by P J Skinner
Adanna pointed an accusing finger at Tamba. Her expression changed to one of fury.
‘You killed him? My poor husband was murdered. You bastard.’ Tears coursed down her cheeks and she tried to grab him.
‘Your husband? But … No, you don’t understand,’ said Tamba.
‘Oh, yes, I do. You hated him because I loved him and not you. You took advantage of the rebel raid to kill him.’
‘We killed him, but by mistake. He was sneaking around in the woods and the lookout hit him from behind. You can ask him yourself, he’s over there.’ Tamba pointed at a man standing at the edge of the group. He dropped his head when singled out. ‘We didn’t realise it was Pakuteh.’
‘But you let me think he had abandoned me. I have spent a decade thinking he ran away and left me. How could you?’ She was beside herself. Fergus had to hold her to prevent her attacking Tamba.
‘I’m s-sorry. I planned on telling you, but the assault on your father had distressed you to the edge of reason. It m-might have been too traumatic for you. I meant to tell you later, but as time went on, it seemed better to keep it a secret.’
‘A secret?’ said Adanna. ‘From me? Does my father know?’
‘No. I've never told anyone.’
Tears coursed down Adanna’s cheeks but she was mute, her slim body trembling with fury and misery. Sam’s distress was increased due to the contrast with their laughing fit only minutes before. She put her arms around Adanna, but it was like hugging a fence post. Tamba stood apart, with his fists clenched and his eyes shut tight.
When the storm had receded, Fergus offered to take Adanna to the compound.
Tamba was left to seal off the pit with his team. He cut a lonely figure in the gathering gloom.
Chapter XVIII
‘What did you say?’ said Joseph Sesay, blood draining from his face.
‘We found Pakuteh's body,’ said Tamba.
‘Where did you find him?’
Tamba swallowed. ‘He's buried in the terrace where Sam is working.’
‘But how did he get there? I don’t understand.’
‘He got killed by mistake. He was spying on us when we filled in the terrace. The lookout hit him from behind thinking he was a rebel.’
‘He's been dead a decade? Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘Because of Adanna. If she thought he had abandoned her, she might come to love me instead.’
‘But they were married. She couldn’t be with anyone else until she had confirmation he died.’
‘No-one told me that. It's hard to accept that she’s been miserable for years and it’s all my fault. I’ll leave the village. I can’t stay here.’
The Chief put his hand on Tamba’s shaking shoulder. ‘You’ve made a serious mistake, but you’re not the only one in the wrong here. There’s something I haven’t told Adanna either.’
‘What more is there, sir?’
‘Pakuteh ignored my orders and ate a bowl of the poisoned stew intended for the rebels. He would have been dead by morning anyway. Killing him was a mercy. At least he didn’t suffer.’
‘But Adanna has had years alone because of me.’
‘Tamba, Tamba, Tamba. What shall we do with you?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Tamba and sobbed like a child.
***
Joseph Sesay insisted on coming to the terrace for the disinterment of the body of Pakuteh, who was an orphan, his parents having drowned after a ferry coming from Liberia sank on the way up the coast. Pakuteh’s brothers had left town after the rebels disappeared and gone to the capital to look for work so, apart from Adanna, no-one remained to mourn him. Fergus picked Sesay up at the compound early the next morning. The Chief waited on the veranda of his house in his wheelchair.
‘Good morning, Chief Sesay,’ said Fergus.
‘Good morning. It’s a sad task we have today.’
‘Yes, sir, it’s a tragedy. I see that Tamba’s not here. May I help you into the jeep?’
On receiving a nod of assent, Fergus put one arm under the Chief and one around his back and lifted him out of his chair. He placed the Chief into the front seat with no trouble as the crippled man was as light as a bird, despite appearances. The robes had disguised the fact that his weight had plummeted. Fergus folded up the wheelchair and placed it in the back.
‘Okay then,’ he said, putting the car in gear and driving away with care not to jolt his frail cargo. The potholes made it difficult to go at more than a snail's pace.
They arrived at the terrace where Tamba and his crew waited to carry Chief Sesay in his wheelchair to the edge of the pit. Sam and Adanna stood beside the pit, the latter looking sad and pale. Work began to free the body from the gravel and sand. It was a painstaking and solemn process. They removed the material with great care so as not to disturb the body and piled up on the side of the pit. Before too long, they had exposed a skeleton still clad in a cheap T-shirt and trousers. The material fell away, rotten from years in the damp gravel. The skull still had hair attached, but the flesh had been eaten by the local micro-fauna. A blue satchel lay on top of the body and they removed it first. Fergus shook the sand from it and took it to Joseph Sesay for inspection.
‘Can you check the contents please, Fergus?’ he said.
The satchel was still intact, being made of some manmade fibre that did not rot. Fergus tried and failed to open the zips on the pockets which had rusted shut. Sam lent him her penknife to slit them open. He cut through the material of the front pocket and pulled a plastic covered identity card and some old bank notes from the interior. Adanna stepped forward and took the card from him, cleaning it with the edge of her dress. She let out a whimper, dropping it on the ground.
‘It’s him. It’s Pakuteh.’
Her father held out his arms to her and she hid her face in his neck.
Fergus took some rotting clothes out of the main section of the bag and then shook it out.
‘There’s something in the pocket,’ he said. He took the penknife, slit it open and slipped a finger into the hole, feeling around inside the damp pouch. His eyes widened and his hand flew to his mouth.
‘Oh, my God,’ he said. ‘It’s here, it’s been here all along.’
The Chief raised a finger to his lips and shook his head at Fergus, who put his hand into the pocket and picked out something that he handed to Sesay without revealing it.
‘What is it, father?’ said Adanna.
‘It’s your wedding present.’
‘My what? You knew? I don’t understand.’
‘If you will permit me, I don’t want to discuss this here. Can we please recover Pakuteh first? I promise to tell you everything later.’
‘Okay, father, if that's what you want.’
‘Carry on please,’ he said to Tamba.
Fergus turned to Sam, who had no idea what he had given to the Chief, and he mouthed something she didn’t understand. Life in Simbako was full of unexpected events. What was the wedding present? How did the Chief know that Adanna had married Pakuteh?
***
They wrapped Pakuteh’s remains in a blanket and brought them back to the Chief’s compound in Fona on a makeshift stretcher. The Chief ordered the bones to be placed in a coffin which rested on the table in the ceremonial hall. They sealed the coffin with bitumen to prevent the odour of decay from penetrating the room, but it still seeped out and wrinkled the noses of the mourners. People who had known Pakuteh wanted to touch the body, but they had to settle for touching the coffin and placed offerings around it.
Adanna sat on a chair at one end of the room and received condolences. The news of her marriage to Pakuteh had spread like wildfire and the curious and maudlin lined up to see the widow. She did not raise her head, but kept her eyes fixed on the floor, allowing people to take her limp hand, but making no comment.
Her conflicting emotions about the discovery of the body had disturbed her controlled inte
rior. On one hand, a flood of relief brought on by the knowledge that he had not deserted her, after all. On the other, the sensation that everyone had been lying to her for years hurt so much. Even her father, the rock of her existence, had been in on it. How could he do that to her? Tamba, she understood. He had hoped to break her resistance by pretending Pakuteh had abandoned her. And her father? He protected her because he also imagined Pakuteh had run away with the diamond. She had been a widow for a decade and now she had to go through the mourning again. She felt broken.
As the afternoon came to a close, the number of visitors slowed to a trickle and then stopped as the villagers realised that no food would be offered to the mourners. They returned grumbling to their daily task of making the evening meal and sealing their houses against evil spirits. Adanna sighed and stood up. She approached the coffin and put her hand over the place where his heart would have been.
‘Please forgive me, my love. I thought you had deserted me. I should have realised that you would never have left me without a word.’
‘It is not your fault,’ her father said. He sat in his wheelchair in the doorway of the dining hall. ‘I was cruel to you for no good reason, punishing you for being in love.’
‘Tamba should have told us what happened. I blame him.’
‘It’s not Tamba’s fault. There is something I never told you.’
‘About Pakuteh?’
‘Yes, let's go to the sitting room, Tamba should hear this too.’
Adanna followed her father across the yard to the house and Tamba came running out to help push the wheelchair up the makeshift ramp into the back door. They passed through the kitchen to the sitting room and sat down.
‘Tamba, sit with us, you need to hear this,’ said the Chief.
Tamba came to sit down. Adanna pointed at the chair furthest from her. Tamba cringed like a dog who expected a beating and made himself small in the chair. He glanced at her, pleading with his eyes, but she didn’t acknowledge him.
‘You remember the day of the raid,’ said the Chief addressing Adanna. ‘I stayed behind with Pakuteh to prepare the feast for the rebels and I sent you to hide with the women in the woods.’
She nodded.
‘Pakuteh prepared the rice and the bananas in the kitchen while I was organising the dining hall. I had given him strict instructions not to eat any of the stew that Fatimata had made, but I had not told him why.’
Adanna gasped.
‘He ate the stew?’
‘I’m afraid he did. Fatimata told me last year that she had found a bowl hidden behind the bananas in the kitchen when she came back after the feast. Everyone had gone except Pakuteh. Who else would it have been?’
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘I'm not sure,’ said the Chief. ‘Perhaps I wanted you to retain some hope of seeing him again and I was not a hundred percent sure that Pakuteh had eaten the stew. I'm a fool and I made you so unhappy.’
‘It wasn't only your fault,’ said Tamba. ‘I knew Pakuteh had died, but I didn’t tell either of you.’
Adanna looked from one to the other with real distain. She walked out of the room.
‘Sweetheart, come back,’ said the Chief, but she had gone.
***
Tamba watched Adanna go. Her beauty still filled him with awe, but she held the keys to the kingdom. She would be vulnerable now, searching for comfort. He had no time to lose. The Chief was getting weaker and would not live much longer. He would redeem himself and fulfil his ambitions with one simple move. After taking the Chief a light supper, he went to Adanna’s room and knocked on the door.
‘Are you there?’ he said.
‘What do you want, Tamba?’
‘I need to speak to you.’
‘Haven’t you said enough?’
‘Please hear me out.’
‘You have five minutes.’
Adanna’s door flew open. She stood in the middle of the floor.
‘What?’
‘I come to petition you.’
‘Petition me? For what?’
‘For your hand.’
‘Are you crazy?’ Adanna crossed her arms and turned her back on him.
‘Hear me out please.’
‘I have no intention of marrying you.’
‘Be reasonable. You’re single now. No-one will have you because you are unclean. I have always wanted you and I’m prepared to accept you as you are. We could rule Fona together.’
‘How dare you? I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last man on earth.’
‘With me, you have a chance of being Paramount Chief. Without me, you are nothing.’
‘I would rather be nothing than marry you.’
She pointed to the door, eyes blazing.
‘You will change your mind.’
‘I would rather die.’ Tears sprung to her eyes. ‘Go now!’
Tamba went to his quarters to ponder the response. Adanna had always been fiery and stubborn. He had planted a seed though and now he would wait for her to weaken as her position did. He knew that he would win her in the end. What other choice did she have? He would enjoy her capitulation.
***
Later that evening, the Chief wheeled himself to the door of Adanna’s room and knocked on the door.
‘Please can I come in? I didn’t tell you everything you needed to know.’
‘You told me enough.’
‘You have every right to hate me right now, but there is something I should give you. Please let me in.’
The door opened a crack, Adanna’s sulky face visible in the gloom. Several citronella candles flickered behind her, illuminating her afro which she had freed from its constraints.
‘Okay, but you can’t stay long.’ She sat on a wicker rocking chair in the corner.
The Chief moved his chair right up to her knees which he grasped with his hands. He gazed into her troubled eyes.
‘It’s been a tough couple of days for you, darling,’ he said. ‘Now that Pakuteh is at rest, a can of worms has been opened.’
‘You’re one of the worms,’ she said.
‘No-one is sorrier than me, but I must tell you something important.’
‘What could be more important than finding out I’m a widow and the people who knew kept it a secret from me for years?’
‘I’m don't deny it, but I want to explain what really happened that night.’
‘Tell me.’
‘When Pakuteh had finished preparing the feast for the rebels, I had a chat with him. I told him that I knew you were married.’
‘What did he say?’
‘He was astonished. Afraid, even, but I told him that I wanted him to take you away.’
‘Why? This is my home.’
‘I was worried that you’d spent too much time surrounded by voodoo and superstition. I thought you should leave Fona and see the world.’
‘But how? We had nothing except our clothes.’
‘I gave him this.’ Joseph Sesay took his daughter’s hand, which she gave unwillingly and turned it palm up. He dropped the diamond into it with his other hand, its vitreous lustre greasy in the candlelight. Adanna’s mouth dropped open and her eyes widened.
‘The Star of Simbako? I thought it was gone, lost.’
‘Yes, I wanted people to assume that. I’ve kept it hidden all these years.’
‘You gave it to him?’
‘To both of you. When he disappeared, I worried that he had run off with it and abandoned you. I thought it might be lost forever, leaving you trapped here. I only found out about the stew when Fatimata told me and I couldn’t face telling you. I presumed that Pakuteh had died in the woods or been robbed.’
‘Trapped here? But, father, I’m not trapped, I want to be here. I love our people and I want to lead them.’
‘But they will not let you.’
‘That’s your fault too. I’m unclean because of you. May
be I should take this diamond and abandon you.’
Her father raised his head and looked her straight in the eye. ‘Perhaps you should,’ he said.
***
‘Did they identify the body?’ said Fatimata. ‘Or was it a rebel?’
She was waiting in the doorway when Fergus and Sam arrived back at the house.
‘It was Pakuteh,’ said Fergus.
‘Pakuteh? Oh, my God. Is Adanna alright?’
‘Not really,’ said Sam.
‘But how did he get there?’
‘He died on the night of the rebel feast. Tamba and his men were filling in the diamond pit and the lookout mistook him for a rebel soldier and killed him by mistake,’ said Fergus. ‘Can we discuss this tomorrow please? It’s been a long day.’
‘Tamba? But why didn’t he tell anyone?’
‘Dinner, now, please,’ said Fergus.
Fatimata crossed herself and returned to the kitchen to serve the food. The noise levels indicated that she was unhappy with the dearth of information offered to her.
‘May I go now?’ Fatimata had already put on her shawl.
‘Of course. I promise to tell you about it tomorrow.’
She sighed and left, slamming the door and threatening to snap the wooden steps with her stomping.
Sam and Fergus ate a subdued dinner together, each alone with their thoughts. Sam had not completely recovered from malaria and she had found the day exhausting.
‘Will you have a drink?’ said Fergus.
‘Oh, I'm not sure. I’m rather tired.’
‘Come on. Don’t be a spoilsport. Don’t make me drink alone. Just one drink.’
‘Okay, just one. Can I have a gin and tonic?’
‘Only if you wear your shorts.’
‘Dream on. Get me that drink. I’m going to sit in the hammock.’
‘Yes, madam. I’ll be out shortly.’
‘Hilarious,’ said Sam, but she smiled.
She was swinging in the evening breeze when he came out with the drinks.
‘Here you go,’ he said, handing her a long glass with a big wedge of lemon in it.
Sam sipped her drink and coughed.
‘Laimh laidir?’ said Fergus, reverting to Gaelic.