by Ishmael Beah
A military vehicle was parked about four hundred yards before them. The two soldiers in it were looking at their phones, the lights from the screens revealing their position in the darkness.
“You see, they have smartphones, but would you say they are smart? And if not, can the phones they carry be smart?” Ndevui whispered to Elimane.
“Good point. But let’s discuss later,” Elimane whispered back. A breeze ran through the trees, shaking them gently.
“The lights will shut off soon. The generator goes off the same time every day,” said Elimane. “I used to come here to steal airplane food, so I learned all the rhythms of this place. I stopped because it was too much work and the food wasn’t worth it.”
In a couple of minutes, just as he had predicted, the generator coughed, and the lights closed their watchful eyes.
One of the military men broke the sudden silence. “Sergeant, go fill it up and turn it back on.”
“Yes, sir.” The officer’s footsteps echoed as he ran to get gasoline for the generator.
“You’d think they would learn to attend to it before it goes off,” whispered Elimane. “Now watch. He is going to turn on the light on top of the jeep and carelessly look around, then turn it off, light his cigarette, and sit facing away from the field.”
Just like clockwork, the officer did exactly as Elimane had foretold.
“Well, so much for being a soldier. He doesn’t expect anything to happen, and he doesn’t care if it does,” said Kpindi.
“Let’s go,” said Elimane, and the five of them ran with feather-light steps behind the soldiers and all the way to the terminal, which they entered through the holes where luggage was thrown onto a conveyor belt. They walked with their backs pressed against the wall, and when it ended, they crouched until they came to the next wall. In this manner, they followed Elimane across the seating area and down a flight of stairs to a dilapidated waiting lounge.
There, pacing up and down and sideways, was William Handkerchief. He was dressed as nattily as when Elimane had first met him, but today’s suit was so shiny that it looked like it might catch fire if he rubbed it too hard against another surface.
“He doesn’t need a flashlight wearing that outfit, does he?” whispered Kpindi. “We are going to get caught and shot for sure with this guy. Just don’t stand next to him.”
Elimane cleared his throat, and William Handkerchief gave a start and wheeled around to face them.
“Sam, I was expecting you to come from this way.” Sam was a local term of endearment, like “mate” or “pal,” but the others guessed that William Handkerchief used it because he didn’t care to use Elimane’s real name, should he have a sudden need to terminate their relationship. That worked both ways, though. They did not know his real name either, and did not want to. It was better that way.
“Well, I said we would be here, but not how.” Elimane approached and extended his hand.
William Handkerchief stared them up and down with intensity, then nodded, indicating that they would do. From under a row of adjoining metal chairs, he pulled out some airport vests and badges and motioned to them to put them on. For Namsa there was a visitor’s badge, as she didn’t look believably old enough to be working at the airport, or anywhere else.
“You, the little one. You will go and stand behind that.” William Handkerchief pointed at a tall mannequin wearing a hat, trousers, and long-sleeved shirt.
“Don’t take your eyes off that door over there,” he continued. “If it opens, bang on the mirror here twice and we will hear you. If the light comes on in there, bang once only.” William Handkerchief again pointed his long fingers at a door that must have been the office of someone high up, because it was not as neglected as the other office doors. “When you hear us banging, come down and wait in the luggage collection hall.”
He turned to the others. “The rest of you, do not speak from now on, just listen and follow orders.” His voice was strange and stern. He was no longer the fellow who had fallen into the water, as they had heard the story from Elimane. Even Elimane seemed a bit taken aback by the tone of this man he knew so far only as a small-time criminal.
They left Namsa and went out to the runway. Soon, a medium-size plane came through the clouds in the darkening sky. It made little noise, and it bore no markings. It started to land without the usual preparation of fire trucks, movements from the communication tower, or lights illuminating the part of the runway where it would touch down. Nevertheless, the plane seemed to know exactly where to go. It landed and rolled down the empty airfield, parking at the edge facing the takeoff route.
A phone rang. William Handkerchief pulled a bulky device with a protruding antenna from his pocket. “Proceed. All clear.” The airplane rolled a bit farther, then came to a stop by two other aircraft.
As the engine died down, William Handkerchief motioned for Khoudiemata, Elimane, Kpindi, and Ndevui to climb into the back of a truck parked nearby. He drove toward the plane and waited.
The main door of the aircraft opened, revealing two men, one in overalls, the other in a leather jacket, and both, disconcertingly, wearing ski masks. Silently they offloaded several heavy-looking black bags and wooden crates directly onto the truck. The four young people organized them so that everything could fit, and then sat on top of the cargo. They could hear William Handkerchief speaking with one of the men in a language none of them knew. The only word they recognized was “okay.” They heard the man getting into the truck with William Handkerchief, and then he drove the truck to the baggage area.
As soon as they arrived, William Handkerchief jumped out. The four of them got out of the truck too, though they stayed close to its side, trying to keep a low profile.
“Call our eyes to come down,” he said. Khoudi banged on the large hollow pillar that went up to where Namsa was waiting. William Handkerchief and the other man headed in the direction of the soldiers who’d been guarding the airport. Surely, they must have heard the plane.
Khoudi got back in the truck and tried to peek into the bag she’d been sitting on, but it was too dark to see anything. She put in her hand and felt what seemed to be a block of bills. She had no idea what currency it might be, but she was certain that not even an idiot would waste the paper to print the local currency and then fly it in. The government was already doing that, with the result that every few months there was a new bill that was higher in value than the previous ones. “How did they get money to print money?” Elimane always asked, and of course as soon as the money was printed, there was a shortage and a false need arose for more. The local currency was like a relative who somehow always has a new problem, no matter how many times you help him, and always needs more money, no matter how much you’ve sent.
William Handkerchief and his companion returned about ten minutes later with a pickup truck. They waved toward the soldiers, who turned off their spotlight. The little family could not help noticing that William Handkerchief and his companion were not hiding anything. The companion motioned with a circling of his fingers, and the army vehicle immediately began to move. It drove around and around the airfield in circles, just as it had been ordered.
Why was William Handkerchief so comfortable with making it clear to them that he had the soldiers in his pocket? Perhaps it was for the usual reasons—that he assumed they would not care, because they were so damaged by their own experiences as to expect nothing from society. Or that no one would listen to them anyway; they didn’t exist, as far as society was concerned.
“Time to work. Use the dollies to load these things from there to here,” William Handkerchief ordered, pointing at the truck and the pickup and snapping his fingers. They hurriedly fetched the dollies and went to work transferring the bags and crates. Khoudiemata saw the anxiety on the faces of the others and the signs of fear in their movements. It was subtle, but she knew them well. There was something in th
e manner of William Handkerchief and his companion that suggested they were ready to take any life to accomplish their task.
William Handkerchief sat on his heels to address Namsa, who had materialized from above. “Hey, little one, go to the main gate and keep watch for a green Land Rover. If any other vehicle arrives, press the red button by the gate. It will signal to us.” Why hadn’t he sent the soldiers, who were driving around the airfield so unnecessarily? The question was almost visible on Namsa’s lips, but she pressed them closed and hurried off.
The green Land Rover arrived just as they were about to finish transferring the load. The driver was in military outfit and had on a ski mask too. He stepped out of the vehicle, left the engine running, and went to the back booth, where he lifted the tarpaulin and dragged out someone in handcuffs. The person’s head was covered with a brown burlap sack. The driver pushed him to William Handkerchief’s companion, and William Handkerchief threw the driver a black bag—much smaller and lighter than the ones that had been offloaded from the plane. The driver squatted, opened the bag, and started counting the money that was inside.
Whether it was excitement at the cash at hand or the fallible nature of human beings, he took off his mask and spoke while holding a wad of bills, as if weighing its worth. “Let me know anytime you want any more prisoners. Happy Independence Day to you—and to him especially.” He pointed to the prisoner.
The man from the plane removed a sidearm from his belt and pointed it at the head of the driver. “Simple instructions. No talking unless asked. Do you have anything more to say?”
The driver laughed hoarsely, even though nothing was funny. William Handkerchief snatched the ski mask and the sack of money from him and emptied half of the money into the mask, then handed it back to the driver, who nervously accepted.
“I will hold on to the rest until we know you can follow instructions.” He removed his own sidearm now, a twin of his companion’s, and pointed it at the driver, who hurried to his vehicle and drove off fast into the night. They kept their guns trained on the Land Rover until it was completely out of sight.
Was this going to be the fate of the little family as well if they made even a small mistake? They didn’t want less money, but more important, they wanted to remain alive. Khoudi reminded herself that they had been selected for the job because they didn’t ask questions, they followed instructions, and they were expendable and anonymous, which made them a rare commodity. So there was no reason to get rid of them.
While these thoughts were running through her mind, the prisoner with the sack over his head was being loaded onto the airplane. Khoudi could see his legs twitching with fear. William Handkerchief handed his gun to his partner, who got into the plane and pulled the door closed. The plane turned around and headed for the runway, then flew into the arms of the young night. The military vehicle that had been uselessly circling returned to position, and the soldiers turned the spotlight back on, pretending to guard the airport.
Khoudiemata could hear the relief in the breath of the others. They were less afraid now that the strange man was gone, with his aura of evil and his metal sticks of death. They did not think that William Handkerchief was going to harm them on his own. Even practically, it seemed a lot for him to handle.
“In the back. And hold on tight. We are done here.” William Handkerchief indicated the pickup truck. They climbed in and held on as ordered. He swung around to the main gate, where Namsa was waiting. The vehicle slowed down, and Namsa ran to it and flung herself into the back, where the others pulled her in.
It was Khoudi who noticed that something was off about Namsa. She looked a bit fatter, in a funny way. On closer inspection, Khoudi saw that she was wearing some of the outfit from the mannequin under her own clothes. She wanted to shout at Namsa—was she trying to get them killed?—but then she realized that Namsa knew nothing of what had happened with the guns and the strange man from the plane and the prisoner and the money. There was an innocent smile playing beneath Namsa’s serious face, as though this had all been a grand adventure. And perhaps it had been. Why spoil it for her? Khoudiemata confined herself to a warning stare to stay silent and not give anything away.
As soon as the truck went through the main gate, which was somehow unguarded and which William Handkerchief somehow had keys to unlock, he turned off the head- and taillights of the car and drove at full speed through the dark night, not once making a mistake, not even going over bumps or into potholes. The night came at them fast, and at each turn or sudden slowdown, Elimane, Khoudi, Ndevui, and Kpindi anticipated a crash and cringed, the bottoms of their bellies bracing for an impact that never came. Then they’d exhale, only to start holding their breath all over again. Namsa alone was calm, opening her arms and lifting her head so that the breeze pulled back her cheeks.
William Handkerchief made a left off the main road and drove to a jetty, where they offloaded the bags and crates onto a speedboat. He reversed the car into the bushes and tossed a wad of cash to Elimane. Elimane caught the money and counted it. Evidently it was all there.
“Do you want me to change it for you to the local currency?” William Handkerchief asked, and Elimane hesitated to respond, unsure whether the sanction against speaking had been lifted. Finally he said, “Please change only twenty of it for us. I am certain I can get a better rate on the street for the rest.”
William Handkerchief laughed. “That is why I like you, Sam. You are always thinking about what is best for you. I will call again soon for another errand. Be as safe as you can be.” And with that, he jumped into the speedboat and took off.
* * *
—
The five of them knew how to return to the main road and find their way home, but they sat quietly on the sand for a while, letting out all the breath they had been holding in. It was not that they were shocked by the nature of this errand. This was their life; they witnessed daily all the ways life could be threatened, with guns and otherwise. What they were surprised about was how they had been dragged into William Handkerchief’s world. Did he have other people for these kinds of jobs who were not available on this particular night? Were they going to be asked to do similar tasks again? Could they refuse without serious consequences?
Elimane sighed. “Well, I am as surprised as all of you. But then again, none of us are saints.”
It was their habit not to discuss troubling things in detail. It diluted their ability to stomach what they must. Instead, each of them searched inside for whatever it was that allowed them distance from thoughts and memories that brought pain to their beings. For Khoudi, it was looking for intrigue in what had happened. Who was the man in the handcuffs, and where was he being taken to? Lacking answers allowed her to create distance from the situation.
She recognized that it was up to her to take the first step to put this disturbing night into the past.
“Namsa, let’s find a streetlamp that works so that you can show us your new clothes.”
Namsa took Khoudi’s hand, and they led the way to the main road, where they turned left toward town. Khoudi didn’t count on finding a working streetlamp, but the quest kept them going. They passed holes in the ground that were awaiting posts, and poles next to holes waiting to be erected, then a series of posts with no lights, some with broken lamps, and one that had a bulb whose light rose and then fell, rose and fell, and then stopped for about five minutes before resuming its failed attempts again.
“Perhaps we’ll wait for the sunlight to see your clothes,” said Khoudi at length.
“I will sleep in them so that tomorrow morning I can easily show you everything.” Namsa hummed a playful tune and danced a little dance to it as she went.
When they finally reached the airplane, Khoudi, Elimane, Ndevui, and Kpindi went straight back to drinking and smoking.
“So that William Handkerchief is something. I don’t want to ruin my night by thinking abou
t it too much,” said Ndevui.
“What happened? Did I miss it all while I was upstairs in the lounge?” Namsa looked at them expectantly, but when they did not answer, she went into the plane and succeeded at inviting sleep.
The others smoked until the ganja was finished, and then they drank some more. They were upset about not only what they had taken part in, but what it stirred up for them as well.
Elimane gave voice to the general sentiment. “I have managed to put some things so far back in my mind, and tonight brought it all up for me.”
“We have the money, and we’re still here,” said Ndevui. “We could try to learn how to live alongside society for a while with the cash we have. Anyway, I don’t think William Handkerchief would have killed us. And we need errands that give us this kind of money.”
“I agree with you. Every day is a dead day for us, and yet here we are.” Kpindi smashed his bottle on the ground, as if in demonstration that action would defy the grip of circumstances. Ndevui let out a ghastly laugh into the night air, attempting to make light of their fear.
“Yes,” said Elimane, “but William Handkerchief is more than he lets on. So I am not going to underestimate him anymore. As long as we do as he asks, I think we will make cash and stay safe. Mostly I want to live, however, even if it is only to survive. So let’s be careful. And I will be more vigilant with him.”
“And you, sister?” Ndevui asked Khoudiemata.
“I don’t want to choose between surviving and living.” But Khoudi was really thinking about tomorrow’s escape from their daily harness. Survival had a way of narrowing one’s thinking, even about oneself. She longed to be with those who had the luxury of viewing life differently, if naively.
