The Gardener

by Tony Masero

  Chapter Thirteen

  Ndomo Boma is in love.

  He waits self-consciously on a long bench outside the Chancellor’s office. He has borrowed the crumpled, ill-fitting suit and dusty shoes he wears from his uncle especially for this trip. As he looks around at the majestic marble hallway, he is only too aware of how shoddy he looks in comparison to the others waiting for an audience with Dr. Kamami Utu. He is more used to bare feet and a grubby T-shirt amongst the herds of his father’s cattle than all of this.

  It is a long path of passion that has driven him to these lengths. That and his local headman. Ndomo loves from afar. His devotion a thing of simple fantasy constructed through TV images and magazine and newspaper photographs. He dreams of his love. Fantastic dreams. He has taken them to the village wise man for explanation. The old man had taken the symbols of Ndomo’s restless nights and explained that he must make the contact he so desires. It is clear that powerful otherworld spirits are at work and the only resolution is to bring his thoughts to reality in the world of the living. He must go to the highest in the land.

  Surprisingly, he is the first ushered in.

  As the double doors close behind him, Ndomo falls trembling to one knee before the small figure sitting behind the desk. Kamami Utu looks up from beneath beetled brows. The ceiling fan above turns indolently in the heavy air. A moment of silence broken only by the soft susurration of the fan.

  “There is no need for that, my son. Stand up.” Utu removes heavily framed spectacles to get a better look at the young man. A tall boy. Open-faced. Healthy from outdoor life. Muscular and well proportioned. With no more than eighteen or twenty years, perhaps. Dr. Utu approves. Amongst the simple classes, there was much to be valued. Here at the court of the warlord, Utu was normally surrounded by the infighting of political sycophants and power hungry soldiers. That was his reason for bringing in the country boy first. A snub at the pompous fools that waited outside. He had been a country boy himself and he mellowed in the young man’s aura of rural simplicity.

  Ndomo stands. He is shaking now the moment has arrived. Totally at a loss for words.

  “Speak, my child. You have some problem in your village?”

  Ndomo hesitates. All the country knows of the mystical power of Kamami Utu. It is said he can strike a man down with no more than a word. A spell that will cause sickness and death.

  “Have no fear. The great father of our people, Omaluli Mtubu, listens and would hear of his children’s difficulties. What is it you have come here for?”

  Reassured, Ndomo begins.

  “Lord, my name is Ndomo Boma. I am sent by my headman as I am having dreams.”

  “Dreams, you say? Dreams of a foretelling?” Utu looks interested.

  “I don’t know, lord. They have told me to come, so I am here.”

  “Explain. What is the nature of these dreams?”

  “I dream, lord. I dream of Princess Adula, Omaluli’s daughter,” Ndomo says. She, who is the warlord's mouthpiece. The university trained young woman who has tasted life in the west and shows little respect for the old ways of her own country. Or for Kamami Utu for that matter.

  “Go on.”

  “In my dreams, lord, I am a chosen one. A great bull elephant comes to me and carries me to a high place. In this place there is much cloud. A white bird rises from the mist before me. I follow the bird. The princess is awaiting me. The bird shows us many stones, piled one on top of the other. We descend from the mountain together. We are hand in hand, our wrists bound by bands of cowrie shells. In my heart there is only love for the princess.”

  “And what do you think that this meeting with the princess Adula means?” asks Utu.

  “The wise man of our village says it means we are to marry and she will bear many children, lord.”

  Kamami Utu almost laughs aloud. Then he pauses.

  “I hear you, Ndomo Boma. These are important portents that you speak of. They must be given due consideration. The wise man of your village has spoken well. You will go from here with the man I command to take you. You will have a room where you will stay until I have considered these things fully. Then I shall call for you. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, lord.” The relief in Ndomo’s voice is obvious.

  “Speak no word of this to another.”

  “Yes, lord.”

  Utu raises a finger and a door opens behind him. A man enters. The bodyguard who watches everything on closed circuit monitors. When the two men are gone, Utu plans how he will best proceed with this opportunity to further cement his power base. An intercom light flashing on his desk interrupts him. His master calls. He gets up.

  Omaluli Mtubu lounges in his opulent quarters, his vast girth stretching a short-sleeved shirt as he watches television from a long, white leather sofa. He is in a somber mood. Utu sees this as he enters. A child. One of his many children plays quietly in the corner with a multicolored plastic truck. Long muslin curtains sway slightly in front of open windows. Outside, tigers growl and pace in the warlord’s private zoo. Guards patrol, casting shadows on the blinds.

  “Where are my guns? Where is my army?” Omaluli booms as Utu enters.

  “But they come, Excellency. They come.”

  “It is too long. Something is wrong.” His eyes never leave the screen. “That devil McBraith has stolen my money and brings me nothing. I tell you, Utu, I have been tricked.”

  “Why do you think this, Excellency?” Utu falls easily into his subservient role before the warlord. He has survived many years by projecting humility.

  “It is a feeling,” Omaluli grumbles. “You know I have instincts with these things.”

  Utu has to agree. With an almost psychic precognitive sensitivity the warlord has foreseen coups and uprisings and duly dealt with them mercilessly. It is how he has prospered.

  “He must be brought to task.” Omaluli promises ominously. “This fool must learn he does not take my words lightly. You will arrange some education for him, Utu.”

  “You have something in mind, Excellency?”

  Omaluli ponders. “An act that will keep the dog on a leash. I leave the details to you.”

  “It shall be done. Ah, Excellency. There is another matter I should bring before you.”

  Omaluli switches channels. The satellite flashes from sport to music. From news to soap. “Speak,” he growls.

  “The gods have spoken in our land.”

  Omaluli’s eyes roll from the screen to focus on Utu for the first time. “And what have they to say?”

  “A boy has come from the country with dreams. Important dreams. He is a simple boy. Yet his dreams tell of a great coming.”

  “Is this a good or bad thing?” Omaluli is tentative. Utu knows that although outwardly cynical, in reality, Omaluli hides a strong superstitious strain. Knowledge of his own intuitive gifts convinces him that there is more than just power at play in the world. Centuries of belief are ingrained in his genes. It is a hard sense to resist.

  “I think it is good, Excellency. The boy is of the common people. He tells of a great bull elephant, this is yourself, Excellency. The bull takes him high, in itself a sign of success. In the otherworld, he is guided to a meeting with the Princess Adula and shown many stones piled high. The stones are your defense, Excellency. They are the walls you will protect yourself with. Signs of great fertility and procreation. Many children to ensure that your name will live forever. There will be fat years of plenty. The boy and the Princess are joined on the mountain in a sacred bond. It is a sign that the time has come for the Princess to marry. The people will now become one with their Great Father.”

  Omaluli appears to like the sound of that. Utu doubts that Adula will. But then, she is merely a woman. And a tiresome one at that.

  “But this boy is of insignificant stock, you say?” Omaluli demands.

  “Yes, Excellency. Therefore he has no axe to grind. He is not of a family with a grudge or blood feud against your Excellency. He offers no th
reat. The boy is hungry for nothing. For nothing, except a union with the Princess as his dreams foretell. And he is malleable. Simple and malleable. Think how this will look to your people. The Great Father has the ear of the spirits. He takes the hand of a lowly herdsman and joins it with his own royal blood. They will rejoice at your magnanimity. They will feel even more that they are at one with a destiny. They will love you. They will follow you.”

  Omaluli smiles for the first time. He nods his head.

  Utu watches him. His master considers himself a benefactor beloved by his people. Utu knows he forgets the tides of blood and cruelty that have brought him to leadership. The piles of tortured bodies that now lie buried in jungle pits throughout the country. The swathes of rape and murder that have paved his way to this royal palace. The illusion of benevolence must be fostered. It will be so.

  “Let the two of them meet,” Omaluli ordains. “Let us see if he can convince the Princess of the righteousness of his cause. If the dreams of which he speaks are genuine, then Adula will have no recourse but to fall under his spell. Then we shall know that the gods have truly spoken to us.”

  Utu bows his head, satisfied. “You are wise as ever, Excellency. This too shall be done as you command.”

  Utu returns to his office and cancels all further audiences for the day. He has much planning to do. Excitement runs through him. It is meat and drink to him. He works with intensity throughout the day and deep into the night. When he is finished, there is no more to do than deal the cards. To start the game. Love and death. Both players in the field.

  Chapter Fourteen

  First frost.

  Chayne opens the door on a pale morning. The grass is coated in a fur of white.

  “Hi there, buddy.”

  It is Peak. Suddenly. Curling around the doorframe.

  Chayne tenses. Relaxes. “That wasn’t very cool.”

  “Hey, you know me.”

  “Coffee?”

  “Unless there’s anything else hot in there.” Peak grins. His hard features split unnaturally. Like a death’s head.

  “Just coffee.”

  Chayne starts the makings. “So,” he asks. “What’s the word?”

  Peak opens a pack of Marlborough’s. “You mind?” Chayne shakes, passes him a saucer as an ashtray. Peak lights up and sucks smoke. Shows teeth. “Oh, yeah! That, is right on the button,” he breaths a cloud. “Well, your friend McBraith struck out. Our Arab brethren hit his first load.”

  “Don’t say. Whereabouts?”

  “Off the African coast. On the home run. They’ve taken the ship and got the whole thing rigged with explosives. Strung around the outside like fairy lights. Right now they’re sticking close to shore and heading past Morocco. Looks like maybe they’re on their way to the Med.”

  “So there’s no way you can make a strike?”

  “Not without taking a chunk out of the Canary Islands. The whole ship’s loaded with high explosive and ammo. Too risky.”

  Chayne sets out the coffee mugs and sugar for Peak. “They won’t make landfall easy with that cargo. First stretch of open water and they’ll be blown to pieces,” He stirs thoughtfully. “What the hell are they up to?”

  “We’re thinking a demonstration. Maybe a suicide thing. Plough into some unsuspecting port and go out in a blaze of Jihad.”

  “So what’ll you do?”

  “Depends, I think. If the press gets word, it’ll have to happen. Something major. Sub attack. Fighters. I don’t know. Meanwhile, the guys upstairs are holding fire, making contingencies and trying to figure out what the bastards are up to.”

  Chayne leans back in his chair. “Anyway, looks like we’re clear up here then.”

  “Seems so. That’s what I came calling for, kind of adios, partner.”

  “You’re shipping out?”

  “Looks like it. Maybe a day or two more. Then I vanish.” He makes a hand pass. “Like smoke.” He pauses. Cocks an ear. “You got company.”

  Chayne listens. Car wheels on gravel. “No one’s expected. I’ll check.”

  “Okay. Look, I’m outa here. If I don’t see you again, it’s been a pleasure.”

  “Likewise.”

  It is Clem and Robert. She is looking tired. Dark rings under her eyes. A soft greeting.

  “Hello, Chayne. Sorry we didn’t let you know. Last minute decision. Things are a real mess down there and I just had to get away.”

  “Hi,” says Robert, climbing down. Laptop clutched tightly. “Where’s Lost Boy? I didn’t get to say goodbye last time.”

  “ 'Fraid he’s gone off again. Maybe he went home, huh?”

  Look of disappointment. “Aw! That’s a shame. I wanted to see him.”

  Clem is unloading. Chayne helps. “You look beat.”

  “Yes.” She sighs. “I’ve been driving all night. I’ll turn in and get a few hours. Robert’s okay, he slept most of the way up.”

  “I’ll get a fire going for you.”

  Clem sleeps. Chayne and Robert work together cutting wood. Carrying logs in for the fire. Skating stones on the thin ice covering the lake. He shows him animal tracks in the frost. Deer. Rabbit. Pheasant. Where a fox has tracked. Breaks open an owl’s frozen fur balls. Their insides full of small bones. The boy is fascinated.

  “How do know so much, Chayne?” he says in awe. “I’ve only seen this kind of thing in my computer encyclopedia.”

  The digital world, Chayne thinks. A virtual unreality. “Nothing like the real thing,” he says.

  They walk, Chayne demonstrating how to use the lie of the land. Move quietly through the trees without disturbing the wildlife. He is childishly flattered by the boy’s attention. Realizes the boy has had little contact with the outdoors. And only limited dialogue with adults. They both need the company.

  Flushed and replete after an omelet Chayne fixes for him, Robert turns to his electric companion. He is tired. Unused to exercise.

  Chayne stokes the fire as Clem comes in still sleepy. Fluffy white dressing gown tied at the waist. She looks better. Some of the drawn lines softened. Ruffles her blonde hair. “Hey, what have you two been doing?”

  Robert begins a long list of their adventures. Clem watches him over the boy’s shoulder. A kindly twinkle in her eye. He goes to the door. “I’ll leave you two alone.”

  “No, don’t go,” she says. “I’ll make us some tea.”

  “We’ve already had something to eat, Mum. Chayne made us an omelet. He let me break the eggs.”

  “Did he?” Smiles. Sounds surprised. “Oh, well. In that case, I’ll just make something for myself then. But don’t go, Chayne, stick around.”

  Chayne settles by the fire as she fusses in the kitchen. He is unsure. Knows where this is going. And does he want it? The warmth gets to him and the next thing he knows is that Clem is waking him gently.

  “Where’s the boy?” he asks.

  “Bed. You’ve tired him out.”

  He looks to the window and sees the dark is already closing in. He stretches. Yawns. “Guess he did the same for me.”

  It is cozy. The fire a golden glow, casting deep shadows in the room. Dimming gray light outside. Northeast wind blowing in with the chill promise of snow. He finds he does not want to move.

  “You make this a nice place, do you know that?” She is watching him carefully. Eyes shadowed by the firelight.

  “Me?” He smiles. “No. Anywhere is nice with a fire and a full stomach.”

  She sits on the rug in front of the fire, just clear of his feet. Tucks the dressing gown under herself. Wraps her arms around her knees. “Did you ever find those poachers?”

  “I think they’ve cleared out now. You won’t be seeing them anymore.”

  “Did you ever find them?”

  “They’re gone,” he says with finality.

  “Good.” She nods. Eyes fixed on the flames.

  “You said it was bad in London?”

  “Uhuh, Charles’s deal has gone pear-shaped. Something a
bout a big cargo going astray. He’s losing his mind over it all. It sounds really serious.” She looks over at him. “I’d just rather not be around when he gets like that. It’s like being in the middle of a hurricane.”

  Silence. Chayne studies her. The dressing gown has fallen open. The line of her neck shows, softened by the fire glow. Hanging strands of hair cut a network of shadow across her face and the curve of her breast. She is a fine looking woman.

  “Come here.” The words come out badly, more of a croak than a gentle invitation.

  She turns her head. Questioning, not sure of what she heard. Then she flies to him. Covering the gap in a single, smooth action. Her arms are around his neck. Her mouth on his. They kiss hungrily. He is immersed in her scent. Pulls aside the loose gown. Tastes her flesh. Touches her rising nipples. She sighs a sob of pleasure.

  They make love on the rug in front of the glowing embers. Desperate love. Both raw with need. Equally full of a hollowness urgent to be filled. It finishes quickly. A gasping rise. Like an explosive shower of electric sparks. Only to start again. This time, long and languid. Exploratory. Discovering the subtle folds of desire held in each other’s bodies. A rising climb spent slowly in unknown hours of tongue and finger play. They climax together. A numbing, forgetful ride into a dark night where stars fall and planets play.

  A rattle of stones.

  Gravel falling on the window. Chayne wakes. Alert. Sleep falling away like a shed coat. Clem sleeps on. The fire is out. Cold chills his bare shoulders. He is up, slipping on his clothes quietly. Spreading the blanket more securely over Clem.

  The door. It is Peak.

  Chayne jerks his head in query.

  Peak breaths a thin stream of mist from between his lips. There has been a light snowfall. It is early. Barely dawn. Blue shades a cold white land.

  “Something’s up. I’ve got vibration sensors out there. Picked up two vehicles half hour back, took a looksee. Maybe eight, ten guys. They’re coming in on foot over open ground. They’re armed.”