by Vivien Vale
“Is he going to be alright?” I ask after they were finished.
She nods. “Yes. It’s nothing serious. He just needs to put the cortisol cream as I directed him and he’ll be good as new. Everything still safe and sound in the village?”
She’s smirking at her last statement.
She may not think my rounds are all too important, but she’s also a little clueless that there are assholes out there that would be more than happy to use her for a nice, big ransom.
“Everything is fine.”
I think about how all the women kept calling me ‘ya mume’ and decide to ask her about it.
“What does ‘ya mume’ mean in Swahili?”
She stops what she’s doing and looks at me.
“Why do you ask?”
“It’s just…the women in the village today kept calling me that, and I can’t figure it out. I figured you would know.”
A bright red blush appears on her cheeks, and she gives a small smile.
“They’re just messing with you, Ford. It’s just a joke they’re playing on the new guy in town.”
“Even still, what does it mean, Adelaide? If I’m the butt of a joke, I should know what the heck they’re making fun of me for.”
“I wouldn’t be bothered with it,” she answers as she continues to blush.
It must mean something embarrassing if she won’t tell me and keeps blushing like a fool.
“Adelaide, what are they calling me?”
She hesitates for a brief moment.
“Fine. It means The Husband in Swahili,” she explains.
I stare at her.
Why would they be calling me that all of a sudden? Is it because I’ve been hanging around Adelaide so much?
Some of them have seen the flirtatious banters we’ve had.
Still. What man wouldn’t flirt with her?
“Why are they calling me The Husband all of a sudden?”
“It’s not a big deal, Ford. Like I said, it’s just a joke.”
She turns away from me to continue what she was doing before I asked her about the so- called-joke.
I have to admit, even if I don’t know why they’re calling me ya mume all of a sudden, my chest puffs out a little.
Adelaide is mine, and the village women recognize that.
Hell yeah, they can keep calling me The Husband.
Adelaide sure seems happy with that name as well.
She may be blushing, but her smile and the way her eyes light up tell me all I need to know.
Adelaide is definitely pleased with the name the village has given me.
I smile a little to myself. With the happiness, though, comes the logic to ruin it.
Being with Adelaide seems too good to be true.
No way can a woman like her be okay with the shit I’ve done in my past.
Add on the fact that anyone I come to care about dies and there isn’t a logical woman out there who would be willing to stick with me.
Hell, I wouldn’t even choose to be with me, but I’ve got no fucking choice.
Plus, what’s going to happen when her tour here is done?
The happy bubble we’re in right now won’t last long. A guy like me doesn’t belong with a woman like her once we go back home.
I also have a job that requires me to put my life on the line constantly to protect my charges.
She has her own career she’s fully dedicated to at the moment, and that doesn’t appear to be changing or slowing down any time soon.
In reality, Adelaide and I would be the most unlikely couple to last once my job as her bodyguard ends and her job here with Doctors Without Borders ends.
If I were a betting man, I wouldn’t be inclined to bet on us.
Fuck!
I stomp out of the room to get away from Adelaide. I can’t risk getting closer to her, and I sure as hell can’t risk her getting too attached to me.
I have a job to do. I’m her bodyguard, and that’s all I can be.
24
Ford
Okay, so this is totally new fucking territory for me. Looking after an animal has not been one of my assignments so far.
I’m not sure how I’m going to go. I think I may not do well with this one.
And it’s not as if I hate them or hate being around animals; I just don’t do well being around things that are small and fragile and miniscule.
It fucking terrifies me to think I might hurt someone or something.
All my life my hands were used for strength. They were used to tackle sweaty dudes on football fields, change brake rotors, and endure the hot burn of steel after shooting a rifle.
I don’t have prissy Ivy League soft baby hands, and that’s just how it is. But the downside to that is I always feel nervous when I have to handle something gentle.
It sounds so stupid, but I’m worried I’ll hurt someone. I’m like a baboon in a china shop, or however that damn saying goes.
As I cradle this little monkey thing—Adelaide keeps calling him Edgar for Christ’s sake, so I guess I got to get used to that—I keep thinking I’m going to do something wrong.
When we brought the monkey home yesterday, he screeched this squeaky whine all night. I mean all fucking night. Wouldn’t sleep unless he was swaddled like baby Jesus himself and cradled lovingly by either me or Adelaide.
Even now, I still don’t think I have the hang of it just yet. What if I grasp his body too tightly? What if I accidentally step on him? The little guy is barely larger than my hand.
As I continue my morning of Baby Monkeys 101, Adelaide comes into the hut.
She’s practically glowing and sporting a halo above her head, her face burning with a healthy flush that makes her look more angelic than usual. I’m so caught up by it that I don’t even notice the bundle of supplies she has in her hands.
“I found some more blankets and fruit for Edgar.” She drops the basket of goods on the cot. “I’ve also refilled his bottle.”
She hands me the bottle, which is so tiny I can practically crush it between my thumbs.
I must have a strange expression on my face, because now Adelaide is looking at me like she’s holding in a laugh.
Does she think I can’t handle this or something?
I glare at her and turn away.
Why do I feel so damn embarrassed?
I look down at little Edgar and even he has a smart ass grin on his face – judging me.
Adelaide tip-toes up behind me and rests her chin on my shoulder. I couldn’t resist when she’s cute like this.
“I have to head to work now.” Her breath is sweet as she whispers in my ear. “Are you sure you’re comfortable with being babysitter for the day?”
I look at her and force my most neutral expression. Hey, it’s easy when you have a beard that hides most of your face.
“I can handle it.”
Adelaide eyes me suspiciously.
“It’s not that I don’t trust you, it’s just...”
Adelaide lingers at me, expecting me to get what she’s trying to say.
But honestly, the only thoughts in my head are pure panic. I want Adelaide to trust me, and unfortunately, that includes taking care of stupid baby monkeys who scream all the damn time.
“Just what? Finish that sentence.”
“You just...don’t seem like an animal person. And Edgar’s friends and family did ransack your tent a few days ago.”
I shrug, at a loss for words. I just hope I don’t look as defensive as I feel.
Adelaide leans in and kisses me, and for a few seconds, I almost drop the fucking monkey. She then grabs her medical bag and throws on her sunglasses.
It’s crazy how perfect she looks without even trying. I bet she doesn’t even realize it.
“Okay, I’m heading out. Bye, you guys!” She waves from the door like a mom dropping off her kids at school for the first time.
“If you need anything, send someone to the hospital to come get me.”
/> As soon as she runs out the door, Edgar starts doing his best Steven Tyler impression. Who knew such a tiny creature could wail like this? He has a better set of lungs than I do.
I place him down in his bundle of blankets and start to panic. Considering all the situations I’ve been in, the stressful life-or-death circumstances that still haunt me today, it’s crazy that taking care of a baby monkey is the one task that will do me in.
I grab the bottle of milk from the basket of supplies and start to gently press it against Edgar’s mouth. For a second or two, I feel like a genius as he quietly suckles.
But when too much milk drips out of the bottle, drenching his face, he goes back to the ol’ banshee yell.
“Damn it.” I throw the bottle in the basket. “I thought we were friends.”
I grab more blankets from the basket as carefully as I can, and wrap them around Edgar’s body so that he looks like a little burrito. I pick him up and cradle him in my arms.
“Shhh, it’s okay. Come on, you’re better than this.”
I don’t know why I’m speaking to the monkey as if he took a college course in English.
It doesn’t even matter because Edgar seems hell-bent on letting the whole village know of his existence. After five more minutes of ear-splitting cries, I can’t take it anymore.
“That’s fucking it!”
I unravel Edgar from his blanket burrito and place him on the floor.
“What do you want?”
God, I sound pathetic.
“Are you hungry? Sleepy? Gassy? I don’t speak monkey, so help me out here.”
Edgar looks up at me with this little black eyes and, surprisingly, stops crying.
He actually stops crying!
He then walks around the edge of the hut, running his tiny hands across the floor, picking up the little rocks he finds along the way.
Ah, I get it now. All the little guy wanted to do was explore. Knowing that, I calm down a bit and enjoy the high of relief.
I was worried there for a second. I can’t imagine what that call to Adelaide would sound like.
“Dr. Johansen, your husband broke monkey.”
I shake my head. Did I really just think of myself in terms of her husband? The monkey was obviously fucking with my head.
I cross my legs and sit on the floor with him. Man, what a life this little guy has. Torn away from his mother and now forced to live with strangers of a different species.
In a weird way, he sort of reminds me of my own upbringing. I, too, was an orphan who bounced around from foster home to foster home. You never outgrow that feeling of knowing you’re unwanted.
As I watch Edgar enjoy his newfound sense of freedom, I notice him getting dangerously close to the window after climbing on top of the table.
I stand up slowly, trying not to set off the monkey alarm.
“Edgar, come here." My voice is so high and pathetic. I can’t stand it. "Come here, boy. Get away from that ledge.”
Edgar looks back at me, contemplating his life choices, and just like that — boom. He’s out the window.
Motherfucker.
I scramble out the hut and see his little body running down a dirt path. All the villagers ignore him because, hey, just another dumb monkey, right?
I chase him, but just as I start to get close, I trip over a bucket of laundry. My dirt-covered shoe goes right into the tub, dirtying some poor woman’s clean clothes and drenching my boots in soapy water.
“Ma’am, I’m so sorry! Um, samahani?”
The woman glares at me, her eyes piercing my soul. Considering how scarce water is, I’ve truly fucked her over. She knows it, I know it.
I wish there was some way to make it up to her, but apparently I’m too much of a worthless piece of shit to do anything right today.
“I’m so sorry.” Desperate, I try explaining the situation. “I was rushing trying to find a monkey. A monkey? The little animals who steal stuff?”
Her eyes morph from blind hatred to concern.
“Monkey?”
“Yes!” I’m relieved she understands. “Yes, a monkey. He ran that way.”
The old woman leans around me, her eyes searching the dusty path that Edgar disappeared into. She then points and starts yelling something in Swahili. I turn and look in the direction she’s pointing but don’t see Edgar anywhere.
“I don’t understand.”
The old woman rolls her eyes and, with two pinky fingers in her mouth, lets out a loud whistle. Edgar pokes his head out from behind a hut as if summoned.
The little sucker didn’t wander nearly as far as I thought he did. He skips up to the woman and climbs up her shoulder as she feeds him a small piece of fruit. Needless to say, I’m fucking amazed.
“How did you know he’d come back like that?”
It’s like a miracle. I honestly feel like kissing this old lady right now — no teeth and all. I owe this woman a lifetime of clean laundry.
But will this little trick work if I take a stab at it?
As Edgar eats his treat, I slowly walk several paces back in the direction of Adelaide’s hut. Just like the old lady, I put two fingers in my mouth and let out a loud whistle.
Edgar, obediently, hops off the woman’s shoulder and runs to me like a well-trained robot.
Unbelievable.
I pick him up in my arms and breathe a sigh of relief. The nightmare is over. Now I know why parents are miserable all the damn time.
I seriously want to lie down and take a thousand-year nap.
When I get back to the hut, I put Edgar back into his blanket palace. He curls up and sleeps right away, clearly all tuckered out from his day of adventures.
As much stress as he’s caused me today, the little bastard is kinda growing on me. Maybe animals and me aren’t just a bad mix after all.
When he wakes up I’m going to teach him some more tricks. I’m sure I’ll be able to teach him fetch and other cool stuff.
25
Adelaide
I tap my pen against the clipboard I’m holding.
In my mind, I’m playing the opening bars to some melody I know, but if I had to name it, I wouldn’t be able to. The tune is stuck from some television commercial. Annoying how those things worm their way into your head and won’t ever leave.
I sigh.
It’s not looking good. No matter how many times I go over the stock in the cupboard, I come up with the same result.
My supplies are running low.
Low medical supplies spells danger. And I mean in danger—in the sense of life and death. In an emergency, I need full medical supplies to be able to deal with anything that may crop up.
If I don’t have a full cupboard of medicine, patient care can be compromised.
“Everything okay?”
I spin around.
“How do you do that,” I rouse on Ford.
“Do what?”
I slap him gently on the chest.
“Sneak up on me like that.”
Without a response, he grabs me around the waist and kisses me.
Struggling against him is useless. Of course I don’t really want to struggle against him.
On the contrary—I want him to pick me up and take me back to my hut.
What am I thinking?
There’s no time for that sort of stuff. I’ve got important work to do. And he no doubt has to go on another perimeter check or something.
He releases me.
My chest is heaving as if I’ve just set a new world record in the hundred meter sprint.
“If you keep doing that I won’t get any work done around here,” I grumble and pick up the clipboard, which I accidentally dropped.
“What are you doing?”
His eyes run over my writing.
“Writing a list of medical supplies we need.”
He furrows his brow.
“And how are you getting those delivered?”
I sigh.
It’s just
like Ford to get into super serious protection mode. Whatever I’m going to say now is going to be the wrong answer.
Pity he won’t lighten up about this security stuff. It can get rather wearing. I mean, does he seriously believe I’m a risk way out here in the middle of nowhere?
I can’t see it myself.
But then again that might be the problem. I’m too relaxed, and Ford is too tense. Together we’ll bring the right mix of worry and concern to the problem.
Life sucks if you’ve got to be on guard just because you’ve got wealthy parents.
“I don’t have them sent from anywhere.”
“So someone else organizes it for you?”
I shake my head and his frown deepens. I’m not sure why I’m reluctant to spell it out, but I guess I don’t think he’ll take my news very well. I don’t want to argue with him.
“I’ve got to pick them up.”
“From where?”
I’m sure I can see his mind work already. He’s thinking ahead. He’s thinking security nightmare.
“Nairobi.”
“What the fuck?” he shouts, and I’m pleased there’s no one nearby to hear him.
“You know what attracts attention?” I put my hands on my hips. “You yelling and carrying on. And once you attract attention, people will start asking questions.”
I know my own voice is getting a little louder, but I’m warming up to my rant.
“The more you carry on the worse it gets. With all this attention, one day someone will ask what’s going on. And then they will find out who I am and then the shit will hit the fan.”
I leave not waiting for his response.
“And I’m going to Nairobi to get supplies whether you like it or not.”
I stride to my hut, knowing it’s better if I get going. I need to pack and arrange for the pilot to pick me up.
“If you’re going, I’m going.”
I wasn’t surprised that he’s behind me.
I bite my lip. Of course I want him to come. I just don’t want him to be so uptight about this security crap all the time.
“Okay,” I mutter and pull out my bag.
“How many days?”
I turn to him and shrug.
“One, maybe two.”
