by Dave Eggers
XVI
IT WAS LIKE sleeping with a corpse. Four felt sure that the medicine would begin working imminently, and had in his mind that the fever would break in the wee hours, but after six hours, and a second shot of antibiotic, Nine showed no signs of improvement. His breath was still broken and he had not moved. Four stared at Nine’s back. Four was exhausted and his eyes were heavy, but he felt sure that if he fell asleep, he could awaken to find Nine dead. There would be no struggle, just a quiet expiration.
Four slept fitfully and woke at first light. He checked Nine’s breath, finding it unsteady and weak. He crawled from the tent, feeling as if he’d escaped a shared grave.
He stood, stretched and heard the whine of Medallion’s motorcycle coming near. But as the motorcycle drew closer, Four saw that it was Cousin, not Medallion.
“How is man?” he asked as he set his kickstand.
“No different,” Four said. “Where is your cousin?”
“Wife sick,” Cousin said. He ducked into the tent and Four followed. Cousin again put his hand on Nine’s chest and listened.
“Bad,” Cousin said. He opened Nine’s eyelids roughly and turned his face from side to side. “Bad, bad.”
Cousin rested his ear on Nine’s chest again and listened.
“Bad,” Cousin said. “He stay.”
“I told Medallion I would have to leave today,” Four said. “He said he would stay with Nine until he was able to move.”
“Yes,” Cousin said, nodding gravely. “I stay.”
Outside, the sound of another motorcycle grew louder until it sputtered to an end nearby. “Man come help, get water,” Cousin explained.
Sitting in the tent, with Nine prone and rigid beneath them, Four and Cousin discussed the plan concocted by Medallion. Cousin would stay with Nine, and the new man would be able to run for food and water as needed. Medallion would return the next evening and take over. When Nine was able, Medallion and Cousin would transport him via tuk-tuk up the road, to meet Four at the end of the day.
In the last hour, Four had felt a new calm overtake him, an acceptance that Nine would likely die. He had been resigned and panicked before, then hopeful about the prospect of the medicine, but now the medicine was having no effect and he found himself oddly finished with the whole endeavor of trying to save Nine. Going back to work and receiving word of Nine’s death or recovery in a few days somehow seemed an acceptable way of proceeding.
“No,” Nine said. Four was shocked to hear him speak. He hadn’t issued more than a whisper in days. Now Nine’s eyes were open. He scanned the tent, seeing Cousin.
“No,” Nine said, and his arm rose and he grabbed for Four’s face, finding his ear, which he held with surprising force. He pulled down on it. Four lowered his head to Nine’s mouth.
“Don’t leave me,” Nine whispered.
“I have to leave,” Four said. “We’ve spent our extra days. To meet the schedule I have to go. You’ll be fine. Cousin is a moral man. Medallion said so. When you recover they’ll bring you up to meet me.”
Nine’s eyes were wild with fear. “I feel like I might die,” he whispered. “Something is very wrong with me. My chest feels hollow and cold. My back is numb. I can’t feel my legs.”
“It’s just malaria. You’re probably having hallucinations.”
“I’ve had malaria. This is not malaria.”
“I can’t take you with me,” Four said. He knew Nine’s words were the ravings of a feverish man, and thought he only needed to finish the conversation, allow Nine to sleep again, and be gone. “You’ll be fine. I’ll see you tomorrow,” Four said, and he believed he would.
Now Nine’s hand moved from Four’s ear to his mouth. His fingers grabbed at Four’s lips and reached into his mouth, his knuckles rapping against Four’s teeth. Four pulled away.
“No,” Nine said, louder now. “I can’t die here alone in a tent. Not with these men I don’t know. Please. Please. Think about mercy.”
“You’re talking. You’re stronger now. You’ll get stronger.”
“No, please,” Nine said, his mouth quivering and his eyes suddenly wet. “I ask for your mercy.”
XVII
ATTACHING NINE TO the hood of the RS-80 was his own idea. When Four had insisted there was no way to continue the road and transport Nine, too, Nine devised a way.
Four cursed Nine as he followed Nine’s directions, using the tent and their blankets to fashion a kind of bed on the vehicle’s front hood. Cousin and his friend helped lift Nine, and when they set him down on the vehicle’s steel chassis, Nine’s hands flailed, grabbing their fingers, discarding them until he found Four’s. He squeezed his hand weakly.
“Thank you,” he said.
Using bungees and duct tape, Four secured the mound that was Nine. When he was finished, he stood with Cousin and his friend, and they assessed their work. To avert unwanted curiosity from those Four would be passing along the road, they had been careful to obscure Nine’s face. With the tape and bungees crisscrossing the bulbous mass, Four was satisfied it looked like the vehicle was simply carrying supplies on the front hood. In this region, where towering loads would be routinely carried atop tiny motorcycles, a mass like that which held Nine would attract no interest from anyone.
To mitigate the heat from the machine, Four and Cousin had insulated Nine’s bed with palm leaves and two layers of waterproof tarp. Four started the vehicle and let it run for twenty minutes, and then checked with Nine. He said he felt no heat beneath him.
“Then we go?” Cousin asked.
“Now we go,” Four said.
* * *
—
After an hour he found himself forgetting for long stretches that he was carrying Nine before him like an offering. From his windshield he could not see Nine’s face, but they had left an opening in the wrapping through which Nine could raise his arm, gesturing for help if need be.
Cousin and his friend were performing Nine’s task of clearing the road, and they were doing so masterfully. They seemed to be everywhere, circling the RS-80, shooting ahead to investigate and disperse a shepherd and his goats, removing stones, returning seconds later.
For Four, the day became one of unexpected contentment. With Cousin, he was confident the road would be unimpeded. With Nine immobile and held tight to the machine, he could cause no more distraction.
When he reached a new pod, Four had three minutes while the RS-80 set it into place, so he used these periods to check on Nine. The first time, Nine seemed to be in a comfortable sleep. The second time, he was awake and asked for water, which Four was ashamed to have forgotten to provide for sooner. He hastily set up a water bottle near his mouth so Nine could sip at his discretion.
In the late afternoon, Four calculated that he could finish ten more kilometers before it was too dark to see. He would push until seven, two hours later than usual. If he continued at this new pace he could catch up to the original schedule in four days, and arrive at the capital at the date and hour originally promised, in time for the parade.
When Four reached the last pod, he powered down and went about the laborious process of disassembling Nine’s bed and reassembling it inside the tent. Nine refused food, so Four ate alone and lay down next to him. Nine’s breathing was rhythmic and loud, so Four put his earphones in, pressed play and spiraled down to a viscous sleep.
XVIII
A LOUD BOOM woke Four. In the murk of sleep he thought it was a cannon, but when he sat up he realized it was the foot of a man kicking the outside of the tent. Voices were all around, yelling and striking the tent with their feet and batons. The sound inside was low and savage. Four saw that Nine’s eyes were open and he was very much aware.
“Cousin?” Four said, holding out a vague hope that Cousin was there but had neglected to announce himself. There was another kick to the tent
and a booming voice roared through the nylon. Now there were hands on the tent’s zipper door. The lock would prevent the zipper from being pulled, but Four knew he could not hope to simply sit in the tent and wait.
“Gun,” Nine whispered, too loudly.
“I know,” Four whispered. He retrieved the pistol from his bedroll and loaded it as quietly as he could. He hid it in his belt, unzipped the tent and crawled out.
When he stood, he found he was among eight men, none of them known to him. These were not the red berets from earlier. These men wore mismatched uniforms and all carried outdated rifles and pistols.
“What is this about?” Four asked.
The leader of the men ignored Four and opened the tent door, thrusting his head in. He slashed his flashlight until he found Nine.
* * *
—
The speed with which Four and Nine were packed up, disarmed and put in the back of the pickup truck was remarkable. The tent was bunched together and thrown in the truck cab. Four had been able to indicate to the men that Nine was ill and could not sit up, so they laid him on the truckbed while Four sat above him on the wheel well. Two of the men sat in the truckbed with them, their guns lazily pointed into Nine’s prone form.
The truck took off, back down the paved road. Four sat, exchanging glances with Nine, though he was sure neither of them knew what to do. Four’s first instinct told him it was a simple police matter that would be resolved with a bribe. But there had been something outraged and personal about the men’s attitude toward Nine that indicated this was not about money. The eight men had more the posture of a vigilante mob than the more businesslike ways of ransomers.
As they traveled through the humid night, despite himself Four found he could appreciate the astonishing smoothness of the road he’d paved. He half expected one of the men to express some kind of appreciation for it, too, but received no such praise. He watched the forest as it swam by. The sky above revealed no stars or moon.
The truck drove for nearly an hour before arriving at a break in the roadside forest, where they turned off onto a dirt road, deeply rutted by rain and seasonal streams. The truck shuddered and leaped and Nine’s face was stiff, suppressing his agony. The truck was traveling far too fast for this kind of surface, and though Nine tried to be stoic, periodically the wheels dropped into a pothole and the truck plunged and rocked, and he let out an involuntary squeal.
They stopped in a small settlement of brick structures. The men piled out in front of what seemed to be a municipal building. It was marred by bullet holes and missing half of its roof. Human silhouettes moved through what looked to be a few sparsely furnished rooms. They took Nine first, carrying him carelessly through the front door, bending his body around the doorframe. Four was pushed to follow, his hands bound in front of him.
Inside there were five more men, two of whom were wearing civilian dress. A young man in green fatigues stood in the corner of the room, and at the desk sat a large, middle-aged man with a weary air. Behind silver-framed glasses his eyes were small and red ringed. His large hands were set on the rickety table in front of him. Part of the table’s front-left leg was missing and had been replaced by a stack of canisters that looked to Four like land mines. Nine had been laid down just in front of the table, on the floor, between Four and the man.
“I am the commander here,” the man at the desk said. From his uniform he seemed to be a rebel commander who now in peacetime had been given governing powers. Four had seen such men on this continent and others. They had no interest in the mundanity of governance; in the flush of international compassion and funds for rebuilding, they looked only to siphon enough for themselves to leave the country and send their children to private schools.
“There has been a complaint that this man has violated one of the women of this village,” he said. “This is the woman’s father.” The commander pointed to an imposing man standing behind Four. His head was enormous, his eyebrows great black escarpments guarding his terrified eyes. Upon being referenced, he stood erect, his head tilted inquisitively as if posing for a picture but unsure how.
“Sir, this man is very sick,” Four said.
“I see that he is,” the commander said.
“He can’t answer questions right now,” Four explained. He knew he needed to slow down the proceedings, lest some violent act occur in the madness of haste and night. “The trouble of getting him here has weakened him. I wonder if we might allow him to rest until the morning?”
Four continued watching the woman’s father. When the commander explained the situation, the father was oddly solicitous, as if the proceedings—bringing two foreigners to answer for the crime, one of them lying at his feet—had already exceeded his expectations, and that no delay could take away what he’d already achieved. He nodded gravely, his eyes near tears.
“Fine,” said the commander.
XIX
WHEN FOUR WOKE, in a bunk bed in an adjoining room, the commander was exactly where he had been before, sitting at his desk. He was talking on a cell phone now, occasionally chuckling. Four could see the shoulder of an underfed guard in the doorway, his rifle pointing to the floor. There was a low windowframe on the wall near the commander’s desk. In it there was no glass, only three rusted bars, and on the other side, three children in rags stood watching the room like spectators at the theater.
Four knelt down to check on Nine. He seemed to be asleep, but Four placed his finger under his nostrils to be sure. Feeling his feathery breath, he sat on his bunk again.
Throughout the morning, the commander made and received phone calls, and Four deduced he was weighing his options. Finally he entered the room.
“And how are you finding the accommodations?” he asked, and Four thought he might actually care.
“Can we get some water for my colleague?” Four asked.
The commander gave an order to the guard, who left languidly and then rattled through the building looking for a cup. As they waited, the commander’s tone changed. “How is the road coming?”
“Good,” Four said, then he thought he might leverage the project to speed up whatever process was unfolding in the police station. “But our schedule is very tight. We must continue as soon as possible. And with all due respect, our detention here is putting the timetable at risk. We have four days to have the road ready for the parade.”
“The parade?” the commander asked. “There will be a parade? What sort of parade?”
Four paused. He had assumed the parade was a national event of great historical significance, something on par with an election or inauguration. But the fact that this commander knew nothing about it made him reconsider.
“To celebrate the road’s completion,” Four said. To blunt the force of this revelation, he added, “This is what I was told at least. The road will open and the parade will christen it.”
The commander seemed to find this logical and satisfactory, though there was a tightness in his mouth that indicated his displeasure at having no prior knowledge of it. The commander glanced at the children watching through the window and with a slash of his arm, shooed them away. They didn’t move.
When the water arrived, ash-colored liquid in a soiled glass, Four dipped his shirt into it and brought it to Nine’s lips. The water was unsafe to consume, so he only pretended to serve it to Nine.
“Is your friend able to speak now?” the commander asked.
Four glanced down at Nine, who closed his eyes in assent.
“No, he has not spoken in many days,” Four said. “He doesn’t expect to live.”
The commander looked surprised and alarmed. “Is this true? What is the sickness?”
“Acute malaria. He hasn’t responded to treatment. We were too late. Our assumption is that he already experienced liver failure. His skin has the jaundice.”
“So why h
aven’t you called for a plane?” the commander asked, sounding outraged by Four’s indifference.
“We have,” Four lied. “The company has refused.”
The commander blinked quickly, taking this in. Four knew a rebel commander like this would see the logic in it, in the remorseless decisions necessary in the application of scarce resources. The children beyond the window watched intently.
“He has no family,” Four added. He had adopted a resigned and businesslike tone, as if he had come to the same cold calculus himself—that Nine was not worth the money or trouble.
The sound of a motorcycle drawing closer overtook the room. The engine was cut and Four heard loud voices outside the building. The children left to see who it was, and one of the soldiers entered the room and spoke to the commander. The commander, perplexed and shocked by his conversation with Four, stood and seemed relieved to be able to divert his mind.
He left the room and moments later returned with a man following closely behind. It was Medallion. Medallion’s eyes scanned the room.
“You are okay?”
Four told him they were fine. Remembering that he had said that Nine could not speak, he added, “He is no better. He still hasn’t spoken. I think it’s just a matter of time.” They both looked to Nine’s gray visage, and Four and Medallion were able to exchange the most fleeting of glances as they both turned back to the commander.
“Sir,” Medallion said. He approached the commander and took his hand lightly. They left the room to have a private discussion while Four and Nine stared at each other silently. Nine’s eyes were mirthful, the first time Four had seen this kind of light in Nine’s face in many days.
When Medallion returned, alone, he sat next to Four on the bunk. “Because he knows”—he winked almost imperceptibly—“that Nine is dying, things are changed. If he was a healthy man, this would be a complicated situation. There would be a trial, and Nine would be imprisoned. Perhaps made to marry the young woman. But in this situation, the commander suggests a payment to compensate for the ruin of the young woman. Do you have your money with you?”