“I’m fine.”
“No you’re not.”
“A touch of flu is all.”
“You’re jaundiced. You’re too thin. You should come back to the city and let Bernarr have a look at you.”
“Soon,” Justin shifted further against the rock, mentioned the meeting at the hospital last night and how, “It’s good what you did.”
“You heard?”
“Word travels. It’s why you’re here. I’m glad you came around, André. And still, this plan of theirs,” he said, surprising me. “It’s not the first thing I would have chosen.”
“No, it’s not,” I agreed at once, relieved Justin felt the same. “It’s crazy.”
“Fish in a barrel if they charge the Port on their own. The water cuts them off, traps them in. There are better ways.”
“You’re right,” I spoke without wanting to think too far ahead, knowing Justin as I did. At Tamina’s funeral, he stood beside me, clenching his fist, his faith unwavering even then. He celebrated the War of the Winds, maintained a firm conviction for revolution and saw no reason to alter his belief after Teddy’s coup. I didn’t expect a full conversion, and still I was encouraged to hear him say, “They haven’t thought things through.”
“No they haven’t.”
“This Pendar.”
“He doesn’t know.”
“But you and I, André. We know, don’t we? A couple of old warriors,” he said just like Emilo. “We’ve been here before, haven’t we? The more things change,” he coughed, pushed his white hair back behind his ears, reminded me, “I’ve not been out in the woods all this time whittling and watching birds.” He listed then specific efforts, plots to sabotage gover nment holdings, the mines and movie and water plant, all the recent ambushes, the battles his men had with soldiers, raids to reclaim several hundred acres of farmland on the south-west side. “And now, as things are this close, we can’t lose our heads.”
It was true what Justin said. I looked back toward the bluff, told him, “We need to be patient. Here we are again, yes, but things have changed. This time we know better. We’re not going to bumble and stumble and rely on luck.”
“This time, you’re right,” Justin spat again and rubbed his throat. “That’s why you’re here. Who better to make things work than you and me? Why else do you suppose Pendar came to talk with each of us? He’s smart enough to know his deficiencies, wise enough to understand we’ve been there before.” The creases near Justin’s left eye twitched. He bent over, his hands on his knees as he caught his breath, his white hair dangling like webs. After a moment he lifted his head, touched the side of his cheek with his index finger and waved me closer. “It’s good, you know, you’re being here. You hoped for something else, I understand, and that’s ok. I don’t blame you. In a perfect world, André. But she isn’t, is she? This way together, we’ll be sure to get things right. In the end, that’s all that matters, no?”
We spent the next three hours discussing ways to improve Don Pendar’s plan. Disappointed how quickly my high hopes vanished, I was tempted to confess last night was a mistake and that I never meant to help anyone start a revolution. Instead, Justin and I put together a new strategy, concentrated on mobilizing the men in the hills and making a move on the capital.
We decided to create a series of diversions, to go after the mines and the water plant again, the train tracks and travel routes with a handful of men setting explosives. The rest of Justin’s men would approach the city from both sides of the highway, using the woods for cover. Positions would be established along the way, near the Port and roads leading to and from the capital. Once the men in the city drew soldiers to the main warehouse, the men from the hills would launch a coordinated counter attack, reinforcing the fight at the Port while taking on soldiers rushing back from the mines and waterworks. Everything was targeted to start in five days, as the men moved down from the hills, meaning the demonstration I was coordinating with Daniel and the others had to begin in less then 72 hours.
Justin and I returned to the open area where he slid his hand from my elbow and embraced me. “There it is then, André.” I could feel his ribs beneath his shirt brittle as a bird cage. The same two men from earlier hiked with me through the woods, each of us carrying a stack of Justin’s latest flyer. We drove to the capital without incident. I had missed my meeting with Don Pendar, was eager to see how Katima was doing and to speak with Daniel, Cris and Bo. The sun was white and high on my shoulders as I peddled off on my bike. Nervous, not wanting to think what the capital might look like by this time next week, I took Justin’s flyers and set them in a single pile on the first bench I passed. Absent a stone to weigh them down, the papers flew in the breeze as I rode off. I saw them land where they wanted, the written words face down.
I went first to Davi’s office at Suntu Husbandry and Farming Group, where Katima had spent the day avoiding the soldiers as she was otherwise scheduled to film. Neither Davi or Katima were there however, and winded, I rode back to the apartments near the University where Daniel, Cris and Bo were waiting.
Our strategy for spreading word about the demonstration involved the principles of a Ponzi scheme, where one person passed news to three friends who in turn sent word to three more and so on and so on. The need for discretion was explained, people instructed to deal only with acquaintances who could be trusted. The game was tricky, the process requiring a certain intuition. Daniel, Cris and Bo made progress, their enterprise offsetting my time away with Justin. Bo had found a webcam and a high speed computer, arranged to run the equipment from a fourth floor apartment near the main warehouse, while Daniel and Cris canvassed the capital for supporters. I left them with directions for the evening and we arranged to meet early the next day.
By 8:30 p.m. I’d picked up my father and driven to the strip mall across Yushco Street where Don Pendar and the others had gathered in the basement of the closed Piggly Wiggly. Upon learning of my conversation with Justin everyone cheered. The next stage of our plan came together quickly, and just after midnight I dropped my father back at his house and rode my bike home.
Katima was in the front room, the electricity off, the house lit by candles. I was relieved to find her there and hurried in wanting to know, “What happened today?” The shadows in the room made it hard for me to see the Chief Inspector sitting there as well. Halfway across the floor, I stopped and stared. Warez stood and greeted me. “There you are, André.”
Katima had me come and sit beside her on the couch. “The Chief Inspector’s promised to fix our lights,” she squeezed my fingers hard. Warez in the chair across from us, removed a cell phone from inside his jacket pocket and dialed a number. A half minute later our lights were restored. “There then.”
A buzzer on the stove started to ring. Katima blew out the candles, went into the kitchen. “Do you mind if I smoke?” the Chief Inspector sat down again, took a cigarette from his pocket, lit it with a match cupped in his palm. “I would have come earlier,” he said, “but I knew you were out.”
I refused the bait, replied “Is there something we can do for you, Franco?”
“A little talk.”
“At this hour?”
“ A few minutes,” he looked for a place to flick his ash. I pointed to the bowl on the bookshelf and he went to retrieve it. “You’re uncomfortable,” he said as he returned to the chair.
“I don’t know what you want.”
“I didn’t used to make you nervous.”
“You worked for Dupala then. You work for Teddy now.”
Warez puffed twice on his cigarette, his moustache hiding much of his upper lip. He shifted forward in his chair, his white slacks riding up and wrinkling across his thighs. “Perhaps you’d feel differently if I resigned my post and opened a spice and cheese shop in the city. But what good would I be to you then?”
Katima returned from the kitchen and sat back on the couch. “ I ’ d offer you water but,” she showed empty hands. I touched
her arm. Warez lifted slightly from his chair as she entered, then sat and began again. “I was saying it’s good I’m the Chief Inspector and not someone else. André hasn’t been arrested, Gabriel and Ali are well, most of your friends are safe and not in jail despite the strike, and why do you suppose that is?” He gave us a second to consider, crushed his cigarette in the bowl, rubbed his hand across his moustache. The cuffs of his slacks fell across dark boots. “Your filming today,” he continued looking at Katima. “Tell me, how did it go? Some confusion in your time before the camera. Bad luck no doubt, but these things happen.”
Reference to the day’s shoot caused me to lean forward on the couch. “ I t ’ s my fault. The schedule wasn’t clear,” I began making excuses, calculating the penalty. Warez tapped my knee. “Let me see what I can do.” He reached for his hat, made as if about to go then said, “Just one more thing. You’ve had a long day so I won’t keep you but a few minutes more. Just a question.”
“About?”
“The future,” Warez said.
I moved closer to Katima. “I can’t tell the future.”
The Chief Inspector lit another cigarette, blew smoke through his teeth. “I understand your friend Justin isn’t well.”
“I wouldn’t know about that.”
“And yet you just saw him.”
Katima laughed as if the possibility was absurd. I brought my hands together in front of my chest. “Now you’re listening to rumors, Franco? You know the way these stories get started.”
“They grow from the root,” Warez drew fresh smoke and lowered his arm, let his cigarette dangle over his knee. He waited a moment then straightened suddenly, as if an idea had only just come to him. “If you’d rather deal with Teddy,” he put his cigarette between his lips, pushed himself out of the chair with an audible, “Oooff,” picked up his hat and started across the room.
I followed him out the front door and onto the porch where I asked, “About Katima?”
“Happy to help, if you’ll help me,” Warez flicked his cigarette toward the street. When I didn’t reply he sighed as if disappointed in me. “How long have we known one another, André? Do you think I’d sell you short? Have I changed so much since Dupala?”
I treaded carefully, told him honestly, “It isn’t so much a question of change. You’re more adaptable. If not complete capitulation you’re certainly a chameleon.”
“Really? You think?” Warez touched his chin, scuffed his boots on the porch, turned away from me and pointed over head. “Look,” his finger was aimed at the sky dark and clouded over. “The moon is there. Can you see?”
“I know she’s there.”
“Because you’ve seen her before.”
“I’ve seen her there and not there,” I rested against the rail, knew what Warez was trying to say and told him again, “I can’t tell you anything. You’re asking too much.”
“A bit of faith,” he pushed back the brim of his hat, had me study his eyes which seemed more weary and restless than earlier. I remained silent. Warez resorted to mentioning Emilo, Don Pendar, Ali and my father. He spoke of Justin and how, “It’s a shame he’s sick, but then everyone’s state of health is precarious these days. Who ever knows? One minute we’re here and the next,” he snapped his fingers.
I took the warning for what it was, shifted on the soles of my feet. Warez stepped toward me. We were the same height though the Chief Inspector had a habit of stretching his neck and lowering his chin as if gazing down. I studied his face, considered returning inside, of locking the door and taking my chances but the risk seemed ill-omened, and rubbing the ache from my lower back with the flat of my thumbs, asked again, “About Katima?” flat of my thumbs, asked again, “About Katima?”
“Not to worry.”
“And Ali?”
“Of course.”
“And my father and Emilo?”
“Your father,” the Chief Inspector offered this.
“You have it all wrong,” I told him then, correcting his reference to Justin, insisting “ I went to the woods to make sure they stayed away. They have no plan,” I said, creating another deception, diverting him from the hills back to the capital. The moon remained where she was, the sky above revealing nothing. “If you want to help,” I started with this, explained what he needed to know. The Chief Inspector felt for his matches, walked with me down the steps. Satisfied he said, “Not to worry,” crossed the curb and went back down the street to his car.
CHAPTER 8
Paul Bernarr wondered what to make of the news. He walked through the hospital, from the examination area back to his office, past the supply rooms mostly empty now as Teddy siphoned off the reserves, withheld medicines from the public as penalty for the strike. Earlier André and Davi had both left messages on the hospital line. Bernarr had tried calling them back but had not gotten through. His days were composed completely of improvisation, the way he treated patients with whatever instruments and medicines he managed to acquire from underground markets. Just before 6:00 p.m., he diagnosed a young woman with severe pain in her belly. “Diverticulitis. An intestinal infection.”
“It hurts like crazy.”
He decided to manage her condition with the antibiotics on hand. “Will I have to stay?” she asked.
“It would be best.”
“I hate to miss,” and here she mentioned the rally as she assumed the good doctor already knew.
He arranged for the woman to be made comfortable in the ward, then left the examination area and went back to his office. At the meeting last night, he was as surprised as anyone by André’s decision. If, in the heat of the moment, he’d given André the benefit of the doubt, it had never made sense until now. “So this is what you’ve been up to,” Dr. Bernarr shook his head, looked toward the window, imagined the possibilities, stopped and considered them again.
Leo Covings lay in bed with Casmola, wondering if there would be any unpleasantness here. The possibility was rife in situations like this, the expectation each woman he slept with had for being cast in his next film. Casmela came with headshots and an audition tape. She memorized details from Leo’s career, recited them while touching his shoulder and then his knee. She laughed at his jokes, gave attentive replies to his comments. Seduced by the shimmy of her long black hair, he allowed her to kiss him as he spoke about Teddy’s project. She pulled away afterward, feigning surprise. Caught up in the moment, she hesitated, waited for permission to kiss him again, pretending as he slipped a hand beneath her shirt that she didn’t quite know what he was doing.
Leo rolled and reached for a cigarette, decided to give her five minutes more then ask her to leave. At his age there was no chance of rising to the possibility of seconds, and beyond this, he’d work he was anxious to get to now. The film he was brought in to help marshal through had, after many fits and false starts, finally taken a positive turn. He was excited and tried to concentrate in earnest, resented all other demands on his time; the daily interruptions by the American Consul, agents from the ministries, government journalists and representatives from the clergy. He was invited to dine with Teddy, to have drinks with Everett Doyle, all an increasing annoyance. He also had no desire to indulge Casmola and compromise his film by placating her with even the smallest part. He lay blowing smoke, not listening as she chattered on at him, measuring off the time before he finally said, “You should probably go,”
He got out of bed and walked to the bathroom, already plotting a new scene for the film. The vastness of the project, the promise and possibilities he could not quite get a handle on at first frustrated and then inspired him. He reviewed the rushes, went over old footage, searched for a thread to give the film its center. He put up a story board in his hotel room and tried to hammer out a script, yet nothing quite came together until yesterday, when André Mafante arrived and knocked on his door.
Emilo woke early and shuffled on casted feet. His head heavy from last night’s whiskey and pills, he went into the bathr
oom and braced himself with hands flat against the wall, peeing a stream of something more than yellow. He blamed his dreams for waking him, but there was nothing he could remember. Turning, he looked back through the apartment toward the window, saw shadows shift between the half parted drapes, rising to the ceiling. A scratchy rhythm from the street below, the sound of stones rubbing against leather. He found his canes, went to the window and called down, “What’s going on?”
Last night, and the night before, as André brought cheese and yams, Emilo pressed him to come clean. “After all these years, don’t think you got me fooled. I know you’re up to something.”
“What possibly?” André raised his hands. “ I ’ m just dealing with the inevitable, like you said.”
“Are you now? ” Emilo waved a stick of cheese. “An epiphany, is that it? I don’t think so. Come on, André. It’s me, Emilo. Give your old pal the news.”
Temporary People Page 9
