anyone could do this loan.”

  “Mr. Navarro suggested you,” Saad said. He was not evasive. He looked at her clear-eyed, his face open.

  Maybe Polly really did just want to send some business First Hawaiian’s way. This was a token, easy enough.

  “Who knows why Mr. Navarro does anything,” Saad said. “He sits in the middle of his web and
pulls us all together.” He shook his head. “Have you spent much time in Marincite?”

  “Business trips,” she said.

  “Maybe I could take all of you around the city some evening?”

  Then it will come, Mayla thought, whatever the secret cost of this loan would be. A loan for his mother at low interest. Financing something. “That would be wonderful,” she said.

  “Do you like jai alai?”

  Tim loved jai alai. Terrific, Saad would get some tickets and they would go see some jai alai.

  * * *

  Saad Shamsi collected the three of them that evening after dinner. He didn’t seem put off by having to take her security, seemed in fact to get on very well with Tim. He had tickets for good seats, although Mayla didn’t know, she had never been to a jai alai match.

  Jai alai players leaped, arms top-heavy with cestas like flamingo beaks whipping the ball. The games were fast, the slap of feet against the floor, an explosion and a yell. The odds changed constantly and she didn’t understand the betting. A player leaped, flicking the ball across the court. His gear was brilliant red and he looked like a barbarian in armor covered at the vulnerable points: head, knees and elbows. He had silver streamers like tinsel tied around his biceps on his cesta arm. She wondered if that meant something, but not enough to ask.

  It was hard to concentrate on the game. She didn’t feel tired, not physically; fatigued, maybe. Eventually he would ask for it: a loan for a company run by a friend or that the administration of the monies for the construction work be handled by another company—selling the loan to him so he made half a percentage point a year.

  If he’d just get it over with, then she could be done with this nonsense of jai alai and evenings of entertainment and get on with the MaTE loan. More meetings with Polly Navarro.

  She wanted to see him again, wanted to talk to him, the way he had started to talk at the funeral. About terrorists. About security. What would it be like to work for Polly Navarro?

  The red player with the silver streamers scooped the ball, whirled and fired it, streamers tracing a fluid arc. Tim went to his feet, he had money on the game.

  She felt out of touch. She thought of La Mano de Diós and suddenly she could not manage to care about the jai alai game or about Polly Navarro or MaTE.

  She glanced to her left just as David looked her way and their eyes met. Nothing in his face. Her face felt the same way, nothing. They were just here, not part of this place at all, two people for whom the game and the excitement meant nothing. And then he quirked a tiny smile and shrugged ever so slightly, just a little gallic twist of his shoulders. “What can you say?” his shoulders said. And she felt herself smile back a bit.

  “Secrets?” Saad said, catching her off guard.

  He was watching her, too.

  Tim looked down, puzzled, and in that moment something must have happened on the court because the crowd around them erupted. She stood up and cheered, too, sliding out from under Saad’s gaze. The player in black and green walked to the side to pick up a towel and wipe his face—stage business that athletes use when they are in the spotlight. Off to the side stood the player in red, streamers hanging motionless. He looked bemused.

  She knew how he felt.

  * * *

  Saad was back two days later to talk about the hospital and clinic loan. She had the loan of an office by then, and was started on the business of the MaTE deal.

  “Hi,” he said from the door, “just who you wanted to see, right?” She rolled her eyes in mock disgust and he came in and sat down. “Ms. Ling,” he said, “my most favorite person in the whole world.”

  “Not because I’m going to give you a sizable chunk of money,” she said.

  “Of course not,” he said.

  His office had received quotes from construction firms and he had a change in some of the figures. She plugged the figures into the system. It wasn’t a complicated loan at all.

  Saad sat in a chair beside the desk, craning a bit to watch her. “Is that all?” he asked.

  “That’s it,” she said.

  “That’s slap,” he said. American slang, she knew it from the vid.

  “What can I say?” she said.

  “You’re amazing,” he said, mock serious.

  “Your English is amazing.”

  He shrugged. Apparently he knew his English was good. It was casual and fast, and he always caught what she was saying. Bilingual. She wanted to know where he learned.

  “I studied it at home, in Pakistan, and I lived in the U.S. for awhile,” off hand, slightly embarrassed.

  “Oh yeah?” she asked, “where did you live?”

  “Cincinnati, Ohio,” he said, and she laughed at the unexpectedness of it.

  “That’s funny?” he asked.

  “Why Cincinnati, Ohio?”

  “Actually,” he said, “I lived in Los Angeles for a year, and then the company I worked for transferred me to Cincinnati. I liked Cincinnati.” That sounded a little defensive. But he was smiling, he knew she had expected him to say someplace like New York or Miami.

  “I’m sure it’s a lovely town,” she said.

  “It is,” he said, emphatic. “Believe it or not, I want to go back there. I want to go back to Cincinnati, Ohio, marry a blonde American girl, and have three perfect blonde daughters.”

  She shook her head. “Genetics are not on your side.”

  He sighed. “Biology is destiny, I know.”

  “So why did you leave?” she asked. “Did you get transferred here?” Marincite could have a subsidiary in Cincinnati, Ohio.

  “No,” he said, “the U.S. Immigration Department informed me that my presence in the U.S. was no longer an asset.”

  That surprised her, since he’d had a job.

  “The U.S. says that you can’t take jobs from American citizens. You have to be an engineer or a scientist or something, then they let you stay because there are never enough of those people. But not an administrator, a manager of a finance department.” He looked down at his hands, now made pensive. She was sorry she had asked.

  “Well,” she said, “if those are the only changes to the loan you have, then we’re still on our way. I’ll have papers any time you want.”

  “I’ll take them now,” he said. “I can bring them back tomorrow with signatures.”

  She hadn’t expected that, it was too easy. “You want them now?” she asked.

  “Sure,” he said. He sounded so American.

  She printed them out and handed them to him. That was it? No catch? Saad Shamsi was odd if there wasn’t a catch.

  He looked through them and she felt her shoulders tense, waiting for him to say casually, “I have a friend.…”

  “Looks good,” he said.

  “Do you foresee any problems?” she asked.

  “What do you mean?” he asked.

  “Getting signatures?”

  He looked puzzled. “It’s a pretty straightforward loan, isn’t it?”

  It was. Of course it was. Or would be in a place like the U.S. where people didn’t pay each other to do business. “Unless someone wouldn’t be in or something,” she said.

  “Oh,” he said, “no, no problems. We’ve got a meeting tomorrow on the clinic so I can get this taken care of then. If I can’t get all the signatures tomorrow I can bring the papers back to you Friday, can’t I?”

  Of course he could.

  That was it. All this time she had been waiting and that was it. The jai alai, reading motives into everything he did and said … he was just a nice guy. Oh, Madre de Diós, was she blushing? It wasn’t her fault. It was the way business usually happened in Julia, she wasn’t accustomed to Marincite. She had always heard Marincite was worse than Julia, but maybe that wasn’t true at all, with the Uncles around keeping watch.

  He stood up and buttoned his jacket. “Hey,” he said.

  “Hey,” she echoed. “What?”

  “Would you like to go to dinner with me, tonight?
”

  Would she like to go to dinner with Saad-rhymes-with-odd Shamsi? Well, sure. Why not? She hadn’t been exactly fair to him. “Okay,” she said. “That would be nice.”

  “Great,” he said, “absolutely slap.”

  She laughed. What a decent, nice guy, she thought when he left. A date. How long had it been since she’d had a date? Months, maybe over a year. Not that she expected anything, she couldn’t expect anything, he lived in Marincite and she lived in Julia and a relationship would be impossible over that distance. Besides, it was stupid to even start thinking about a relationship when he had just asked her for dinner.

  It would solve all of her problems with Tim if she were dating. He would give up and leave. David wouldn’t care, and he wanted to leave anyway.

  Insane, all these thoughts running through her head, worrying about the equation of Saad, Tim and David. It was just a dinner date. Nothing more.

  It would be wonderful to be out on a date.

  * * *

  Mayla was unprepared for how she felt when she saw him at the door to the suite. She smiled too much, she was too happy. “Hi, come in a moment.” She wished this were over with, that this were the second or even the third time they were going out. It would all be easier then. “I’m sorry, David has to go with us,” she said. Quickly, “He doesn’t have to eat with us, just go—” Saad looked taken aback, “—because of the insurance and all of that.”

  “No problem,” he said. Sweet relief.

  Still awkward, though, to go out with Saad and have David in tow. She had never had to worry about that before because until she had been promoted she had never been required to have security. At least David wasn’t Tim. David was quiet.

  David stood just behind them on the people mover, his body angled away, watching the bright shops—in Central the lights were dimmed at second shift to simulate dusk.

  She wished Saad Shamsi would take her hand. She wanted a hug. It was too soon, and if he had taken her hand then her longing would be destroyed because he would be forward, he would be pressuring her into an intimacy that didn’t exist yet. He would destroy all trust. And besides, David was behind them, a chaperon carefully not watching them. She was too lonely, it was dangerous to go out to dinner with this man when she was so lonely.