by Pike, Leslie
Once we walk through the back doors, the afternoon’s plan is clear. Long white tables under crisp white tents fill the patio. Beautiful African beadwork runners run the length of the tables.
“Miss Banks, I hope you enjoy our lunch. Are you familiar with our traditional dishes?” the doctor says.
It’s a friendly question with a short answer. “Not yet. I’m looking forward though.”
Zan takes the center seat of honor at the one table facing all others. I sit on his right and the Director on his left. Eight other seats are occupied by doctors and donors. On my right sits one of the corporate donors.
“I’m Elizabeth,” she says, extending a hand.
“Belinda.”
Zan is busy talking with the doctor, so I don’t introduce him.
“American?”
“Yes. I’m a New Yorker.”
This makes her very happy. “Oh! I’m planning a trip there next year. Is there something you’d say don’t miss? I mean other than the obvious tourist traps.”
“I’d suggest you see a Broadway play. Are you interested in the arts? We have fabulous museums.”
“I’m interested in it all. I just haven’t had the time to indulge myself much. I’ve been on this business treadmill for twenty-five years now. I need to learn to take some time for myself.”
“What do you do, Elizabeth?”
“I run a media outlet. Trackers.”
I put the puzzle together. “Oh, yes. I’m aware of your company.”
“Yes? I’m surprised.”
“I’m a writer. Political analysis and in-depth reporting of worldwide current events.”
She looks at me with a discerning eye. “How interesting. What’s your full name?”
“Belinda Banks. Let me give you my card.”
I retrieve the card from my purse and hand it to her. “I write a weekly column and I do spec pieces for various online magazines and periodicals. I’d be honored if you’d give me a read.”
“I will. Definitely. Of course I’m familiar with your editor. We’ve been at events together a few times. I wouldn’t say we’re friends, but we’ve had a few interesting conversations.”
Shit. She knows the media mogul I can’t get within a hundred yards of. I bring the conversation back to its roots, so she doesn’t find me too pushy.
“I’d be happy to send you a few suggestions and links to our venues in Manhattan. For your trip next year.”
Her face brightens. “That would be wonderful! Thank you, Belinda. Let me give you my information. I’m not in the habit of sharing my cell number and private email, but I’m happy to do it for you.”
Yeah. I’m a bit too savvy to take the woman at her word. Not about this. I’m well aware her interests lie in the prince and more specifically his family. At least it does if she’s as good at her job as the reputation that precedes her.
But one hand washes the other. If I can widen my influence as a writer by being published by one of Africa’s biggest news sources, it will be huge. But it only works if I can protect Zan and the private information about the king and his family I’m subject to. I’m not about to risk the relationship or what’s just become mine.
* * *
The trip back is a very different experience. It’s almost pitch black because there’s fewer house lights along this stretch of coast. But the stars are putting on a spectacular show. Zan asked the driver to open the moonroof, and we’ve been stretched out watching the sky.
“Did you see me talking with Elizabeth Loch?”
“Yeah. She’s a bright woman, and powerful.”
“I took her information so I could send her some tips on visiting New York. She’s coming next year.”
“Uh huh. Did you give her yours?”
I sit up so I can look him in the eyes. “Yes. I told her I was a writer too. Secretly I’m hoping to submit to one of her publications. Our interests fit. I just wanted to tell you and say I’m aware she’s a media person above all. I know she’d love to get the story of your father’s illness and the subsequent announcement of the heir to the throne.”
“Your damn right she would,” he says, waiting for me to conclude my thought.
“I’ll never betray the trust you’ve put in me. And to that end, whatever I submit, you’ll see first.”
The smile and the accompanying nod tell me I’ve done the right thing in being open.
“Good. Because you haven’t learned yet, that there’s all kinds of people who will play you to get to us. They work to find your weak spot. I’m not saying there is one, but remember Belinda, not everyone is as ethical or good as you. Just be guarded.”
“I will, love.”
His eyes close as he gently pulls me back down beside him. Quiet is what he needs. But thoughts of the king must be playing on a loop. I’ve thought of little else myself. It must be excruciatingly hard for Zan and the entire family. Note to self. Ask Princess Monifa what I can do to help.
Chapter 17
Zan
“Papa, open your mouth. I’ve got your favorite soup.”
My mother sits on the opposite side of the bed, holding his hand. Her face wears the worry and gut -wrenching sadness she carries.
“Manza, you must eat a little. Please, my love.”
No response, although his eyes are open. This silence is the most disturbing turn. He’s gone within. If my mother can’t break through none of us can. I look to her for I don’t know what. Permission to quit trying to force feed him? She raises a palm. I set the soup down on the tray, and get it out of the way.
A finger signals me to follow.
“I’ll be back after you take your nap, Papa.”
Outside we walk toward the voices coming from the other room.
“I’m losing my hope, son. And it’s coming faster than we were told.”
Eyes plead for me to have another opinion, but I don’t.
I don’t want to remind either of us the doctor said “Maybe six months”. At the time I thought that was about the weakest way to give us all a glimmer of faith. Now I know it was a kind of generosity.
Before we round the corner I give my mother a hug that lasts longer than any I’ve given before. I want to comfort her. And me.
“Is Dad awake?” Tarik’s voice calls.
As soon as we round the corner and are met by the concerned faces of my brothers, my mother starts crying. There’s no wails or any sound. It’s her quiet grief that punches me in the gut. Rarely have I seen this. She’s the strongest among us, and also the most private. But great love makes all our emotions come to the surface. I’m just beginning to know that truth.
“Mom, come sit here with me,” Tarik says, patting the spot next to him.
“Dad’s resting,” I say.
“Did he talk?” Kwai asks.
“No.” I know they wanted another answer, but I didn’t have it to give.
* * *
The early morning’s scenes still play in my head, while we’re moving closer to our destination. Even the woman in my arms can’t remove the images.
Belinda’s first trip to Africa was too short. I’m hoping for much more. Do I dare imagine a day when airports and goodbyes are unnecessary? If I were to bring the subject up this soon, it might scare her. Slow your roll, Zan.
“When are you coming back? They’ll always be a ticket waiting.” So much for playing it cool.
We’re wrapped up in each other’s arms, her head resting against my chest. The International Terminal is only a few minutes away. Damn. The morning went by too quickly.
“Are you sure your family would want that?” she says, looking back at me. “It’s such an intimate time.”
“I’ve already passed it by my mother. That’s the only person whose opinion I needed. My brothers are fine with it, they understand.”
“It’s not like I’d be anywhere around the private residence. I want to support you. Even if it’s just to be a shoulder for you to cry on.”
&
nbsp; I pull her closer. “So you’re coming back?”
“If you want me to. Maybe at the beginning of next month. James’ wedding will be in the rearview mirror. You know I’d get out of it if it was anyone but one of my brothers.”
“I understand, baby. I’ll take what I can get. Come back as soon as you think it’s right.”
Her kiss is the promise, just as the car pulls to the curb. The driver gets out and gets her bags from the trunk. I see the British Airways representatives waiting to escort her. They stand a respectable distance from the car. But their demeanor is unmistakable.
“Before you get out I want to tell you something. Actually, I want to ask you something.” My voice cracks with emotion. What she does to me. I turn into my sixteen-year-old inexperienced self.
“What, love?”
“Do you think you could ever see yourself living anywhere other than New York?”
But before there’s time for an answer Chudda knocks on the glass and holds his cell up, motioning me to lower the glass.
“I’m sorry to disturb. They’ve just taken the king to the hospital. The ambulance left a few minutes ago.”
It hits me like an avalanche. I’m not sure which way is up or what to do. Belinda and I untangle from each other and sit up.
“Why didn’t they call me?”
“Your cell goes to message. Kwai said he couldn’t get ahold of you.”
Belinda squeezes my arm and the tears in her eyes say the rest.
“Go, honey. Call when you can. Doesn’t matter what time,” I say.
“Are you going to be okay? Do you want me to stay? I will.”
Sweet woman. I kiss her.
“No. Let’s stick with the plan. You go back, take care of whatever you have to do. Then, after the wedding, get your ass back. Don’t forget I love you.”
Arms wrap around my neck and she presses her lips to mine. It feels like a lifeline offered to a drowning man. Life hasn’t scared me in a very long time.
* * *
The private wing of Mozia Hospital wasn’t familiar to me at all, until this year. Now I could find my way through the maze of corridors blindfolded. That’s something I never wanted to be proficient at.
Outside my father’s suite stand two armed guards. As I approach, the door pushes open and Tarik and Kwai walk out.
“How’s Dad doing?” I say, meeting them halfway to the elevator. There’s no need for greetings or any semblance of normalcy. It’s impossible to miss Kwai’s nose is red. Shit.
“He’s not doing well. They’ve got him on morphine so he’s in and out of sleep,” Tarik says.
“He’s been in a lot of pain,” Kwai adds. “The doctor says death is imminent.”
Those words need a moment to absorb and settle in my mind. But it’s my heart that takes the hit.
“How about Mom?”
Tarik starts biting his bottom lip, as he’s done his entire life whenever he’s stressed.
“She’s been a rock through this, but she’s afraid. You see it all over her face.”
“This is unbelievable. I never thought something would happen to either one of them this young.”
“None of us did. But it’s coming. We’ll have to come to terms with our personal loss separate from our people’s loss. Now it’s going to be all our jobs, brothers, not just mine,” Tarik says, laying a hand on our shoulders.
Is this really happening? All of a sudden it’s here and this place is where it happens. The three of us look like boys to me. Afraid, out of their depth kids.
“Where were you two going?”
“That fucking heart monitor is driving me crazy. Beep beep beep. Slower every hour.” Kwai spits the words out. “It’s like a death knoll.”
“We were just giving Mother a minute,” Tarik says.
“It doesn’t seem like such a great idea now. Let’s go back.”
His face tells a story. He’s hurting and every emotion reveals itself. I’m surprised to see it’s so raw. Kwai’s always been the one who’s kept his emotions hidden. I think today they’re just too big to contain.
“Let’s go,” I say, walking back to the room.
We steel ourselves and go inside. Mother has ahold of the king’s hand. She kisses it tenderly and doesn’t look up at the interlopers. I think she’s alone with him now, no matter who else is in the room. Tarik takes his place at the foot of the bed and touches the blanket-covered foot of our father.
Kwai stands slightly behind him, like a kid hiding from the unknown. He feels safer behind his little brother. I pull up the chair and sit across from my mother. Her eyes lift to mine and silently acknowledge my presence. But they quickly return to her husband.
My hand lays on an arm that looks somehow frail even through the fabric. It wasn’t that long ago he still had muscle tone. This devil of a disease has ravaged his body without mercy. His mouth is slightly open and it’s hard to detect even one breath. But the rise and fall of his chest contradicts the picture.
I see the man now, separate from the king. His vulnerabilities are as present as the rest of ours. This bigger than life figure is just a human after all. But the revelation tells me that particular truth is the greatest thing about him. He was just a man, but one who rose above his humanness.
My eyes well with tears, and one streams down my face. I don’t bother wiping it away. He can’t see our pain. A sigh escapes and says more than what can be expressed in words.
“Give your love to the king. To your father,” Mother says, looking at her sons. “It’s time.”
She stands and steps away from the bed to make room for our one way conversations.
Kwai starts crying and it’s so fucking touching how he lifts a hand to his mouth and tries to stifle the sob.
Tarik takes a seat on one side of the king and I the other. I’m holding one hand as Tarik rubs the other.
“Father,” Tarik whispers in his ear. “Thank you for my gift of life. I promise you I will watch over our people and guide Mozia as you have taught me. I love you, Papa. We will all be together again soon.”
His tears take the words from him, and he buries his face in his hands and weeps. Peripherally I see my mother take a seat against the windows.
I look at Kwai, to give him the respect due. He’s the natural born son. But he shakes his head.
“You go next,” he manages to say between the tears.
So I turn my attention to the soul who is passing from us.
“My father. King. Thank you for saving my life. You did in every way.” My tears flow unabated. “I’m sure you gained your wings when you took this broken boy and made him whole again. You didn’t have to do all that you did. Thank you for teaching me that real charity is made of love.”
When I look up Kwai is leaning his head back, looking at the heavens for strength. He wipes his tears with the sleeves of his shirt and leans his hands against the foot rail.
“My king. My father.” He gets those four words out then dissolves in tears. But he keeps going. Mother gets up and comes to his side. She leans her head against him and wraps her arms around his waist.
“It’s alright, son. If it’s too hard you don’t have to say anything. He knows how you feel,” she says softly.
A look comes over his face that I can’t read. It’s as if he’s feeling some sort of strength rising. Maybe he doesn’t want to be that man anymore. A calmness tries to take power over him. The tears quiet.
“No. I want to.”
He keeps ahold of the queen, but it’s the mother who feels the goodness of his words.
“Father. You are the best part of me. I know I can be a fuck-up.”
The sentiment surprises us all and brings a light moment into the room. Proving there is comedy in everything.
“But somehow you overlooked that about your prodigal son. Actually you accepted it. But that didn’t mean you ignored the fact. You always made me feel I was capable of being more. I know that’s a pretty low bar, but for me i
t’s been a reach. I want you to know how much I love you. How much I appreciate your patience with my ways.” Then these hard to get out words accompanied by tears. “I’m sorry if I ever disappointed you, I know I must have many times.” His frustrated sigh rises in the room. “My promise is this, Father. I’ll try to be better at life. And I’ll look for you in the night’s sky. Just like you told me you did for your parents.”
The heart monitor’s incessant reminder life ebbs, slows until it’s only a whine of sound uninterrupted by a life-force.
How far is the journey from here to a star? Godspeed, my beloved father.
Chapter 18
Belinda
I step into the dress and have Soraya zip me up. She looks at the both of us in this get up and rolls her eyes at our image.
“How’s Zan doing? Did you talk to him last night?”
“We talk every night. I wish I could be there. But he’s doing okay. Everyone’s trying to be strong for each other,” I say, stepping into my heels.
“Graham said they’ve been talking. He said your man is, to use his word, savvy.”
“I got that impression too. He’s not just a pretty face. Not that I’d complain if he was.”
“When’s the transfer of power? I mean officially.”
“Next month. I hope I’ll be able to be there.”
Walking out of the dressing room into the bridal salon, we head for the mirror.
“What about the funeral?”
“They’re finalizing all the details. The plans have been in place for years.”
“Makes sense for a Royal. You and I have seen the obituaries written for the media well in advance of a public figure’s demise.”
“That always creeped me out, but it’s nothing if not good planning.”
The three-way mirror gives a good view of the bad bridesmaid dress. At least it fits right now. It’s small praise that it looks better than it did three weeks ago.
My new sister-in-law, Susan is an awesome woman, but fashion isn’t her thing. Don’t think my brother gives a damn. She has a hundred other good qualities.