Hiding in Plain Sight (28 page)

“Yes, it is,” says Salif.

“What's it like?”

“Amazing.”

“Can I see, Auntie?”

Salif tells her, “Not until tomorrow.”

“Auntie, let me have a quick peek, please.”

Bella allows Dahaba to stand in the doorway but no farther, lest she ruin the work before everything sets.

“A celebration is in order,” says Dahaba.

“How do you want us to celebrate?”

Bella makes herself some tea and they toast each other with tea and soft drinks. Then Bella, exhausted, goes upstairs to bed.

She dreams that she is dressed to the nines, but the heels of her shoes are broken and she can't find a cobbler anywhere to repair them for her. It is raining very hard, so she shelters in a low shed with huge cracks in its zinc roofing. Wet and miserable, she sets out to seek better shelter,
but her way is blocked by several stray dogs that bark viciously at her then attack her. She defends herself the best she can, but the harder she fights, kicking away at them, snarling, cursing, and screaming for help, the more dogs join in the attack. Eventually, she employs the shoes without heels as a weapon and hurls them at the dogs.

She retreats back into the shed and her bare feet come into contact with a bag. It seems to have been pushed into a corner and abandoned. She hasn't the time to investigate, however, before one of the smaller dogs makes its way past her, snarling, as likely as not to lead the attack from the rear, she fears. But when she kicks at him, she misses and kicks the bag instead. It breaks open, revealing bones. Is it possible, she thinks, that it was the bones the dogs were keen on instead of her?

She makes the opening in the bag bigger, then takes a handful of bones and scatters them over a large area outside the shack. The dogs fight fiercely over them and tear hungrily into them. While the dogs are busy fighting over the bones, she tries to scuttle away, unobserved. But a big bloodhound seemingly uninterested in the bones impedes her progress. Scared stiff, she searches for something to defend herself with—a stone, a stick big enough to strike with. She finds nothing. She lives on the edge of her nerves for a few minutes, trying frantically to imagine what it is about her that is drawing the hound's attention. Via a process of elimination, she focuses on the necklace of bones she is wearing. She unclasps the chain and throws it at the bloodhound, and at last he lets her leave.

She wakes up, heavily perspiring.

—

A couple of hours later, after a hot shower, Bella comes down to the kitchen. She makes herself some porridge and brews some strong
coffee. The children aren't yet downstairs, but Bella has an appointment with Gunilla at the UN office this morning. Before long, Salif wakes and comes down to have his breakfast, and eventually Dahaba saunters in, holding a toothbrush aloft.

She says, “Somebody give me toothpaste, please.”

Salif scoffs at her. “You're in the wrong room.”

“Who says this is the wrong room?”

“A kitchen isn't where you want to be.”

“But there is none in the bathroom,” she says, and then she issues an abysmal groan, supplemented by a blob of phlegm that she spits into the kitchen sink. “Did I ask you to give me toothpaste? Please stay out of my way and keep your nasty comments to yourself.”

Bella rises from her chair in anger then dispossesses Dahaba of the toothbrush, takes hold of the girl's wrist, and leads her out of the kitchen and back up the stairway toward her bathroom, where Bella is certain there is toothpaste.

When Bella returns to the kitchen, Salif says to her, “Why must you give in to every one of her vagaries, Auntie? This is no good. She will never grow out of it, you are spoiling her rotten.”

“I know what I am doing, darling,” says Bella. “Trust me.”

She sits down to resume the notes she was making, but her millet porridge has hardened. She adds a lump of butter to it and microwaves it, but just as she takes a spoonful, Dahaba reenters the kitchen. Without asking for help, she sets about making her own breakfast this time. Bella wonders which of them is right. She's certain Salif believes that it's the pressure he has been putting on Dahaba that will ultimately pay off. And Bella thinks he may well prove right, although it is too early to determine how consistently Dahaba will do anything. She remembers that Hurdo used to say that raising a child is a long-term project, the
nature of the child's needs changing as the child grows, but not the need itself.

Dahaba brings out the bread and puts two slices in the toaster. Then she takes out the marmalade and margarine, and when the toasts pop up, she picks them up with her forefingers. Although she flinches, giving the impression that her fingers are burned, she is pleased when she sits down with her toast. You would think she is expecting applause, so delighted is she with her achievement. She spreads large dollops of margarine and marmalade on the two slices and eats them, getting food all over her mouth and chin.

She says to Bella, “You going somewhere fancy?”

“I've an appointment.”

“Where and with whom?”

“With Gunilla, at your dad's place of work.”

“What's going on?”

“We need to sort out a few things.”

“Would you like to tell us more?” Dahaba says.

Salif says to Dahaba, “Are you mad?”

Dahaba carps, “What have I done this time?”

Salif says, “Next time you'll ask Auntie to tell you how much money there is in Dad's bank account and how much of it is coming your way and how much my share is and how much, if any, will go to Auntie Bella.”

“There is no harm in knowing any of these details, is there, Auntie?” Dahaba says. “Or asking questions of this kind?” Then she turns on Salif. “Why do you mouth off at me? What right have you got to talk to me like this?”

Bella says, “Please,” to no one in particular.

“Am I out of line wanting to know, Auntie?”

Bella replies, “No, you're not.” And to Salif she pleads, “Let it be.”

The dream of last night has suddenly come back to her, and she feels despondent. She remembers now too that BIH is shorthand for a lesbian bar called Bar in Heaven and that Ulrika is a German active in the gay community in Nairobi. She has read all this online—the recent raid of the bar has been all over the news. She considers whether to call Padmini and ask if all is okay, but she thinks better of it and, opting for inaction on that front, turns her mind to matters closer to her heart.

She glances up and sees that Salif is looking as disturbed as she feels. His shoulders are hunched and he is clutching a knife in his right hand while his glassy eyes stare at a bit of uneaten omelet attached to the end of his fork. There is something blank about his gaze that puts Bella in mind of a mirror that has lost its quicksilver backing. He doesn't have much self-restraint: You annoy him and he will come after you until he unsettles you. Maybe he is the sort of person who believes that when you are bad, as bad as Valerie, say, you deserve to get your comeuppance. Like Salif, Bella finds Dahaba's occasional unpleasantness tiring, and often she doesn't know what to do about it. But Salif needs to learn that he doesn't have to show his ugly side so quickly and that he doesn't need to zero in on other people's weaknesses, as if he were a dog chasing the fear in those who are afraid of him.

Just before Bella goes out the door to meet Gunilla, Dahaba comes back downstairs, holding her phone. The girl is shouting, “Mummy, where are you?” An instant later, Dahaba passes the phone to Bella, saying, “Auntie, it's Mum, she wants a word.”

What follows is so bizarre and happens so quickly that Bella will be confused about it for a long time to come.

Bella's first words are “You were in my thoughts. In fact, I nearly called you half an hour ago to ask how you both were.”

“Cut the crap,” Valerie says. “I want you to go upstairs and close
the door to your room. I have questions to ask you and I want true answers. I don't wish the children to hear what I am saying.”

Bella is in suspense to learn whether all this is provoked by the payment she made yesterday when she settled the bill at the hotel. Or could it have something to do with the raid on BIH and the resulting arrests? Is Valerie in deep trouble and in dire need of help again? She remains silent until she is in her room and then she says, “What is this about, Valerie?”

“Do you know—have you ever known—a Ugandan woman called Helene Nsembemba, with legal chambers in Kampala? And have you ever wired funds to her in your capacity as the Good Samaritan, working miracles and setting free two women in a Kampala lockup?”

“I've never met this Helene you speak of.”

“I know you know Gunilla the Swede and that you've met with her a couple of times, so don't tell me you don't know her. Tell me what role the Swedish woman played in all this.”

“I suggest we talk about this another time.”

“Here you are fobbing me off again. Tell me truly, did you pay to have us released?”

“I've no idea what you are talking about.”

Valerie says, “I'm told you paid the bond, wired the funds to pay off the Ugandan police and paid for our ticket, all through your lackey Gunilla. Is that true?”

“You are imagining things, Valerie.”

“I have it from reliable sources that you are involved in much deeper muck than you are prepared to accept,” says Valerie.

“Who is this reliable source?”

“A gentleman in the Ugandan legal fraternity.”

“I insist I have no idea what he is on about.”

There is a pause.

“Padmini and I are coming over to see the children. And I never want them to know about this terrible thing you've done, paid secretly and maliciously a bill you did not incur,” Valerie screams into the phone.

There is a knock on the door. Dahaba says, “Is everything all right? I hear some shouting, are you shouting?”

“Dahaba, darling, I didn't mean to shout. Okay?”

Valerie asks, “What is happening?”

“Dahaba is at the door to my room, wondering why I am shouting and asking if everything is all right,” Bella says.

“I want you to listen to me carefully, very carefully. Not a word to Dahaba and Salif about this. You hear me?”

“I hear you.”

“Not to a living soul, you hear?”

“I said I hear you.”

“No shouting, because you are still shouting.”

Bella chokes on her words of self-explanation, thinking that one can never win when one is at war with Valerie. She is adept at turning the tables and making you sound silly and forcing you to apologize even though you have no idea why you are apologizing or why you got yourself into tangles and your tongue into knots.

“I'll see you soon enough,” says Valerie, and she hangs up.

With the phone now dead in her hands, Bella opens the door to her room and finds she is face-to-face with Dahaba. Bella has no idea what to do or what to say. Dahaba is too young to understand all this. So Bella only says, “Thanks, here. Your mum called to tell us she and Auntie Padmini are coming over in a bit,” and holds out the phone. But Dahaba notices and so does Bella that her outstretched hand is trembling and that she is shaking all over. Bella returns to her room and washes her face and hands, but she is still shaking.

When she comes out, Dahaba is still waiting for her. Bella embraces her and then says, “Let us go downstairs and see how the darkroom is doing.”

Dahaba says, “Wait. Tell me what's happened.”

“There has been a misunderstanding, that's all.”

And Bella leads Dahaba by the hand, virtually pulling her, and doesn't stop until they are in the darkroom, where it is still night.

“May I turn on the lights, Auntie?” says Dahaba.

“Of course, my darling.”

Bella moves around, taking note of what else needs to be done to make the darkroom operational. But everything will have to wait until she gets back from her appointment with Gunilla.

Bella, still a little shaken, is unhappy being alone with Dahaba. The girl has a way of unsettling her with her questions, and Bella needs time to think of what and how to answer. She calls out to Salif several times. More and more she realizes how comforting she finds his presence. It's not just that he is not antsy like Dahaba, who is demanding and unsure, but somehow being around him neutralizes things, balances them out. He makes problems bearable and often comes up with solutions to them, just like Aar.

Now he says, “Is it ready for use, Auntie?”

In his calming presence, Bella regains her composure. With her arms around Dahaba, whose small body is trembling against her, she says, “Between the items I purchased from the camera store and a handful of others I brought with me from Italy, the darkroom will be functional today. Later today, after I get back.”

Salif smiles. “Must be an important meeting. Because you are in your power outfit.”

“Wish me luck,” Bella says, hugging Dahaba a bit tighter.

“When will you be back?”

“I'll return as soon as I am done. Your mum should be here by then.”

Then Bella heads out of the front door, gets into the car, and drives off, reminding herself that she will not allow Valerie or anyone else to deter herself from the tasks awaiting her.

Bella arrives at the UN offices in Gigiri almost half an hour late, and then, of course, she has to go through the series of checkpoints and scannings and screenings. She recalls Aar's comments about the corrupt Ugandan security forces at Somalia's international airport, but on reflection, she thinks that the blame lies squarely with the Somalis and especially with the current president and his regime. After arriving on a tide of great enthusiasm, he quickly proved incapable of steering the ship of state through disaster. He has been accused of unconscionable favoritism, of massive inefficiency, of unparalleled personal dishonesty. In the more than a year he has been in power, he has accrued more enemies than friends, both locally and among the international community. There is no one, it seems, he has not disappointed. UN investigators have uncovered corruption of immense proportions, reaching all the way up to his office and beyond. Two governors of the Central Bank later—one was sacked for impropriety, the other (with impeccable credentials) resigned—there is still no mechanism in place that can guarantee that the government kitty is safe from the pilfering of the
president's associates and clansmen. A member of parliament, a former premier, has accused the president of enjoying an unhealthy rapport with “terrorists,” and deny this as he might, the allegation keeps echoing in the media, especially on Somali-language websites.

Finally through the gauntlet, Bella is shown to Gunilla's anteroom by one of the assistants. She takes a seat, opens her briefcase, and takes out the Camus essays, which she hasn't found the time to concentrate on in the unpredictable emotional climate of the past few days. But after a few moments, the receptionist's intercom sounds. “Yes, madam,” she says, then she informs Bella that Gunilla is ready to see her. Bella replaces the Camus in her handbag and, her knees creaking from lack of exercise, rises and knocks on Gunilla's office door.

They shake hands, they hug, and they kiss, touching cheeks. Not long after they sit, Immaculata the tea girl comes in without knocking. Bella can tell Gunilla isn't happy about this, but she lets it pass without comment.

Bella brings Gunilla up-to-date, starting with how much she and the children have enjoyed the album of photographs she gave them. Then she tells Gunilla about the cameras and the darkroom.

“How did the outing go?” Gunilla wants to know.

“Good until the last few minutes.”

“Then what happened?”

“Salif and Dahaba took turns putting unpleasant personal questions to Valerie,” says Bella, making sure that she doesn't portray Valerie in a way that may prove counterproductive.

“What were the questions like?”

“Dahaba asked first and Salif followed suit, the two of them working her like those little dogs that go for your feet and bark nonstop,” says Bella, not wishing to reveal more than necessary.

“How did Valerie take it?”

“She was less worked up than I expected. But today was another story.”

“What happened today?”

Bella asks if Gunilla has had any recent contact with Helene Nsembemba. Gunilla replies, “Yes, we spoke a couple of days ago because I called her to make sure that we go over her billing.”

“Did you give my name and details at any time?”

“I didn't.”

“Well, somehow Valerie found out more than she should have. She discovered that it was I who settled the bill, and she knows that you have been functioning as my intermediary as well. My guess is that someone at your bank provided her with the information, not through Helene, but through the other lawyer Valerie has been using since she regained her freedom.”

Gunilla reflects on this then says, “In my capacity as a UN official, I must abide by the banking laws of the countries I visit. My primary base is Kenya, but we have accreditation in Uganda. It is very possible that a banker there was able to trace both your name and mine. I am sorry; I meant well and did what I could to process the transaction as quickly as possible, but I can't control everything.”

“No blame is intended,” says Bella.

“Anyway, was she grateful that you settled her and Padmini's affairs so they could regain their freedom and leave Uganda?”

“No! She said that she could do without my charity.”

“How very ungrateful.”

“There is something else besides. In our Somali culture and also in Islam, if you give someone a gift, you don't boast about it to others. If you do, then your present is deemed worthless.”

“So she is saying thanks but no thanks.”

They fall companionably silent and mull over their situation as Immaculata brings them their tea. Then Gunilla tells the tea girl to tell the receptionist that no one must disturb them again.

It has been increasingly obvious to Bella from each of their encounters that Gunilla had fallen under Aar's spell, abandoning herself to his abundant charm. He could work wonders when he set himself to pursuing a woman with interest, and maybe his interest had grown keener after so long a time without a serious female companion. To see Gunilla savoring her memories of him is a novel way of appreciating Aar. But Bella reminds herself not to mix the official business that has brought her here with her increasing affection for Gunilla and her longing for Aar; there is time enough to explore both outside these walls when time and circumstance permit.

So Bella turns her attention to the papers Gunilla has placed before her, crossing and uncrossing her legs as she concentrates on the thick file in her lap. Bella reads in silence, noting questions and comments here and there with a red pencil. Gunilla has explained that Bella must sign the documents, which include important insurance papers, in the presence of an outside lawyer, Godwin Wamiru, once her questions have been answered. He is expected to join them shortly, but just now he texts to say that he is going to be very late. “I hope that doesn't put your schedule out of joint,” says Gunilla. “Do you have other business you need to get to today?”

“No,” says Bella, “I cleared the day for this.” Then she adds, as an afterthought, “For you, I have all the time in the world.”

“There is no worry then,” says Gunilla. “Let us go to lunch.”

“Do we have to go back through security when we return?” says Bella.

“You're with me,” says Gunilla. “I can sign you in. Just bring along your passport, and I'll lock the rest in my office.”

A flush of affection sweeps over Bella. She is looking forward to spending time with Aar's lover, not only to hear about him but also to get to know her better for herself.

—

It takes them a few leisurely minutes to walk to an Italian deli nearby, where they sit apart from everyone else at a corner table with an umbrella. Gunilla is known to the staff here and the manager, a Sicilian with heavily accented English, comes round to greet her.

Gunilla sits across from Bella and, as if for the first time, Bella takes her in. She knows that Aar's lover is soft of voice, pleasant of face, and sweet-smelling, especially for a Swede in the tropics. On the matter of scent, Bella harbors a personal and unscientific theory: If you are the kind of person who bears grudges or is given to unfounded mistrust, she believes, your body will betray that in the sour odor it emits. Gunilla, for example, seems to produce less sweat than, say, Valerie. Bella has noticed all this before, but now she is struck as if for the first time by how gorgeous Gunilla is. Bella can hardly take her eyes off her, admiring her every move. Bella cannot recall feeling this way about another person, male or female. The only person who came close was Aar, with that beautiful face she knew better than her own almost from the moment she opened her eyes upon the world. Somalis say that you love the jinn of the person you adore. Maybe what she is seeing and adoring in Gunilla is the Aar both of them adored, if that makes sense.

Gunilla is wearing a dress and heels, her blond hair long but kempt, her makeup light, her skin evenly tanned wherever it shows except for a paler bit at the neck. Bella watches her chest rising and falling as she breathes, her fingers fondling the necklace Aar gave her, Bella's twin. Bella is sorry she hasn't worn her own today. It brings to mind a story she heard, about a poet who, fearing that he would die at the hands of a
neighboring foe, composed a couplet and taught it to his daughters. If he was murdered, he told them, they should recite the first line to anyone who called on them; whoever knew its mate would also know who his murderers were. Is there some secret about Aar's last days on earth, some uncovered mystery, Bella wonders, that only Gunilla knows? A pity he died in Mogadiscio, not in the arms of this woman who loved him dearly.

“It is lovely, isn't it?” Gunilla says, fingering the necklace.

Bella thinks of telling her that what makes the necklace lovelier is its proud wearer, but she refrains, fearing it will seem crass to speak that way to a woman she hasn't known for very long. Besides, what if Gunilla misinterprets this and thinks she is making a pass at her! So Bella says only, “Yes, it is lovely.”

“And you were with him when he bought it?”

“I was there.”

Bella recounts how he bargained with the Turkish jeweler but, failing to persuade him to lower the asking price, gave in even though Bella thought the necklaces cost too much and could be had for a quarter the price in Mogadiscio, where he was due to travel in a month. When she insisted she didn't need it, he said, “I am buying two. The second is for a close friend in Nairobi.”

That was the first time in a long time that Bella thought he might be seeing someone. The news gladdened her heart, but she didn't press him to give her the details, imagining that sooner or later he would tell her of his own volition. After all, she had gone to Istanbul a week ahead of him to spend several nights in the company of Humboldt, a liaison that she had never breathed a word to him about, nor had she mentioned her other two lovers.

But now it is Gunilla who is forthcoming, by a larger margin than Bella had ever expected. “We had plans afoot,” she says. “Serious ones!”

Bella pictures a wedding party—friends gathering, Salif serenely welcoming the guests, Dahaba ecstatic—and she, the groom's sister, playing the role of host. “Tell me more about your plans,” she says.

“They were in a rather advanced stage.”

“A pity you didn't let anyone know about them,” Bella says, as though to herself. Then she adds, “Why was that?”

Gunilla's expression darkens as she enters this sad world where death now reigns and grabs whatever it wishes. She says, “Aar wanted to prepare Salif and Dahaba for the news. He was worried about what they would think, how they would behave toward me. He said they could be difficult when they chose to be. And there was the matter of Valerie—technically still his wife as they'd never divorced—to deal with. But he worried much less about Valerie. The children were uppermost in his mind; he wanted them to be happy; he wanted me to be happy; he wanted everyone to be happy. No rush, he kept saying. Everything will fall into place.”

Suddenly Gunilla looks bewildered, as if the world has become a mystery, as if death were all the more calamitous when it takes away someone with a plan. Bella remembers how Dahaba had called Aar's death “unfair.” Why must death take away her father and not someone with no job, no life, and no love? Gunilla weeps gently, and when Bella goes around the table to console her, she cries harder. Bella hands Gunilla a tissue and the Swede wipes her tears dry. They sit in silence for an appropriate period of time and then resume sipping away at their coffee.

Then Gunilla's mobile phone, which is in her bag, tinkles and she brings it out and reads the text to herself. “It is Godwin. He says he is just round the corner from the office.”

Gunilla pays for the coffees, apologizing to the waiter for not being
able to order lunch, and they walk back to the office in some haste. Since Bella is with Gunilla, the security guards at the gate take only a cursory look at her passport and they are about to wave her through when another officer, evidently more zealous, makes her go through a more detailed check. Almost as soon as they get back to Gunilla's office, the receptionist rings to inform her that the attorney is waiting. Gunilla says, “Let him come in, please.”

A knock on the door heralds the entry and then the imposing physical presence of Godwin Wamiru, who turns out to be a broad-shouldered, wide-jawed, long-limbed man. He is wearing a generously cut suit, his tie loose, his stride expansive and his self-regard high. He shakes hands with the attitude of a man on top of his game. Before he takes a seat, he says, “My name is Godwin Wamiru and I am a forensic expert in legal matters for the UN offices in Nairobi. One of the things I deal with is the complexities of wills when someone dies in UN employ. Now, let us get down to business so that we can wrap things up quickly for the sake of you and your family.”

He sits down, opens his briefcase with panache, and brings out a pile of papers, which he consults only once before he recites the facts known to all parties in the case: that Aar was killed while on a UN tour of duty in Mogadiscio, in circumstances that lead one to believe that terrorists murdered him in cold blood; that he is survived by two children, both in their teens, an estranged wife who has lately turned up and whose intentions have been unclear, and Bella, his sister, who is present here.

Gunilla raises her hand as if she were a pupil in a classroom. “If I may ask you a question?”

“Go ahead, please.”

“What's the latest with Valerie? You told me that she had initiated a claim. What have you made of it?”

“It's definitive,” he says. “She and the deceased were married out of community of property, and Valerie is not legally entitled to anything. End of story.”

“So it was all a lot of hot air and a waste of time?”

“All that I am prepared to say is that it was unwise on her part to pay those two lawyers,” Godwin Wamiru says. “She is not entitled to the dust from two of Aar's shillings rubbed together.”