by M A Moore
“How about my clothes?”
“We had rain this morning and Sister Ingrid neglected to bring them in beforehand, so they are not yet dry. They should be ready by tomorrow.”
Sister Gertrude set the worn piece of terrycloth down on the end of the bed.
“Where is my sister now?” Mike asked between mouthfuls of soup. Until he started eating, he was unaware of how hungry he was.
“She is either helping Sister Ingrid fix the fence around the garden or reading books in my father’s library, bless his departed soul. Our poor vegetable patch has suffered. Every evening some beast that lives in the neighborhood raids its contents.” Sister Gertrude shook her head. “I am not sure if a fence will be a sufficient determent, but we will remain optimistic until proven otherwise. I will let you finish your soup in peace.” Sister Gertrude turned to leave the room, only stopping momentarily to look at the portrait of Jesus with a bullet hole centered in his forehead.
Mike put the spoon and mug down on the tray grateful for every mouthful and wanting more. He drank some quinine water from the pitcher. He took inventory of his body. The necessity of a shower was clear. He could smell the combination of his own musk and sweat. Feeling his jaw and the top of his head, he also realized he needed a shave. His backpack sat next to the bed. Digging through it, he found his phone. He pressed the power button, but the screen stayed blank. The battery was dead. This puzzled him. He knew he hadn’t recharged it since he got sick, but he hadn't used it either. He tossed the useless device back into the bag and rooted through it for his shaving kit. His spare set of clothes was gone.
Rising from bed for the first time in a couple of days, he was stiff. He stretched his back muscles and reached for the towel. It was more than large enough to cover him. He wrapped it around himself like a toga and headed out to the shower toting along his shaving kit.
The door led to a compound surrounded by a few cinder block structures with roof tiles instead of the more usual thatch or banana leaves. The court yard of packed dirt had a water pump in the center. Various potted plants sat around it with climbing vines that reached to the top of the trellises supporting them. Mike recognized squash plants and some orange trumpet-shaped flowers that softened the harshness of the place. He heard hammering somewhere behind a couple of the buildings and women laughing. He assumed it was Amy and Sister Ingrid repairing the fence.
The shower area was open to the air, but had enough wooden slats to provide a modicum of modesty to the one taking the shower. A concrete slab with a drain kept the runoff from pooling beneath his feet. An overhead tank with a pull chain supplied the water, and a four inch chunk of the ubiquitous green soap sat on a dish nearby. The water was cool, and it felt good to wash the dried sweat off his skin. He took his time showering and shaving. Without a mirror available he had to shave by feel alone, so he left his head for the next visit to a barber. Resuming his toga he went back to his room. Even this effort had tired him, and he needed to sleep again.
Amy was lying on her side as close as she could to the edge of the bed curled into a fetal position. She was wearing one of Sister Gertrude’s shifts. He looked at the chair where he had last seen her and the thin mattress on the floor next to it. No evidence it had been used presented itself. Bed bugs? He couldn't sleep sitting up, and he needed the rest. He lay down on the other side of the bed, keeping his distance from her and closed his eyes.
When he awoke it was already dark. Amy hadn't moved. She was still curled up with her back towards him. He turned on his side to face her and supported his head on the edge of the pillow. He reached out his fingers to stroke her bare arm. She didn’t even stir. Her skin was remarkably soft and he explored the back of her neck and across her right shoulder, caressing both with a light touch. Her breathing deepened and became more relaxed, but she kept her eyes closed. He thought she was still sleeping, or maybe just pretending to.
He moved his fingers to her back. Even through the thin cotton of the shift he felt her tense muscles releasing. The space between her breaths became longer and her body relaxed more deeply. After exploring each vertebra of her spine and the attached ribs, he worked his way down to her firm buttocks. He followed the contours of her hips along her thigh and marveled at the musculature, never more than a feather’s touch with his middle finger.
As he traced the inside of her right cheek he stopped to stroke her tailbone. Her breath caught, holding it until he resumed his explorations. When he returned to her waist the fingers of her left hand intertwined with those of his right. Her eyes were still closed and her breathing deep and slow.
He rolled her over on her back and considered how he would proceed. He moved her hand to her side and stroked the center of her throat following her collarbone across her chest reaching as far as the shift would allow. He undid each button exploring along the way. His thumb encircled her right breast. They were small, and in the dark he imagined her nipples were pink to go with her blond hair. He circled his way in towards one, and was gratified with profound inner satisfaction as it became erect.
He was in no hurry. Maybe it was the fact that he was still weak from the recurrence of his malaria. Maybe it was because he was not a twenty-year-old anymore. But he derived great pleasure in watching her body respond to his touch.
He teased her second nipple into attention again, and unbuttoned the rest of the shift with the same slow care he had given to all of his movements. He traced her breast bone and continued to her navel, and then further to her pubic area. Her hair down there was fine and sparse, and with calculated rhythm he stroked and lightly caressed the sensitive area between the lips of her labia. She exhaled slowly and held her breath and her hips rose to meet his touch. She was close to orgasm, but he would make her wait a bit longer. He teased her exquisitely, feeling the wetness between her legs. He could tell she was no virgin, but he assumed it had been a while since a man had pleasured her like this. He sensed she was ready, and when it came her whole body rippled in release.
She intertwined her fingers with his and opened her eyes. Moonlight through the window lit her face and she looked beautiful to him.
She turned on her side to face him folding her right arm under her head -her left hand caressing the lines of his mouth, and stroking his lips. He kissed her fingertips, and closed his eyes. He pushed the shift over her shoulder. She slipped it off, and let it lie between her and the sheets covering the mattress. She took his hand and moved it to his side and gently turned him on his back. Her finger tips brushed his bottom lip once more, followed the cleft in his chin, down his throat. He was glad he had taken the time to shave properly. She repositioned herself so his nipples were in easy reach and circled each with her tongue, and then gently blew until it became erect.
He gave in to her explorations of his body with simple grace. He knew how to make love to a woman. Francoise had taught him well in the art of pleasuring her, but he had never had a woman make love to him like this. He felt himself growing more excited, but not with such an urgent need -at least not yet. He wanted this to last forever.
When she began stroking from his knee up along his inner thigh, he knew he could not hold out much longer. Sensing his urgency, she laid her stomach across his, wrapping her calves along his legs. His body quivered in the release. She laid her head on his chest, feeling the fine hairs of his chest on her cheek, and let him regain his senses. He put his arms around her and kissed the top of her head. He closed his eyes and fell into a contented dreamless sleep. Maybe his fondest dream had just been fulfilled.
When he awoke he was alone. He scanned the room and noticed his clothes folded neatly on the stuffed chair. He dressed and left to find her. He heard water running from the shower and went to investigate. She had filled a basin with water and was using a sponge to soap herself up. He joined her in the open cubical, took the sponge from her hand and began washing her back. She pulled the chain to release the water from the overhead tank.
“You’re getting my
clothes wet.”
“I believe a cold shower is what we both need right now,” Amy replied with an unexpected coolness of tone. He turned her around to face him, the water dripping from her hair. The front of his shirt and khakis were wet.
“You’re married, aren’t you?” It was really a statement rather than a question.
After a moment’s hesitation, he nodded guiltily.
“The story of my life,” Amy replied as she closed her eyes and exhaled fully.
“How did you find out?” Mike asked.
“I took the opportunity to look through your cell phone while you were recovering. You really should use a more secure password. Please just leave me alone right now.”
Mike swallowed hard. He took her bare shoulders in his hands, pulled her close and kissed the top of her wet head. He let her go to finish her shower in peace. Complications upon complications, he thought.
Why do men do this? Amy pulled the chain on the water tank and washed the remaining soap off her body. And I always get too attached, and it will break my heart when I have to let him go.
She had been here before. There was no anger in her eyes, only resignation.
Chapter 21
For decades Bulawayo was regarded as the industrial center of Zimbabwe and the city served as the hub of the country's rail network with the National Railways. Because of its strategic position near Botswana and South Africa Bulawayo is still considered a major city in western Zimbabwe. It is the nearest large city to Hwange National Park, Matobo National Park and Victoria Falls.
Mike and Amy made ready to leave the two sisters, but the question was: where should they head? It had been three days since Mike contacted Bonner, and he wanted to know if an update on Widdon’s whereabouts was available.
Mike and Amy ate a simple farewell breakfast with the sisters. Mealy meal and some unremarkable stewed vegetables were the usual fare. There was also tea -hot and strong, but without sugar. Sister Gertrude was in her mid-forties and her sister Ingrid was only maybe five years younger. They had lived in this spot for decades. They were mere children when their parents came here from Germany to set up the laboratory and clinic. Gertrude was old enough to recall the isolation when they arrived, but the town of Bulawayo had grown considerably in the last thirty years. At one time their family ran a kindergarten that nearby children attended, but now there was a government run school close by that their neighbors preferred even though they had to pay tuition.
Their mother had been a trained nurse, and their father was a chemist who did assays for a local mining company. Sister Gertrude didn’t remember the name of the mine or what they quarried. She was only twenty when their papa died from an aggressive form of malaria. Their mother continued with the school and clinic for a few more years, and she taught Gertrude simple nursing skills. Ingrid didn’t have the aptitude for it. Their mother had withered away from some tropical fever and from loneliness.
Ingrid stayed quiet while her sister told Mike the family's history. Amy knew that she could talk. She had been a chatterbox when they did repair work on the vegetable garden’s fence. But she almost never spoke if Mike was around. She was a bit shy and even a little simple-minded. The older people in the area still came to the clinic for common complaints such as cuts that always seemed to get infected. But the sisters had few visitors anymore. A trust fund gave them enough money to live a simple life. Mike asked Sister Gertrude why they didn’t just move back to Germany. She replied that this was their home and they were comfortable here.
Amy had heard most of their story while Mike was convalescing. She made use of their father’s technical reference library and his laboratory equipment to test some of the sample that Robert had given her. The protocol for determining lithium content was not complicated. She had taken an analytical chemistry course as an undergraduate so she was familiar with some of the techniques used. The results surprised her. According to her assay there was no lithium in the sample. At first she thought the chemicals were old or she had misread the instructions. She had enough confidence in her abilities to doubt that either of those was the case. She decided not to share this information with Mike –at least not yet. She would with Robert when she saw him again -if she saw him again.
Amy waved to the sisters as they pulled out of the clinic’s parking area. They wouldn’t take any money, but Amy left some cash on the bedside table. Mike suggested they head off to Bulawayo so he could get his cell phone battery checked.
Amy reached behind her and retrieved her purple backpack. She dug to the bottom of it and got out his battery pack. Mike hadn't been aware she had removed it during his illness. He eyed her malevolently and handed his phone over to her. She replaced the battery and turned it on before handing it back to him.
“I didn’t want anyone to be able to find us for a while,” Amy stated without a trace of guilt, daring him to comment further.
When Mike called Bonner, he was indigent. “Where have you both been for the last four days?” he demanded.
“Unavoidably laid up,” was Mike’s reply. “Any news on Widdon?” Mike put the phone on speaker so that Amy could hear the conversation. He was still trying to forge a bond of trust between them.
“He isn’t in Harare. His bosses and ours have come to an agreement to join forces, at least temporarily.”
”Does he know this?” Mike asked with more than just a trace of sarcasm.
“We assume his handlers have informed him,” was the only reply.
“Where is he? “
"Still in Zimbabwe -somewhere in the Bikita district near the Mozambique border.”
“Any idea why?”
“We know it’s a mining area. Other than that, his superiors have not let us into their confidence.” They hung up with a promise to re-connect later that day.
Mike looked over at Amy inviting her to shed some light on the situation. He knew she was keeping information from him. But she turned her head to gaze out the window and refused to meet his eyes.
Mike pulled the jeep off to the side of the road. A truck or two passed by them, but traffic was minimal. He retrieved an area map from under the seat.
“Rather low tech, isn’t it?” Amy commented as Mike unfolded it and laid it across the steering wheel.
“Low tech is always reliable here in Africa,” Mike replied. After studying it for a bit he announced, “We can take the A9 out of Bulawayo. That will get us to the Bikita region in about six hours. But I think we should stop and see a friend of mine along the way.”
Amy had no objections. She was out of her comfort zone. She had little idea of where they were or what to expect. Robert had told her that the clay sample would have a relatively high concentration of lithium and her assay showed it had none at all. She was happy to let Mike take the lead in this until she could devise some better plan of how to proceed.
“Ralph Toomey, our local guide at Vic Falls, was a colleague of mine during the bush wars. He lives around here. The tourist industry gives him the opportunity to earn extra money, but I think SAI provides most of his income.”
“SAI?”
“South African Intelligence.”
“Do you trust him?” Amy asked. Amy had gotten strange vibes from Toomey when they were at Victoria Falls. She had dismissed them at the time, but maybe she shouldn’t have.
“As much as I trust anyone.” Mike felt the need to explain further. “Combat makes for unusual alliances. I saved his life once, in return he watched my back. Other than the occasional tourist job in this area, I haven’t spent time with him since I left the military. With the unrest and uncertain political situation here in Zimbabwe tourism is down and our paths rarely cross. I heard he has taken on a second wife and has a few more kids now.”
“Interesting,” was Amy’s only comment as she stared out the jeep’s side window.
Mike made another call and agreed to meet Toomey at a bar just south of Bulawayo.
Chapter 22
Banana beer is
made from perfectly ripe East African Highland bananas. Ripening can be accelerated by burying less ripe fruit in a hole that is dug in the ground and lined with dried banana leaves. The leaves are then set on fire. Fresh banana leaves are laid on top of them, and then the unripe bananas. These are then covered by more fresh banana leaves and pseudostems. After four to six days, the bananas are ripe enough. Of course this method only works in the dry season. During the rainy season, unripe bananas are put near a cooking fire.
Mike parked the jeep along a strip of buildings that looked to Amy as if they would fall down if a stiff wind blew. They walked through a grove of neglected banana trees until they reached a couple of wooden tables sheltered from the elements by a roof covered in banana leaves. Ralph Toomey, the local guide who was so helpful in the border crossings between Botswana and Zimbabwe, sat on top of a table yelling into his cell phone. At the sight of Mike, he broke into a grin and hung up on whom ever was at the other end of the call.
“Mikey you old fool. How is life?” They shook hands in a three part fashion that Amy found reminiscent of a fraternity ritual.
Toomey’s whole demeanor had changed. She had seen him only a few days before, but that was when she was with the tour group. He was no longer the helpful local guide making nice with American tourists looking for a bigger tip. He had become something else. Amy wasn’t sure what that was yet.
“Can’t complain,” Mike replied.” Life is good. I have a kid now -six weeks old today. Hear you’ve taken on another wife. Is that two or three?” Mike and Toomey talked as if it had been months instead of days since they last saw each other.
At first Amy felt confused and then she was angry. Not only married, a new father too, Amy reflected. When will I ever learn?
“Just two.” Toomey laughed. “Number one requested some help around the house.” Toomey shrugged with indifference. “How could I say no to her? Can I get you a banana beer?”
