“We come from the same village. I knew his sister when we were girls.”
“Oh,” Jordan said. “Did you know Tyler back then too?”
“No, but I should have. Have you ever met a person who was on the periphery of most of your early life events, yet you somehow just missed him?” Her whole face lit up as she spoke.
“No, I moved around a lot when I was younger, but I can see how that would happen.”
“We knew all the same people, but not each other. I met him here in the States.”
“How long have the two of you been married?”
“A long time.”
“My long time or Artest’s long time?”
“I see; then you know?”
“Yes, I guess it’s safe to say anything to me—Artest said he’s going to take my memories.”
That seemed to confuse her; Jordan guessed she wasn’t using the right terminology. “It must be wonderful to be with the same person for so long.”
“It truly is. I hope it never changes,” she said, with what Jordan thought was a certain sadness.
After they finished their tea, Jahia took her on a tour of her large home and the room they used as a temple. Since Jordan hadn’t arrived the usual way, Jahia started at the front door, pointing to a small, low wooden stool that held a strange little horse-shaped container carved from a light-colored wood. She said it was an ark, and it represented the one by which her Dogon ancestors descended from heaven to earth. There were tiny figures carved into it that she called her Nommo, or ancestors.
Jordan had always liked African art, and Tyler and Jahia had enough to rival a museum. Tyler was definitely flattering her when he spoke of “much needed art.”
There were masks in every room that were unbelievable in their detail. Jahia told her what each one meant and in what kind of ceremony it was used. Jordan was surprised to see so many small cast-metal figures and objects. She thought of wood as the medium for African art.
They didn’t go into the room Jahia called the temple—the door was closed. But it wasn’t like the rest of the doors in her home. It was made of carved wood, and it looked like it was very old. When Jordan admired it, Jahia said, “we’re well known for our doors.”
That makes sense, considering how fast you all tend to come and go.
When they reached a bedroom on the second floor, she opened the door and said, “This is your room for a long as you need it.”
She saw Jordan’s confusion.
“Artest will explain everything. He is a good man who’s been through a lot. He might not always be as open as you will want, but he’ll always be honest.”
Jordan remembered Mama May telling her she should thank a person who gives her the truth, even if it was something she didn’t want to hear.“Thank you,” she said
It was a bright room, with windows on two sides, the shades open. The walls were painted a very faint yellow that made it look even brighter.
“I apologize if it’s too bright in here. We are from the southern side of the Sahara desert, and we’re always seeking the sun when we find ourselves elsewhere,” she said, smiling. Like Artest’s and Tyler’s, her accent made the simplest statement sing like poetry.
“Sacramento isn’t hot enough for you?” Jordan asked. “We have very hot summers.”
“I love the summers here. You won’t hear me complaining about the one-hundred degree days.”
The room was colorful, but Jordan thought it added to the warmth she felt from Jahia and her husband.
“I laid out something on the bed that you might want to wear tonight.”
“Tonight?”
“There’s going to be a special meeting, and we always have a little party afterwards. There might be Tuareg musicians. You’ll meet Artest’s friends, and for us, friends are like the family we no longer have. Attending one of our gatherings is a rare treat for the Ketier.”
“Who’s the Ketier?”
Jahia was smoothing out the bedspread where she had been sitting. She looked at Jordan, puzzled, tilting her head and looking up as if she was repeating her words to herself. “I’ve been using the word so long, I can’t remember the exact translation. But to answer your question, you and other humans are the Ketier. If I’m not mistaken, I believe the word is Arabic and it means something like masses or many.”
Jordan nodded—it made sense. To a handful of old Dogons, I guess we could all be lumped into a common pot called “the many.”
Jordan looked at the robe laid out on the bed. It was a beautiful multi-colored pattern with bright yellow, orange and red. “It’s beautiful,” she said.
“No dear, it’s clothing—you’ll make it beautiful.”
Her answer remained her of something Mama May would have said. It made Jordan want to hug her. She began looking around the room to find something to focus on to fight that urge. She noticed that the queen-size bed had a single sculpture on the headboard: a couple carved from a single piece of wood and connected by his arm around her shoulders, as well as being fused side to side. She didn’t know if she was permitted to touch the pieces, so she had avoided them during the tour, but this one was so lovely she had it in her hands before she had a chance to over-think it. “Who are these love birds?”
“They are the mother and father, the first couple. Maybe you would call them Adam and Eve. I have many in both wood and metal.”
Jordan held the sculpture to her nose, but the scent she detected wasn’t coming from it. “Jahia, what is that cinnamon-like scent?”
She smiled. “Cinnamon is our spice. I am cooking and using some, but I’m told that all of us smell of cinnamon. I don’t smell it myself, but I’ve heard it enough to know of what you’re speaking.”
“It’s definitely in the air, but all of you don’t have that scent. Artest smells like lavender to me.”
Jahia had been moving toward the door, but she stopped in her tracks. Jordan thought somebody must have been coming through the doorway that was at her back. She turned around; it was empty. She looked at Jahia again, and this time, her expression made Jordan think heart attack.
“Jahia, are you all right?”
“Will you say that again? What does he smell like?”
“Lavender—it’s a flowering plant.” She didn’t know what else to say about it. “It’s a smell I like. I buy lavender candles sometimes.” She felt like she was pleading.
Finally Jahia spoke again. “Have you told Artest?”
“Have I told him he smells like lavender?”
“Yes, have you told him?”
“I’m sure he knows. It must be something he’s buying and applying.” Jordan thought the conversation had turned weird.
The older woman sat down on the bed and patted the bedspread beside her. “Join me.”
Jordan sat next to her. “Something is wrong, isn’t it?” she asked.
“No, not wrong. It’s not wrong for you to smell lavender when you’re with him, but it is significant. We are Dogon, Jordan. To you and everybody else, unless we add a scent, and most of us don’t, you should detect a faint whiff of cinnamon. There are circumstances when one of us will smell of lavender. The timing isn’t right for you to tell Artest, understand?”
“Not really.”
“You will understand, but for now you wait, please. You must not distract him right now. It could be very dangerous for him to be distracted.”
“I won’t say anything.”
“No, you must tell him! But you should wait. Until after everything is normal again.”
Jordan wondered when things would be normal again.
“Soon, my dear. I’ll let you know when it’s time if you’re not sure.”
Great, she said to herself. After my brain has been washed and I don’t remember any of this!
Jahia looked at her with eyes so kind they made Jordan smile. Then she cracked up laughing, as if she’d heard Jordan’s thought.
Chapter Eleven
In spite of the s
eriousness of their conversation, Artest found it difficult to concentrate on what Tyler was telling him. He was still feeling pangs of guilt about the way he’d transported Jordan from her apartment. Her trusting expression as she walked into his arms, the sincerity and heat of her kiss haunted him. He didn’t know a lot about her, but within the first two hours of their meeting, he’d surmised that she had trust issues. He hoped he hadn’t made them worse.
He noted that Tyler made her welcome with his usual charm, and by the time Jahia arrived, Jordan seemed relaxed.
He wondered about all the after thoughts; it wasn’t his usual style. What would Tyler, his long time friend, say if he knew? They often laughed about the chronically reflexive American men.
He found it odd to see how much Tyler and Jahia had aged. He envied them. There were less than five to seven years between himself and Jahia, and Tyler was only a few years older than his wife. Clearly the time they’d spent in temple and on Mali soil has been good for them. Visual aging was a mark of honor with their kind. It only happened to those who no longer hunted, and only if they’d settled with a partner or were at least content with their inactive lives. Each situation would cause some aging; put the three together, and it sped up considerably. The two partners would age in tandem until it was time to pass on to Amma, the ultimate heavenly peace.
Most Hunters died alone in battle, with their faces and bodies still appearing young. There was honor in a Service death, but the greater honor came in surviving it long enough to become old. Artest longed to see lines and wrinkles on his face, but he doubted if that would ever happen.
For me, there is a disadvantage to their aging—now they both want to treat me like their child.
While the women drank tea and, later, toured the house, Tyler was informing Artest that “he was going out.” Artest immediately asked him if he was crazy. Jahia didn’t hear his comment, but she heard Artest’s response, and he regretted that. It was not his intention to upset her or to create strife in their union. When they got outside on the deck, Artest told Tyler how foolish it was for him to even consider such a thing. His body had changed, and those changes could cost Tyler his life or cause one of them harm if they tried to protect him.
“We’ve got problems, and there aren’t enough of us to hold them off until reinforcement gets here,” Tyler said.
That told Artest that the situation was serious. Hunters could transport within one hundred miles without any problem, maybe one hundred and fifty with some strain. In Artest’s case, he always got a headache when he attempted that kind of distance, but he made it. Some of the less disciplined Hunters wouldn’t make it and ended up somewhere short of the goal.
Artest estimated that there were easily ten to twelve Hunters within a transportable range. If Tyler was saying that wasn’t enough, Artest didn’t want to hear what was going down.
“Have you been keeping up with local news?” Tyler asked.
Artest just looked at him and smiled. Tyler knew from past conversations that Artest had very little interest in politics or whatever other little issues a community might be experiencing. He’d lived too long to pretend any of it was important any longer. Most of the time he couldn’t remember who was president because he saw so little difference in any of them.
Something had caught Tyler’s attention behind Artest, and he turned to see. It was a hummingbird. Both men watched it until it flew away. Artest looked around Tyler’s yard. He’d been gardening, or maybe Jahia was the gardener. How settled they’d become.
“As I recall, and you know I have an excellent memory, you weren’t living here in 2000, and you were on special assignment with Daouda in Rome in the spring and summer of 2004. Am I correct?”
“That’s true,” Artest said. “ Why do you ask?”
“Sacramento hosted the Olympic trials those years. Jahia and I attended both times. It looked like it was a lot of fun, but we were working, so we didn’t get to spend too much time watching the events. There were some minor problems with Sangsue, but we didn’t lose any the Ketier.”
“Why are you mentioning this now?” Artest asked, but he suspected he knew the answer.
“The city is hosting the trials again. We have reason to believe the Sangsue have something in mind this time.”
“Something like what?”
“God only knows. There are at least three times as many more in the city that we know about. One of our informers has indicated that she heard one of them say it will rival 9/11.”
They both sat silently and thought about his words. Finally Artest asked, “Why now, why here?”
“I have a theory about that. I think they’re going to snatch some of the athletes.”
“Snatch, meaning they’ll take them somewhere?”
Tyler nodded. “They’re a greedy lot, and I imagine they won’t be able to stop themselves from feeding on bodies that young and fit, but I don’t think that’s the main purpose. I think they’ve decided it would be a chance for a mass recruitment. The ones who won’t go along with the plan will become a future meal. And since the Ketier know nothing of their existence, it will all be blamed on terrorists.”
Artest thought about what he was saying. It sounded crazy but not at all implausible. Over the past ten or so years, whenever two or three Hunters got together, they would boast about how easy their work had become—because they’d done it so well. The Sangsue numbers had always been greater than theirs, but the Hunters had come close to catching up in recent years. They trained to fight the Bloodsuckers, and, except for errant bands here and there, Sangsue were not good fighters. They tended to direct their activities to hitting a location, feeding, and running away. As a rule, they only fought back when confronted. The exception was the newcomers to an area, who would seek out the resident Hunter to gauge his or her resourcefulness, but that attack often cost both Sangsue their lives.
It made sense now why two of them showed up in Artest’s home. The team who could eliminate a resident Hunter before the event would have power and bragging rights in the pack.
“So I can expect to see them initiate more attacks like they did this morning in my home?”
“I’m afraid so,” Tyler said. “But you’ll hear all about it tonight.”
“Tonight?”
“Everybody in the city and surrounding will be here. Jahia is upstairs showing your lady friend to her room. We expect you to stay here too. Where you sleep is your business, but I don’t know how many will be staying over tonight, so bed space is at a premium. I assure you, as much as I love you all, none of you will be invited to our room.”
They both laughed. Artest was pleased to see the situation hadn’t robbed Tyler of his humor.
While Tyler went to the kitchen to prepare food for the grill, Artest called a company that delivered attack dogs to his property when he worked out of town. Then he called Randall, a Ketier who worked for him. There were some humans who know about the Service. Randall’s father had worked for the Service, and when he retired, Randall took over.
“I need you stay at my house tonight, Randall. You’ll need to arm yourself and be there within the hour to meet the dog people.”
“Armed and the dogs. Should I be scared?”
“As I’ve told you before, whenever you’re in my house, you should sleep with one eye open.”
“I thought you paid me like that to watch your DVDs and eat your food.”
Artest laughed because he always did when Randall said that, but at the same time, Artest felt he needed to warn him beyond the usual. “Be especially careful, my friend. I had two visitors this morning.”
“I’ve got it.”
When he hung up his phone, he could hear Jahia on the stairs. He met her there. “Is my friend all settled in?”
“She is, my dear. I think she’s a lovely girl.”
“Oh gee, you approve, Mom?”
Artest saw her looking around for something to throw at him. He took the three steps up and caught her in
a hug. “You’re looking so beautiful lately, Tyler’d better be careful.”
“What is this ‘lately’ stuff? I’ve always been too beautiful for both of you. Now you go upstairs and stop that child from worrying about things that go bump.”
“If I can stop her from attacking me for whisking her away, I’ll be doing my best.”
She got serious and said, “go do your best, Artest. She might be just what you need.”
Scented Lust Page 6
