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

double glass doors, the vast lobby, the white marble floor, the grand staircase, after which the hotel was named, the red carpets, the overstuffed couches, the glass-top tables and the vases of flowers everywhere, gave Talya the impression of stepping into a fairy-tale castle. The difference between outside and inside was so marked that she doubted her senses.
Chantal approached the desk as the receptionist came round the counter to meet them.
“Monsieur Dia is my name,” he said to Talya, “I believe you are Madame Kartz? Madame Gauthier has made reservations for you to stay with us for a few days.”
He had a round, cheerful face, deep dark, inviting eyes and a broad grin uncovering a perfect set of gleaming teeth. He was impeccably dressed. Wearing a royal blue uniform pressed in all the right places, and with a pristine white shirt contrasting his very dark skin, he looked the part—the ideal Front Desk Clerk.
The whole experience was so unexpected that Talya blurted out some answer by way of thanks and asked Monsieur Dia to arrange for a car to go to the other hotel and fetch her luggage. Talya explained that Madame Gauthier had to leave immediately—which she did.
He went back behind the counter, where he gave some instructions to his waiting staff. These were carried out without fuss or delays and within a few minutes, she was climbing the stairs to her new domicile. Talya was relieved.
The suite was spacious, decorated with simplicity. The discreet white paint covering the concrete walls and the modest furnishing, gave a sense of freshness and cleanliness to the place. Divided in two areas separated by an archway, the bedroom contained a large redwood bed, covered with a blue and white patterned bedspread, a television on a stand in one corner, and a wardrobe along the outside of the bathroom wall. Presumably, and since there was no mosquito netting over the bed, the air-conditioning unit, purring gently from the wall beside the French doors, was assigned to chase the unwanted insects away. Through the archway and in the loggia near the windows, there was a desk against one wall, a round table and a couple of chairs.
At once, Talya went to check the mini-bar under the desk. It was empty but for a couple of large bottles of mineral water, which would be ample to quench her thirst until the next day.
She opened the doors giving way onto the small balcony. The view was limited to the street below, where traffic went by at a frightful rate.
Watching the scene for a while, Talya’s thoughts wandered through a maze of recollections. She saw her father come home in his Renault, parking the car in the carport underneath their apartment in Conakry. She saw him wave at her … she wanted to cry. It was all so long ago, but the memories came flooding back and re-opened the wounds of her horrible, painful youth.
Closing the door behind her to keep the heat and the unwanted thoughts away, she decided to unpack her suitcase that the porter had brought up within a half-an-hour of her arrival. She hung her clothes carefully in the old-style wardrobe. She knew the humidity, such as it was, would take care of some of the much-needed ironing. She took another shower in the white tiled recess of the huge bathroom—no mildew anywhere—and got dressed in a peach T-shirt and cotton trousers, both wrinkled from being crammed in her bag for three days.
After surveying her new home with satisfaction, Talya went down to the restaurant. Like the rest of the hotel evidently, it was fresh and clean. The waiters were dressed in blue and black suits, looking sharp, attentive to the patrons, and smiling. Today being Sunday, and generally a day of rest for the hostelries catering to European travellers throughout West Africa, a cold buffet was spread over a large carver’s board amid the tables. She wanted to eat there, and so she did.
Since cold cuts never whetted her appetite, for Talya often wondered how long the meat had been exposed to bacteria, she feasted on a well-cooked tenderloin, French-fries and salad. She looked at the dessert tray, but her stomach refused the proposal of another bite.
As she was climbing the grand staircase, Talya was hit by a ‘coup de barre’—an irresistible urge to sleep—and as soon as she reached her room, closed the door and threw the key on the night table, she lay down on the bed and for several hours she slumbered in the arms of Orpheus.
Talya awoke with a start at the sound of voices in the hallway telling someone it was “time for a drink.” She didn’t know where she was when she first opened her eyes. It seemed that her brain had forgotten to keep pace with her senses. Suddenly however, it was instant recall. She remembered she was in Bamako. She had to call Jean-Claude. She had to solve a problem. She got up with a jerk, grabbed the telephone and got the geologist on the line immediately.
“How are you, my friend?”
“Doing nicely, all things considered, thanks. How’s the Grand?” His voice was steadier.
“It’s fabulous. I can’t believe it, but tell me, when are you leaving?”
“Not before Tuesday, I’m afraid. I have a reservation on the night flight to Paris and then on to Brussels.”
“That’s good. There wasn’t anything earlier I guess?”
“No. They couldn’t give me a first class seat in any other flights. So I’m going to wait for a couple of days.”
There are only two flights a week out of Bamako connecting to international flights from Dakar to Europe, and each of these are usually packed to the rim. No wonder Jean-Claude couldn’t get a first-class seat.
“Are you going to be okay to wait for that long? Did you see a doctor? What about medication—do you have enough? Are you taking any pain killers?” What else should I’ve asked?
“Don’t worry, Talya,” he chuckled. “Chantal is taking good care of me. I think she must have a whole pharmacy hidden somewhere in the house. She’s been feeding me pills like they’re going out of style. I think I’ll be able to wait for Tuesday without too much trouble.”
There was definitely a smile in this man’s voice. Talya was relieved to hear he was in such good spirits. He is probably doped to the hilt, and isn’t feeling much of anything.
They talked at some length about Monsieur Savoi and his suspicious dealings with the Mines Department and the rumours, which were perhaps already reaching the stock exchange in Canada or New York. After a few more comments and many recommendations on his part, Jean-Claude gave Talya a list of appointments he made with various members of government and people in the industry. She had a full schedule, enough to keep her busy for at least a week. How long was she going to stay in Mali? She didn’t know. All she knew was that she wanted to start the investigation as soon as possible to be done even sooner. Little did she know then how much of a wishful thinking that turned out to be.
The rest of the evening was uneventful. Talya read for a while, tried to contact Aziz, to no avail. Their parting had been short and courteous but she knew Aziz had had a hard time dealing with her departure. They had gone out for drinks and a light supper the evening before Talya left, and when he kissed her goodnight, she knew their relationship had taken a downward plunge. Talya was sad for it, but not for the fact that she had accepted the assignment and even provoked the circumstances that had brought her back to Africa.
She wasn’t hungry, and after such a copious lunch, she was sure that a few crackers, nuts and a cold drink would keep her until morning. Munching away, she wrote a fax to James, alerting him of Jean-Claude’s inopportune return to Belgium, which she brought down to the night clerk to send immediately. Back in her room, she wrote a few more lines in her travel journal, sat in bed, and watched CNN for a few minutes while her mind went back to Dakar. What happened? Why was I stood up? She did not understand any of this. Rasheed was so insistent on my having another meeting with Ahmed Hjamal, why then didn’t they show up, or even left a message? She made a note to talk to James about it at the first opportunity, although Talya asked him in her fax if they had called…. Sleep must have drowned her thoughts because she woke up in the middle of the night at the buzzing sound of the TV. She turned it off and went back to dreamland.
9
On Monday morning, Jean-Claude had scheduled an appointment with Monsieur Kane, the same Monsieur Kane who had mentioned to him that there were some ‘irregularities’ with their permit applications. In fact, Talya was still curious as to what he meant by irregularities, and she was looking forward to meeting the man and his irregularities.
After breakfast, she found Chantal in the lobby ready to start what promised to be a long day for both of them.
Chantal was grinning when she saw Talya come out of the restaurant. “Hello, Talya. How are you?”
“I’m fine, and you? And how’s our patient?”
“I’m okay I guess, but Jean-Claude isn’t. I had to call the doctor last night and get him to bring some sedatives so he could sleep.”
“Are you sure you want to come with me this morning? I could go on my own, you know.”
“Absolutely not, I’m so curious about this Monsieur Kane….” Chantal laughed and patted Talya’s arm. “Anyway Jean-Claude is sleeping. He’ll keep until I get back.” She was saying this as if the poor man was a leftover roast that could keep in the oven for a couple of hours. She smiled.
“Well, then let’s go,” Talya said.
They walked to the parking lot where the same chauffeur, a scrawny little fellow with a very affable disposition, and the same car as yesterday’s were waiting for them. What if Monsieur Kane sees us arriving in this wreck?
The Mines Department was located in an industrial suburb of Bamako. It was a four-storey apartment house, which had been converted into offices, library, map room and a guard’s house on the ground floor. Years ago, the sandstone building had been painted white; however, as with most structures in the city, a heavy coat of red dust covered every part of the outside stairwells, landings and corners where it could gather.
There were no elevators, so Chantal and Talya took the stairs up to the fourth floor to find Monsieur Kane’s office. As Chantal, panting a little from the climb, opened the louvered door, three white men in suits, carrying briefcases, came out. They looked decidedly put out about something.
“There goes the competition,” Talya whispered in Chantal’s ear. She smiled.
Monsieur Kane’s secretary was a mature woman. She had a serene face and a lovely motherly smile. Her expensive necklace and bracelets told Talya that she was a lady of some means, which is not very common among working Muslin women—unless she was a widow.
Taking a couple of steps inside this tiny office, Talya pulled a business card out of her purse and handed