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

his right thumb at the back seats. “Monsieur Rasheed here, he is really impatient to see your two other guests, the ones he brought over here a while ago. So, can you show us where they are?”
“I don’t know... I can’t do that.” Mamadou looked somewhat ill at ease.
Rasheed brought his face out of the back window. “You damn fool!” he yelled. “Do what you’re told. Let’s go.”
“I can't, Monsieur Rasheed,” Mamadou repeated, shaking his head doggedly.
“What do you mean you can’t? Just tell the driver where they are and let’s get going….”
“But, Monsieur Rasheed, they’re not there anymore,” Mamadou mumbled.
“What? What are you saying, you idiot?” Rasheed was livid, terror gleaming in his eyes. His plans seemed to have backfired.
Johan and Samir got out of the car. Rasheed followed them, muttering insults under his breath.
“I don’t understand.” Johan was standing only a few inches from Mamadou’s face. “Are you saying the two people we’re looking for, are gone?” He was nothing short of amazed.
“Yeah.” Mamadou’s head bobbed up and down. “The man and the woman got taken in a truck this afternoon to go to Dakar.”
Johan shot a questioning glance in Samir’s direction but then turned to Mamadou. “Tell me, who sent the chauffeur?”
Clearly, the man dreaded something. “I don’t know this driver, Monsieur Johan, and that’s the truth. The driver said Monsieur Rasheed here sent him.” He pointed a finger at the culprit. “He said that Monsieur Rasheed phoned him yesterday to come and get the man and the woman and bring them back to Dakar.”
“What are you saying, boy? I didn’t call any driver,” Rasheed shouted.
“That’s what he said. He said you phoned—”
“You damn liar!” Rasheed extended his arms, evidently intending to grab at Mamadou’s collar—it didn’t happen. Samir flung his right elbow across the man’s throat, the force of which landed Rasheed on his behind. Winded and gasping for air, he looked at Samir astounded. Obviously, he wasn’t used to the treatment he had probably inflicted on others at whim many a time.
“Now, if you wouldn’t mind, Monsieur Rasheed,” Samir said, shooting a disdainful glance at the man, “let’s have no more interference from you, shall we?”
Rasheed grunted while getting on all fours in search of his glasses.
All the while Mamadou stood gawking at Samir—astonished.
Shifting his gaping stare from Samir and turning to Mamadou, Johan asked, “When did they leave? What time?”
“Around prayer time this afternoon—”
“That’ll put it at about two o’clock,” Samir cut-in helpfully.
“Okay. Don’t worry, you’ve done what you were told,” Johan said. “Tell us something else; how were the two people when they left? Were they okay?” He looked at Mamadou, tensely expectant.
“No, not really. They’d a touch of ‘palu’, I think.”
“I see. Well that’s all we needed to know for now. Let’s go to the hut you’ve prepared for us.”
“Yes, but what about Monsieur Rasheed here?” Mamadou nodded in Rasheed’s direction with visible contempt.
The latter looked like a discarded puppet coming out of a play-box. His beige suit was discoloured with brown stains around the armpits, and wrinkled every place it wasn’t creased. His greasy, limp hair looked as if he’d come out of bed that very minute. “Yeah. What about me?” He poked his chest with his right index finger.
Samir, whose tolerance had all but abandoned him, grabbed him by the lapels of his jacket and spurted with anger, “You, my friend, I suggest we leave you in the care of Allah. He will know if you deserve to sleep tonight. And we don’t really care where.” Samir released his grip and shoved the man aside. Rasheed shivered with rage, blurted out some insults and stumped off in the direction of the Main House.
In every village, or compound, there is such an edifice. It’s a meeting place, a sort of community hall and a house of prayers. There, the villagers meet, eat and talk. The men sit around in circles and discuss matters concerning their lives or their future. The women are not allowed to participate in these conversations. From time to time however, they gather of an afternoon, bringing their smaller children along and have an enjoyable time while the men are at work. On occasions, they also come and meet with the Elder to talk about their troubles, or make arrangements for some upcoming festivities. Yet, and most often, they come to find sanctuary in the Main House and pray.
Mamadou climbed in beside the driver. Samir and Johan sat in the back. Mamadou directed the driver toward a larger hut at the other end of the compound. All painted white, each one capped with a thatch roof, the huts stood neatly in a row on both sides of a centre lane. A few huts had an air conditioning unit sticking out from under one of the windows. Smoke rose from behind some of the houses and children were playing in the middle of the road. The whole site looked clean, well organized and cheerful—picture perfect. Since the sun had disappeared behind the horizon by then, the lights glowing from every window shone like pairs of eyes, staring out into the night in a row of onlookers along Main Street.
81
“Dad?”
“Yes, what is it?”
“There some guy on the phone—he sounds like a general—he’s asking if you’re in. Are you?”
“Did you ask for his name?”
“Yeah. He says he’s Sir Gillan ... or something like that.”
“That’s Sir Gillian to you, and yes, I’m in. I’ll be right there.”
James ran back into the house from the garage where he had been washing the car. Grabbing the receiver from his son’s hand, he blurted, “What’s happening, Sir Gillian,” dispensing with the usual niceties. “For you to call me at home, something must be wrong …”
“Yes. I’ll come to the point directly…”
“Is Talya all right? That’s all I am interested in hearing.” James’s abruptness only slightly betrayed what he felt—he was afraid for Talya.
“I understand, and I think she is—”
“Pardon me for interrupting, but did you say, you think she is? Does that mean you haven’t talked to her, or is that a surmise on your part?”
“I say I think she is, because when I last spoke to her she was, but then she vanished.”
The line went dead. Neither men spoke.
James took in a breath. “What do you mean vanished?”
“Just this: I was at the airport to meet her plane this afternoon and she was not on it. She had not postponed or cancelled her flight reservation. Upon checking with her hotel in Bamako, I was advised that she left the hotel on Saturday morning, and to this hour, we have not heard a word from her. I tried contacting Maitre Hassan Sangor, her solicitor, and I failed to reach him.”
“Have you tried the Meridien?”
“Yes, she has not checked in yet, apparently. I will try again once I know that she has in fact left Bamako. That’s the best we can do at the moment.”
“Maybe she decided to stay with some friends of Maitre Sangor, to avert attention,” James suggested.
“Yes, that’s a possibility, of course, but then how did she reach Dakar—if she ever did? That’s what I want to find out.”
“Okay. Keep me posted. I should be home all day.”
“I’ll be sure to do that ... and again, I’m sorry.”
“No need. Let’s just hope she’s okay when you find her.”
Sir Gillian rang off.
As James replaced the receiver, his young son looked up at him. “Is Talya okay, Dad?”
“I hope so.”
The boy had met Talya when she came to their house for the employees’ family barbecue and he liked her. Having no sisters—only four brothers—he considered Talya as his big sister. He didn’t know her very well, but since his dad mentioned her often after she left for Africa, he felt an affinity toward her. He really wished, with all his heart that she was okay.
Looking down at his son for a long moment, James made up his mind. He picked up the phone again and dialled Louis Daniel’s number. Louis had been his partner and friend for many years, and James valued his advice above anyone else’s.
“James? What are you doing at home on this beautiful Sunday? I thought you were taking the boys to the beach—”
“Yes, I thought so too, but something has happened to Talya.”
“What? What has she done now?” Louis sounded baffled. He knew Talya was brash and stubborn, and that worried him—she was liable to get in trouble more often than not, just to have it her way.
“I received a call from Sir Gillian a few minutes ago, saying that Talya was not on the flight to Dakar. He cannot locate her.”
“Don’t tell me—she’s gone off on her own.”
“It appears that way. What worries me, though, is that she tried to contact me and I was not there—”
“Did she leave a message?” Louis’s voice sounded as uneasy as James felt.
“Yes. She left a message with Sabrina on Thursday, and I didn’t get to return her call until yesterday. Although she had not checked out when I called, according to Sir Gillian, she left the hotel on Saturday.”
“Did she give any indication in the message of her intention?”
“No, nothing to say that she was leaving earlier than planned.”
“What’s the plan? What are you going to do?”
“What can I do, is the question.” James’s voice faltered.
“I suggest you get on the first plane out of here. This is getting too dicey for all parties concerned. If word should get out that we sent one of our employees to Africa without proper support, the investors would have our heads on a platter.”
“I know, I know. But if the ambassador can’t locate her with the resources he has at his disposal, how am I suppose to find her?”
“Don’t worry about finding her. Whatever happens, it’s better for you to be in Dakar than here. Anyway, if she calls here meanwhile, I’ll tell her that you’re on your way.”
“I guess you’re right. I think I’ll fly down to Seattle this morning and catch the first flight to New York. From there I can get on an Air Afrique flight to Dakar. It will be quicker than waiting for the BA flight tonight.”
“Good plan. Phone me when you get to Dakar. I’ll alert Terry and Ken in the morning, and let’s not spread any rumours for now.”
“Okay. I’ll call you.”
Within an hour, James was gone.
82
The car stopped in front of the last hut. Mamadou and the driver unloaded the bags and the icebox. As they entered their lodging, Johan turned on the switch beside the door. A single bulb came aglow. It was hanging at the end of an electrical cord hooked on one of the bamboo beams that supported the visible roofing thatch. The air-conditioner (called a ‘clim’ in these parts) also started purring. The two-room house was made of white-washed mud blocks. Covered with wooden shutters, the two square window holes flanked both sides of the heavy plank door. A thick wall, which stopped halfway down the length of the floor, gave access and separated what could be called the bathroom and the bedroom.
In the bathroom, the dirt floor was barren so to catch and drain the bathing water. Two large tin basins stood in the middle of the floor. A porcelain sink was fixed securely