by Leylah Attar
Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.
My fingers trembled as I unhooked them from the pipe and grabbed on to the slits from the outside, first one hand, and then, very slowly, the other.
“What are you doing, miss?” asked one of the kids.
I was clinging to the side of the train, scared shitless, my jaw clenched in fright, but I summoned up my best classroom voice. “I’m going to uncouple the cars behind us, so the bad men can’t get to us. I need you to stay inside. Okay?”
My bones were rattling with the motion of the train, but I held steady until he nodded. I heard him translating for the kids that didn’t speak English. I shut out the part of me that was screaming: Uncouple the cars? Are you out of your freaking mind? You have no idea what you’re doing. You’re going to die out here!
I’m dead either way. At least I’ll die trying.
I inched along, slipping my foot into one opening, then the other, all the while clinging on to the slits above me. I swallowed the fear that was beating thick and heavy in my throat as the gap between me and the men closed. They had seen me. The one in front had the machete tucked in the back of his pants. The other one was glaring at me through wind-blasted eyes. The only thing slowing them down was the fact that their car didn’t have louvered sides like mine, so they had less to hold on to. I made it to the edge before they did. There was a metal ladder, soldered to the side, so I swung around to it and held tight as I tried to figure out the coupler.
Fuck if I know how to do this.
I felt sick. I felt dizzy. I didn’t know if it was from the sense of impending doom that was fast approaching, or from watching the ground disappear between the two cars.
I can’t do this. I don’t know how.
My composure was cracking in fragile shells around me. The mask of bravado I’d put on for the kids was slipping off.
I’ve lost Mo.
I’ve lost Jack.
And now I’m going to lose these kids.
A suffocating sensation tightened my chest as I heard a thud. And then another. The men had hopped onto the adjacent car. It was only a matter of time before they got to us. The endless night had turned to day. We had fought and fought and fought, but it was going to end here. The only thing standing between those men and the kids was me.
You’re my rainbow-haloed girl, and you’re freaking magical. Don’t you ever forget that.
I wiped my tears with the back of my hand and straightened. That’s right. I’m freaking magical.
I could tell the lock from the pin on the coupler. I just had to figure out how to unlink them.
“The lever.”
I whipped around to find Bahati. He was clutching the edge of the car. “The kids told me what you were doing when I came around.” He swung around beside me, still shaky and unsteady.
“Are you all right?” I asked. “God, Bahati, I could kiss you!”
He grimaced. “I’m the reason you’re in this mess, Miss Rodel. I’m bad luck. They don’t call me Bahati Mbaya for nothing. You and Jack would have gotten away if I hadn’t shown up and buggered it all up.” He put his foot out, trying to span the gap between the cars, his fingers wrapped around one of the rungs of the ladder for support.
“Bahati, stop! What are you doing?” I yanked him back by his shirt and for a moment we both teetered over the gap between the cars. My stomach churned at the thought of what it would feel like to be crushed under those thundering wheels of steel.
“The lever can only be pulled from the other side,” Bahati said, after we steadied ourselves. “I’ll have to jump.”
“Wait!” I stopped him again. “If you get on that car, you won’t be able to get back once you unlink us. You’ll end up with those men, and God knows they won’t be too happy about losing the kids.”
“I know.” It was the shortest sentence he’d ever spoken. I wanted him to fill the silence that followed with his ramblings, but we lurched ahead to the rhythm of unspoken things—unexpected circumstances, unexpected sacrifices.
“Bahat—”
“It’s time I earned my warrior name, Miss Rodel.” And then the man who hopped on his bed at the sight of a lizard, who squealed at crickets, and ran from moths, leaped. His lean, long legs closed the gap, even though he faltered when he landed on his battered knee. He attempted a smile, one eye swollen shut, and pulled the lever.
“Kasserian ingera,” he said, as the cars unlinked and I left him behind. How are the children?
“Sapati . . .” I swallowed hard and bit back the tears. K.K.’s men were almost upon him. “Sapati ingera.” All the children are well.
As the rear of the train fell away like the severed body of a giant python, I lost sight of him. “Thank you, Bahati,” I whispered, hoping the wind would carry it to him.
Lonyoki’s vision had come true. He had seen Bahati riding a giant serpent, fighting his own kind, helping the white people. But Lonyoki had not interpreted it right. The serpent was the train, and Bahati was fighting K.K.’s men to get the albino children to safety. At the same time, if Bahati had listened to them, if he had stayed away like his father had told him to, he would still be safe.
A war of emotions waged in me. So many delicate threads held us all together. The endless plains stretched out on all sides, vast and empty, as I held on to the last car, on the last leg to Wanza, nursing the last images I had of Bahati and Jack.
“THIRTEEN?” A WOMAN screeched from behind the closed door. “She brought thirteen kids in? Why were we not notified?”
“She just showed up at the gate,” said the guard who had escorted us inside the orphanage. “We told her she has to speak to the Regional Commissioner, but she refused to budge. And to be honest, they look too exhausted to go anywhere.”
I sat on the bench outside the office as they went back and forth. It had been a harrowing ordeal, huddled up with the kids in a car full of goats, for hours and hours. There had been a long delay when the train arrived at the next stop. I assumed it had to do with the freight cars that had been left behind. We didn’t dare get out or make a sound. We didn’t know friend from foe, so we stayed put until the train rolled into Wanza.
We must have been quite a sight when we climbed out of that boxcar. An off-duty police officer spotted us and offered to get us to the orphanage. I left my name and his badge number with the stationmaster before getting on the private dala dala he arranged for us. I wasn’t going to take any chances this close to our goal, but my choices were limited. I couldn’t exactly walk out of the station and hit the streets with them.
The policeman turned out to be another kind soul. The kids and I would never have made it without Jack, Olonana, and Bahati. I mentally added him to the list of all the people who had made it possible.
Wanza was fresh lake breezes, beautiful water, and a rapidly rising skyline. It sat by the shores of Lake Victoria, surrounded by hills that were strewn with enormous boulders. The orphanage was a bit of a drive from the railway station, encased with barbed wire, with guards patrolling the gate. It wasn’t the kind of sanctuary I had pictured. There was a stale, dank odor coming from the dorms. Children were bunked two to a bed. The ones playing in the courtyard were wearing threadbare blue uniforms, their milky-pink skin contrasting sharply against it. And yet they seemed happy—the kind of happiness that comes from feeling safe. They were free to run and play and shout.
“Chui, chui, simba! Leopard, leopard, lion!” they chanted, running in circles and tagging each other in a game.
My kids watched from the sidelines—thirteen of them, standing against the scuffed-up wall. The place was overcrowded and underfunded. I could understand the reaction of the woman I was waiting to see.
“Miss Emerson?” She opened the door and read my name off the note the guard had scribbled for her. “Welcome. My name is Josephine Montati. I run this orphanage. Please . . .” She indicated the chair by her desk. “I understand you’ve brought some children you’d like to leave in our care. Thirteen, if I�
�m not mistaken?” She was magnificent and imposing in spite of her small frame. At least sixty, if not more. Her brow was furrowed, and she wore her hair in cornrows.
“Yes. That’s right, but some of them were abducted. I’m sure their families are looking for them and will be happy to have them back.”
“And how did you end up with all these kids?”
I relayed the story as concisely as I could while she watched me over her half-moon glasses. When I finished, she sat back and sighed.
“I won’t lie. I’m not happy to see them. We don’t have the resources. You can see for yourself.” She gestured out the window, to the crumbling building outside. “A lot of these albino kids are legally blind. We need special textbooks. Bedding. Hats. Sunscreens . . .” She stopped and shook her head. “I’m sorry. I apologize. You saved thirteen lives. You risked your own. You’re worried about your friends. And I’m going on about supplies. Do forgive me. I will get the children settled in. We just need to fill out some paperwork and then you can go. Why don’t we get you and the children something to eat before we get started? I’m sure you’re all very tired and hungry.”
“That would be nice,” I replied. Food was the last thing on my mind. I was too worried about Jack and Bahati to care, but the kids had been on the go for many, many hours. “There’s just one other thing I was hoping to talk to you about. Do you know someone named Gabriel?”
“I know a couple of Gabriels.” She removed her glasses and placed them on the table.
“My sister was working with him, to get some kids to you.”
“Ah, you mean Gabriel Lucas. So that delightful young lady he brought around . . . that’s your sister?”
“You knew her?”
“Yes, but I haven’t seen her for a while. Did she complete her volunteering term?”
“No. My sister . . . she died in the Kilimani Mall attack.”
“Oh.” Josephine came around and engulfed me in a hug. “I am so sorry to hear that. What a terrible thing to happen to such a beautiful soul.”
“Thank you.” I stayed in her arms a little longer. Some people have an amazing capacity to soothe and comfort. Josephine Montati was one of them.
“I was hoping you could tell me something about Gabriel,” I continued, when she stepped back. “His sister and daughter haven’t heard from him in a while.”
“Well, let’s see . . .” Josephine put her glasses back on and walked over to the register. “He was last here in June. I haven’t seen him since. I figured he was busy getting his house built in Wanza.”
“He has a house in Wanza?”
“That’s what he said—that he was moving so his daughter could attend school here. He doesn’t want her to board at the orphanage. He knows what it’s like here. He’s brought in twenty-four children in all. Over the years, of course. Not all at once, like you.” She laughed. “Good man, that Gabriel. Heart of gold. He’s on the road a lot, but I’m surprised he hasn’t been in touch with his family. I’ll have to give him a good tongue-lashing next time I see him.”
I sat back, relieved. Gabriel was a good guy. He’d delivered the kids to the orphanage, just like he’d promised their parents. He hadn’t conned my sister. In fact, he’d brought her here, too. But where the hell was he?
“Would it be all right if I used your phone?” I asked Josephine.
“Yes, of course. I’ll take the children to the dining hall. Come find us when you’re done.”
“Thank you,” I said, as she shut the door behind her.
I picked up the receiver and put it down again. My hands were shaking. I felt like a tall pile of blocks, stacked haphazardly on top of each other. One nudge and I’d come tumbling down. I had held it together all this time, but sitting in an empty room, alone with my thoughts, I was starting to fall apart.
The last couple of days had been a roller coaster of emotions: the incredible high of making love to Jack, the unexpected encounter with Olonana, watching thirteen kids materialize out of the mist, the overwhelming responsibility of getting them to safety, the thrill of outrunning our pursuers, the awful, bitter taste of having to leave Jack behind, Bahati looking at me from the other side of the carriage . . .
And there I was, in Josephine Montati’s office, staring at the scratches on her desk, about to call Goma and tell her I didn’t know where her grandson was. Her only living family member.
“Hello,” she rasped, when I finally dialed the number.
“Goma? It’s me. Rodel.”
“Rodel.” She chuckled. “I guess Jack is too pissed off to talk to me.”
“No, he’s . . .” Missing. But I couldn’t bring myself to say it. “Why would Jack be pissed off with you?”
“For not sending Scholastica with Bahati. Is everything all right? You sound . . . off. Don’t tell me you’re still waiting for Bahati. Did that boy chicken out on—”
“No, Bahati . . . he came to pick us up. It’s just . . . it’s just—”
“Spit it out, girl. My Zumba DVD is rolling.”
“Goma, I don’t know where they are.”
“Where who are?”
“Jack and Bahati.” I explained what had happened—from the time Jack and I left Magesa and crossed paths with Olonana, to how Jack, Bahati, and I got separated. When I finished, I waited for Goma’s response. The line remained silent.
“Goma?” Shit. Maybe I shouldn’t have called.
“I’m here. I’m just thinking happy thoughts. My dear Sam always did that when we ran into trouble. ‘Happy thoughts,’ he used to say. ‘Happy thoughts.’ So right now, I’m thinking how much I’d like to string that bastard, K.K. to the back of my Jeep and drive him through the thorn bushes. No one lays a hand on my grandson and gets away with it. Not while my lungs still breathe fire. I will burn his ass to a crisp. He’d better pray no harm has come to Jack or Bahati. Are you and the kids all right?”
“We’re fine. I was wondering if you could contact Inspector Hamisi. Maybe he knows someone at the police station here who can send out a search party.”
“Oh, don’t you worry. I’m going to mobilize them all. As soon as I get off the phone. And then I’m going to get in my car and head straight for Wanza. You just hold tight. We’re going to get our boys, you hear me? If I have to turn over every pebble and stone myself.”
I thought she’d crumble, but she’d risen like a dragon, talons bared, ready to lacerate her enemies into ribbons of flesh and bone. Her reaction lifted me. It lit an inferno of hope within me.
“Yes, Goma,” I replied. “Let’s go get our boys.” For a second, I wondered if she was really that strong, or if she’d sit with her head bowed afterward, staring at the gnarled veins on the back of her hands, wondering how they would find the strength to leave flowers on yet another grave, if it came down to that.
I hung up and walked out of the office. Outside, kids were still playing in the courtyard. The ones that had accompanied me were out of the dining room and waiting to be fitted for their new uniforms. A few of them dragged me to a cardboard box that had been set up as a table, with square bits of newspaper for place mats. I sat on a stool as they pretend-poured tea for me in a chipped miniature cup.
“Asante.” I took a sip and feigned burning my tongue, fanning my mouth.
“Moto sana! Too hot!” They laughed, plying me with invisible food.
A shadow fell over us as I offered a cup to the straw doll sitting across from me.
“I turn around for two seconds and you’re in the middle of a tea party.”
My breath caught mid-fake-pour. His voice was like balm over my aching heart.
“Jack! Jack!” The kids flocked around him.
“You’re late,” I said, trying to stem the swell of tears in my eyes. His arm was bandaged in a dirty fabric, beard thick with congealed blood, lips cracked and swollen. He stood stiff as a board, covered in dust and tatters, looking as if all his muscles had seized up.
I’d never seen a man more beautiful t
han him.
I would have run to him, wrapped my arms around him, but my circuits were so overloaded with relief, that I just sat there, holding a miniature teapot.
“My date ditched me,” he replied, taking the kiddie stool across from me, and sitting the doll on his lap. He was saying one thing, but his eyes were saying another.
You’re okay.
You made it.
God, let me just look at you.
And so we sat there, staring at each other across an upside-down cardboard box, as the kids milled about around us. He unclasped my fingers from the little teapot I was holding and pretended to fill two miniature cups with it. I picked up mine, he picked up his, and we clinked them in a silent toast.
We pretend-ate and pretend-drank. The air thrummed between us, heavy with words we couldn’t wrap our tongues around.
“I thought . . . I thought you . . .” A tear spilled like a raindrop on the cardboard box.
“Shh. You’re here. I’m here. Everything is exactly as it should be.”
“Jack, Bahat—”
“He’s fine. He’s in the car, outside. We’re all right.” He stood, unfurling his long legs and held out his arms. “Come here, sweetness.” His voice was hollow with longing.
Jack Friggin’ Warden. He’d survived. And Bahati had made it too.
I crushed my face into his chest, maybe a little too enthusiastically, because he winced under his breath.
“Sorry. Am I hurti—”
“Shut up, Rodel.” He claimed my lips, his kiss singing through my veins.
My arms looped around his neck as I melted against him. I wanted to heal the cracked lines of his lips with the softest of kisses, lick all the sore, tender parts of him. I wanted to love him like he was mine.
“Miss Emerson?” I tore my mouth away and found Josephine Montati watching us with a raised eyebrow.
“Sorry.” I smiled sheepishly at her. The kids were watching us with amused fascination. “My friends made it. Both of them. I’m so happy!”