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

honoured,” Mohammed said, rising from his seat.
“Same here,” James replied, shaking hands with the Prime Minister’s counsellor.
“Hassan, where is Talya?”
“She’s off to have dinner with Samir.”
“Maybe you should explain. What have you done?”
“I would have to say I’m guilty for Talya’s frustration and departure,” James interposed, looking down at the floor.
“I don’t believe that could be entirely true…, but why don’t you sit down and join me since I’ve only started.”

105
As they were driving toward the suburbs, Talya wondered why she accepted so readily to get away.
“I think it’s about time you revisit the past,” Samir said, shooting a fleeting glance at the woman sitting beside him. “Perhaps then you will understand your future a lot better.”
“Revisit the past? Where are we going to do that? Where are we going?”
“To the house of a friend of mine, she’s a mother and a good woman.”
Talya remained silent the rest of the way. Samir’s words had enveloped her mind with soothing peace, yet confusion had mobilized her thoughts.
They went toward the Stadium and then took a sandy road winding its way behind it. In what could be qualified by North American standards as a ‘middle class neighbourhood’, the houses were lined up on either side of hilly streets covered with sand. The street cleaners would have a field day going through this multitude of beach-like drives.
They stopped in front of one of the houses near a corner. Samir parked the car beside the front door. As Talya was walking around the vehicle, an ageing woman came out and stood on the front stoop. She was dressed in a bou-bou gown with a headscarf made out of the same pinkish fabric as her dress. When she saw Samir, she came toward him arms extended, and smiled broadly.
She embraced him and kissed him on both cheeks. “Samir, my child, how good to see you. Please come in.” She opened the door and led the way into her home.
“Mama Lea, I have come with my friend. If you permit it, we would like to have supper with you?”
The woman had the allure of a matriarch. She looked at Talya appraisingly and smiled. Her gentle eyes were inquisitive. They revealed the questions she didn’t want to ask, apparently afraid to offend the man she called ‘my child’.
“And who might you be?” She had her folded hands resting on her ample bosom, looking at Talya as if to say to a child, “and please don’t lie.”
“I am Talya Kartz, Mama Lea. My friend brought me here. I am grateful to be permitted to enter your home. But if your table is too crowded already, I will go and will not partake of supper.”
“Well, Talya Kartz, I am honoured to have you in my home, and my table will not be crowded tonight, so dinner will be served and if you wish to eat, you shall.”
They sat at the table in the middle of a courtyard-like atrium. The house was a two-storey building. The partly covered courtyard, front door and staircase leading to the upper floor, separated two rows of rooms. At the back of the atrium, there was an open charcoal pit and griddle. A tap, over a washbasin and low counter, had been installed against the far wall, where several pots and basins were piled ready for a wash. The fish was baking and the rice tub was steaming. Squares of basbusah (semolina cooked and baked in sugar syrup) were ready for dessert on a side table. A half a dozen children were sitting on the ground playing cards. Three young women were going to and from the close-by kitchen.
Samir had been right. Talya was revisiting the past—everything in front of her eyes was dragging her back to a place she had wanted to forget—the food, the children, the aromas whiffing past her and the table in the courtyard….
“Please have some tea, Talya,” Mama Lea said, pouring her a glass of kinkilliba from a jug on a tray. “The children will come and visit later, but I would like you to meet my eldest son.”
“Oh, is Ishmael here?” Samir asked surprised.
“Oh yes, he’s just come back a week ago.” Mama Lea got up from the table. She went to one of the rooms and opened the door. They could hear noises and laughter from inside. Ishmael was watching a game show on TV.
Samir got up and went to talk to the young man.
While Mama Lea went to attend to the last of the dinner preparations, Talya looked at the children playing on the floor. Their laughter, chatters, all seem to draw her back to where she grew up. She was perhaps twelve years old then. Her friend, Leah, had invited her to have dinner at her house. She was the daughter of the local pharmacist. Talya remembered sitting and playing cards with her friend and the other children in the house. The cooking, the aroma … all of a sudden the dream died in front of her eyes. The joy was shattered and the happiness vanished with it—she was only fourteen … Why, Oh God, why did they do this to me?
106
The three men had a quiet dinner. They talked mostly about the two projects at the forefront of their thoughts. They made plans for the future. Although Mohammed had difficulties leading James and Hassan away from their inquisitive comments about her past, very little was said about Talya.
When the meal was over, James was the first to retire. As he walked down the corridor toward his room, he saw Johan standing by the door.
“Ah, I was waiting for you. I’d heard you arrived in town. Can we talk?” Johan said all at once, while James was putting his key card in the electronic lock.
“By all means. Somehow, I knew you’d wanted to talk to me. Come in, and make yourself comfortable.”
Once inside, James took his jacket off and draped it over a chair beside the table near the terrace window. Johan sat across from him.
“So, what did you want to talk about?”
“You know very well what I want to say,” Johan answered. He looked tired. His eyes were watery and the lines of his face had deepened with fatigue and worries.
“Well, from what I gathered from Talya, you had a hard time of it.”
“You could say that….”
For the next two hours, the two men talked about the past, and Richard’s murder.
107
When Talya got back to her room, it was nearly midnight. She had forgotten all of the things that brought her to Dakar, and she had forgotten about tomorrow.
As she closed the door, she felt someone was in the apartment. Suddenly her heart started thumping. She stood frozen in the passage. The only light came from the opened terrace door. There were only shadows and shapes of familiar things. She took a few steps to her left to switch on the bar light and then she saw him.
Talya recognized him immediately. Abdul Rasheed was standing by the dining room table. He was smiling. She ran toward the bathroom but she wasn’t quick enough. He had the agility of a panther, given his weight. He leaped over the sofa and tackled her from behind, slamming her body onto the floor. In an instant, the man was on her, holding her down, his paw on her mouth, his nails piercing her cheek and saddling his obese buttocks across her abdomen. She could hardly move. He had the strength of a bull, and puffing and salivating like one. He was monstrous.
“You’ve done the wrong thing, lady,” he said, his voice rasping with fury. “You’re going to pay for it now.” He ripped her blouse opened quickly and put his left knee on one of her arms. In a flash, Talya saw Rheza’s battered face. She was not going to let him do that to her. She looked in his sick eyes glaring at him with rage.
With his free hand, he tried to unbuckle his belt and that’s when she saw her chance. Adrenaline fuelled her left hand with such force that as soon as she scratched his face, he started bleeding, and screamed with pain. As his glasses fell, he put both hands on his face while releasing enough pressure to let Talya’s right arm slip from under his knee. She pushed him backward, extricating herself from under him. He rolled on his side, while she got to her feet.
She had her hand on the doorknob, when Rasheed was upon her again. He slammed her against the door and turned her around, her body clamped between him and the doorframe. One arm across one of her shoulders and his hand firmly planted on her mouth, he unzipped his fly and was now lifting her skirt. Talya writhed, gripping his other arm while trying to prevent his fumbling hand from reaching under her panties. Tears of terror ran down her cheeks—Talya was re-living her childhood nightmare. Rasheed’s eyes were ablaze with lust. She glared at him while trying to shake her head free from the clasping hand. Taking a heaving breath in horror, as she felt his genitals touching her between her legs, she grabbed his exposed testicles and squeezed. Rasheed let out a shout, doubled over, and slumped to his knees.
Talya flung the door open and ran down the hall in the arms of a stranger midway to the elevator.
“Madame Kartz, are you all right?” He held her by her shoulders and peered into her eyes. How did he know my name? “What’s happening? Is there something wrong?”
“Yes… there is a man … Abdul … he attacked me… He’s in my room—”
“You stay right here and don’t move. I’ll go see what’s going on.”
As the man was running down the hall, Talya saw Rasheed come out of her apartment still holding his crotch, limping, and hopping, all in a seemingly desperate attempt to reach the back exit. The man wasn’t fast enough—Rasheed disappeared through the door.
“Oh no!” Talya cried out in despair. She was shaking, trembling, sweating, shivering and all the rest of it, and then nothing. She fell to the floor unconscious.
108
“Azhar? This is Khumar. Madame Kartz has been attacked in her room. The man has escaped down the back stairs. She needs assistance right now. Get the doctor and Maitre Sangor.”
“That’s a roger. We’ll be right there.”
Azhar first alerted the police guards on the grounds to be on the lookout for a man trying to escape arrest. Next, he called the desk, telling them that he needed a doctor immediately to the sixth floor and then ran up to Hassan’s room. He banged so hard on the door that he probably woke the entire neighbourhood—but that was none of his concern now. He waited a couple of minutes before banging on it again.
“Yes, what is it?” Hassan said from behind the door, his voice groaning with sleep.
“Maitre Sangor, please open the door.”
“Yes, what is it? Hassan repeated as he opened the door to the caller. He was in his robe and had no idea who the man facing him was.
“Madame Kartz has been attacked—”
109
He was about to get into the shower, when he heard someone run down the hallway. He went to the