BAMAKO, Aribert Raphael [read out loud books .TXT] 📗

/> “I guess we are.”
He held the lounge door open for Talya to get out. Then he passed her and walked ahead toward the Lear, she trotted behind. His long legs didn’t allow Talya to do otherwise. It reminded her of what a friend once said of her being short; “Talya, when other people were growing up, God forgot to include you in the process.”
They climbed aboard. There were six brown leather chairs alongside the windows of the main cabin with pull-away tables between them. The decor smelled new, felt rich and plush, with a tinge of overstated snobbishness.
Pierre indicated the middle seat on the right hand side of the aircraft. He asked Talya to sit down, to make herself comfortable and to buckle-up. He explained the safety procedures, pointed at the hidden toilet and told her that the mini-bar was full so that if Talya needed anything, she could just help herself—after take-off.
At this moment, the co-pilot-come-navigator came aboard and just nodded a curt “Hello” in Talya’s direction. The two men then went into the cockpit, sat at the controls, and in a few minutes, they were rolling down the runway. Talya was frozen with dread of the unknown. She had sealed her fate. She was ready. Her stomach had locked its door on swarming butterflies inside.
55
Hassan woke up early on Saturday. He felt a lot better. His mind was clear, although there were still a few things he couldn’t remember. Overall, there was a marked improvement over the past few days. Justine had left him in the evening and he had slept soundly. His first thoughts when he opened his eyes went to Talya. He hadn’t spoken to her since the day before. She sounded disappointed when she left. There was no need for Hassan to apologize for anything. He knew it. Nevertheless, he had a sense of guilt creeping up into the far recesses of his conscience. He couldn’t recall their entire argument. It wasn’t an argument, he told himself. It was just a discussion based on facts. He suddenly felt the urge to call her, to see her.
She must be awake by now. He picked up the phone, dialled her room number. There was no answer. He rang the receptionist.
“Maitre, how nice to hear that you are up and about, how are you feeling today? How can I be of service?”
“I’m fine, thank you,” Hassan replied. “Just a question: have you seen Madame Kartz this morning?”
“No, not yet; she hasn’t come down for breakfast. She must be in her room.”
“I just rang her number, but there was no answer.”
“How odd.... She may be in the shower—”
“I guess you’re right, I’ll ring her again in a little while. Thank you.”
Hassan hung up. He sat on the edge of his bed and wondered…. Usually Talya would be downstairs at this time. It was nine o’clock. He decided to take a quick shower, get dressed and surprise her by knocking on her door. He would invite her to have breakfast with him. He was ready within minutes. He took another dose of quinine before leaving, washing the tablets down with some orange juice.
He was elated at the prospect of seeing Talya not as a sickly, whining fellow, but as the man, he hoped she knew. Maybe he could go to Dakar after all. He felt strong enough.
As he stood in front of Talya’s door, he felt ill at ease. His heart was pounding. Never mind, you’re being idiotic.
He knocked, gently first, and waited. The busboy, passing along the corridor, stopped when he was in Hassan’s earshot.
“I don’t think Madame is in, Maitre.”
“What do you mean ‘not in’? What makes you say that?”
“I saw her this morning outside of the hotel as I came on shift.”
“What was she doing outside? How long ago was this?”
“It wasn’t long ago, Maitre, I get in at eight o’clock, and—”
“And what? Did you see anything? Did she go anywhere? Speak, man.” Hassan had raised his voice to the boy. He should never do that, and he silently reprimanded himself, although he was beginning to worry. His heart was racing.
He said, “Go and get Monsieur Gerald, right now, please go!”
The boy was already running. Hassan could hear him calling for the manager. He knocked on the door again, this time pounding his fist on it. Moments later Monsieur Gerald came hurrying down the passage.
“What is it, Maitre? Dalla tells me you were asking after Madame Kartz. Has anything happened?”
“I don’t know if anything has. Please, would you open this door?”
“Maitre, I can’t do that. Madame Kartz hasn’t checked out yet, I can’t let you in …”
“Monsieur Gerald, listen to me. I’m an attorney at law; I know what you can and cannot do. I’ll take full responsibility, just open the door.”
Hassan was getting angry. He knew something was amiss and the mystery of Talya’s absence could be elucidated quickly if only the manager would open the damn door.
Monsieur Gerald must have thought that his guest was suffering from the sequels of his recent illness to be suddenly so rude and demanding. He knew better, however, than to make any remark that would offend Hassan any further.
“Very well then,” is all he said instead. Then, and none too soon for Hassan, the man inserted the master key in the lock. Unable to stand it any longer, Hassan pushed Monsieur Gerald aside, opened the door and rushed in.
Talya wasn’t there. Her perfume still lingered. The bed covers were thrown aside. To his left, the bathroom door stood wide open. There was an odd silence about the place, drowning the noise coming from the balcony. He saw her suitcase beside the television stand. Talya’s radio was missing from the night table.
He opened the wardrobe, nothing. Empty. He slammed its door so hard that it practically broke off the hinges. He turned around and went to the writing table. There, well in evidence, propped up against the typewriter, were two envelopes: one addressed to Gerald, the other to him.
He called to the manager who had been standing motionless in the doorway.
The roughness in his voice was chilling when Hassan spoke. “She’s gone. There is a letter for you.”
He handed the envelope to Monsieur Gerald who had walked into the room cautiously.
“I apologize for my outburst, Monsieur Gerald,” Hassan said, while recovering some of his composure, “but as you can see, Madame Kartz has left without a word. If there are any charges for this room, just put it on my bill.”
While listening distractedly to Hassan’s comments, Monsieur Gerald opened his envelope, pulled the note from inside and read it.
“No, Maitre. There shouldn’t be anything more to pay. Madame Kartz has left some travellers’ checks for us to cover any outstanding expense. Everything should be fine. If you wish to stay here for a few minutes, I’ll just take the suitcase down to the baggage room.”
“Did she ask you to keep the case?”
“Yes. She said she’ll either come back for it or have it forwarded to Vancouver.”
“I’m sorry, really I am. I’ll just stay here for a moment. I’ll lock the door when I leave.”
Hassan accompanied the manager and busboy, carrying the suitcase to the door, and closed it behind them. He sat on the bed, open his envelope and read:
My Dearest Hassan,

For all the torments I have caused you in such a short time and since we’ve known each other, I apologize. For all the joyful moments you have given me, I thank you. For all the friendship and love you have shown me, I will be forever grateful. For all the loyalty you have demonstrated toward me and others, again, I thank you.
You have been the friend I will always remember. For the little I know of you, by this time, I would say you are worried. There is no need. I assure you. This affair has grown out of all proportions. Involving you in the first place was a business decision, which I will not regret. However, now, since I care deeply for you, I can no longer drag you into this nightmare. You have been very ill and it would be selfish of me to ask you to come with me today. Asking for your assistance, when I had no right to do so, was a mistake. I could not forgive myself should anything happen to either you or Mohammed were you to come to Dakar. So please, don’t follow me. It is enough that Rheza and even Savoi are embroiled in this business, although, that was of their own volition.
I have accepted an invitation from Ahmed Hjamal to visit him in Dakar. I departed today. Monsieur Hjamal has sent his private aircraft to pick me up. By the time you read these words, I should be flying overhead.
Should I be able to contact you, I will do so as soon as I possibly can.
In the meantime, Hassan, please rest. If everything goes well, I should be back next week for a couple of days, if not I’ll be going home to Vancouver directly.
I am sure the ambassador and James will want to know where I am. Please ask Mohammed to advise them of my unscheduled departure.
Keep well my friend,
With all my love,
Talya
56
Hassan sat for a long time. The hurt was so great that he felt numb. He remembered his mother. A man had come to take her away. Now, a man had come to take Talya away. Unwanted, but unchecked, tears rolled down his cheeks. He saw Talya laugh, the way she did four long days ago when they were down by the river. It was too much for him to bear alone.
There was a knock at the door. Like a robot, Hassan went to answer it. Mohammed was standing in the embrasure. Hassan handed him the letter and without a word, he turned and walked to the French door.
Mohammed knew his friend far too long not to realize something was terribly wrong. He closed the door. “Monsieur Gerald was in such a state of excitement that I didn’t ask what it was all about. I just asked him where you were, and…”
“Will you just read...?” Hassan ordered.
Mohammed sat on the bed and read. When he finished, he looked up at Hassan who was still standing by the balcony door.
“What do you want to do?”
“You know what I have to do, the question is whether I want to or not. She said that she does not want me to follow her.”
“Don’t be a fool, Hassan, we will not just sit here and do nothing. The letter is only a piece of information. She needs you. But she couldn’t very well plead for your help when you so much as said I’ll come, if and when I feel up to it. What’s more, today is Saturday; we can’t get in touch with