The breakfast and the champagne were almost forgotten by the time Lilah was satisfied that she knew enough about everything that had happened.
“I know you’ve sugarcoated a lot of it, but I won’t insist on more detail on my birthday. I’m just happy you got out of it more or less in one piece. Let’s concentrate on the living instead. We must find out when Grandma Ammie can see us.”
“You want to meet her?”
“Definitely. Maybe she’ll clap a hand over her mouth and shout: ‘Elijah! You look just like Elijah!’ But more important is that we find out who this loser Erevu Matari is. And why the hell he’s so interested in this curio shit. And she’ll have to explain why she wants to make my saintly mother out as a murderer. Fuck that. She has me to deal with now.”
“Okay. I’ll contact Luc DeReu and see what he says. What would you like to do the rest of your birthday?”
“Bruges. I want to show you Bruges. Take you on a canal cruise. Eat a loooong, late lunch at a place where they have Veuve Clicquot. Spend time with my mother.”
“And when are you planning to tell me about Aubrey?”
“Sometime during our loooong lunch. Let’s get going. I rented a car, a BMW cabriolet, no less. Today we’re letting our hair down. But first, please send that bloody professor a message.”
Caz obeyed. Half an hour later, as Lilah was letting down the hood of the cabriolet, the reply came.
“Friday morning. Eleven.” She looked inquiringly at Lilah.
“Sounds right to me. Now we’re going to forget about everything, Lucy Jordan. It ain’t Paris, but it ain’t a bad alternative.”
Friday, October 10
Caz
Leuven
The two days with Lilah had flown. Yesterday Caz signed some documents at Jan Kuyper’s office, where she learned that the estate had provisionally been frozen. Then she and Lilah left for Brussels, where they explored the old city on foot. In the afternoon they went to Antwerp.
They had more or less caught up with everything that had happened in the past ten months. Caz knew that Lilah and Aubrey had met at a fancy charity reception where he was the speaker and she a guest of honor. Something to do with raising funds for emergency relief to children in African countries. She also knew it was love at first sight and that for the first time ever Lilah was serious about a man. Serious enough to consider accepting Aubrey’s hand and having her genealogical descent traced for his sake.
Caz thought Aubrey sounded manipulative and bigoted, but she couldn’t share her thoughts with Lilah. Definitely not before she had even met him.
“Here we are,” Lilah said as she drew up in front of Ammie’s apartment building.
Lieve looked less nervous than the last time, but her eyes widened and her hand flew to her mouth when she laid eyes on Lilah. “Ooooh,” was all she managed to get out.
“Good day, Mrs. Luykens. MaCaz told me how kindly you treated her, so nice to meet you.” Lilah was the picture of innocence.
Lieve was still speechless when she escorted them into the living room. “Miss Ammie,” she croaked at last.
Ammie was at the window again, standing with her back to them. She turned. Ignoring Caz, she gave Lilah the same treatment she had given Caz the previous Sunday. She looked her over carefully before their eyes met.
“Grandma Ammie?” Lilah took the lead.
Ammie’s eyebrows lifted a fraction.
“I’m Lilah. Your granddaughter,” Lilah continued calmly.
“You’re terribly tall. Much taller than her.” Only her head moved slightly in Caz’s direction. Ammie’s eyes remained fixed on Lilah.
“A mere one point eight three meters in my socks, but I prefer high heels. Much more elegant, don’t you think? The height is probably part of my black heritage. Congolese, I hear? Tall, lean people. I was an excellent athlete at school. We blacks have more muscles than brain cells, they say.”
Caz knew it would have sounded like sarcasm if she were the one who had said it. Lilah’s words were filled with laughter, though. Laughter that had to be contagious, because a moment later Ammie’s eyes began to twinkle and she didn’t quite manage to stifle a smile.
“I must add, my father is white as snow, but also nearly two meters tall. In the wedding photos he towers over MaCaz and it was clearly before flat shoes got their evil claws into her. Oh, and his father was even taller. Tall genes, that’s what I have.”
Caz looked at Lilah, frowning, Ammie forgotten for a moment. “Wedding photos? Where did you see my wedding photos?”
“MaCaz, did you really think I wouldn’t search every nook and cranny for clues about my father? And a shoe box at the top of your wardrobe is not a very clever place to keep your secrets out of a teenager’s reach.”
“What did I teach you about respecting the privacy of others?”
“It was before the lesson had sunk in.” She turned to Ammie, who was watching them with a hand clasped over her mouth. “Well, Grandma Ammie, do I look like Elijah, or more like the wicked César?”
If a pin had dropped it would have sounded like a hammer blow. All the humor drained from Ammie’s features. At last she looked at Caz. “I want to speak to my granddaughter in private.”
“I have a right to be told as well.”
Ammie clicked her tongue. “It’s not the only thing I want to speak to her about. But fine. I don’t know. She doesn’t resemble either of the two. Satisfied?”
“Is that the truth?”
Ammie held Caz’s gaze. “It is.”
Caz sighed. She should have known it wouldn’t be so easy. Nothing was ever easy. Not for her or for Lilah. “Fine, I’ll leave you alone. But before I do, I want answers to two questions.”
This time it was Ammie who sighed. “Well, take a seat. But keep it short.” She sank down in her chair and Caz and Lilah followed suit.
Caz waited until Ammie looked at her. “Tieneke told me about a safe-deposit box in a bank in Pretoria that has some of your possessions in it. She gave me the key and said I could do with it as I pleased. But that was before we found you. I’ll try to return the items to you, of course, but what are they? Please don’t tell me they’re nothing but an African mask and a figurine. I have good reason to think there’s more to it.”
“I don’t want them back. I have no use for them. At the time I just felt it would be a shame to let them go to ruin.” Ammie intertwined her fingers on her lap. “It is indeed a mask and a figurine, but I only found out in 1983 that they were valuable, so I asked Fien to put them in safekeeping. Apparently they’d been in her garage for more than twenty years before I contacted her.”
How ironic, thought Caz. She grew up with the stuff lying in the garage and now she wanted at all cost to know what they were.
“What makes them valuable?” she asked.
“They were made by a well-known Congolese artist. He only became famous long after the objects came into my possession. Any art dealer specializing in African art would pay a few thousand euros for each of them. The artist’s name is Aron Matari.”
“Matari?” Caz’s heart began to race.
“Yes, Tabia’s nephew. The one who helped me flee. I told you about him on Sunday.”
She had mentioned him, Caz remembered, without saying his last name, only referring to him as Aron. “How old would he be now?”
“He was a good ten years my junior. About eighteen at the time. Possibly about seventy-two by now.”
“Did he have any children at the time?”
“No, but there was a son later, Arondji. He must be in his forties now. There was an exhibition of Aron’s work in Antwerp. That’s where I met the boy. Why all the questions?”
“Well, here’s the second question: Do you have any idea who Erevu Matari might be?”
Ammie was quiet for a long time. Her eyes were restle
ss. “When was he born?”
“I can find out.” Caz didn’t wait for Ammie to agree before she sent De Brabander a message.
Lieve peered around the door. “Coffee?”
“Not now, Lieve. Leave us alone.” Ammie didn’t look at her. Her eyes were glued to the phone in Caz’s hand.
“Who do you think he could be, Grandma Ammie?” Lilah broke the silence after Lieve had left.
“Erevu. It means sly. Cunning. Shrewd.” She didn’t seem to notice that she hadn’t answered Lilah’s question.
Caz jumped when the phone pinged. She brought the screen closer to her eyes. “Born at Lubumbashi. June, 1961,” she read aloud.
Ammie gasped. Her hand flew to her heart
“Grandma Ammie, who is he?” Lilah asked urgently.
Ammie struggled up from her chair so hastily that she nearly fell. Lilah hurried to her side and helped her regain her balance. Her bewildered eyes flew from Caz to Lilah.
Caz had also jumped up. “Mrs. Pauwels, what is it? What’s wrong?”
Lieve opened the door and seemed uncertain about what to do next.
“He must be Tabia’s son.” Ammie’s voice was croaky; her face wore an expression of fear. “Aron’s son warned me against him. How do you know about him?”
“He might have something to do with Tieneke’s death.”
“Tabia’s son,” Ammie repeated. “Tabia’s son by César. She wouldn’t have given him the name without good reason. Tabia knew things. He was the product of a brute and a woman with magic powers.”
Ammie looked up and pointed at Caz. “Your half-brother.” Her eyes closed and her legs gave way. Lilah helped her to sit down.
The watery eyes fluttered open. “Go away! Go away! Lieve, who are these people? Lieve? Take them away!”
Caz tried to get through to her. “Ammie, Mrs. Pauwels! Please, tell us what you know.”
“Lieve!” Ammie cried shrilly.
“Please! Let her alone, please!” Lieve pushed Caz and Lilah away. “Please!”
Caz was shaking all over when they came to a halt on the pavement outside. “Bloody hell.”
“Fuck, that was intense,” Lilah said. She was also trembling. “What just happened?”
“Let’s just go.” Caz headed for the car. “I’ll phone Lieve later to hear if Ammie is okay.”
“Kess! Kess!” Caz turned. Lieve came running towards them.
She stopped, breathless. “Miss Ammie. She insists that I tell you one more thing. She says ...” Lieve made the sign of the cross and muttered something, her eyes turned skyward. “She says the mask and the figurine. She says they are magic objects. Talisman stuff. Something about kissy.”
“Kissy?”
“Something like that. I have to go back. The doctor is on his way. Oh, and she also said it has something to do with the ancestral spirits. Holy Mother Mary, keep us from evil.” Lieve turned to go. Moments later they heard the front door slam.
Caz looked at a wide-eyed Lilah.
“Holy shit.”
“Amen. Lilah, I need wine. Real wine. South African wine. A lot of it. Now.”
“I agree.” Lilah grabbed her mother’s elbow and steered her to the car. “And getting drunk isn’t an option. It’s a given.”
Luc
Ghent
“I can be there in ninety minutes, Lieve.” Luc covered his eyes with his hand. His heart had nearly stopped when he saw he’d had five calls from Lieve while he was in a group session. Fortunately everything seemed to be under control.
“There’s no need, Professor, really. Unless you want to come, of course, but I don’t think there’s much point. The doctor gave her a light sedative and she’s asleep now. It wasn’t another stroke. Just a panic attack.”
“What triggered it, Lieve? What caused her to panic?” If he got his hands on Caz Colijn now, he couldn’t vouch for her life.
“It had something to do with a name. Tarie or something. And magic objects. Pagan stuff. She also said something about Tabie and César’s son and that he must be the devil himself.”
“Tabie or Tarie?”
“No, Tarie is the son, I think. Tabie is the mother.”
At last the penny dropped. “Lieve, did she say Tabia?”
“Yes, Tabia. That’s right. She makes magic and the son is sly and cunning. Tarie is Kess’s half-brother.”
Another penny. A disturbing one. “Lieve, the son—it’s not Matari, is it?”
“That’s right. Matari. Revu. Now I remember.”
Erevu Matari. “Lieve, call me the minute Ammie wakes up or if anything happens. I have to go now.”
“She’s calm now, Professor. Don’t worry.”
Luc said goodbye and called De Brabander’s number. Busy. He tried again. Still busy. He phoned Caz, but the phone just rang. He left her a message, speaking between clenched jaws: “Call me urgently.”
To think De Brabander had wanted to return her passport.
Erevu
Ghent
And people called this place a prison. Bah! They should go to the Congo to see what prison was like.
He was a child the first time he had landed in one. For stealing a loaf of bread. Not because there was no food at home. Just because the bread looked good. White man’s bread.
Mama Tabia got him out. That was when she decided he had to come to Belgium. His father’s country of origin. Here he had to live on white man’s food. How he had missed fufu, bananas tasting of the real thing, coconut milk. And warm rain.
He was a young man of twenty-five the second time he went to prison. In Uganda, while searching for Alice Auma Lakwena. There he learned how you get what you want in prison. Also how to get out. In Africa money talks and violence buys respect.
It had been worth it. He had found Alice Auma.
And he was going to reap the fruits as soon as he got out of here. With the nkísi in his possession, the spirit of Lakwena would come back and command the Alice Auma Lakwena Holy Army. He had intentionally chosen an English name. The whole world would sit up and take note of AALHA. The Congo was only the beginning. It was time for the whole planet to be rid of sinners.
He had thought Jela was with him, even though she had a different mission in mind. The mission of Kamau Kambon, and now of his son, Obadele Kambon.
The Kambons with their unique terminology. Father and son, both professors from Ghana, who believed that white people were aiming to exterminate all black people in a total genocide and had been doing so for centuries. Who were calling on all Africans to eliminate all whites.
About the liberation of Africa, he and Jela did not disagree, nor about re-Afrikanization. It was about dewhitenization that they disagreed. At an ideological level it sounded like a good idea, but in reality it was foolishness. They needed the white man’s skills and knowledge on too many levels to eradicate whites at random. Once the expertise they needed had been fully assimilated, the ultimate goal could be pursued, but that would not happen in his lifetime, and possibly not in Jela’s either. Dove’s? Maybe.
A world without white land-grabbers. A world where people from Africa could define for themselves what civilization entailed.
For that to happen, they couldn’t entirely rely on the Mongo ancestral spirits who were also the Tetela’s forefathers. Alice Auma had proved it. They needed a white spirit to punish its white children for the robbery and the scorn with which they had treated, and were still treating, Motetela’s children.
But first he had to get the nkísi. The nkísi, which would prove who and what he was.
Caz
Leuven
Lilah exhaled the smoke of her long menthol cigarette and took a sip of her wine. “Here we are,” she sighed, “sitting at Abdij van ’t Park in Leuven on Oom Paul Kruger’s birthday. Two half-breeds with murderous genes.”<
br />
Caz burst out laughing—a helpless laugh that took possession of her entire body.
“Hey, it’s not that funny,” Lilah said with a worried look in her eyes.
Somewhere during her fit of laughter Caz discovered that she was no longer laughing. She had burst into a flood of tears. She took the handful of tissues Lilah held out to her and tried to wipe her cheeks, but the tears kept coming.
So thin was the line between laughter and tears. Between funny and not funny. Joy and sorrow. Courage and despair. Valor and fear. Almost indistinguishable.
How many more times would she be pushed aside by a mother of sorts? Ammie, Magdel, Fien, now Ammie again. But that wasn’t all.
Of course she had realized that there must have been a racial mix somewhere for her to have given birth to Lilah, but she had never thought it would be a father or grandfather. An old transgression of the immorality law on the Maritz side, perhaps, or one of Magdel’s forefathers in days gone by who had fallen out of the family tree.
Now it turned out that she herself was of color. Despite her white skin. Whether Elijah was her biological father or not, whether she was the granddaughter of a woman of ill repute or not. Until Lilah had said it so comically, it hadn’t really dawned on her. A half-breed. That was what she was.
It didn’t turn her into anything or anyone other than Caz Colijn, but it was still a shock. An idea she would have to get used to.
Lilah let her be until she stopped crying. Caz blew her nose.
“Better?” Lilah asked, and pushed her refilled wineglass across the table.
Caz swallowed and nodded. “Sorry, probably a build-up of hysteria.”
“You’ve been through a tough time. It’s good that the pressure cooker’s valve has blown.”
“I’m so tired of thinking, so tired of trying to find out what’s going on. Tired of unraveling. Tired of being a murder suspect. Tired of hearing that Ammie Pauwels thinks I’m the embodiment of evil. For the rest of the day I’d like to forget about genes, and background, and race, and worries.”
Lilah raised her glass. “Ammie who?”
Sacrificed Page 38
