Under the second flock of gulls was a familiar boat, slightly larger than a dinghy, one bench in back and one in front. Boni lay between them, his strong body splayed on the bottom of the boat. At Finn’s calls, he tried to speak and instead hacked, smacking his parched lips. He raised his hand in greeting. It was caked in dried blood. He was smiling, his bare torso drenched in sweat. “Man, I still have him on,” he rasped. Wrapped around his right hand was a wire line that had looped and coiled around his fingers, where it dug into the flesh so deeply it was lost from sight.
“Boni, your hand!” Finn shouted. Boni held his hand in the air. Two of his fingers were nearly severed. They dangled below the others, restarting the flow of blood that had dried from inactivity. The blood dripped onto his shorts and disappeared into the thirsty planks of the boat. He continued to grin, lowering his hand and carefully placing it on his thigh. “I’ve got him,” he said.
Finn grabbed the lead rope and tied the dinghy to Uma. Boni closed his eyes in the shadow of the larger boat. Finn lowered him a bottle of water, which he ignored. He raised it back up and unscrewed the cap, splashing some on Boni’s face. Boni’s eyes opened. “Have you seen him?”
“Yes. He’s huge. Kubwa sana.”
“I knew it.”
“You’re coming with us, Boni.”
“Are you stealing my fish from me?”
“You’ll get your fish. Sit up now, help me out.” Finn lowered himself down into Boni’s boat. He wrapped a wet towel around his head and then one around his hand. With a pair of clippers he cut the wire line and clipped it into a commercial reel. “Jonah,” he said, holding up the reel. “Transfer this to the other rod. Come on, big man. Get that stupid grin off your face. Where did that wire come from?”
“Pinkman Wicks,” Boni said as Finn hauled him to his feet. “Do you have any Tusker, man?”
“Put your arm around me. Reach up to Jonah. He’ll pull you up.”
“You’re going to tie me on?”
“Of course. We’re taking you back to the island.”
“No more fishing for you today, Finn brother. I’m sorry.”
When they had carried Boni into the shade, Finn tied the dinghy to the back of the boat. “Give him some water,” Finn said.
“You are a fool,” Jonah told Boni. “You’ve lost your hand.”
“I have the fish.”
“You pray to Allah you have your life.”
“I would give my life for another night like that. Me and him. Alone. He pulled me for hours, pulled like the devil. He’s a strong one. Finn, are we close?”
“He’s here,” Finn said. “Barely alive. What do you want me to do?”
“Bring him on board!” Boni roared.
“It’s not legal, Boni. This is a game fish.”
“But what game were we playing, any game you’ve ever seen? This has never happened before. Never. Wait till Wicks sees this. Just you wait, Finn.” Boni’s eyes closed and his head lolled to the side.
When Boni lost his hand, his wife lost her last reserve of strength. Folding her bui-buis, blankets, henna, undergarments and an extra pair of sandals into a woven bag that she slung over her shoulder, she told her husband, “Now you are truly useless.” It was unheard-of for a woman to speak to her husband this way, but Boni had married a woman with spirit. This had turned out to be a risk, because while he loved her, sometimes he loved other women too. “Only when I cannot find you,” he pleaded with her unseeing eyes.
“If you could walk straight from your boat to me you would find me every time. But your real mistress is in the bar. The other women, Allah will take care of them. But you are less of a man than I married. Your soul has shrunken so much it could fit into a Tusker Beer bottle, where it belongs. And look now”—she gestured to his gauze-wrapped stump—“you are shrinking in your body, too. I am going to the other village, where I will continue to be faithful to you. Allah willing, I will bear your child by Ramadan. Or maybe this is how he will curse you—by stopping your seed from growing in me. In any case, you can come to me when you leave your other mistress for good.” She paused at the door and looked back at her husband. “You love her and she will kill you. How can I choose a man who chooses death?” And out she walked.
Boni slipped into a rapid delirium, a fevered response to his physical and emotional state. He was seen once more, the next day, wading naked into the waves. On the beach two European women from the hotel propped themselves up on their elbows to watch him. Boni had an awesome physique; everything about him was large. Leading the rest of him into the water was a sturdy, fearless erection, which is what caught the ladies’ attention. He proceeded into the sea as if to his marriage bed. The women giggled, and when he disappeared from view, his black head bobbing between the waves, they lay back down and replaced their sunglasses. Later, it was guessed that the blood-soaked gauze on his arm had given the sharks a scent. It was birthing time on the reef. “Death would have come slowly,” the fishermen speculated. “Many small sharks. Many small teeth. It would have taken hours, maybe.”
For three straight days Finn trolled the bay, dragging his largest net. He was unconvinced. Boni was not the kind of man to die at sea.
Part Five
CHAPTER
26
Deliverance
In the stillness of her room, Ingrid could smell things she couldn’t before: the sweet rich coffee brewed in the street below, the jasmine scent Sari wore, the smell of rain coming. Occasionally the scent of rose petals. She waited in bed for these smells to reach her, imagining what lay beyond her room, beyond the cracked ceiling and the narrow walls. When she blurred her focus, she wandered into the world of her mosquito net, an extraordinary substance, she decided, designed for daydreaming.
Finn had visited, sent by Fatima. He had left packets of herbs and given Sari instruction on how to administer them. He held his hand to Ingrid’s forehead and rebandaged her wound. He did not try to make conversation. After he left, Ingrid liked him better; liked him maybe for the first time. From under her mosquito net, the world seemed to be rearranging itself.
When she realized she had finally lost her bearings, she was overwhelmed with a sense of relief. As she felt herself being inched away by the current, she lost memory of her moorings, of what it was she had been afraid of. Instead, she let the heat permeate her and stopped considering her well-being and what she should or shouldn’t be doing. No reins, no worries. No decisions to make.
There were moments of terror when she recognized the symptoms of her weakening, but the terror passed. In the fever and the heat, she was on the front lines of a war she might be losing but couldn’t step out of long enough to know for sure. War was war. While it was happening, nothing else existed. Only later could it become a regret. So there was no question about how to proceed. She ate what was brought to her, drank the bitter teas that were brewed for her and settled into a part of herself she had almost no knowledge of.
She wrote with difficulty on her side in handwriting that slanted drunkenly.
Pelat Island
January 29th
Doctor Reed and members of the department,
I am currently immobilized on Pelat. The landing strip is in disrepair and the rains have washed the roads away. The phones are out. All normal for the island and impossible for the Western mind to comprehend. I begin to understand Templeton’s difficulties with communication. It seems clear that I won’t make it back for the start of the term. I am, however, including a reading list and an essay based on my own research here. A suggested syllabus as well. If possible, have Henry Klingle take over the class. This letter, I am told, will travel to Mombasa by dhow, where it will be picked up and taken to Nairobi. Hopefully the phones will be working before it reaches you. I cannot adequately express my apologies.
Ingrid Holtz
Sari brought her soup in the afternoon and tea in the evening. She was respectful of the mixtures and kept to Finn’s schedule exactly. “He will be pl
eased,” she told Ingrid. “We are doing just what he asked.”
“Please, Sari, can you take me outside to the pillows? I want to see the water.” Ingrid leaned on Sari, who felt strong under her weight. “This is perfect. I can see the whole village. You’ll see, I’ll heal more quickly this way.”
Below her were the houses of the village. She could see Danny’s house and, next to it, the hotel bar’s thatched roof. Salama grew bright with lights after sunset, while the rest of the village faded in the bluish dusk. Sari returned with hot tea, which she watched Ingrid drink before helping her back inside.
“Abdul thinks you should go to Nairobi.”
“Yes, of course he does. Tell him the airstrip is under repair and the rains have stopped the buses.”
“He thinks you should find another way.”
“There is no other way. Does he want me to leave?”
“I don’t want you to leave.”
“Is he treating you badly?”
“No,” Sari smiled. “I have a rohani now. Abdul cannot hurt me.”
“So you’re free. This rohani, has he made you free?”
Sari paused and held up a white petal for Ingrid to smell. “Here, I’ve brought some jasmine petals for your pillow. They will sweeten your sleep.”
The next day Sari brought something wrapped in soft felt, a pair of heavy old Leica binoculars. Curled up and wedged between the lenses was a note: “So you can see me from up there. I am performing wonderful bar tricks to entertain you. Come back down to Bedlam as soon as you can. Yours, Danny.”
The world on the roof became more intricate and appealing with the Leicas. Ingrid could see the heads and bodies of people flashing between houses, racing children chasing balls made of tape and rubber bands, the white hats of men hurrying to prayer, the black heads of women toting hand-sewn shopping bags heavy from the market. She could count coconuts on the palms and, farther off, gulls circling above the water. She saw a sea eagle swoop down to the waves and snatch up a fish with its talons. She studied the activities on the boats that came and went: the dhows and their various captains, the tourists who paid to go sailing on them, portly old Nelson bumbling around on Tarkar, having what looked like tantrums, screaming at his crew, who stared at him without expression. She watched the heat mingling with the ocean and the flat white clouds that formed over the coral reef by afternoon. The rain-bearing clouds seemed to come from the southeast, over the dunes. They appeared suddenly like huge dark castles, piled one on top of another, in the middle of their fierce ocean journey from India, from the arid interior, from who knew where.
“Sari!” Ingrid called. “Come quickly!” Unaccustomed to a raised voice, Sari bounded up the stairs two at a time. She stood breathless as Ingrid trained her Leicas to the west of Tomba Island. “I saw an airplane. Over there, it landed on the water.”
“On the water?” Sari squinted to where Ingrid had pointed.
“It’s possible. Some planes are able to land on the water.”
“I see no plane.”
“It’s behind the island. Can you go to the hotel and ask Danny who is coming by seaplane? Ask if there is anyone he knows with a seaplane.”
“Abdul is in the courtyard.”
“Tell him you are looking for a way to help me leave. He will let you go.”
Sari smiled. She returned within the hour. “That man is drunk always,” she said. “He says you are to ask Finn Bergmann. But he smiles like he knows the answer.”
“He does that to tease you.”
“I asked twice. He only drinks and smiles.”
“Thank you, Sari. He’s an awful man. I’m sorry you had to talk to him.”
“He wanted me to give this to you.” Sari produced a man’s gold ring from her folds. “He says he will marry you, one foot, two foot or no foot. He made me say it back to him to remember it correctly. Now wait here and I will bring you some soup.”
Ingrid was looking through the Leicas again, this time at Uma chugging toward shore from the open sea. She had pushed the gold band over her thumb. “Ah,” Sari said. “Finn Bergmann comes back. Maybe now you are not so anxious to leave.”
All afternoon, Ingrid waited for him. She didn’t eat her lunch. Sari was disappointed. “You will not improve this way.”
“No, Sari,” Ingrid lied. “I feel much better.”
When Ingrid heard his step on the stairs she folded her pillow in half so she could see the doorway. He was wearing one of his fancy kikois from Somalia, thicker and more tightly woven. The Somalian kikois were what he wore to the bar. When he came closer she could smell that he had already been there. A wave of nausea drove heat into her face.
“How are you feeling? Have you been taking Fatima’s teas?”
“Sari hasn’t given me a choice.”
“Good. I’ve brought you some more. I will leave it with her. Now drink this.”
She did not mind so much when he left. The teas made her drowsy. When she woke, he was there again, sitting on the chair reading. “We are friends now,” she told him before closing her eyes. “I think it’s better.” When she woke he was gone. She slept again and he returned. He was watching her this time. She put her hand out, to see if he was real.
Finn studied her foot. “Your infection has spread.”
“I’ve been thinking, when he wasn’t with me, he was with you.”
“Who?”
“Templeton.”
Finn opened a paper bag and brought out a plastic container. “Fatima’s prepared some soup,” he said. “Try to drink some.”
“I won’t ask any more questions. I understand it all better now.”
“There’s nothing to understand.” Finn held his hand to her brow. “You have a fever.”
“He would like that. My thinking will be original. You should listen to everything I say. It will all be very interesting.”
“Ingrid, drink this. It will help you sleep.”
Ingrid held out her hand for the cup. “Imagine if I were to ask you to promise not to leave me. Promise me you’ll stay until I get better. It would disgust you. And it would disgust me because it is being so afraid.” She took two sips of the soup and put the cup on the floor. “I will never ask you to promise.”
“I will be here as often as I can,” he said.
“Don’t say that. I think I am ready now for whatever’s coming next. You or not you. It doesn’t matter. I don’t need a promise.” Ingrid closed her eyes. “I’m so tired. This is all making me very tired.”
“I need to pee,” Ingrid told Finn the next day when she woke. She leaned on him to hop to the bathroom, where she sat on the toilet and felt faint from the height. “Nothing’s happening,” she said from her perch. “Take me back to bed.”
Finn negotiated with Abdul to get some hot water for Fatima’s herbs. When he returned, she motioned to her foot. “I think this is who I am now. This weakness. It’s interesting, isn’t it?”
“No. You are not that foot.”
“Everything changes. I don’t mind so much.”
“Shh, go back to sleep now.”
Then she was alone for a long time. A long, quiet time that carried her up and up like a feather on the wind. She hovered bizarrely, almost pleasantly, between realms: home, Egypt, Pelat. Her memories rose too, one after another, until they were indistinct and she had the elated sense that they had fused, that her life had congruence.
It ended in darkness and a sudden heavy weight on her chest. Heat and hardness, a voice in her ear. A familiar voice that was replaced by a probing tongue and then a frenzy of grasping and ripping and the feeling of skin and hair on her bare abdomen, a pushing in her groin and the tongue that was down her throat now, almost choking her.
The hands were rough on her breasts and then on her arms when she tried to push away. They were holding her down, pinning her to the bed. She opened her mouth to scream. The strangest of sounds came from her throat, not like her voice at all. Then there was a scuffle and more v
oices—sharp, angry—and quickly she was free and light and cool and there was another hand on her face. A different hand. She held it in her two and pressed it close to her.
“Are you all right?” Finn’s hand was moving down her torso to her panties and her body flinched involuntarily. “He didn’t,” she said, suddenly tearful. “He didn’t.”
“Shh. You’re all right now.” The hand was removed. “I’m sorry,” he said.
Ingrid reached out to pull him closer. “Don’t leave.”
“I’m not leaving. I’ve brought a dressing for your foot. Some more tea from Fatima. Lie still and put this piece of wood between your teeth. When it hurts, bite down.”
“Nothing hurts anymore,” she whispered.
“I should have warned you about Ali. I saw it coming.”
There was a sensation around her foot. “I had a friend,” she said. “My best friend. One night she died, drove off an embankment into a tree. My foot hurt then too. It was colder there. We were in the snow.” She reached for his shoulder. “Have you ever seen snow?”
“I was born in the snow,” Finn said. “I remember it.”
“You remember it?” Ingrid asked, amazed.
“The wound has healed around the bandage,” Finn said. “I have to take it off to clean it. I’ll do it quickly.”
An Obvious Enchantment Page 27