The Atheist's Messiah: Yanif

by Saul Dobney

  The chaplain shook his head. “Perhaps we should concentrate on the arrangements, rather than theology. The vigil is most definitely going ahead. It would look odd if you weren’t there. So as far as I can see we need to reach an agreement to make it work in both our favours.”

  33. Meeting Mr Chiumbo

  The receptionist smiled as Riaz led Tremus and Yanif into the fifth-floor ante-office. A large framed photograph of lions tackling a wildebeest was hanging on one wall, and a pop-up banner with a campaign picture of Mr Chiumbo raising his fist stood in the foyer.

  “We are here to see Mr Chiumbo,” said Riaz.

  The receptionist motioned towards the open door. “He's expecting you.”

  In the office, a man in his fifties, small and rotund was sitting on a large leather swivel chair behind a hand-carved teak desk talking to two men in suits seated on a sofa to the side. The office was spacious with views over the city. A zebra skin rug lay on the floor and a signed photo of Mr Chiumbo shaking hands with the President stood on the desk.

  “You must be Riaz,” said Mr Chiumbo holding out his hand. “And this shabby white boy must be the healer I have heard so much about.” He shook his head at Yanif's greying t-shirt, then sized Tremus up and down. “And you bring a bodyguard?”

  “This is Tremus,” said Riaz. “Yanif's friend.”

  Mr Chiumbo waved his hand to indicate that they should sit down.

  “I hear you have some business in my district,” said Mr Chiumbo, leaning back in his chair. “Some business partners said their deliveryman would not stop talking about someone who had cured his boy. And then at my golf club, the bar manager said Mr Eden has been telling everyone about a healer called Yanif. And then my receptionist had a call from you offering healing… It does not take much to add two and two together.”

  “You are the district governor,” said Riaz. “I would expect you to know what is going on in your district.”

  “Oh, I am much more than the district governor,” said Mr Chiumbo. He leaned forwards and smiled showing a flash of his straightened white teeth. “I am someone who can help you. If I say the word people jump and pay attention. I am surprised you did not come to see me before you did business in my district.”

  “We did not know such a fine man as yourself would be interested in our small attempts to earn a little money,” said Riaz. “Yanif is a fine healer, but it takes time to make contacts.”

  “Yanif just wants to help people,” said Tremus. “And we wanted to help him.”

  “Then we can help each other,” said Mr Chiumbo. “I can help you. And you can help me in return. But first I want to see what Mr Yanif can do.”

  Mr Chiumbo beckoned to one of his seated colleagues. “Show him your hands Tomo,” commanded Mr Chiumbo.

  A heavily built man with short cropped hair in a dark grey suit stood up and came towards them. Under his jacket sleeves his shirt cuffs were pulled down over bandages that covered his hands. Tomo unwrapped first the left, then the right hand and showed them to Yanif.

  Yanif held the right hand, its palm down and inspected.

  The skin and tendons around the knuckles were puffy and swollen with cuts across the joints, the fingers half curled, unable to be straightened. Yanif brushed his fingers across the knuckles blowing gently across the hand and with the cool air Tomo relaxed and watched with curiosity.

  Without warning, Yanif spat on the back of Tomo's hand.

  Tomo tensed and drew a breath through his teeth, a flash of anger in his eyes.

  Mr Chiumbo lifted his finger and Tomo held still, glowering as Yanif rubbed the spittle around the joints.

  Yanif moved on to the left hand, another spit, then more massaging with the same methodical attention. When he was finished he nodded.

  “And that is it?” said Mr Chiumbo. “No potions, pastes or spells?”

  Yanif half-bowed. “It is done.”

  “Tomo?” said Mr Chiumbo.

  “Feels OK. I guess it might be better.” Tomo straightened his fingers. “Yeah. A bit less sore.” He flexed one hand with the other, making the bones crack as he manipulated his fingers and grinned at Mr Chiumbo. “Not bad at all.”

  “So,” said Mr Chiumbo leaning forwards towards Yanif, “you have some skills. Then we can work together. I will help you, introduce you to the right people, and when the time comes you will give me certain things in return. You understand these things Riaz?”

  Riaz grinned and took a pack of business cards out of his pocket. “Of course. We would like any help you can give us Mr Chiumbo sir.” He gave Mr Chiumbo a card.

  “I have a fund-raising party in a few weeks. Some invited guests at my house. I would like Yanif to come. That can be arranged?”

  Riaz nodded.

  “But you will need some better clothes,” said Mr Chiumbo. He fingered the lapel of his jacket. “Clothes maketh man and I cannot allow you to be seen with me in such a state. If you are to meet important people, you will need to look important. Appearance is everything.”

  34. Village Two – Mr Coombe's car

  “Can you lift that end Mosi?” Tremus had his hands on a long plank of wood that jutted out over the rear fender of Riaz’s car.

  Mosi grabbed the end and helped Tremus haul it clear and the two of them balanced the plank on their shoulders and carried it to a clearing between the mud-walled village huts to where Yanif was nailing other planks to a low frame to form a temporary stage; the sound of his hammering reverberating across the plain.

  Riaz emerged from one of the huts with Mosi.

  “Tremus, why is the stage there?” called Riaz. “This is the space, here in the centre where everyone can see.” He opened his arms to indicate the area where Kwasi was playing ball with Janee and Isaac.

  “We need a tree to hold the lights,” said Tremus. “And where the tree stands is where the stage will go.”

  “Lights?” said Riaz. “What lights? There is no electricity here.”

  “Be organised you said. And I am organised,” said Tremus. “I have made a generator, and we will have light. And you? Are you organised? Have you prepared for tonight?”

  Riaz smiled. “While you were hiding in your workshop, we made preparations. We are going to have a show. A big show. Aren't we Mosi?”

  Mosi nodded. “First Kwasi, me and Eshe will sing. That will make everyone relax and create a good mood.”

  “And then I will tell everyone about Yanif and how he is going to heal Kenya,” said Riaz. “Yanif will make a blessing and then we bring people to the front.”

  “Do you know what you will say Yanif?” asked Tremus.

  Yanif raised his hands and shrugged.

  Riaz shook his head. “Yanif, I told you, be prepared. You must have something ready, something they will want to hear; a story or something to tell them how to make their lives better. Come with me and I'll give you some ideas of things to say.”

  Riaz put his arm around Yanif and the two of them walked to the outer fringes of the huts.

  Tremus sighed and picked up the hammer and took over making the stage.

  “Mr Coombe is here,” shouted Eshe from the other side of the village, struggling to manoeuvre a pack of water bottles to the stage.

  Behind her, Mr Coombe was carrying a large cardboard box. “I hope you don't mind, I brought a few things.”

  “Kwasi, Mosi,” called Tremus. “There’s food and drink to be taken out of Mr Coombe’s car.”

  “OK, boss,” shouted Mosi. “We're going.”

  “Have you seen his car Tremus?” asked Eshe putting the bottles next to the stage. “He could put an elephant in and still have space. These American cars are so grand and he’s filled it with food.”

  Before Tremus could respond, a drum banged from outside the village boundary.

  Across the plain, Benjamen, his mother and his father and small group of ten or twelve adults were walking into village. Benjamen’s father was pushing an garden wheelbarrow with a man covered in a b
lanket in the hopper. Behind them, two men pushed bicycles and another walked slowly with a stick. At the back a teenager was banging the drum.

  “We heard you have a celebration for the Healer of Kenya,” said Benjamen’s father greeting Tremus as they reached the half-built stage. “After what you did for Benjamen others wanted your help, so we have brought our friends.”

  He stood the barrow on the ground and shook Yanif by the hand.

  “And they told us you need money,” said Benjamen's mother. “So we have come to pay you for what you did.”

  Yanif shook his head. “Health is a gift. It is your blessing.”

  Riaz grimaced and hissed. “Yanif…”

  But Yanif put his hand in his pocket and handed Benjamen a small figure that he had been carving. “For you. A new toy to play with.”

  Riaz slapped Tremus on the arm in annoyance. “Tremus, we will need to talk with Yanif later. He has to understand how this works.” he hissed.

  Benjamen took the gift and smiled, flying the figure through the air like Superman.

  “Who's the little fella?” asked Mr Coombe bringing another box to the stage.

  “Benjamen,” said Eshe. “He had demons that wouldn't let him sleep. Yanif sent them away.”

  Mr Coombe knelt down and took some sweets out of his pocket and handed one to the boy.

  Benjamen grinned and popped it into his mouth. The sight of the candy brought the village children round and hands thrust towards Mr Coombe, the children bouncing and clapping for the sweets.

  “More of you,” he called. “If Tabitha was here she'd love to meet you.”

  Mr Coombe put his hand in his jacket pocket and pulled out another handful of sweets and launched them high into the air. The children leapt up to try to catch them as they fell, then dropped to the ground like pigeons chasing breadcrumbs for the ones they missed.

  While the children were chasing the sweets, Yanif wandered to the wheelbarrow. An old man with greying hair lay under a blanket in the hopper.

  The man pointed at his legs and shook his head. Yanif lifted away the cover exposing the man's sinewed shrunken thighs and calves. He rubbed his hand along the man's shin over the knee, then kneaded the man's thighs.

  The man flexed his legs, bending them and stretching out his foot and grinned. Yanif put out his hand and helped the old man clamber out of the wheelbarrow and onto solid ground. The man stood and threw his arms around Yanif, shouting to Benjamen's parents.

  “What's that?” exclaimed Mr Coombe. “Two seconds when my back is turned and there’s someone else cured. How on earth did you do that?”

  Yanif ignored the question.

  “I saw angels when he cured me,” said Benjamen. The boy put his hand into Mr Coombe’s jacket pocket to see if there were more sweets. “It was the angels that beat away the demons and evil spirits.”

  “I saw angels too,” said Isaac. “They had golden wings.”

  “All of you,” said Mr Coombe. “All of you cured by Yanif. Well now.” He squatted down beside Janee. “And what about you little one?”

  “He hasn’t cured me yet,” said Janee. “But look. There is an angel standing behind Yanif now.”

  The others turned. The light from the lowering sun flickered in Yanif’s hair giving him a golden glow. Mr Coombe took a deep breath and a breeze suddenly blew through the trees.

  Janee handed two of her sweets to Isaac then bounced up to Mr Coombe. “Can we show Benjamen your car? Please,” shouted Janee.

  “The car. The car,” chorused the other children.

  “Very well,” said Mr Coombe. He clicked the remote control in his pocket and the children watched wide-eyed as the car's lights flashed.

  “Can I? Can I?” asked Benjamen bouncing on the spot, his hand in the air. Mr Coombe handed Benjamen the remote and he pressed the button three or four times clapping at the sound of the central locking.

  The children ran to the car and pulled the doors open and climbed in to bounce on the back seats.

  Mr Coombe took another look at Yanif. He reached out to touch Yanif’s arm, and was about to say something when his phone rang. “Excuse me,” he said taking the call.

  Mr Coombe walked towards a hut on the edge of the village talking on the phone. As he left Riaz wagged his finger at Yanif.

  “Yanif. You cannot give away things,” said Riaz. “If you help someone, then we should get something in return. Explain it to him Tremus.”

  Yanif shook his head. “To do what is right is more important.”

  “Yanif,” said Tremus. “You want to help. But money, work, it can stop as quickly as it starts. Mosi and Kwasi had work and that stopped. We must plan for tomorrow, even if we think we have enough for today.”

  Yanif shook his head. “People must be helped. It should be a little money and no more.”

  Riaz kicked at a bucket knocking it over, spilling the water all over the floor.

  “Calm down Riaz,” ordered Tremus. “Go and take a walk or hammer a few more nails in.”

  From across the clearing by the huts, Mr Coombe put the phone back in his pocket and came back to Yanif and Tremus.

  “Sorry. I need to go.”

  “Is there some problem Mr Coombe?” asked Tremus.

  “Oh. Usual things,” said Mr Coombe. “Problems with officials. Some local busybody has impounded a shipment of Irish Whiskey and if I leave it over the weekend half the bottles will be missing by Monday. I’ll call. Why don’t you come over to dinner next week when things have quietened down? I want to hear a bit more about Yanif and the children.”

  The evening came and the darkness set in. The lights swayed as a gentle breeze blew through the trees giving the impression that the stage was floating on the sea.

  “Ready?” asked Tremus.

  Yanif held his breath, then let the air out and nodded.

  “Let's go. You’ve done this once already. This will be easy,” said Riaz.

  “OK. Sound. Lights,” called Tremus to everyone. He tapped the microphone bringing the audience to attention.

  Slowly people turned around and over the next few minutes took their places on the earthen floor, some sitting on upturned beer crates, others on blankets or shawls and many on the bare ground itself.

  When everyone had settled, Kwasi, Mosi and Eshe walked on to the stage, straining to see the faces of the villagers behind the brightness of the light. Taking a breath, they started to sway and clap and then to sing:

  “Working all the day to make the work pay

  Singing all the night to bring back the light…”

  When the singing finished Riaz took the microphone. “This evening we have the greatest healer in Kenya with us. When I first met him he picked me out and said ‘Riaz. I want you to help me. Kenya needs healing and I need your help.’ And now he will help you.”

  “Are you going to get the chickens to lay again?” called out a voice from the darkness.

  Riaz put his hand up to shadow his eyes from the light and said, “He will make your chickens lay. He has come here to bless your village to cure your broken backs and drive out evil spirits. Kenya’s healer, Yanif…”

  Riaz put out his arm to welcome Yanif onto the stage and the children clapped and jumped among the adults sitting on the ground.

  Riaz gave him a nudge. “You remember,” whispered Riaz.

  Yanif cleared his throat and took stock of the faces. He steadied himself, then began:

  “Once, a man lost his favourite bracelet. He went to the market and bought the best new bracelet he could find. But when he got home, he found the old bracelet under his bed. The next day he returned to the market and told the seller that he had found his old bracelet. ‘You must take back this new one,’ he said.

  “The seller looked at the man’s tattered and scratched old bracelet and asked ‘Why would you want to keep this old one when you now have such a beautiful new bracelet? If you had not found the old one you would be happy. Let me take your old bracelet in re
turn for some beads. Then you will be doubly happy. It is better to give up what is old for something new.' ”

  A murmur of confusion came from the audience unsure of what to make of what Yanif had said.

  Yanif put his hands together in prayer, and knelt on the stage in the swaying light.

  After an uneasy interval Riaz ran back onto the stage. “Now please come and shake hands with Yanif to benefit from his healing power.”

  The children darted forwards and Eshe and Mosi helped the older people up from the ground. As a queue formed Kwasi and Mosi started to clap and sing stamping out the rhythm with their feet.

  “Remember, there is a collection going around,” called out Riaz over their voices. “You can help Yanif heal Kenya.”

  35. Jill's news

  Legs pumping, Dr Hill had his head down, pedalling furiously through the grey slush of the Cambridge streets, past the snow carpeted lawns and frosted college buildings, ignoring the pedestrian lights and the sound of a horn as he cut the corner into Hills Road.

  At his house, he dropped his bike on the drive and ran inside, leaving the door ajar behind him. Along the passageway Jill stood trembling by the kitchen door, her eyes wide and reddened, imploring him.

  He ran along the hall, and took her in his arms and hugged her, holding her close, feeling her sob against his shoulder. He brushed the back of her hair and Jill took three or four deep breaths and he slowly released her, wiping the tears from her cheek with his finger.

  “What is it?” he asked. “Why the panic? What was it you couldn't tell me on the phone?”

  Jill sniffed and waved her hand towards a large white envelope on the kitchen table. “The doctor gave me the results this morning.”

  “The doctor? What results?” asked Dr Hill.

  “My smear test results and more. You know, the tests at the doctor's. You never pay attention.”

  Dr Hill squeezed his wife's hand. “Is it bad news?”

  “The pap test and the HPV tests were positive James. Positive. Look.”

  Jill picked up the envelope and half-threw it at her husband.