"The earth of Africa." Olkeloki slipped the billfold back into his coat pocket. "No matter how hard you try to leave it behind, it follows you wherever you go."
Oak nodded absently, looked thoughtful, and said abruptly, "If you needed to see the President why didn't you go through your embassy?"
"I am not a government official. Only what you would call a concerned private citizen. Such as I are not permitted access to high officials in my country. Nonetheless, I might have managed an interview or two, but it would have taken much time. We do not have much time."
Apparently the "we" kept going right by Merry Sharrow. "Please, Josh, come with us. It'll be fun. I never met an African before."
"And I have never met an ilmeet lady from Seattle, so I think we are even, Merry Sharrow. Please listen to me, Joshua Oak."
Why not? Consider it a serendipitous extension of his planned visit to the Smithsonian. An anthropological sidetrip. Besides which, someone had to look after this poor innocent child of the Northwest or she was liable to do something really stupid, like give the old man money.
"You owe it to me, Joshua Oak," said Olkeloki.
"I owe it to you? How d'you figure that?"
"You made yourself known to me."
"I see, and if I'd let you lie there on the pavement to get your ribs kicked in and your nose busted I wouldn't owe you anything, is that it?"
"Exactly." Olkeloki looked very pleased. He hefted his walking stick, which was nearly as tall as he was. Oak gestured at it.
"You take that thing with you wherever you go?"
"It is a companion of my youth, and a useful friend. Come, I know a good place. I sought it out the day after I arrived in this city. It reminds me in its crude way of home. The food is not exceptional but the room is reassuringly high."
"You like restaurants with a view?" Sharrow asked him.
"View? No, it is not the view which is important. The higher we are the safer we are, because few of them can climb trees and fewer still can fly."
"Fewer what?" Oak cursed himself as soon as the words left his mouth.
"The gnomes, of course." Merry Sharrow had a twinkle in her eye. She looked just like Dorothy about to set off on the yellow brick road, having fallen into an adventure not included in the guidebooks. A nice, safe adventure of short duration, for she would be back safe and cool in her hotel room tonight. Amy would be proud of her.
"Gnomes," murmured Olkeloki solemnly. "Yes, that is close enough. You are very perceptive, Merry Sharrow."
"It comes from divining what people really want when they call in their orders."
Oak noted the smoothness of the old man's stride. He didn't trudge along like an old man. Probably you developed excellent leg muscles hiking through the middle of Africa.
"That walking stick of yours isn't a bad idea. Useful for making room for yourself on the subway and it might even make a mugger or two think twice."
"Mugger?" Olkeloki struggled with the term. "I am afraid I do not know all the new words. Your language is a live thing, always growing and expanding and putting out strange new shoots and buds. It is hard to stay abreast of all the new idiomatic expressions." He gestured fondly with the walking stick. "Yes, this staff has stood me in good stead for many years."
"Say that fast three times," said Merry, and she giggled quite unexpectedly. "Have you ever had to use it to ward off robbers, Mr. Olkeloki?"
"No, I have never had to use my staff to beat robbers, though I once did kill a lion with it."
Oak sputtered through his smile, choking back the derisive laughter that threatened to explode inside him. "No kidding. I don't suppose you'd care to tell us how you managed that little trick?"
"Certainly. I was quite young at the time and was caught away from my spear while guarding my father's herd. The lion saw this and thought to make off with a calf while I was unarmed. But I had this staff which had been given to me by a famous elder. When the lion charged out of the bush toward me I waited, as if for my death. Dying was not on my mind, however. It was an old male lion, but he was still very large and strong, with a black mane that was turning gray in places. As he came across the grass toward me I could see that he had my death in his eyes. It is not something you forget.
"I stood as if waiting resignedly for that death, but when he leapt at me, his claws reaching for my shoulders and his jaws for my throat, I fell to the earth and brought this staff up as hard as I could between his legs. He flew over me, hit the ground, and rolled over. As he fought to get back his breath I lunged at him and ran the staff all the way down his throat. He threw me several feet, but I landed running and went to get my spear. It was not needed, for when I returned to the place I saw that the lion was dying. Fear had given me great strength. I had pushed the staff all the way into his lungs and he had choked to death on it." Lifting the stick off the pavement, he turned it parallel to the ground and showed Oak the far end. There appeared to be several deep gouges in the upper third.
"This is ironwood. See there, the marks of the old lion's teeth."
"Let me see!" said Merry breathlessly, crowding close.
An amused Oak gave her plenty of room. It was a pleasure to see such enthusiasm, such ready acceptance in another human being.
The old man led them on, turning up a side street lined with office buildings of more recent construction. They entered a bank and took one of the elevators up ten flights to the top floor. It let them out at the end of a short hall. At the other end was the entrance to a restaurant. Oak checked his watch. Three o'clock. The place would be deserted.
It was green with palm fronds and bamboos growing in pots. Fake thatch decorated the ceiling and the upholstery was full of flowers. The sign etched into one of the glass and mahogany doors identified the eatery:
The Brass Elephant
It wasn't an establishment he frequented, but the name was familiar. Several of his colleagues had eaten here. From the little he could recall, they spoke well of the place.
The young receptionist's gaze lingered a bit longer than was polite on Olkeloki, finally said, "Can I help you?"
"A quiet table, please," said the old man. "Away from the windows and the door."
"All right. You know that we're not serving lunch anymore and dinner doesn't start until five-thirty?"
"That's fine. Something cold to drink is all we want."
"Okay. If you'll follow me, please?"
She seated them in a large, dimly lit high-backed booth surrounded by plants and carved coconut shells. Oak ordered a gin-and-tonic, Merry a pink squirrel, and Olkeloki, surprising Oak yet anew, a Midori on the rocks.
"Don't see how you can drink that stuff," he said when the glasses arrived. "Too sweet for me."
"I never heard of it," said Merry.
"It's made from honeydew melons."
"You know a lot about liquor?"
He shrugged. "A little. For instance, I'm an expert on beer. It's required in my work."
"Sounds like you have an interesting job."
"Some might think so. I used to, but it's begun to wear on me these past couple of years. Doesn't answering phones eight hours a day bug you after a while?"
"Not so far. See, I'm not what you'd call an ambitious person. I never have been. All I ever wanted was a low-key steady job, and I've found that. The pay and fringe benefits are good and the working conditions are ideal—for me, anyway. I get to talk to a lot of interesting people, even if I never get to meet them in person. I guess you'd say I have a wide circle of acquaintances but very few close friends."
"Not married yet, then?" He said it diffidently.
"No, not yet."
"Engaged?"
"Sort of." For some reason she seemed uncomfortable saying it and he decided to change the subject by turning to Olkeloki.
"I can see why you liked this place."
"Yes." The old man looked uncertain as he gazed around the cool, dark room. "Though it smells different today than it did when I was
eating here yesterday. I think because there are no other people eating here now." He tilted back his head and sniffed at the air.
"Better or worse?" Oak asked him.
"Oh, much better, though the foulness lingers."
"Foulness." Oak sniffed also. "I don't smell any foulness."
"It is not your fault. You cannot help the way you smell. It is not your body odor so much as it is the nature of your clothing. It is much worse to wear so much clothing when one is indoors. Besides ilmeet, we also refer to foreigners as iloridaa enjekat. This means 'those who confine their farts.' Because of the way you dress."
Merry responded to this with a loud guffaw that sounded as much like a bray as a laugh. She quickly put one hand over her mouth and bent low over the table, looking around quickly to see if anyone else had heard. But the restaurant was deserted except for their table.
"That's quite a laugh you've got there," Oak said mildly.
"Oh, shut up."
"We believe," Olkeloki continued, "that it is better to dress one's body loosely so that the wind may carry away the unfavorable bodily odors."
"Maybe that works fine in East Africa, but try that in Vermont some January." Oak sipped at his drink. "The wind'll carry off a lot more than your odor. Is that the story you wanted to tell us?" Olkeloki smiled. "What, then? Some expensive foreign aid project gone astray? That wouldn't be news. Or maybe something you're trying to get done for your people?"
"For my people, yes," he replied excitedly. "You are more perceptive than you would like to admit, Joshua Oak."
"Let me guess. It's a dam, no, an irrigation project of some kind."
"I am on an enkitoongiwong at the behest of a special okiama of laibon." Seeing their expressions, he smiled apologetically. "I am sorry. Some words do not translate literally into your English. I am here to seek help, yes, but not just for the Maasai. For the ilmeet as well. It is my duty as a laibon."
"What kind of help?" Merry was leaning forward again.
"If something is not done to stop them, and soon, they will destroy the world as we know it. Their very nature is anarchistic. All would dissolve into chaos. Those people who did not perish in the cataclysm of their coming would live on as slaves or amusements."
"So you're going to prevent this world takeover all by yourself, with our help, of course." Oak was glad he had a full drink and a lot of patience. "Don't you think that's a pretty tall order for one laibon and a couple of regular ilmeet?"
"It is the only way." Olkeloki responded to Oak's sarcasm with the utmost seriousness. "A larger group might be no more effective and would certainly invite cooperative retaliation. I by myself attract too much attention. I must have certain selected ilmeet with me, to screen me and shield my magic from their notice as well as to complete the three points of the triangle."
"Who are 'they'?" Merry asked.
Oak threw her a look as if to say, Haven't we wasted enough of an afternoon here, and wouldn't you like to tour the Smithsonian with me, because that's where I was heading when the Iranians threw us together, and maybe none of them were named Omar Khayyam but still…
"The shetani." Olkeloki whispered it. "The shetani are the spirits who can cross into our world. Not often, but when they do cross over they can work a great deal of mischief and make much trouble. The ilmeet suffer from their attentions because they do not know how to make them visible. I am not sure most would believe even if they saw.
"Something bad has happened. There is a place where the wall between reality and the Out Of has weakened and…"
"Excuse me," said Merry, "but what's the 'Out Of?'"
"It is where everything comes from. Everything has to come out of something, and it is simplest to call it the Out Of. It is the place where nothing goes in and everything comes out. An accident of some kind. Men first came from the Out Of, the first men your Dr. Leakey studied in a place not far from where I live, a place called Olduvai Gorge. The Out Of lies a long but not unreachable distance to the south of that ancient place. Men came out of it, and many animals, and plants. Perhaps they were fleeing the shetani, very long ago. It is a thought older than legends the laibon tell to their disciples. I do not know if it is true.
"But the Out Of is real, and the shetani are real, and they will come through the weakened place in irresistible numbers unless we can seal it up again."
"Irresistible numbers?" Oak sipped at his drink. "What kind of numbers?"
"Billions, who will be but the advance scouts for the armies waiting to follow. They will overrun the earth. They will destroy mankind."
"You said spirits." Merry fingered her own glass. "Are you talking about something like ghosts, or djinn?"
"No. They are nothing like that. You have no knowledge of them, so you ilmeet can recognize them only by their actions. A few ilmeet can see them, but they are rare." Merry squirmed uncomfortably in her chair.
"Already they have begun to make serious mischief. I believe they have been trying to get the two great ilmeet tribes to fight each other for many years now. The shetani are naturally lazy. Why fight long and hard if they first can get the ilmeet to weaken each other? I know the governments of the two great tribes would not listen to laibon, so I have come here to find help of another kind." He shook his head sadly. "You ilmeet think you know everything there is to know, but much of the cosmos remains a closed book to you. Your Einstein had the key to the Out Of but went off in a different direction to work on his relativity theories. I think maybe a shetani must have toyed with his equations. That would be like them."
Oak coughed loudly, tried to smile across the table. "All very interesting, I'm sure."
"How do we stop these shetani, Mr. Olkeloki?" Merry leaned forward. "You said you need our help. I'll be glad to help if I can." Oak examined the bottom of his glass studiously.
"They must be confronted at the place where they seek to come through in the greatest numbers. That is the only way to stop them. Get to the breakthrough place and seal it permanently. This must be done immediately."
"By you?" said Oak.
"Yes, by me," replied Mbatian Olkeloki. "I am not the only one who can do this thing, but I am the most qualified."
"Where is this Out Of place?" Merry wondered. "Where are these shetani coming into our world from?"
"The weak lines meet in a place just north of the Great Ruaha River, in a game preserve that lies close by a park of the same name. This is a vast and difficult to reach region that lies hundreds of miles to the south of Maasailand."
She nodded. "That's in Tanzania, right?" and before he could reply she blinked, eyed the ceiling, and said in the same breath, "Doesn't it seem to you guys that it's gotten dark in here?"
Oak didn't follow her gaze. Maybe it was a little dimmer than when they'd come in, and maybe it wasn't. "Clouding up outside, or could be they turn down the lights between lunch and dinner to save on their electric bill. No point in highlighting fancy decor if there aren't any dining customers around to enjoy it. Tanzania's in East Africa?"
"On the Indian Ocean." Olkeloki traced outlines on the tabletop with a long brown finger. "South of Kenya, north of Mozambique, east of the rest of the world."
"Local geography's more my style. I remember that the capital of Kenya is Nairobi, but I'm afraid that's about it."
"That is more than most of your geographically ignorant people know," said Olkeloki approvingly. "South of Nairobi lies the Steppe, then the veldt and the forests. South we must go to find the place where the shetani gather."
Oak spoke gently. "Not we, I think. I said I'd listen to your story. Now that I have, it's time for me to leave." He reached toward his wallet, knowing better but unwilling to abandon the old man. "If you need taxi fare back home, wherever home is, I'll stake you up to five bucks."
"You are calling me a liar." Olkeloki's tone was even. "If this were my country I would have to kill you." He spoke without malice, as though still telling his story.
I will tell you a story, I
will buy you a drink, I will kill you if you call me a liar. Poor old guy, Oak mused. "I guess I'm lucky this is Washington and not wherever you really call home."
"You are young. The young are impetuous. You wrap yourselves in self-assurance to shield your mind from what it does not recognize."
"I see; sort of like TV wrestling or Creole cooking without pepper." He looked over at Merry. "How would you like to see my city? I know this town top to foggy bottom. Might get you into one or two interesting places you won't find on your tourist map."
"That's okay. I want to thank you for helping me during that riot, but I think I'll stay and listen to Mr. Olkeloki a little more."
Oak started to push back his chair. "Thanks for the drink."
The old man put out a hand to restrain him. "Please! You were made known to me as was promised. You have the second name of a predecessor in my land."
Oak's exasperation was beginning to show despite a desire for a cordial parting. "Look, I told you, I was not named after some long-dead, obscure explorer."
"You are the right man." Olkeloki glanced at Merry. "She is the right woman. Two to shield me, two to form the remaining points of the triangle. It must be so. You have to come with me, Joshua Oak. It is your destiny. Yours, mine, hers, all are entwined."
"Sorry, but the only place I have to go is home. I've been out of town on business and I've got about a six-foot-high stack of back mail to catch up on." Gently but firmly he disengaged the old man's fingers from his arm.
"I will pay for your help," said Olkeloki unexpectedly. "Properly, with cattle."
Oak smiled in spite of himself. "That's all right. You tell Ms. Sharrow here the rest of your tale and you pay her in cattle for going halfway around the world with you. I'm afraid my neighborhood isn't zoned for cows."
"Then if I cannot persuade you with true wealth…" Olkeloki started to reach into his coat and Oak tensed, the muscles in his hands and arms tightening. But all the old man brought out was a small leather bag, neatly secured at the top and decorated with attractive beadwork in patterns of red, yellow, and blue. Clinging to it and drifting around it like an intermittent halo was a cloud of red dust. African earth, Olkeloki had said.
Into The Out Of Page 9
