Pigment (13 page)
July 21
One of Creepy Man’s men is in the shade outside the camp perimeter, watching Jalil. They won’t let him out of their sight until he is on that plane. Jalil needed to sweat. He is hard at work shoring up the fence. Using his hands always helps him work things out in his head, especially working on something he can control, that shows tangible results, that’s useful, something that will protect albino children. Rhadi helps him toward the end, after the sun is well up, but without words.
Delila watches him from the yard where the children play. He told her what happened at the station. That Aliya is thought dead and that he is being forced to leave the country. He couldn’t sleep and came out before the sun rose to fix this fault in the perimeter. He puts in the last post and nails the last wire in place. He’d throw a bucket of water over his glistening skin if the well weren’t so far. Instead, he pats the sweat off with the shirt he had on and puts on his cleanest shirt, gathers his belongings.
He stops to speak with Delila before he leaves.
“Jalil, there are always greater forces at work. Your daughter was marked from her birth.” They both look out at the children playing before them. “I believe Africa called to her. It brought her here and it made her a ghost. It also helped more of the world see us. Aliya is here in everything now.”
“I want justice...”
“I have to believe there is. It’s not in the courts for us yet, but somewhere, in nature. Even if we can’t see it, somewhere there is balance.”
“Will you keep her things? Give them to the children.”
“Of course. You are always welcome here, Jalil.”
Delila hugs him goodbye. It is a long hug. Neither of them wants to let go. Lingering. They slowly release.
Bashima makes her way to Jalil as he is leaving. She stands in front of him and looks up, the green glasses have slid to the edge of her nose. He pushes them up for her, softly pats her on the head and goes to the car where Rhadi is waiting.
#
Rhadi drives Jalil on the road to Mwanza. They don’t speak. There is a sense of mutual respect and quiet grieving for each of them. Silence speaks more than any words could.
July 21 (later)
In the lounge of the Hotel Mwanza, Rhadi is at the bar, giving them space. Rolf is sitting at a table across from Jalil. Each has a whiskey in front of him that Rolf bought. Rolf’s is nearly gone. Jalil’s remains untouched. Rolf spouts out a lot of chitchat about some shipment of aide supplies that got delayed, the driver having contracted cholera…It dawns on him that Jalil hasn’t said a word since he walked in. Rolf doesn’t finish his story. Instead, he breaks the banter, “I know what you’re thinking.”
Jalil raises an eyebrow.
“It’s better for all of us if you go.”
“Who told you to say that?”
“It’s just the truth. Aliya would say it.”
“I was thinking? I was thinking how dirty she must have felt when you put your hands on her. I was thinking how proud I was of her for walking away from you. And for you to sit here and try to put words in her mouth…”
Rolf’s eyes widen, he didn’t expect him to know this. “We all had a lot to drink. None of that matters now.”
“How did you know she was missing?”
Rolf looks more uncomfortable.
“You called me before anyone else knew...”
“You know, we always have one finger on the pulse.”
“I know how trades happen. What did you get? What did you get for my daughter?” There is absolute venom in Jalil’s voice and he means to sink his teeth in.
“Aliya made herself a martyr. Don’t you become one. It doesn’t suit you.”
Damn it. He wasn’t wrong. “Martyrs don’t kill themselves, Rolf.”
“There’s enough death in Tanzania.”
“Is that a threat?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re as wound up as Aliya was.” He stares at Jalil. Something they shared in the past won’t let him go. Jalil can always discern when things don’t add up, and he knew Rolf well and long enough to know his tells. He raises his right eybrow a quarter inch higher than usual when he’s hiding something. He’s doing it now. “Call it an understanding.”
Jalil takes his glass for the first time and downs the liquor.
Rolf adds, “Go pick a battle somewhere else. Go back to your life.”
Jalil puts the glass down on the table, empty but for the wet cubes settling at the bottom, quickly slipping into a puddle from the heat. This is the most he’ll ever get from his former brother in arms. Someone got to him. Maybe he got to himself. He takes the knife from his belt and cradles it in the napkin, removing his prints, then stabs the table with it near Rolf’s hand.
Jalil stands over him, one last question he knows he won’t get an answer to, but he asks more to enforce to Rolf that he is on to him and he will find out the answer in time. “Who was at your party? They went missing not two days after your party. Who was there?” No answer, as expected, except for the sharp swallow in Rolf’s throat. Jalil leans in and speaks softly into his ear, “What did you get for me?”
Rolf doesn’t watch him walk away. He instead looks at the cuff of his sleeve, nailed to the table, the intended red slowly seeping from his wrist near the artery. The same hand Jalil saved along with the rest of his ass ten years ago in Burma.
July 21 (later) – 22
Rhadi delivers Jalil to the airport. Neither has said a word to the other since the raid of Bui Bui’s hut. Their shared mood speaks for them. Rhadi shakes his hand Jalil gets out of the car and enters the terminal. Rhadi pulls away, seeing Creepy Man follow Jalil inside as he pulls away.
Creepy Man is at a distance near the security checkpoint, watching. Jalil sees him out of the corner of his eye, but keeps moving through to his gate.
Jalil is standing on the tarmac looking at the plane he is about to board. The white ticket in his hand holds heavy like a flag of surrender. The last of the passengers boards. He looks behind him, then up to the sky.
Creepy Man looks out the window and sees Jalil’s plane take off. His job done, he goes outside of the airport to his car and drives away.
Meanwhile, Jalil is taking cover among a crowd of tourists that just flew in from the States. He emerges and cautiously makes his way out of the airport. His path clear, he moves quickly around to a side street near the airport and hops a cab.
Hours later, Jalil is out on the Fisherman’s boat on the Dead River moving toward the Bend. He didn’t bring Rhadi with him this time. This is something he needs to do alone.
The Fisherman guides the boat downstream. As the old man points up at the thick grey sky above, weather forecasting in Swahili, Jalil’s watch slides down to his wrinkled elbow. Not a fair trade but it will get him there. They’ve run out of river a mile north of where they were let off the other day. It dried out in Natures biggest thirst for the rains.
As Jalil walks the long road alone, he looks for Aliya the whole way, especially where she stood the other day, but there is no sign of her. He can’t see her any more. In his mind’s eye, he sees the face of the little girl in Teheran dying in what’s left of her father’s arms. He is haunted by his own demons more than any others. He plots his revenge, how this spider will suffer much worse than what he’s made innocent women and children endure.
As he approaches Bui Bui’s hut, he feels something from above tap his head. He looks to the clouds. Could it finally be the rain, finally a release from the heavens to wash away the sweat, from Mama Nature? No, not rain, despite her grey clouds covering the blue hot sky, it is just a seed falling from the tree. Is she blessing or cursing him for what he’s about to do? He looks down to find the one that pecked him. There is something glistening in the brush. He takes a stick and moves the grass and dirt aside. He reaches down to the earth and comes back holding Aliya’s giraffe charm. He looks again to the heavens. Impossible. He wipes his eyes now for the tears more than the sweat. She is closer than she has ever been.
July 24
Outside Bui Bui’s hut, camouflaged in the bush, Jalil is watching, waiting, for hours. His Special Ops. skills and guerilla warfare tactics still sharp. No one knows he is there. He waits, he breathes with the bush concealing him.
At long last, two men arrive, walking from the path at the other side of the hut. Bui Bui is not far behind them. Jalil raises his new machete bush knife from his pocket, it's large blade makes a far meaner impression than the knife he gave back to Rolf. He puts the finishing touches on the spear he’s been shaving.
Suddenly, a few villagers come out of the dry bushes and trees and head for the men. They shout and throw rocks and sticks at them.
Bui Bui warns them, “
Acheni! Au Nitawalaani wewe!
” Stop. Or I will curse you.
The villagers scold and curse them all, but their main focus is on Bui Bui, “
Mchawi! Mchawi! Wewe kuua watoto wetu! Muuwaji!”
Sorcerer! Witch! You kill our children! Murderer! The crowd is agitated and growing in confidence and numbers.
Jalil stays at a safe distance, unexposed, watching, in awe as the three are forced into a ditch. They look for somewhere to turn and yell back at the crowd. One of the men falls and they beat him. The other man tries to defend him and they pound him to the ground too. The crowd curses and throbs them until they are unconscious. Tribal yells of the hunt and kill echo across the dusty terrain. They turn their full attention to Bui Bui whom they’ve surrounded in the ditch.
Bui Bui shrinks, sensing the fear he’s only known from his victims, but now it’s coming from within. Villagers set tree branches on fire and jab the flames at this once powerful man, who still screams his black magic at them. After repeated blows and burns, he catches flame. He stops moving and his voice is still. His eyes look away to the distance. In all the surroundings, he somehow lands on Jalil’s stare and locks on. Through the smoke and pain, he stares at Jalil’s eyes. Jalil’s expression is stoic. His plan for revenge now unnecessary, and yet, his desired outcome delivered en force, without him throwing one stone. Is this immolation the balance Delila spoke?
July 24 (later)
The demon slain, the crowd disperses. Jalil, having witnessed this local justice, emerges from the bush. As the last straggler leaves, Jalil approaches the still smoking charred corpse of Bui Bui. The stench of cindered hair and flesh wafts in the air. He takes his makeshift walking stick and shifts it to his left hand to balance his squat closer to the remains. He stares at Bui Bui’s right arm. There is a vial welded into his chest, the hide lace it used to hang from, now fragile ash. He leans nearer to his right arm and digs it out with his blade. The cord wipes away in the dig. He cleans the charred streaked glass and holds it up to the light sky, the sun still muted by clouds. He taps the vial and its contents shifts, a powdery substance.
The glass is still warm and it has some of Bui Bui’s flesh adhering to it. Jalil clenches his fingers round it and uses his free hand on the staff to stand up. His hand on his hip, he surveys his surroundings, but his mind is focused on the palm of his hand.
It may even be Aliya’s bone, a mortared piece of her remains. But where is the rest of her? Here before him is this whole body, the corpse of a corpse-maker. None of the people he killed can be buried whole, to face the sun and rest in peace.
Standing over the corpse of his daughter’s abductor, Jalil makes the decision. He will ensure that this devil will never rest in peace. He cuts off Bui Bui’s arm and takes the vial in hand. He will take this arm far from the rest of the killer’s body. He will take the vial and find every piece of Aliya. More than this, he will find those responsible and make them pay.
The river is lower than ever, near nonexistent at this branch, the rains the old man spoke of haven’t come and the boat isn’t an option, and he has little to offer in trade anyhow. He takes the long trek back by land on foot. The dead arm grows heavy and the vial has a residue that mixes with his sweat and grows sticky. He takes his last sip of water. As his head arches back he looks to the sky. Where did those teasing clouds go? He strategizes his next move. Where is Rhadi? He thinks. He’ll need him to translate. He’ll want to speak with that witch Fahuma...He prefers informed calculated plans for missions. But he is still gathering intelligence and will have to continue to plot his course as he goes. There is added risk but his instincts are stronger now and he has nothing to lose.
