The Atheist's Messiah: Yanif

by Saul Dobney

  Dr Hill read her the headline. “Yanif arrested in Nairobi.”

  “Yanif?” said Jill. “What has he done now? Show me.”

  She lifted herself more upright on the bed to better see the screen of the tablet, coughing at the effort of movement. Dr Hill helped her and propped up the pillows behind her.

  She clicked play on the video report. On the screen Tremus was looking into the camera. “Tremus, sources in the Kenyan police say that Yanif has been arrested on charges of fraud and theft, could you respond to that.”

  “Yanif has been arrested, but they do not tell us on what charges. Yanif is innocent and we expect him to be released soon. We think the police have him mixed up with someone else. You know how the police are.”

  “Reports say you or Riaz hit one or more officers, but Yanif intervened.”

  Tremus nodded. “We did try to stop them arresting Yanif, but Yanif stopped us. Yanif is totally innocent. We are doing everything we can to get him released.”

  Jill stopped the video and scanned the text in the report beneath.

  “It says they arrested Yanif under anti-terror laws,” said Dr Hill. “The strange thing is if Riaz did hit a police officer, then why was only Yanif arrested and none of the others. Don’t you think there’s something odd about the whole thing?”

  Jill placed the tablet on her lap and lay back into the pillows. “We’re so far away how can we tell?” Her breathing rasped and wheezed and she coughed trying to clear the phlegm from her lungs.

  Dr Hill put a glass to her lips and she sipped at the water. As the coughing subsided, she snuggled back into the duvet pulling it tight around her. Dr Hill helped her lie flat on the bed again, smoothing out the pillow. He kissed her softly on the cheek and Jill closed her eyes and fell asleep.

  64. Night journey

  The cell door clanked open. Yanif lifted the rough blanket over his face to shade the harsh electric light from the corridor.

  “Your time is up,” said the prison officer at the door. “Mr Chiumbo wants you out. You have friends who have been asking questions in high up places causing trouble.”

  The officer pulled Yanif off the mattress and dragged him out towards the corridor. Yanif limped along the hallway, his ribs and legs sore and stiff from the beatings, heading towards a large metal fire door at the far end.

  “Is it clear to go?” the officer called to his partner.

  His partner heaved the door open and looked outside. Moths flitted in the halogen lights that lit the yard outside the station.

  “All clear. The van is waiting.”

  The older officer pushed Yanif through the door and out onto the top of the fire escape. In the courtyard, below the stairs a van had its engine running. Joe was standing next to a wiry man in a sharp suit and shirt.

  “Get a move on.” The officer kicked Yanif’s leg from behind.

  Yanif tumbled and fell, rolling down the stairs. His head banged against the steel steps leaving a gash of blood across his temple. At the bottom Yanif lay dazed in the night air.

  “Put him in the van Joe,” said the man in the suit.

  Joe smiled. His gapped teeth reflecting the yellow light.

  “Joe…?” said Yanif. “Are you here to help me Joe?”

  Joe laughed. “If there's no Chama then I got to find different work haven't I, Mr Yanif?”

  Joe scooped Yanif over his shoulder and bundled him into the back of the van. The doors closed and the darkness filled the void. The start-stop motion of the van gave way to a steady hum of an engine on a journey and Yanif tried to find comfort under the oily blankets in the back.

  After a while the van began to tip and bump. Yanif bounced around on the metal floor, the pain in his cuts and bruises amplified by the roughness of the road. The van stopped and voices came from outside. The doors opened and Joe dragged Yanif out into the scrub-land.

  Yanif’s eyes adjusted to a blue-black darkness lit by a heaven spread with stars. The man in the sharp suit stood over him flanked by silhouettes of men with rifles and anonymous faces. A flash of recognition burnt into Yanif’s mind from long ago.

  “You’re coming with me,” said Adu. “We have some unfinished business. We cannot have foreigners corrupting the souls of our people, claiming to be the King of Kenya. This is our land.” He buffeted Yanif towards a path that snaked upwards into the bush.

  Yanif struggled up the hill, the rocks cutting into his bare feet.

  At the top under an isolated acacia tree Adu forced Yanif to strip. Yanif tried to squat into a ball near the floor, but the men beat his bare back with acacia sticks, the thorns from the branches cutting into his skin. Unable to resist, Yanif covered his head with his arms and curled onto the ground. Looking through his fingers, Yanif could see Adu watching, finishing a cigarette.

  Adu flicked the spent butt onto the floor and nodded to the men. They grabbed Yanif’s arms and manacled them to a chain attached to a large lump of concrete. They heaved the concrete lump over an upper branch of the tree and lifted Yanif, leaving him suspended in the air.

  Yanif squirmed and writhed like a fish on a line. In turns the men pummelled punches into Yanif’s defenceless body. At first he tensed resisting the blows, but as his strength left him, his movement stopped and he hung from the tree like a lead pendulum marking out time.

  Adu stepped forwards. He took a knife out of his pocket and held it so the blade glinted in the moonlight. “Cure yourself of this, oh great healer,” said Adu. With a thrust he drove the blade up under Yanif’s ribs towards the heart.

  65. The body on the hill

  “Mama, Mama.” Isaac burst into the kitchen of his parents' house. “There’s a doll on the tree. Someone put a doll on the tree. Come. Come.”

  Pamela broke off her conversation with Eshe and shot a glance at Keneth and Mosi drinking tea around the kitchen table. “What doll? What tree? Where Isaac?”

  Isaac pulled his mother outside into the yard and pointed to a small mound on the skyline, where birds circled above an isolated tree. From the tree hung a limp figure swaying in the wind.

  “Go inside,” said Pamela. She shooed Isaac back through the door. “Keneth. Keneth. Come quickly. Something bad has happened. Something very bad.”

  Keneth came outside with Mosi and stared in the direction Pamela was pointing. The men looked at each other.

  “Stay here with the children Pamela,” said Keneth. “Don’t let them come near.”

  Keneth went inside and came out with a blanket, then he, Mosi and Eshe hastened across the grasslands towards the mound. As they reached halfway, Eshe screamed and broke into a sprint.

  “Yanif. It’s Yanif,” she yelled as she ran towards the tree, the birds taking flight.

  Ahead of her, Yanif’s lifeless body swung from a rope tied to a bough of the tree. She reached the top of the mound and grabbed at Yanif's legs, her eyes filling with tears, trying to lift his body weight as if there was still hope.

  “Help me Mosi. Help.”

  Flies zipped away from the gash in Yanif’s stomach and the pool of dried blood on the floor. His feet purple and swollen the last colour of a body incapable of life.

  Mosi arrived and ran to the trunk of the tree and tried to wrestle the chain free, but Yanif’s weight kept it taught. Only when Keneth arrived, panting and cursing, could the two of them untangle and untie the chain. Yanif’s body dropped to the floor, slumping onto the ground like a sack of grain.

  “Yanif. Yanif.” Eshe rubbed Yanif’s face, running her hands over his matted hair, his skin grey and cold. She touched his blue lips with her finger as though she could make him come alive. “No. No. It can’t be. No,” She threw herself on top of his body, sobbing, squeezing, ignoring the smell and bruises and blood-stained cuts.

  Mosi sank to his knees rocking to and forth.

  “How did he get here?” Mosi asked Keneth after a pause. He rubbed away the dampness on his cheek. “He was with the police. How did he get here?”

 
“Someone’s scratched something in the earth,” said Keneth marking out letters with his fingers. “B, E, W. ‘Beware. Prophet of Kenya.’ He has been left here so we can see him. Only the Mungiki would do that. It’s a lesson. Chiumbo must have taken him from the police.”

  Mosi and Keneth wrapped Yanif’s body in a blanket and carried it back to the house. Mosi held Eshe close, her tears soaking through his shirt as they walked.

  “Go inside. Go inside,” Keneth shouted to Pamela and Isaac who had come out to look. “This is nothing for women or children to see. Take Eshe with you.”

  The men reached the house and placed the body inside on the concreted kitchen floor. Eshe tried to stay with Yanif, but Mosi pulled her back.

  “There is nothing we can do now. Leave him in peace. I will call Tremus,” said Mosi. “He will know what to do.”

  “If this is Chiumbo,” said Keneth. “there is trouble ahead.”

  It took thirty minutes for Riaz and Tremus to arrive, tyres crunching on the dirt. They ran into the kitchen and stared at the body lying on the floor.

  Tremus knelt down and put his hand on Yanif's forehead feeling the cold skin against his palm.

  “What should we do Tremus?” asked Mosi. “Should we get the police?”

  “The police?” said Tremus. “The police did this. They had him. How would the police help?” He stood up and washed his hands under the tap by the sink, then banged the top of the steel draining board. “Someone will pay for this.”

  Keneth shook his head. “Chiumbo did it. He is giving us a sign.”

  “So what should we do?” repeated Mosi.

  “Put him in the Chama Hut,” said Keneth. “He will be safe there. Mosi, you look after the women. We will take care of Yanif. This is man's work now.”

  Riaz and Tremus carried the body to the Chama Hut with Keneth. They laid him on crates to keep him off the ground, then wiped the dust off his body and wrapped him in blankets.

  “We will need to be quick,” said Keneth. “The body will not last long in the heat. I will make the calls.”

  Tremus growled and was about to say something, but Riaz held him back.

  “Be discreet,” said Riaz to Keneth. “Chiumbo will be wanting an excuse to start something.”

  Keneth left for his house, leaving Tremus and Riaz in the empty circle of the village.

  “It's our Chama Riaz,” said Tremus. “We look after Yanif not Keneth. And he should be at Saint Peter's or The Retreat, not here.”

  “Careful Tremus,” said Riaz shaking his head. “It's not a sign. It's a trap. If we tell the police, they will come and arrest whoever they like. If no-one tells them, they will say someone told them and come looking for Yanif's body. Chiumbo is setting us up.”

  “So what do we do?” asked Tremus. “Either way we get arrested.”

  “We have to get him away from here,” said Riaz. “Somewhere they would not look.”

  “And how do we do that?” asked Tremus. “Fly him out of here? Chiumbo or the police are certain to stop us.”

  Riaz padded around rubbing his chin working through the options. After a few moments his face brightened. “I will call George,” he said. “He will know a way. Chiumbo would not dare to interfere with Mr Eden.”

  Riaz spent the next fifteen minutes on the phone.

  “It is arranged,” said Riaz. “George will come in Mr Eden's car. He will deal with Yanif. But we cannot tell anyone, not even Mosi or the women.”

  “Especially the women,” said Tremus. “We cannot rely on Eshe. They will believe he is at the Chama Hut waiting to be buried.”

  Eshe awoke in the darkness of the early morning. “Pamela, Pamela,” she called, feeling her way into the room through the black of an unfamiliar house.

  “Eshe, what’s the matter? Why are you walking around?” asked Pamela wrapping herself in a dressing gown.

  “We have to get Yanif ready. We have to go to the Chama Hut.”

  “The men did that,” said Pamela. “He has been cleaned. Go back to sleep Eshe.”

  “No. It will need to be done again,” said Eshe. “Tremus won't have done it right. We have to make sure he doesn't smell. We have to make sure he looks his best.”

  “Eshe. We can’t go in. Remember what Keneth said.”

  “But we have to. Yanif has to be cleaned. If I go now, it is dark. No-one will see.”

  Eshe started to put on her shoes.

  “Wait,” said Pamela. “I’ll come. But don’t disturb the children.”

  Eshe collected cloths and perfumes from the bathroom and the two women made their way along the road back to the village. As they approached, the first glimmers of orange light cast the shapes of the huts into relief standing silent like headstones in the first glimpse of day.

  “You should not go in Eshe,” said Pamela as they approached the hut. “You will not like to see Yanif’s body. It will scare you.”

  “He has to be cleaned,” said Eshe. “His spirit will be with me. I am not afraid.”

  “The door is open,” said Pamela as they neared the hut. “Who else has been here? I’m scared Eshe. What if the ngoma gets us.”

  They stepped into the darkness and shadows. In the absence of light the two women fumbled around the hut. The layout had changed and Eshe tripped against the crates. As they shuffled around something scurried out from under their feet through the door. From outside the first beam of light from the rising sun burst from behind a cloud and penetrated into the interior. Eshe put her hands up to shield the light and turned back to the now illuminated walls.

  The hut was empty.

  “Where is he?” screamed Eshe. “Where is he?”

  A noise came from outside and a shadow passed across the doorway.

  Eshe fainted to the floor.

  When Eshe awoke. Pamela was standing over her, eyes wild, trembling. The clouds had passed in front of the sun and the gloom had returned. The wind was blowing past the door whistling and rocking the hinges so the whole hut creaked.

  “Eshe. Eshe. We must go. I am scared. There are noises,” said Pamela.

  Eshe sat up. “He is gone. Yanif has gone. And then I saw this great whiteness. The angels have taken Yanif. The angels have taken Yanif away from the dead.”

  “We must go. I want to get home.”

  The women started for the entrance and the clouds parted, dazzling the women again. The howl of a dog came from the scrublands outside the village and Pamela tugged at Eshe’s hand.

  But Eshe had stopped. “Don’t you hear it Pamela? Yanif is here. Can’t you hear his voice? There is nothing to be afraid of.”

  Pamela stopped and listened.

  “There,” said Eshe. “There you can hear him? You can hear him?”

  Pamela grabbed Eshe by the arm. “I heard it. Look.” Pamela pointed.

  A shape moved behind a distant tree. And in that moment both women collapsed.

  “What do you mean you saw Yanif?” asked Tremus. “How could you have seen him? He was in the hut.”

  “No Tremus. No,” said Eshe. “The hut was empty.”

  Across the centre of the village, the Chama Hut was surrounded by people. Some on their knees praying, others mediating. Some peering into the hut and the pictures and writings still on the wall. A small plate of offerings stood by the door.

  Eshe shook her head. “You don’t understand. We saw Yanif. Pamela and me. We saw him in the daylight. Yanif is not dead any more.”

  66. News travels

  Dr Hill adjusted the picture of Jill on the mantelpiece; a picture of a picnic when they were still students sat in a meadow with the river behind them. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and straightened the black tie in his collar. Outside a long dark car drew up. He took a deep breath and made his way out.

  Nicholas was waiting at the end of the drive. Dr Hill locked the door and made his way along the path towards the waiting car.

  At the gate, Nicholas placed a hand on Dr Hill’s shoulder. “Are yo
u ready?” he asked.

  Dr Hill took a deep breath and nodded then climbed into the car.

  “It's not the right time,” said Nicholas, “but Niall called me. He had an email from Angelie with bad news. Yanif has gone.”

  “Gone?” repeated Dr Hill.

  Nicholas nodded. “Killed by criminals he said. But the body's disappeared.”

  “So it comes to an end,” said Dr Hill. He looked ahead through the windscreen towards the approaching crematorium and closed his eyes. Now it was Jill’s turn.

  67. New shoots

  “I had a message from a Polish priest in Rome this morning,” said Riaz. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and looked towards The Retreat where Kwasi and Mosi were tidying away the last of their tools. “A man called Straus. He said he knows a way that the Chama can continue.”

  Tremus followed Riaz's gaze at the refurbished building, the roof relaid and wooden walls freshly treated. “What do you mean? How can we carry on with no Yanif.”

  “We can be Yanif.”

  “What?” said Tremus he turned in his seat and scowled at Riaz. “How do we do that? This is nonsense Riaz.”

  “After all the work don't you want this?” asked Riaz. He swept his arm in an arc to indicate the extent of the estate, the swimming pool glinting blue with fresh water, the grass newly cut.

  “Of course,” said Tremus. “But how? Heather won't bring her friends with no Yanif. Steve said the story has ended.”

  Riaz shook his head. “Steve's wrong. Straus has a plan. You remember the villagers who asked for your blessing?”

  Tremus nodded.

  “Then that's what we do. We copy what Yanif did. We repeat what Yanif said. We give the blessings.”

  “What? Why would they believe us? And you want us to speak like Yanif and tell people to be poor too? It can't work,” scoffed Tremus.

  “Think about it, Tremus. Straus can help us get the words right, tell Yanif's story. The Chama still running in Yanif's memory, not just for what Yanif did but for what Yanif said. All we need to do is give them a reason to come. And Straus knows how to make it work.”