by M L Rudolph
Matt sipped his tepid beer.
“The concièrge as you would expect was very upset for his niece. He wanted revenge. I guess part of the revenge was to break into Le Croc’s storage facility, more of a shack really, and take a stash of stolen passports. That’s how my passport showed up. It was stolen back by the concierge.”
Fletcher looked up. “That’s not what you just said.”
“Well, I was trying to keep it simple.” Matt cut him off before he could accuse him of lying.
“Go on then,” Fletcher said. “So you got your passport back. Then what?”
Matt drew on his beer.
“Outside this shack, the rapist got in a vicious fight with the concièrge and his nephew. The concièrge convinced me that if I went back to the hotel, Le Croc would for some reason hold me responsible for the injuries to his son. That there was no way I could be protected.”
Matt finished off his beer while Fletcher scribbled furiously to the end of a page and started a new one.
“Ready?”
“Go on.”
“They gave me about two seconds to decide whether to come north by car or take my chances back at the hotel.”
Matt felt exposed for changing his story and perhaps telling more than he should, but at the same time he felt if he couldn’t rely on his own countrymen then who the hell could he rely on.
Fletcher looked up with a terse smile. “That’s better.”
“So now what?” Matt said.
“May I ask questions now?”
“Listen. I’m telling you everything I know. I’m not exactly what you’d call an expert on this place.”
“What’s the name of this concièrge?”
“Jean-Louis.”
“Family name?”
“I don’t know. You could probably ask the hotel. Le Grande Hôtel.” Matt wanted to focus on Le Croc. He was the crook. And involving Jean-Louis would only make Sally’s life more difficult than it already was. He didn’t give a whit about Jean-Louis, but Sally was the innocent victim, and he hated to see her suffer for the venal behavior of her uncle.
“We’ll find him. You drove up here with this concièrge and his nephew, then?
“Yeah.”
“From Abidjan? And you left yesterday morning?”
“Yeah.”
“Amazing. You made great time. So I suppose this Jean-Louis has a home here? He didn’t drive all this way to drop you off.”
“That’s the impression I got.”
“But you don’t know where that is, I suppose.”
“No, I’m sorry. Can’t help you there.”
“And this Jean-Louis, he knew where to find the stolen passports.”
“Apparently.”
“And he kept them?”
Matt was getting uncomfortable with the implication that if the stolen passports were with Jean-Louis, and Matt had just spent two days in a car with him, then Matt would know where those passports were. “If he did, it was only to hurt Le Croc.”
Fletcher asked a few more questions, dancing around the location of the stolen passports, and writing far more than it would appear necessary to transcribe Matt’s answers. Matt did his best to stay cool by eating his cheeseburger and sipping a second beer until at last Fletcher put down his pen.
“I think the best thing is to go ahead and get you that emergency passport,” Fletcher said. “We can’t let you keep the stolen one of course. If I need anything else, you’ll hear from me.” Fletcher closed his file and dug into the rest of his burger. “So I suppose you’ll be continuing on to Upper Volta, then?”
“I hadn’t planned to but, yes, I will be. As soon as you give me a passport and I can get a flight,” he said. “I’m not even sure where this Waga place is.”
“Not far. An hour or so by air. Schedule depends on when the planes arrive. Sometimes they’ll be a day late. Or just not show. There are truck routes from Bamako, but I wouldn’t. Too much of a chance for something to go wrong. You get caught out there with a broken axle or something and you’re screwed. Better to fly, even with the delays. Air Afrique usually flies about twice a week.”
A hulk of a man threw his shadow over their table. Matt mistook him for a waiter and leaned back to let him clear his plate. “All yours, thanks.”
The man let out a booming laugh. “Not my job.” He broke into a wide grin and extended a chubby hand with a wide leather watch band. “Pete Kolarik.” He shook hands with Matt then with a polite but unreceptive Deke Fletcher. “Couldn’t help overhearing. Just wanted to introduce myself.”
Matt sniffed a peculiar smell to the man. He was mid-twenties, heavy untrimmed beard and the square obstructing build of an offensive lineman. He wore a lived-in blue-jean shirt and dark jeans. Despite his extra-large frame, this Pete Kolarik projected a kind of fragile self-confidence.
The big man dragged a chair from an adjoining table and straddled it, meaty forearms resting on the back. “Sorry to barge in like this but I heard you mention Ouaga and I’m headed there next. Was hoping to be there by now, actually, but I ran into a little logistical problem in The Gambia. Ever been there? Strange country. Like the English stuck their finger up France’s African ass.” He laughed generously at his humor. “The country’s about a mile on either side of the river.”
“We were having a private meal,” Fletcher interrupted, annoyed.
“Oh, I don’t mean to intrude. But, I mean, we’re all Americans, right?” He showed no intention of taking Fletcher’s hint and leaned toward Matt. “So, you headed there? Is that what I heard?”
“I suppose I am,” Matt said, uncomfortable at having been overheard by such a loud glad-hander. “But if you don’t mind, were in the middle….”
Kolarik continued. “I’m supposed to meet someone there, but I haven’t been able to get a message to him to tell him I’m late, though I guess he’s figured that out by now.” He laughed, undeterred by his cool reception.
He rubbed his hands as if getting warmed up, then made his offer. “What would you say to going halvsies with me on a jeep, and going to Ouaga by road? I got a pretty good price from a dealer in Bamako on a Land Rover. Some Frenchie left it behind. I’m planning to drive it across and sell it. My friend might even be interested. Can’t speak for him, of course, but I’m pretty sure he’ll take it off our hands. He needs transportation and I know he’s got a two-year contract. What do you think? Helluva lot safer than taking these beaten up planes. You know Air Mali buys them used from Air France, right? They’re at least thirty years old. And you don’t even want to think about maintenance.”
“I think he said he wasn’t interested.” Fletcher lost his patience. “And, really, we’re discussing business here.”
Kolarik eyed Fletcher’s untouched pickle spear. “You gonna eat that?”
Matt took a deeper look at this brawny countryman unwilling to take no for an answer. He was about Karl’s age. He could have a powerful build if he put any effort into it. He reminded Matt of a Doberman puppy he once had, awkwardly unaccustomed to his sudden size.
Fletcher took a bite of his pickle.
“I don’t think I’m in the mood for a road trip,” Matt said, imagining the horror of a cross country trek with this Pete Kolarik—and what was that rancid smell? “Not for me, thanks. But good luck. I’m sure you’ll find someone.”
“You sure? You’d be passing up a great experience.”
“I’m very sure.”
“What hotel you at?”
Matt shrugged, unwilling to answer the question so loudly and so publicly.
“Just in case I hear anything about your son. Sorry. You hear everything in this place, didn’t you notice? I’m leaving tomorrow morning—get a jump on the heat. If I get any news on—what’s his name again?—I’ll let you know. We Americans have to stick together out here.”
Matt stood up to signal the discussion was definitely over. “Good luck to you.” He remained standing until Kolarik backed off his chair and ret
urned to a round of groans at the corner table.
Fletcher dropped his voice when Matt sat back down, “Garlic, in case you were wondering. Some people eat the cloves out here as an anti-malarial.”
“Damn, that reminds me,” Matt said. “I need to get malaria pills. I lost them with everything else.”
“What hotel you in?”
Matt told him.
“No problem. There’s a pharmacy near there. I’ll tell your driver to stop on the way back. You do have money don’t you?”
Chapter 18
Later that afternoon, from his sixth story view from the Hôtel du Mali, Matt was watching a family of hippos wallowing at the Niger’s edge when the phone rang.
“I got you,” Melanie said, obviously relieved. “I was beginning to worry.”
The scratches and echoes on the line forced Matt to jam the receiver to his ear.
“It took me hours to get through to the hotel in Abidjan. I think they put me through to your room, but I couldn’t tell. It just rang and rang.”
“Things don’t go like you expect them to here. I’ll tell you all about it, but first, how are you doing? That’s more important.”
“I’m good, Mattie. I’ve been sleeping. Weather’s decent so I’m taking my walks with Annie. Everyone’s been so supportive. I don’t think I’ve had to make one meal since you left. Not that I’ve got much appetite. But I’m fine. I don’t want you to worry about me. I want to hear about Karl. What have you found out?”
“I met with the Consular Officer in Bamako. Very helpful guy. Even took me out for a hamburger, if you can believe it.”
“Is that safe? The meat, I mean. Can you trust it?”
“It was the embassy café. The embassy staff eat there.”
“Okay, just promise me you won’t take any unnecessary chances.”
“Me? The intrepid traveler? In the heart of Africa? What could possibly go wrong?” he said, in an attempt to inject humor.
“Well, it isn’t what you’re used to.”
“That’s for sure. But anyway, I found out Karl’s registered with the embassy in Upper Volta.”
“Ouagadougou?”
“Of course you’d know the capital. I’ve got a flight out Monday. That should be my last stop. I’m hoping to have an address or something the next time we talk. Or maybe even have him with me on the phone.”
“Oh, Mattie, that’s great! So when’ll that be? Saturday, Sunday, Monday. Three more days?”
“With any luck.”
“I’m so proud of you. And you know what I’ve been thinking? If I keep getting stronger, maybe you and I should take a trip. You know, some place exotic. Like Machu Pichu. Wouldn’t that be a kick?”
“Picture this: when the phone rang, I was looking down on a herd of hippos in the Niger. Thinking of you.”
Her laugh echoed through the underwater communication tunnel. “Did something about them remind you of me?”
“Maybe,” he joked. “I was just thinking you should be here. Everything’s so strange. Like down by the pool, there’s a vulture chained to an iron post. Somebody threw it a chunk of meat and it ripped into it with its beak. We should have taken a trip like this long ago.” He looked down at the pool, waiters setting tables in preparation for the evening meal. “I really screwed up, didn’t I?”
“Yes, you did,” she said without malice. “But that’s a long time ago. Tell me more. What else have you seen?”
“Well,” Matt said, wavering between answering her question and emphasizing how much he wanted to atone.
He walked out on Melanie for a younger, prettier, livelier woman who lost interest in him the minute they got married. “It’s just not the same,” Joy said, meaning no more sneaking around. Her marital bliss didn’t survive I do. After his abrupt second divorce, Matt lived the single life, as did Melanie. There were dates and “friends” over the years, but nothing that ever developed.
“There’s this massive baobab tree next to the pool,” he said. “Two spider monkeys are chained to a smaller tree. I haven’t seen any crocodiles yet but they say they’re all along the river and in the lagoons. And the howls at night are supposed to be hyenas. It’s like living in a game park. And the stars. You wouldn’t believe how bright they are. Practically blazing.”
“It sounds wonderful. I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself, and you’ve stayed safe. But tell me, you said things don’t go as planned. What did you mean by that?” She always detected what he didn’t say.
“Oh, everything.…”
“They said you hadn’t checked out.”
“Ah, well. You think you do the right thing and somehow it turns out all wrong. The language is a huge problem. I never know if I understand or if I’m understood. But anyway we have good news. I’ll place the next call Monday or Tuesday. As soon as I find Karl.”
Could she tell he was holding back, that he was forcing his optimism?
“And the people there? What do you call them? Ivorians?”
“There yeah. I’m in Mali now.”
“What’s that like? Other than the hamburgers, what do you eat?”
She laughed when he described his diet of omelets, steaks, fries, and beer.
“Meat and potatoes all the way, huh?” she said.
Afterwards, Matt felt both better and worse for talking to Melanie. Better for hearing the strength in her voice, worse for not telling her the complete story. But this was a difficult time, and she had enough weight to bear. He couldn’t burden her with his troubles; the entire purpose of this trip was to relieve her of the added stress of not knowing about Karl. As long as she held out hope, and he encouraged that hope, he shored up her well-being. At least that’s how Matt justified his half-truths when he hung up.
He washed down his newly bought malaria pills with bottled water from the mini-bar, followed by a pair of miniature Johnnie Walker Black chasers, then opted to eat dinner at the poolside restaurant. He’d expand his diet and surprise Melanie on the next call.
Down by the pool, a warm breeze off the Niger rustled the surrounding trees. Traffic hummed from the distant Pont des Martyrs. Uniformed waiters served a blend of European and African diners. Small spot lights illuminated patches of spare but tended grounds around the hotel.
Before he could order, night cloaked the countryside and the ascending half-moon began chasing the stars. Sitting beneath this celestial display, Matt sensed an immense reach and emptiness and was reminded of a similar warm and starry night in Indiana when Karl still slept in pajamas, and trundled outside to the back patio in need of his father.
“What is it?” Matt asked, to his son’s troubled frown.
“I can’t sleep,” Karl mumbled.
“Come here,” Matt said, loving the opportunity to provide comfort and shelter.
Karl squeezed in the reclining lawn chair next to his father and they said nothing for a while, thoughts pulled skyward into the stars. The neighbors had turned off their lights, the moon was new, and Matt spotted Venus rising in the west.
“Something keeping you up?”
Karl nodded, his hair tickling the side of Matt’s neck.
“You want to talk about it?”
Matt listened to his son’s breathing as a shooting star flashed over the shadowy tops of the maple trees.
“I read something that I can’t stop thinking about.”
Matt instantly worried Karl had seen something violent and disturbing. LIFE magazine had been publishing photographs of the Vietnam War. The magazines were lying around the house. He should have put them away, should have placed them out of reach, should have put them in….
“Infinity.”
“Infinity?” Matt forgot about the magazines. “You read something about infinity?”
“In my science book. I can’t stop thinking about it. It really bothers me. I mean, how can space not end? How can it just go on and on? How can we even know that?”
Matt was proud and astonished—plus relieved with t
he path their talk took. His little boy was struggling with such an immense idea in one of those moments he would forever remember, a landmark in his son’s life and in his. That night, in the backyard under the stars, in the town he never wanted to leave, was a moment as close to perfect as he could imagine. He hugged his son and encouraged him to talk, to free his troubled imagination as he luxuriated in the smell of Karl’s shampoo, the softness of his cotton pajamas, the working of his young mind.
“It makes you seem so unimportant,” Karl said.
“It’s a concept, an idea.”
“No, it’s not! It’s real! It’s the universe. It’s infinite. Without end. Doesn’t that scare you?”
They sat quietly for a minute under the winking stars, thinking each their thoughts, aware of the touch and warmth of one another. Matt wanted to show respect for Karl’s concerns but felt out of his depth. He wasn’t sure how to explain, how to put his son at ease. Maybe it was one of those ideas, like mortality, you couldn’t deny. You just had to learn to embed the uncomfortable discovery into your life. Then he remembered something he once read.
“Why did you laugh?” his son said, with a troubled scowl.
“You know, Karl, you could think about it this way.” He gave his son a small hug. “If space is infinite, if it is so huge we can’t even measure it, then where’s the center of it all?”
Karl didn’t answer.
“It could be there.” Matt pointed up at Venus. “It could be over there.” He swept his arm across the sky, aiming for the North Star. “Or, if space and time are infinite, the center of the universe could be. Right. About. Here.” He tapped Karl’s chest. “And right about now.”
Karl wriggled under his father’s finger.
Matt resisted the urge to dive into a tickling session. The moment deserved more respect than that. “Well, think about it. If you’re the middle, that makes you pretty important, doesn’t it?”
Karl shook his head in disagreement, but Matt could see the hint of a suspicious smile. He wrapped his arms around his son and rocked him in an embrace. “I think you’re pretty important anyway.”
