by Vamba Sherif
Because she did not laugh at the jokes, the men turned to the subject of William. ‘So you think he’s alone?’ one of them asked.
‘Such men are never alone,’ another said.
‘I guess there’s an army waiting behind the mountains for a signal from him to reduce our town to rubble,’ one said.
‘Stop talking such nonsense,’ Hawah said.
The old men, to William’s amazement, became quiet. Just then Hawah Lombeh stared in the direction of the tree behind which William had hidden himself, and he thought she was aware of his presence.
‘Why don’t we ask Mr Mawolo himself?’ she said.
The old men turned to her, surprised. William was about to escape when she called out to him, and he was forced to emerge from hiding.
‘So, tell us, Mr Mawolo. Do you have an army stationed behind the mountains with the intention of wiping us out?’
‘What are you doing among these men?’
‘They are the town elders, and once every while I mingle with them so that they can tell me what I need to do to become a better wife to my old husband. But now they all believe you’ve swept me off my feet, and I’m ready to elope with you. What do you think?’
‘What I think is that you are all hiding a secret from me. I promise I shall never leave Wologizi until I unveil the nature of that secret, and if I do you will know what manner of man I am.’
‘What do we have to hide?’ Hawah asked.
‘The circumstances around Tetese’s disappearance. I have your chief in custody, and I’ll compel the truth out of him.’
‘So you are holding my husband prisoner?’
She was still referring to Old Kapu as her husband, this woman who had lain with him not long ago. He was furious with himself for having discerned in her a trace of his aunt.
As he left her to join his men at the mansion, he could not but derive some consolation from the fact that the townspeople thought he had an army at his disposal stationed beyond the mountains. With that belief, he thought, he could never fail in Wologizi.
Despite the darkness, he could still see the road and the dimly lit mansion in the distance. At a certain point he heard footsteps behind him but did not look back because he thought it could be nobody else’s but Hawah Lombeh’s.
CHAPTER 14
Most members of Kapu’s household had gathered within the walls of the mansion. On seeing William, they hastily bowed in supplication, begging him to let the chief go, and some even followed him upstairs to the living room where Old Kapu was confined. The old man looked serene, beyond pain, and only his mouse eyes, slightly dilated, betrayed some emotion. He had been tied up in such a way that both his knees, pushed up towards his chest, almost touched his chin.
‘Have you thought things over, old man?’
‘Yes, why listen to a man who chose an effeminate as a houseboy?’ Old Kapu asked William, referring to the carpenter. ‘What Seleh does with that boy… terrible if you were to ask me.’
The living room was silent.
‘Leave us alone,’ William roared.
Hawah Lombeh, who had indeed followed him to the mansion and had since been fussing about her husband, refused to leave.
‘Then stay and watch by all means,’ he said.
She knelt beside her husband, whispering kind words to him. She tore at the rope, but was unable to untie it.
‘You are a coward, Mr Mawolo,’ she said.
‘Behave yourself, woman!’ Old Kapu snapped.
‘Tell your husband to be honest with me, Hawah. That would save your tears. Ask him to tell me the truth.’
‘What truth?’ the old man asked. ‘It is for example true that carpenter Seleh has a rare gift that even the spirits of the forests envy. They taught him carpentry, you know. One day a young Seleh lost his way in the forests and returned months later a fully-fledged carpenter. But instead of making full use of his gift, he goes about tarnishing reputations and making enemies.’
‘I want to know about your first wife and the man who left her with the child Tetese. I want to know who he was.’
‘A stranger, unknown to all in this region.’
‘I’m sure you know more about him.’
‘I might just as well tell you more about him, if that is of any help to you. The man was a road-builder, one of those men who broke down the mountains that surround Wologizi and connected us with the outside world. The road-builders were reclusive men; they worked on the road and slept in makeshift houses. They were proud men and often looked down upon us. They regarded us then and now as country people, as backward.’
‘How did he end up stealing your wife?’
‘Women are capricious creatures, Mr Mawolo. It wouldn’t surprise me if when you decide to leave, one or two of them end up following you. They wouldn’t hesitate a bit, because you are a man of consequence with a militia under your command. My first wife must have been fascinated with the secrecy about the road-builder, with his pride. Or she might simply have been fed up with life in a remote border town. She was from a coastal town and belonged to a people who worship the sea, who perceive its ebbs and flows and its violent storms as manifestations of love. They have no history of drowning, because the sea, their true love, would always guide them to the shores. My father, who like me and like his father was a town chief, took me on a journey where I met her and married her. I should not be seated in this room, tied up and interrogated like a criminal. I’m the victim here, Mr Mawolo, the one who was betrayed,’ the old man said.
Because the heat was unbearable, William went to the windows and bent each glass slab downward, but there was no wind. He was sweating so profusely that he took off his shirt.
‘Now, tell me about the sounds last night.’
‘I heard that you think it’s the work of the Poro,’ the old man said and shook his head, denying this. William was not surprised to hear him say that, was not surprised at all that his exchange with anyone quickly spread through the town. Old Kapu was about to go on when the light went out, and after a while it came on again. But as the purring of the generator faded away in the distance, the light dimmed out and would not come on for the rest of the night.
‘You are angering the Old Kapu,’ William said.
‘I heard nothing last night, I swear, Mr Mawolo.’
‘You are lying to me,’ William said.
Old Kapu encountered this remark with a rueful silence which he later broke with a moan that William mistook for surrender. Several minutes later, however, he still refused to speak.
‘You leave me with no other option,’ William said.
He asked the militia to light some candles. As one of them fetched him a knife, William thought that things did not happen to people without a cause; in their history and behaviour must lie clues as to their present fate. The clue to Tetese’s disappearance and to the auditory phenomenon lay in the obstinate silence of the old man.
So he confronted him.
Hawah Lombeh fell on her knees.
‘Please be merciful,’ she pleaded.
She threw her hands about him, holding him tightly. The contact briefly reminded him of the night before, and he saw himself wavering. But at a sign from him, the militia grabbed Hawah Lombeh and led her out of the room, leaving him alone with Old Kapu.
‘Open your mouth, old man,’ he ordered.
But Old Kapu clenched his teeth. William pried them open and brought the tip of the knife to rest in his mouth. Old Kapu, now paralysed with fear, his mouth bleeding blood that glinted in the candlelight, felt his strength abandoning him. ‘Speak up, old man,’ William said.
To allow Old Kapu respite, he relaxed the tension of the knife against his mouth. Only then did he realise that the old man had passed out. When he finally did come to, the old man was unable to speak or even move. William asked the men to take him away.
‘You, Gamla, come here,’ he roared.
When Corporal Gamla saluted William, he seemed as subdued as a sold
ier about to be reprimanded.
‘Stop playing the fool and tell me what I need to know.’
‘What about, Chief?’
‘About Tetese, you blockhead.’
‘All I can tell you is that after months of absence, Tetese returned as a paramount chief and with an army. He was sent by the president to implement order, but there was order, Chief. I was in control. Tetese brought vengeance and chaos with him. Power consumed him.’
‘This sounds ridiculous,’ William shouted. ‘The president would never send anyone but a competent person. The Old Man could not be involved in such a petty drama. It’s beneath him.’
Refusing to listen to any more of the lies, William longed for some consolation and knew exactly where to find it. He left the men and went upstairs to see Makemeh. A candle in hand, he approached the bedroom. The peace he encountered on opening the door and seeing Makemeh calmed him. With this woman, he thought as he approached her, he would want to spend the rest of his life.
She was stretched out on the bed, sound asleep. Her head was cuddled by one arm, her lips slightly parted, and her skirt exposed part of her legs.
Try as he might William could not reconcile the sleeping form with the violence he had witnessed in the town hall. It was a contradiction that made him hesitate, but the peace that reigned upon her and her extraordinary beauty exorcised his doubts. So he approached the bed.
She did not stir until he sat beside her, and when she spoke her voice was drowsy with sleep.
‘I was never at the carpenter’s.’
Clearly the words pained her; her face wore a frown which transfigured his own into a similar expression, both refuting the carpenter’s claim that she had ever been at his home. In her eyes, which burned steadily under his gaze, he caught the glint of outrage at such an assumption. He nudged closer to her, feeling her warmth. Beauty, he thought, manifested itself most powerfully at close range. Makemeh’s face seemed preserved despite that harsh environment of hard sun and rain.
Trickles of melted candle glided onto his fingers, but he gulped down the pain in order not to disturb the gratifying moment. Overwhelmed by it all, William vowed to punish the carpenter one way or the other for besmirching her reputation.
‘I’m going to see him tonight,’ he said.
‘You have to put a halt to his fabrications.’
She was about to say more but he placed his finger on her lips, which felt soft and brittle, trembling slightly under his touch.
Sated by this brief interaction, William hurried down to lead his men out of the mansion, en route to dinner with the Lebanese and then a confrontation with the carpenter.
CHAPTER 15
The hill upon which the mansion stood sloped down to a valley of swamps from where the road took off in a slight hillock towards the town centre. These swamps, rich but largely uncultivated, formed a boundary between Wologizi proper and the hill with the mansion, radio station and town hall. A mass of thatched huts was perched on both sides of the road, connected by a stream. That night the swamps throbbed with the chattering of insects and the cries of famished children. It was here that the darkness spewed out a remarkable figure: the carpenter’s houseboy.
William’s torchlight framed a face with bold eyes that nevertheless expressed an endearing softness, the mouth mirthful, on the verge of laughter.
The young man seemed to have been waiting for them, and his impatience was clearly visible because he could not stand still. On seeing him, Corporal Gamla rushed to him, about to slap him.
‘Don’t you dare, Corporal,’ William said.
The policeman was taken aback, and this perhaps emboldened the young man to say: ‘I don’t know why he’s so pent-up, sir.’
‘Chief, let me teach him some manners,’ hissed the corporal.
‘The Chief is not stupid, Gamla,’ scoffed the boy.
The boy whispered something to William, who told the corporal and his men to wait for them, and he followed the youth.
The path the two took was bordered with clusters of tiny vegetable gardens and led to a thatched hut. Inside, three stones formed a fireplace, and on a wooden pole hung a hurricane lamp, a clutter of utensils and all manner of leathery pouches. Showing William to a mat, the young man took a seat on another, facing him.
Scents of damp mud and wood that made up the wall, some of which had been nibbled by termites, teased William’s nostrils, and he began to sneeze.
They were not alone. On a mud bed attached to the wall a girl lay asleep under a single piece of cloth. She awoke with a moan and sat up. She was a lanky creature who exuded a musky smell of sex. The smell forced William to regard her: she was young, he could see that, perhaps of the houseboy’s age, and frail, her pert breasts barely concealed, her drowsy eyes gazing with contempt at William.
‘Don’t mind her, sir, she lives off me.’
To this remark, the girl sucked her teeth. She seemed indifferent to the purpose of William’s presence in that hut and went on to tie her head-gear slowly, fasten her waistcloth about her and saunter out, but not without flashing William a hard gaze. He could not understand the source of her contempt for him, and was still thinking about her when he heard the militia accosting her.
‘Make sure the girl is left alone, Gamla.’
The hurricane lamp cast a flickering light on the youth’s face. Because he was sweating, his dark skin glowed, and he looked agitated.
There are moments when a gaze transcends the ordinary to become a medium through which an entire story is told. The young man’s gaze revealed its true nature to William, and this made him uncomfortable.
‘I know how much you hunger for the truth, sir. But there’s no way you can unravel the mystery around Tetese’s disappearance. You would have to wipe out the entire border town, the entire forest region, and even then no one would tell you about Tetese’s fate.’
William sat upright, struck by the force of the young man’s words, their implications overwhelming him.
‘Why is that?’ he asked.
The youth did not answer immediately. Fear threw his mind into a labyrinth of conflicting emotions. One aspect of it incited him on and the other cautioned him, so that he seemed unable to muster the courage to go on. He fetched a gourd of palm wine, took large swigs, and wiped his mouth with the back of his delicate hand, and then in a trembling voice said: ‘Because something binds them that is stronger than death, sir.’
‘Tell me what it is,’ William said.
The young man lifted his eyes to meet his own, and for a while their gaze was locked. Just as he was about to speak, his jaws dropped and a painful cry escaped him. William turned to see the girl standing at the door.
She’d been listening in on them.
No amount of persuasion could make the young man part with the secret that night, and William left the hut empty-handed.
Over and over, he thought about the force the youth had described, a force much more powerful than death that controlled the entire forest region. And once again, he thought of the Poro.
CHAPTER 16
The Lebanese was about to close up for the night when William and his men walked into the shop. The man was hauling in bags of rice and other products, like cement and large utensils, which had been on display outside the shop. William wondered why he had not hired a helping hand. At that hour of the night, the shop was flooded in a yellowish light, as were the homes surrounding it, a stark contrast to the rest of Wologizi. ‘The lights in those houses are powered by my generator,’ the Lebanese answered to William’s inquiry. ‘I make sure there is light every night, and I charge them for it, Chief.’
The militiamen were appraising the goods.
‘Keep your hands off them,’ the Lebanese snapped. Except for the Chief, he told them, none of them were invited to his dinner. The men did not object. ‘All that garlic and onions only make the mouth stink, you know that, Baldhead,’ one of them said.
They mocked the shape of his nose, which was
crooked like a beak, and they referred to his failure to satisfy his skinny wife who in the end had abandoned him. ‘He doesn’t know that skinny women are insatiable,’ one of them said, and the rest broke into laughter.
‘Get out of my shop,’ he roared.
The living room, to which he led William, was decorated with various pictures of snow-capped mountains and ancient ruins of Lebanon. Framed portraits of family members stood in dark corners as though he’d chosen to forget them. From a cassette recorder, Arabic music blared. Above the main door hung a silver-gold ornamented dagger – ‘a family heirloom,’ the Lebanese told William, ‘which is more than four centuries old.’
These things, remarkable as they were, did not compete in grandeur with the picture that faced William on entering the room. It was of the president. The tobacco addict was dressed in a made-to- measure suit, and was waving his pipe at a hysterical crowd, his lips pursed, as if he had just drawn on the pipe, a glint of mockery in his eyes.
The Lebanese showed William to a seat at the dining table and fetched him some ginger ale. He nodded to the music, crying out the lyrics, as if a memory long forgotten had been evoked by the singer. Through the opened windows, a gust of fresh wind drifted in from the valley. ‘Here we are, two strangers in Wologizi,’ William thought. It led him to think about the other stranger, the road- builder, whose action was still having its repercussions in that forest region.
The Lebanese shuttled between the kitchen, where he was preparing dinner, and the living room.