“It’s just gotten too hard.” Suddenly she looked weary. “We’re living in two very different worlds and it’s made us snipe at each other. Really kind of dislike each other. And there’s no rewind button to press, to go back to that first year when our experiences were equal. I will always have my second year in Africa and he will always have his med-evac. Frankly, the decision to stay a third year was easier because it solves the ‘what comes next’ with us.”
Carmen had been considering this for some time, I realized. And looking at her, I could tell she’d made the right choice. Her eyes were lit from within, like earlier days, anticipating new adventures, new responsibilities.
“Oh, Carmencita. I, I…” Words failed me. I’d miss her. Daniel would miss her. But she knew how to be true to herself. “I love you so much.” My voice broke. “Please let’s be friends forever.”
Carmen reached over and gave me a fierce hug. “Always and forever, Africa sister.”
The final evening, William and I were in his hotel room, preparing for our dinner out with Christophe and Mireille. I’d pretty much moved in; we agreed the time together was too short to be voluntarily separated. Our easy conversation drifted from one subject to the next as he shaved and I slathered myself with lotion, post-shower. The assessment of Carmen’s new outfit led to shopping, which led to the topic of buying items to bring back to post. He needed chocolate bars, he told me. Jenny had used the last of his Libreville chocolate to make chocolate chip cookies, baked in his little propane oven. His workers hadn’t known what to make of them at first. None of them had ever tasted a warm chocolate chip cookie before.
I smiled at the image. “This was the last trip she took to your place?”
“The one before that, actually.”
“Ah.” I tried not to feel jealous.
“On this last trip, she made them muffins. But she promised them she’d make more of the chocolate chip cookies the next time she came out. I am on strict orders to bring back not two bars of chocolate but six.”
“Jenny’s become a frequent visitor there, hasn’t she?” I kept my voice light.
“She has.” He rinsed off the last of the shaving cream and dried his face with a towel.
My confidence failed me. Insecurity slammed into my stomach like a fist.
William noticed. “She’s in a bit of a bind, Fi.” He reached out and caressed my hand. “That post isn’t working out for her. It’s too city-based. She’s miserable. If visiting a village makes her feel less so, I want to offer that option to her.”
I had focused my gaze on the little bottles of hotel amenities. I looked back up to find William watching me, his smile gone.
“You’ll just have to trust me,” he said. “The same way your eyes have asked me to trust you in the past.”
I raised my hands in a surrender gesture. “All right, I’ll trust you. Provided you answer me one question honestly.”
“Okay.”
“All this. Us, I mean. Are you going to tell me it’s … complicated?”
He studied me and for one terrible instant, I thought he was going to tell me yes and that would be the end of my bubble of security. If this turned into a Lane or Christophe situation again after the way I’d thrown myself in so wholly, something flowering within me would crumble, disappear and never resurface.
William smiled, a look of such affection and tenderness, I felt my throat grow tight.
“No, Fi.” He reached out, pulled me over and wrapped his arms around me. “No. It’s never been less complicated.”
“I’m glad.” My voice cracked. And after that, nothing else, and no one else, mattered. Not even keeping Christophe and Mireille waiting at the restaurant a bit longer while we revisited the bed.
Priorities, after all.
At the restaurant, Christophe noticed immediately. He spied my hand, clasped in William’s, and sized me up as the maître d’ led us to the table where he and Mireille had already been seated. My cheeks grew hot. I’d felt oddly reluctant about seeing him tonight; I hadn’t realized until now that I’d be nervous. He rose to greet us, expression unreadable as he planted a soft kiss on both my cheeks, French style. I exchanged kisses with Mireille; she, too, had noticed, but her reaction was easier to decipher. She was smiling. Broadly.
The four of us settled in our seats. I reached under the tablecloth, found William’s hand and clutched it. The maître d’ made an elaborate speech, promising gustatory delights and ensuring us he was at our beck and call for our smallest needs. He departed, nodding to two waiters who’d hovered behind him. “You two are our guests tonight,” Christophe said as the waiters hurried forward, one bearing champagne, the other a quartet of champagne flutes.
“You’re too kind,” William said. “All the ways you’ve helped myself and Fiona. Dinner’s on us. It’s the least we could do.”
“No, no.” Christophe gave an expansive wave of his hand. “They know me here. They won’t even bring a bill to the table.”
“Which is why I made arrangements earlier,” William said.
Christophe seemed startled, then privately annoyed. “Well. Aren’t you the tricky one?”
Talk ceased as the waiters arranged the glasses, popped open the champagne and poured. Christophe smiled across the table at William, who smiled back at him. I met Mireille’s eyes. She looked amused. It was like a game of cards, all of us holding winning hands. Christophe, curiously, didn’t seem to realize that he, too, was holding one.
I felt a flash of sympathy for him. This was not the script he’d planned and rehearsed.
Too bad.
William draped one arm over my shoulders as the other hand dropped to my lap. “We were on time after all,” he murmured into my ear.
“I’m glad I didn’t make us late,” I murmured back, and met his eyes, which reminded me of the way I’d met his eyes forty-five minutes earlier, seconds before I’d climaxed. His fingers, caressing my bare shoulder, made me forget where we were and who we were with.
“I hate to interrupt you two.” Christophe’s wry tone cut through our pheromone fog. “It’s just that I’d like to propose a toast.”
Mireille smothered a chuckle as William and I straightened, and William and Christophe smiled at each other in that same phony brightness.
I caught on finally. In the animal world, such an exchange between two males might have entailed bright plumage waving threateningly, or two pairs of antlers coming together with a crash. But here, in this elegant venue, William had made his point in his own tasteful way.
Christophe lifted his glass. “To good friends,” he said.
“To good friends,” we all echoed, as we clinked our glasses together and drank.
Christophe rebounded, of course. The four of us chatted, placed our dinner orders, and the mood grew relaxed. When William and Mireille fell into conversation about Peace Corps-built schools within the country, Christophe turned to me.
“How are classes?” he asked.
“Much, much better than last year, thanks.”
“Not such trouble with problem students there at the mission, I’d imagine.”
“True. But do you want to hear something crazy? I recently encountered my former problem student, the one you had to help me with last year. One of the fish volunteers in our province, Kaia, needed a little backup support. I went and came face to face with him. Boy, was he shocked. We both were.”
“Was he rude to you, or menacing?”
“Never less so. He was nervous around me, in fact. Turns out he’d made up some story to his uncle, Kaia’s farmer, that he’d been one of my preferred students and not a problem student in the least. And that we’d had…relations, outside the classroom.” I grimaced in distaste. “You can bet I set the record straight.”
“How did the uncle react?”
“He was a good guy about it. He listened, and didn’t try to contradict anything. It was very civil. He seemed quite disappointed that his nephew should do such a thing
. I imagine Calixte caught an earful that evening.”
Christophe frowned. “The boy’s pride is likely hurt now. Watch your back.”
I waved away the warning. “No need. I live far from the problem. Besides, what high school dropout wants to interact with a former teacher? My presence clearly flustered him.”
Christophe didn’t look convinced.
“Don’t worry,” I told him. “I understand the way it works here now.”
He shook his head. “You might think you’re fully seasoned, that nothing more can faze you. To that, I’ll say, you don’t know Africa yet. You likely will never know Africa. How the Gabonese are, beneath the surface. What we truly value and what we deem unacceptable.”
I could feel something in me resist what he was saying. He noticed; his chin took on the stubborn tilt that had always preceded our arguments. It was so similar to the way we’d started, nearly two years earlier, that I could only laugh. “So it began, so it ends,” I said.
His expression relaxed and he began to chuckle. “I don’t think we’ve come to the end, Miss Garvey.” He glanced over at William and gave a grudging nod. “I’m happy for the both of you.”
“Thank you.”
“Mireille just sent the two of you wedding invitations.”
“Date?”
“June tenth. You’re still in country, correct?”
“We are.”
He drew a slow breath, a heavy exhale. “And so a new chapter begins. For all of us.”
“I’ll drink to that.” I nudged William and he and Mireille both looked over.
“A toast.” I lifted my glass. “To new beginnings.”
Everyone lifted their glasses.
“To new beginnings.”
Chapter 32
The classroom felt different the morning of my return to teaching, as if twelve weeks, not twelve days had passed since I’d left. September’s veneer of order and cleanliness had faded to expose dingy blackboards and scuffed walls. The students’ sagging, frayed uniforms mirrored their half-hearted energy. By ten o’clock, my spirits were faltering. Then I thought about William, about us, and the buoyant mood returned. Life was good. Very good.
The best thing about returning to the classroom on a Thursday was that in a day, the teaching week would be finished. William and I had agreed to put two and a half solid days into our jobs before connecting again, on Saturday afternoon. With renewed zeal I planned lessons for the final six weeks of class, and on Friday afternoon I cheerfully toiled at my community library project. At four o’clock I called it quits and grabbed a ride into town with Mohammed, who was picking up a truck part.
I was in a ridiculously good mood as I crunched down the footpath from the market to Lance’s neighborhood. I saw beautiful colors I normally overlooked: scarlet trumpet flowers, golden dirt framed by jade forest, pillows of snowy clouds punctuating the afternoon sky. I inhaled the tannic air and sang out greetings to everyone I passed. Even the presence of Jenny, answering my knock at Lance’s front door, didn’t bother me.
She didn’t seem particularly happy to see me, but she smiled politely and let me in. The living room was in its usual fraternity house disarray, the smell of popcorn covering up the dirty-socks odor. “Oh, hi Fiona,” Lance called out, poking his head out of the kitchen. “Have a seat.” He came out a moment later, bearing a ceramic bowl of popcorn.
I dropped onto the couch, the vinyl cool against my damp skin. A deep baaaa, sounding like an old man clearing his throat, was followed by obscene snorts and a higher pitched reply. Instead of my usual sigh of disapproval, I laughed.
“When are you going to cut the grass by your house instead of letting those goats eat it?” I asked Lance.
“I like having them around—they make me feel less lonely.”
“This house is a magnet for green mambas and gaboon vipers with that high grass so close, you know,” I warned as I reached for the popcorn.
“Yes, but this way the goats visit me.”
As if to back up Lance’s point, the older goat bleated and belched. Lanced beamed at me.
“That’s Scratchy Pierre—he likes me too, can you tell?” He grabbed a fistful of popcorn, rose and threw it out the window. Immediately, we heard the patter of hoofs, thuds and bleats as two goats fought for the unexpected bounty.
I turned to Jenny. “So what’s up?”
“They aren’t replacing Carmen. They don’t want teachers in the big cities. Then why me?” she asked. “Why am I living there and not in a smaller town?”
I sat back and listened with an open mind. She wasn’t competition. And like William said, no first-year volunteer had it easy around this time of the year.
“You know,” I said, “there’s this house in Mitzic, that borders Kaia’s territory. I told Kaia you two should talk to Libreville about nabbing the house for yourselves, before they consider putting a married couple there in September. That’s an ideal town and post for a community health volunteer.”
She eyed me suspiciously. “That would be making trouble.”
“Seems to me it would be avoiding trouble. If your current setup isn’t working, it isn’t working.”
A determined glint came into her eye. “I’ll make it work.”
I shrugged. “Well, hang in there. Let me know if I can help in some other way.”
“Thanks,” she said, still wary.
I turned to Lance. “How was your week?” I asked.
“Kinda sucked.” He grinned at me. “But it’s over. So that’s good.”
“Anyone for a beer in the marketplace? My treat,” I said.
“Wow, someone’s in a good mood,” Lance said.
“It’s the reward for surviving nearly two years of teaching. The end is in sight.”
We went to the market for beers. Darkness fell. Jenny was spending the night at Lance’s place, so we ate dinner together, plates of meat and rice, with a second beer.
“Okay, I’m off,” I said to them shortly after seven o’clock. “I need my rest.” Because William would be over the next night, and we might not get much sleep. At the thought, my high spirits flew higher.
As I approached the taxi-brousse station, the buses still operating to and from Oyem and the Cameroon border, a group of military men seemed to have created a stir. They’d been in the marketplace for a while, I could tell. Some of them were walking unevenly, the lurch of the drunk. This was Friday night revelry for them, and not work, fortunate for us. And yet, a menacing feeling seemed to surround them as they prowled the area, splitting into smaller groups to go drink more, eat food, or simply harass people passing.
The older military men seemed to have made a game of hazing the younger ones, still in training. I peered closer and saw, with an icy prickle, that one of them was Calixte.
I stopped in my tracks, did an abrupt ninety-degree turn, and continued on, getting out of the area before he noticed me. Once at the head of the footpath that led to the mission, I breathed easier.
I became aware of footsteps behind me as I walked. Trying to appear casual, I glanced over my shoulder. A trio of young military guys walked several paces behind me.
I walked on. My heart began to hammer against my ribs. My knees felt trembly. I increased my pace and maintained focus on the path before me, the beam of the flashlight guiding my way.
The footsteps grew closer.
“Hello, Miss Fiona,” a familiar voice sang out in a sly, singsong way that made my blood run cold. “Why do you hurry? Have you found yourself a man to protect you?”
I stopped and forced myself to turn around calmly. “Ondo Calixte. What is it that you want?” I made my voice ring out, so that I sounded impatient, aggrieved, and not scared.
The uniform made him look older, all the more terrifying. By the way the three of them preened, I sensed they’d just been given their uniforms, and they were out to test their new power. Their puffed-up chests told me they were succeeding. And liking the feeling.
“You
r papers, please,” one of them, shorter than the others, said to me.
Were they friggin’ kidding? A little sound of disgust escaped my lips, that they did not take kindly to.
“You will do as we say,” the second one, tall and spindly, intoned, but since he was clearly still in his teens, he was less scary.
“I do not have my ‘papers,’” I snapped. “I am walking back to my home after taking a trip into town. I am on a walking path. One tends not to need one’s ‘papers’ when one is engaged in a daily routine.”
The tall, spindly boy hesitated. Even though I’d spoken in clear French, I got the sense he didn’t understand all my words. Then again, training for the military didn’t require an extensive academic background or lexicon. Stand. Sit. At attention. Fire. Cease. At ease. Shut up. Attack.
Thumpa, thumpa, thump went my heart.
“You do not understand that we are in charge here,” Calixte said, and I had to admit that he, unlike his two compatriots, had the ability to look and sound menacing.
“I understand that you’re a boy, playing at being a man.” I tried to sound bored, unafraid.
He scowled at me, radiating pure contempt.
“You, who spoke poorly of me to my uncle. What kind of woman are you? You are not married. You have no husband. No children. Something is wrong with you and that’s why you left your family, your country, and are here, hiding behind your teacher’s job. Our women would find shame in all this. But you?” He sized me up. “You act as though we should be respecting you.”
He took a step closer. I took a step back. It was like some creepy tango.
“I’m done here,” I said, and whirled around to continue walking. But he grabbed my arm. Instinctively, I shook it off, and he grabbed it again. Gripped it.
“Fuck off, you little shit,” I shouted at him, shaking it free with considerable effort on my part. “Get the hell out of my way.”
Calixte grabbed me again, and this time he tugged me off the footpath, into the brambly area before the forest took over. I could see the way his chest was heaving, and that he, too, had lost the cool he’d planned on keeping. “Let me go!” I shrieked, my fear growing.
A Dancer's Guide to Africa Page 30
