The Ethiopian Intercept

by R G Ainslee

  "No." Africa, what am I doing in Africa?

  He examined my eyes. "Yes, a short memory loss is not uncommon from a concussion, you must rest."

  Helplessness and despair consumed my thoughts. "Please help me."

  "Yes, yes of course." He paused, and a faint smile appeared. "During the war, I was with the Résistance and helped many downed American pilots. Perhaps we can help one more lost sheep, is it not so?"

  He's gonna help me. I'm safe. "I'll repay you."

  "Do not worry. Now you need rest and food." He canted his head towards the door and spoke in French. A few moments later, the young woman and the man with dark skin entered the room. He carried a tray with bread and fruit. "This is Ali our cook and my niece Lisette, she speaks some English."

  The food commanded my total attention, but I managed to thank him.

  "Lisette this is… we do not know your name."

  A moment of shock — I strained to recall — without thinking, "Ross … my name is Ross."

  His face failed to mask his doubt. The man lingered in silence a few moments. "Ross, it is." He nodded and continued, "Let me introduce myself. I am Doctor Andre Louis, the owner of this small hotel. Please accept our humble hospitality until we can see you on your way."

  Doctor Louis and Ali left. The girl took a seat on a chair by the end of the bed. I devoured the delicious offering and paid her no attention. My mouth dry and body dehydrated. My only concern was food and quenching an endless thirst. Asked for a drink, she returned with more mineral water and a small glass of red wine.

  The wine finished. A weird feeling of hope and relief began to materialize. I thanked her. She replied in French. I told her I didn't understand. She ignored my comment, adjusted the cover at the foot of the bed, picked up the tray, and slipped out of the room.

  Lisette looked to be in her early twenties. The loose white cotton dress left everything to the imagination.

  She returned, stood beside the bed, scrunched up her nose, and studied my face. After a few moments, her delicate hands gently removed the bandage.

  "Is not bad."

  "You speak English."

  "Only a little. I study, not much talk."

  "Are you a nurse?"

  She ignored my question, "You rest," and left.

  Intense hunger and thirst satisfied, a throbbing pain lingered. At a loss for the actual time or date, and unsure how long I had been there, I labored to remember the past. Tantalizing images: unnamed faces and places flickered through the empty reaches of my mind. The future, an unfathomable dark abyss. At least I felt safe, a refuge. The fog returned, and I drifted off…

  * * *

  A restless sleep punctuated with dreams of flying, floating, and fighting left me exhausted. I sensed someone nearby and opened my eyes. An angelic being, dressed in white, poised beside the bed. Her face radiated quiet serenity. Her lips betrayed a faint trace of a smile. The cook stood beside her.

  She extended her hand. "We go, you rest outside. Good air from sea."

  The girl clutched my hand with soft delicate fingers. I slipped out of bed. Staggered by dizziness and an almost pleasant drunk feeling, I struggled to keep up with her, legs barely able to move, compelled to follow, unable to resist. Ali steadied my progress with a firm grip on my left arm.

  Bright light reflecting off water overwhelmed my senses. I leaned on the doorframe, desperate to stay on my feet. She gazed into my eyes — her eyes, a brilliant green — I couldn’t tear away. My breathing ceased for a second. She gave my trembling hand a gentle squeeze, triggering a sense of uninhibited euphoria. A surge of raw energy coursed through my body and I shuffled out to a long porch.

  She led me to a lounge chair in a shaded area where I sank into the cushion. Thankful to be off my feet, I closed my eyes, took a deep breath of fresh sweet sea air, and savored the moment. I looked up to thank her, but they had returned inside.

  * * *

  For the rest of the afternoon I relaxed on the veranda. My thoughts ran through a jumble of questions. The only explanation for my presence was a vacation trip gone awry. Was I with someone else? Alone? What happened? Faint recollections: fragments recalled of childhood, my parents, living in the desert, a few faces, but no recent events. Confusion reigned: a mist obscured the undefined world of my past.

  A voice startled me back to reality. "Do you feel better?" The doctor stood beside me.

  "My memory … can't remember what happened … or why I'm here."

  "You have a form of the amnesia. A common condition with head trauma."

  "Amnesia … is it serious?"

  "You should not suffer permanent loss. You must rest to avoid the more serious injury."

  "I feel disoriented … it's just incomprehensible I can't…" A drifting sense of despair came over me.

  "Your memory may be chaotic, the past and present confused and mixed together. Much like in a dream. A trauma, such as you have, will often result in confusion and fear."

  He checked my eyes and then patted me on the shoulder before leaving. "Rest, your memory will return."

  The porch offered a peaceful view. The mangrove, bush, and baobab-covered island across the channel seemed to float on sparkling water. Birds rose from the swamp and swooped gracefully towards the mainland. Large bougainvillea flowers and thorn trees cast cool shadows over my peaceful refuge. Gentle sounds from small waves lapping at the nearby shoreline and sweet tropical aromas lulled me into a tranquil sleep.

  * * *

  Later, the girl came outside and perched on the railing. Her simple white dress shifted up revealing tanned well-defined thighs. Her slender build seemed delicate but not fragile. I sensed there was more to her than first met the eye.

  She turned her head, stared out over the water with sad eyes, and spoke casually, almost absentmindedly, "Là, l'île … island of Manda … many birds," her accent soft and appealing.

  Content to watch as she sat absorbing the African sun, I didn't answer. A warm flush radiated through my body. Lisette wasn’t what one would consider strikingly beautiful. Petite with short light golden-brown hair and a honey tan, she could have passed for a teenager. Yet, she radiated an innocent charm that transformed her plain looks in a way I was beginning to appreciate.

  I wanted to preserve the moment and asked, trying to make conversation, "Do people live on Manda Island?"

  "Oui … not many. Un petit village, the men who take the fish."

  "Have you been there?"

  "Non, hôtel is busy for winter. Soon, I go. A petit boat. Do you know boat arabe? Beaucoup in Lamu."

  "Yes, I’m familiar with the dhow." But didn't know why.

  "Many the places I wish to see…" Her voice trailed away, and she gazed out over the channel.

  "How long have you been in Africa?"

  She picked at a thread on the hem of her dress and continued to stare towards the island. "Quatre… Four months."

  "Is this a vacation or do you plan to stay?"

  She shuddered for a moment, drew in a sharp gasp, bit her lower lip, and lowered her gaze. A shadow of anguish passed over her face and after a long silence, she took a shallow breath, followed by a painful utterance, "Ce n'est," the words caught in her throat, "pas de vacances pour moi."

  She screwed up her eyes, slipped off the railing, and returned inside without looking at me, a heart-rending expression on her face, a tear at the corner of her eye. Baffled and disappointed, I wondered what offend her. It had been only an innocent question.

  The hotel guests, French about the doctor's age, offered courteous greetings as they passed by. Everyone left me to my confused thoughts. Ali saw to my needs with a glass of sweet red wine. Lisette appeared at the door a few times that afternoon with only a wordless glance.

  The hotel was small, a two-story white stucco building typical on the East African coast. The veranda, a recent addition, gave the place a Mediterranean flavor. Potted plants and flowers strewn around the deck enhanced the impression of an idyll
ic tropical paradise. The warm restful panorama soon lulled me back to sleep.

  * * *

  At the evening meal, Lisette stayed distant and reserved. There seemed to be an impenetrable remoteness about her. Puzzled by her behavior, I ate in silence and responded only to small talk from her uncle and an elderly hotel guest. Afterward, the doctor performed a quick examination and suggested I retire to bed early.

  Sounds of a tropical night produced a soothing effect, a strange sense of peace and well-being. The events of my past existed on a blank page, but somehow, I knew things would work out.

  Thursday Morning, 9 February: Lamu Island

  After a breakfast of bread and fruit, I retreated to my chair on the veranda. Fortunately, the worst pain receded, replaced by a dull ache. The headache better, not normal, just better. A bright morning sun shone through a reed screen at the far end. A morning breeze whispered across shimmering water. Small waves lapped gently against the sand. A dhow, its lateen sail filled by a soft wind, glided down the channel. Something resonated in my consciousness, a distant memory, before I drifted off.

  * * *

  A familiar sound awakened me from a deep and satisfying nap. An olive drab Land Rover sped along the sand towards the coastal beach. Ali came out, told me it was the only car on the island, and belonged to the district commissioner.

  Moments later Doctor Louis returned from a walk into town with a small bag of fruit. Ali took the bag and retuned inside.

  The doctor examined my head. "Much improved … much improved." He smiled and asked, "Have Ali and Lisette been helpful for you?"

  "Yes… Lisette is a good nurse. Wish I could speak with her, she seems so shy." Since our brief exchange the day before, she seemed to avoid speaking to me, and yielded only furtive glances. I felt bad and wondered what might have offended her.

  He paused for a moment and gazed out across the channel, his face fixed in a morose expression. The doctor told me about Lisette, the only child of his sister and his best friend. He considered her almost as a daughter. He had no children of his own.

  "You see, she is from a religious family. Her dream was to be, how do you say, in a religious order, a nurse or teacher. She entered the life of the novitiate, that is to say, she lived the life of a nun not yet taking the vows. Five months ago, her parents drove from Grenoble to see Lisette perform her vows." He hesitated. "It is very sad… a large truck… they were killed…" He paused and took an unsteady breath. "She had the bad time. She lost faith and left the convent. Her life is tormented, insecure, and inflicted with self-doubt. She has suffered, reacted against turmoil by holding everything inside. Her tears are now hidden. She will not speak of the past. I brought her here for… I do not know how to say … to escape her sorrow."

  Numbness spread over my body. Palms began to sweat. Breathing became difficult. I gasped for air. Fragments from a distant past began to evolve — childhood, parents, and school.

  He noticed my discomfort, "Are you ill?"

  "Please," my voice a pitiful croak. "One moment … just a second."

  My mind reeled from a flood of sensorial stimuli. A connection with a personal tragedy surfaced from the fog of my past. A wall separating long suppressed memories crashed as the real existence of my past life rushed into the present. A cough to regain composure and a deep breath, unexpectedly, the trauma subsided. The events of the past few days still confused, but I knew who I was.

  Some profound urge compelled me to reveal an inner secret, carried in silence for years, one that had defined my life ever since. I told him about the death of my parents, younger sister, and high school sweetheart, killed in a car wreck in New Mexico near the end of my first semester in college.

  They were on their way to Las Cruces to see my first start in a freshman football game. I blamed myself, fell into a pit of guilt and self-loathing, and showed up drunk at the funeral. Three weeks later, after a non-stop bout of flashbacks and nightmares, with my uncle Rex’s help and understanding, I joined the army.

  The traumatic experience scarred and shaped my life including relationships with other people. For years, I experienced detachment or estrangement from others and had difficulty getting close to anyone, afraid what might happen. The incident suppressed, leaving an empty shell. Rather than turning to drink, drugs, or other destructive behavior, I immersed myself in work and eventually was able to shake painful flashbacks that haunted me.

  I told him I knew what Lisette was going through and understand her sorrow, more than he could ever imagine.

  He stood. A large bird rose from the water and flew towards the far shore. "Yes, you and Lisette share … What are the words? … A deep sadness … and the hidden tears." He paused and placed a hand on my shoulder. "I must tell you, she is innocent in the world of men. Do you understand?"

  Was that a warning? "Think I understand."

  Ali called, and the doctor went back inside, leaving me alone with my thoughts. Unburdened, a satisfying sense of peace and calm filled the void left by the emptying of my soul.

  A sense of clarity returned. Dim recollections from my past emerged: working at Fort Huachuca, playing volleyball, my cabin, daily routine, and… a blank. My deep past, but not recent events, I couldn't remember what happened or the way I got to Lamu. Confidence and faith in my memory was shaky at best.

  My thoughts turned to the girl: A nun. She’s kinda quiet and reserved. Good grief, we’ve suffered the same heartbreak.

  Lisette appeared at the door, even more sad and frail than before. Her doleful look grabbed my heart. She spoke, her voice barely audible, "He told me."

  Motioned for her to come and sit beside me. She hesitated, and I pleaded with my eyes. With tentative steps, she took a chair across from me.

  She listened as I laid bare my tragedy, the way it changed my life. Her eyes dampened, tears rolled down her cheeks. I related how the lonely pain of suppressed memories scarred my life. Her gaze veered away into the distance, the pain in her eyes intense. How I coped with grief. Her face contorted as she wrestled with painful thoughts. How time had been my solace.

  She stared out across the channel and fought to blink away the tears. Her pain and discomfort were obvious and heart rending. I hesitated to say more, unsure of her reaction, and fidgeted absentmindedly with the cloth on my pajama leg.

  Without warning, she stood, strode down the steps, and ambled down to the water’s edge, her footsteps riffling the sand. She paused, glanced back, and continued a slow stroll along the shore. About a hundred yards away, she halted, sat down on the sand, pulled her knees up to her chin, wrapped her arms about her legs, and rested her forehead on her knees.

  Overcome by a sense of despair, I leaned my head back and swallowed hard. She’s had enough troubles, now I’ve done it, said the wrong thing. My emotions crashed into a pit of silent torment.

  After a half hour, she rose and walked slowly back towards the hotel with head down. Ten yards away she began to hurry. She bound up the steps and through the door without looking my way.

  * * *

  The District Commissioner's Land Rover returned at a slower pace. As it approached the hotel, two bodies rode on the hood. The vehicle halted on the sand beside the veranda. The water-soaked forms showed obvious bullet wounds and shark bites. A nauseatingly sweet smell emanated from the bodies, I almost gagged.

  Sight of the dead men’s faces evoked an uncanny familiarity: I know them. The context elusive. Disorientation and panic welled up. A numb chill touched my core. My mind raced through the possibilities: I like to sail. Was I on a sailing trip? A frightening thought struck me square in the solar plexus: Am I connected with their deaths?

  Ali stepped out, viewed the scene with fright, and rushed back inside. Seconds later, Doctor Louis strode over to the police officer in the front seat. Lisette stepped through the door, gasped, and retreated inside. I tried not to draw attention to myself. The last thing I needed was a connection with the bodies.

  The doctor spoke to
the officer in charge, a thin short man with thick mustache, dressed in a military style uniform. He pointed down channel towards the beach. Doctor Louis asked a few questions and examined the bodies. After a brief conversation, the officer returned to the vehicle and ordered the driver to go.

  The smell lingered as the Land Rover crawled down the beach towards town. The doctor told me the bodies washed up on the shore. Two Dutch sunbathers made the grisly discovery.

  "The police tell me Somali pirates killed the poor men. The Kenyan naval patrol will be notified, and a boat will be sent to search." He shrugged. "They will find no one. They never do."

  Pieces were missing from the puzzle, but a new reality had emerged. I didn't know why the men died, but they died violently and somehow, we shared a connection. A vague sense of something larger, an unfulfilled and undefined purpose lingered in the recesses of my mind.

  About thirty minutes later, two young men hurried down the beach and stopped at the hotel. The Dutch sunbathers in their early twenties excitedly told us about their ordeal. They had been running bare-butt through the surf when a wave produced a body. A second soon followed. The freaked-out sunbathers vigorously expressed their determination to get off the island soon as possible.

  * * *

  For the rest of the afternoon, Lisette avoided me and kept her distance. My strength gradually returned, and I risked a slow clumsy meander down the beach. My situation still unclear. The oddly familiar dead bodies only added to my confusion and distress. Didn’t know why but sensed my presence could be dangerous for Lisette and her uncle.

  I needed answers. Need to focus on contacting someone here … maybe in Mombasa. Come up with a plan. Came to a decision: Tomorrow, gotta leave, gotta go tomorrow.

  My stroll completed, we met on the veranda and exchanged glances. She was going to be a nun, hard to believe. I stifled a smile as I tried to picture her dressed up like a nun in one of those penguin outfits.

  She seemed to read my mind and spoke hesitantly about helping the cook with the evening meal. She avoided my stare and slipped inside.