by Dave Mckay
Surgeons from Nairobi were already in the air, by the time the ambulance pulled into the Aga Khan. Surgery started late that night and continued until early the next morning. In the mean time, however, someone had leaked the story to the media, noting who it was that had received the injury. By the time plates had been fashioned and were being placed over the gaping hole, the following day, there was a small army of reporters in the hospital foyer, representing newspapers and TV stations from around the world.
The fact that Moses had been brought back to life, and that doctors were saying that he would survive the horrific "accident" was a feel-good story that the world desperately needed to hear. So much had gone wrong for Dangchao's new world order, in such a short period of time, that people needed something to rekindle hope in his failing system. Word quickly reached the Secretary General, in Jerusalem.
"It'll be some time before we know how complete his recovery will be," the head surgeon announced at a press conference, held shortly after surgery was completed. "You must remember that he has lost a large portion of his brain, and so we cannot expect too much."
Levi Xu Dangchao was watching the report on a big flat-screen TV in his throne room in Jerusalem.
"Bring him here. Bring him to me. He and I can fight this thing together," he declared. No doubt Dangchao was thinking of his own miraculous recovery after what everyone had believed was a fatal head wound. But it was not to be so dramatic for Moses.
A report came back from medical experts in Kenya:
"It will be months, before Mr. Chikati will be able to fly," the report said. "Most of the frontal lobe has been blown away. If he is able to talk at all, we expect it to be little more than a slur."
Dangchao made it clear that he wanted regular updates on Moses Chikati's progress. He still wanted the young man to be brought to Jerusalem eventually, but, in the meantime, he decided to take a trip to Kenya himself.
Dangchao arrived at the hospital a week later to be told by the medical superintendent, "Moses has surprised us all by starting to talk; but because the accident has destroyed much of the frontal lobe, his ability to feel or express emotions is virtually non-existent."
The tall, handsome world leader nodded to indicate that he had heard, but he still insisted on being allowed to visit Moses, who felt neither joy nor contempt on seeing the Secretary General enter his room. There was no need for an introduction, as the handsome leader's picture was displayed everywhere. Barely a person on earth would not have recognised him.
"I am here because I like you," Dangchao announced. "You have no family, and I have no family; so I will be your family. You can come to live with me." Dangchao smiled broadly, confident that the young man sitting up in the bed would be thrilled at his offer.
"I need no family," Moses mumbled with some difficulty. "I am twenty-four years old." He was not trying to be disrespectful. It was just that these were the facts as he perceived them.
Dangchao's eyebrows lifted as he contemplated the total lack of interest in himself... a reception that could easily have cost a person their life in any other setting.
"You think about it," Dangchao said magnanimously as he handed him a business card with his email address on it. "When you decide, I will send someone to accompany you. Everything will be provided, and everything will be first class. You will like it, I am sure."
Moses stared back blankly, through drooping eyelids.
Table of contents
Chapter 29. The End of Josephat
Although very few words passed through his lips, and no hint of emotion could be seen in his eyes, from the time that Moses regained consciousness there were many thoughts going through his mind. He could remember everything clearly, including the experience he had had during the hours when his life had hung in the balance, but it was like it had all happened to someone else. Moses puzzled over everything, but felt nothing. No remorse. No anger. No excitement. Nothing.
The man who essentially ruled the world had invited him to become part of his family. That much he understood. But he had no thoughts, neither positive nor negative about it. If it happened, it happened.
He remembered the horrors of human sacrifice that had led him to contemplate suicide in the first place, but took note that he no longer felt revulsion about it. His indifference to all of this now was quite possibly evidence that he had lost his soul as a result of the shotgun blast, but he felt neither panic nor remorse about that either.
One thing did intrigue him, however, and that was the deep feelings he remembered having while unconscious. They had led him to pray more earnestly than he had ever prayed before, if, indeed, he ever had prayed before. That experience had taken place during his encounter with death, at a time when he had already lost the front part of his brain. So how was it possible for him to have felt such deep emotion at that time? Was it only a dream... a memory of what emotions had felt like before the accident? That was not possible, because he had truly never experienced such intense sadness in his entire life, not when his mother was killed, not when he lost his arm, nor even when Rosy left.
He returned to Shinyalu, where, apart from weekly check-ups at the Aga Khan, he was soon back driving the matatu, doing budgets, and caring for himself. Everything moved more slowly for him now. He had no desire to increase the business, and when customers complained that his driving was too slow, it had no effect on him. The relationship with Jiddy was much the same, because it had already deteriorated to almost nothing before the suicide attempt. Jiddy knew better than to express his feelings when around Moses, and Moses wasn't interested if he had.
"Have you heard the news?" a customer said to him one afternoon, pushing his face up close to see if he could catch a flicker of emotion in Moses' eyes when he announced his bit of news. "Josephat! He's in the area. Someone saw him over in Ileho, on the other side of the forest."
There was the slightest flicker of interest as Moses lifted his eyes to listen more closely. Once again, inside his head there was memory of all the problems he had associated with Josephat. He knew that he had hated the man for taking Amy and Rosy away from him. He knew that he had lived for the day when he could confront Josephat and wring out of him the truth about Amy and Rosy. But none of this translated into feelings... apart from that little turn of his head. He wanted to ask what was being done to capture Josephat, but did not even have enough interest to ask that. It did not matter, however, because the next line to come out of the customer's mouth answered the unspoken question.
"Tomorrow, the cops will start a search. They think he'sbeen hiding in the forest. We shoulda looked there years ago. Are you goin' ta help us?" There was so little of the forest left, that the search would be a short one.
Moses just looked at him quizzically. Would he be any help, as slow as he was? For that matter, did it really make any difference whether they got Josephat or not?
"Don't know," was all he could say.
* * *
That night, Moses sat alone in his van, waiting for a customer. It was dark, and the village was almost deserted except for the late night theater crowd, who would be coming out at any moment. He had taken to working longer hours to make up for his slowness. Along with his indifference to what was happening in the theater, he no longer experienced fear. Other drivers disliked the risks attached to working alone after dark, but Moses was not like them. There were boda-boda drivers on duty, but their bikes were all locked up outside the theater while they waited safely inside. Moses had seen no movement, and not heard a sound either from the theater or from anywhere else when the back door clicked open. He had not seen anyone approaching, and the customer spoke only one word. "Kakamega."
A glance up at the rear-view mirror revealed the familiar felt hat that could mean only one thing. Josephat!
After more than four years of searching, Josephat had come to him. He had set himself down in the back seat and then presumed to order Moses to drive him to Kakamega
at this late hour.
But Moses responded obediently, starting the engine.
The theater was just letting out, and both men knew there would be more passengers if Moses waited even one minute.
"We must go now," Josephat said flatly. Was it an order or a request? Moses did not know, but he obeyed, driving slowly away from the intersection. Some of the theater patrons could see that he was the only matatu driver on duty and that he was leaving. They shouted out in desperation, but he kept going... slowly. Moses could not be certain, but he thought an expression on one of the faces indicated that the man had recognised the passenger sitting directly behind him, with his face and that hat clearly visible in the window.
Maybe he would tell others. Maybe someone would come after them... if they could commandeer another vehicle.
Somewhere in the darkness, on the road to Kakamega, the matatu pulled over to the side of the road and stopped for a minute or two, before driving on. As it came to the steep descent, leading down to the river, it slowed even more. They passed two people walking down the hill in the darkness. Rain had been falling earlier in the day, and the water was flowing swiftly under the bridge now, inflated by the rains upstream. On the far side of the bridge, the vehicle stopped again. Its lights went out, after which the driver and his passenger stepped out.
"Listen!" one of the two men descending the road to the river whispered to his companion. They could barely see the vehicle in what little moonlight shone through the clouds, but there were angry shouts, an agonised scream, and then a splash in the river as the pair raced down the hill.
"What's happening down there?" the man shouted as they approached the near side of the bridge. His pace slowed to a walk, and then to a stop as he contemplated what might await him and his friend on meeting up with whoever was out there in the darkness. A bridge is a good place for robbers to trap a victim late at night.
"Everything is satisfactory now." It was Moses Chikati, sounding like he was giving a muffled report on the quality of his last meal and not talking about the altercation that the two men were certain they had just heard. Nevertheless, they both recognised the voice, and what he said gave them enough courage to cross over to where the matatu was standing.
About the same time, headlights from another matatu could be seen cresting the top of the hill behind them. As the vehicle approached the bridge, its lights revealed that Moses was holding a walking stick... an intricately carved stick which even the pedestrian strangers recognised as belonging to the famous eccentric, Josephat.
"Did he try to hurt you?" they asked.
"No," Moses answered. "He shouted. That was all." And then he showed that he knew more than one definition for the word that he had made famous throughout the English-speaking world. "When I apprehended the cane," he said, "it was easy to push him." His speech was slow and muffled, but they picked up a sense of triumph in what he was saying.
By this time the matatu had arrived and a load of vigilantes piled out, armed with pangas and torches. After hearing the story, they shone their lights down on the raging water. There was no sign of Josephat, of course. The water was too fierce.
"Over there! Look!" someone shouted, and several other flashlights moved in the same direction, where they all focused on the one image... Josephat's distinctive black felt headpiece.
When Moses was safely back in the village, and the others had finished congratulating him, he returned to his house, pulled out his laptop and typed up an email letter.
"I am ready to come now. Can you send someone to help with my carriage?"
When he checked his mail the next morning, a reply was waiting for him.
"I have arranged for an escort. Mr. Barasa will contact you in the next few hours."
Even before he had time to finish his lunch, Barasa was in the yard with his four-wheel-drive.
"You won't need to pack anything," he said. "All that you need will be provided for you when you get there."
"We will be very early for the train if we leave now," Moses stated.
"Oh, you won't be going by train this time," Barasa said with a smile and with a touch of envy in his voice. "A charter jet will meet us at the Kakamega airstrip in less than an hour.
"Your worries are over, Moses," he exclaimed. "You will never go without anything ever again." And he ruffled the young man's hair playfully. In Moses' present mental state it was easier for Barasa to think of him as the 14-year-old that he had first met so many years earlier, and not the well-travelled worldly-wise 24-year-old that he had become.
Moses showed no emotion. He just opened the door of the vehicle and slipped into the passenger seat. He did not even take the time to leave a note for Jiddy.
Table of contents
Chapter 30. Life in the Palace
The plane that met Moses at the airstrip in Kakamega was probably the biggest that had ever landed there. It must have been specifically designed to take off and land in a short distance, because the airstrip itself was little more than an extended football field.
Moses was the only passenger, but he had his own hostess, who not only served him food and drinks, but massaged his feet and adjusted the lighting and entertainment system to suit the young man's wishes. His wishes were few. He had no interest in watching videos, and he was content to let her choose the music, food, and drinks But the foot massage was good, and each time she asked if he had had enough, he would request more. She cheerfully and obediently complied. The massage only ended when it was time for the hostess to buckle up for landing in Tel Aviv, several hours later.
When they arrived at their destinaton, they were greeted by a man only a few years older than Moses who was dressed like a bank manager. "Welcome to Tel Aviv!" he said. "My name is Moshe, and I will be your companion. If you have need of anything, you should just ask me, and I will tend to it."
The new arrival was taken by limousine to the palace in Jerusalem, and shown to his quarters. Moshe stood with his feet apart and his hands clasped behind his back as Moses inspected the spacious bedroom. It came with a small library along one wall, massive desk, leather lounge, fridge, bar, and state of the art entertainment system. And that was just the bedroom. It was quite late in the day,and so Moshe promised to show Moses around the rest of the palace the next morning.
"If you have need of anything during the night, just pull this cord," he said, reaching out toward a thick golden rope that hung from somewhere up in the ceiling. I will be in the room next door, and I will come to you immediately."
So much had happened and so much had changed since Moses had first experienced Western luxuries in Chicago, at the age of 14. At that time, every little novelty had come charged with excitement, wonder, and, in some cases, a little fear. Now he was ten years older, and totally impervious to all that he saw, even though the luxuries were more impressive than ever. He believed that he should be there. That was all. But he had no idea why.
The next day, Moses was taken around the rest of the palace, which was equipped with every possible comfort. Nothing in the whole building showed even the slightest signs of wear. In the afternoon, there was a brief tour of the area between the palace and the Temple Mount. He and Moshe rode in the same limousine that had met him at the airport.
"This will be your own private limousine," Moshe had told him. "If you have need of anything, a driver will be on duty to take you there at any time of the day or night." This news, too, left him unimpressed.
"You will be able to get anything that you want, even without the mark," Moshe continued. The horrific wound had blown away Moses' microchip implant.
Back in Shinyalu, after the accident, Moses had been able to collect payment from customers, using his scanner. But when it came to him spending money, there had been some uncertainty within the village, and especially in Kakamega about what he should do. However, in the months between his time in hospital and his departure for Jerusalem, those who recognised hi
m had simpy extended him credit, buoyed by the announcement that the General Secretary had visited the hospital, and by the rumour that he had invited Moses to come and live with him. As they had all been hoping, Barasa later made sure that anyone who had helped Moses was amply rewarded.
But Moshe told Moses that in Jerusalem, and shortly, anywhere else in the world, he would be able to purchase anything at all, just by using Danchao's name. He had no need of a mark, either in his missing hand or in his now missing forehead. Locals had already been informed, and soon (when Dangchao found time for a press conference to deal with the matter), anyone in the world would be expected to recognise him as being part of Levi Xu Dangchao's royal family. Moses tested it out by getting a few clothes, but other than that, he had little interest in buying anything, since he had more than he needed back at the palace anyway.
Moses never saw Dangchao himself until almost two weeks after he arrived, and then it was almost by chance, as they passed in the hallway.
"Ah, Moses Chikati! So good to see you," the Secretary-General exclaimed when he saw him.
"Hello," Moses said quietly.
"So how is everything? Are they taking good care of you? Do you like it here?"
"I have all that I need," Moses answered haltingly. He added a drawn out, "Thank you."
"We have a press conference planned for next Thursday," Dangchao announced. "I want the world to know that you are my son. Moshe will tell you what to say."
In fact, Moshe had been preparing him for more than a week already. There was a speech therapist, working overtime to improve on his voice, but Moses' primary duty at the palace had been to work with a physiotherapist who had been assigned the task of getting his facial muscles to form a smile. He could now make the corners of his lips draw up into his cheeks, enough to create a reasonable imitation of his trademark grin. The main problem, however, was that he still had to consciously will himself to do it; there was nothing spontaneous about it, because he had no sensations to make him feel like smiling.
