“Is that so?” Dawson grinned nonchalantly, but his heartbeat picked up with a tinge of excitement.
“Ah, but you yourself know that already,” Daramani said.
“So can you help me?”
Daramani looked hurt. “But of course I can help you. Aren’t you my brother, my friend? Yes, you are!”
He reached under his chair and brought out a small, covered box. He opened it up. There were the fat, neatly rolled joints.
“Here, I give you the biggest one,” Daramani said happily. “Because I love you like my brother.”
Dawson hesitated, wrestling. But it was too late. He was here. He took off his shirt and undershirt, hanging them outside the door so they wouldn’t reek later. Bare-chested, he lit up with Daramani and sat back. He had forgotten how good it was. He had hoped it wouldn’t be. He felt marvelous and loathed himself for it. Why had he come? He closed his eyes. A couple tears squeezed out for no reason he could fathom.
He was floating, very relaxed now. His mind began to free-associate.
If you are on the road to nowhere, find another road.
He laughed at that. It suddenly seemed funny. Daramani joined in his mirth for the hell of it.
But the Sankofa proverb was just as relevant to this mystery he was trying to solve. It is not taboo to go back and fetch what you forgot. Maybe he’d forgotten something in this case that he had to go back and fetch. That venerable bird with his head turned backward, like the one in Dr. Botswe’s foyer. Dawson smiled. Generation after generation of schoolchildren learned about it.
His eyes popped open. Head turned backward.
He shot out of his chair.
“What wrong?” Daramani asked languidly.
“Ebenezer is the Sankofa bird.”
“Oh, yeah,” Daramani muttered.
Grabbing his phone, Dawson speed-dialed Cairo. “I need your help,” he said.
“Sure, what’s up?”
“Get out your proverb book. I’m looking for three different proverbs-one referring to the fingers, one to the knees, and one to the tongue. While you’re looking for those, I’ll be on the way down to the shop.”
“Okay, I’ll start right away and see you in a little while.”
Dawson took one last puff of what was left of his joint and then put it between Daramani’s lips. “I’ve got to go.”
“Why you leave me again?”
“No more wee for me,” Dawson said, opening the door. “Never again.”
“Okay.” Daramani laughed. “We’ll see.”
Dawson put his head back in. “Chaley, do you have any chewing gum to freshen my breath?”
Daramani tossed him a packet of P.K. gum.
Cairo was poring over the book when Dawson arrived.
“Have you got anything so far?” Dawson asked.
“Man, there are a lot of proverbs,” Cairo said as his brother sat down beside him. He sniffed. “What’s that smell? Have you been in smoke or something?”
“Yes-tell you another time. Not important right now.”
“Okay, here’s the first one I’ve found. It goes, ‘The knee does not wear the hat when the head is available.’ ”
“What does that mean?”
“I’m not absolutely positive. I think it means, don’t assume a role that doesn’t rightfully belong to you.”
“That sounds about right. Give me another copy of the book and I’ll start from the back.”
“Does this have to do with these serial murders you’re investigating? You’re all over the news today, I’m sure you know.”
“Yes, only too aware,” Dawson said sourly. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Sorry. Carry on.”
“So when this guy kills his victims, he stabs them in the back, mutilates them in some way, and then dumps them in or at some filthy location like the Korle Lagoon. I’ve been trying to figure out the meaning behind the mutilations. One of the victims, Ebenezer, had his head twisted around-”
“Twisted around?” Cairo said. “You mean twisted…”
“One hundred and eighty degrees, that’s exactly what I mean.”
“Broke his neck, in other words.”
“Yes.” Dawson paused. This was delicate territory. “Sorry, Cairo.”
“Don’t worry,” he said, dismissing it. “I’m not sensitive about that anymore.”
“So I thought, What is this murderer trying to tell us?” Dawson continued. “What’s the message? He’s not just killing people, he’s displaying them in some way, so is there a lesson or moral he’s trying to impress on us with that twisted head and neck? And then Sankofa hit me. That’s an iconic Ghanaian symbol that represents possibly our most famous proverb. Dr. Botswe has a beautiful one in his house.”
“Do you suspect him?”
“I did, but that’s over. His alibis are established.”
“I understand what you’re saying about proverbs,” Cairo said, “particularly Ghanaian proverbs that carry religious meaning. But why does this murderer have such a need to communicate that with us? What compulsion is driving him?”
“I don’t know,” Dawson said.
“Let’s analyze this,” Cairo said. “If I tell you a proverb, what am I trying to do? To pass on to you some kind of wisdom in a short, clever sentence, right?”
“Yes.” Dawson sat up. “Wait a minute.”
“What?”
“You said it just now, Cairo. When you state a proverb, you’re trying to pass on to me some kind of wisdom, not someone else. All along I’ve been thinking the killer wants to tell us something, but it’s not us he’s trying to teach the lesson, it’s his victims.”
“Oh,” Cairo said, light dawning. “I see. Just a minute, though. What good is the lesson to his victims when they’re dead?”
“That’s easy. Whether traditional or Christian, so many people believe in the afterlife. The killer is sending them there branded with the proverbs, so to speak. Botswe called it right. It’s messianic, apocalyptic.”
They stared at each other for a moment.
“I hate to admit it,” Cairo said, “but occasionally you’re brilliant.”
“It’s you who’s the brilliant one,” Dawson said, laughing. “And while we’re sitting around congratulating ourselves, we still have two more proverbs to dig up, so let’s get to it.”
They were quiet for the next fifteen minutes as they searched.
“Here’s something,” Cairo said. “Look at proverb number three-sixty.”
Dawson turned to it. “ ‘Obi ntó ntasu ntó fam’ mfa ne tεkrεma mfa,’ ” he read. “Translation-no one spits on the ground and then licks up the spittle with his tongue. Lovely image, I must say.”
“Meaning you don’t defile yourself with what you’ve just defiled?”
“If that’s what the killer chose, maybe he’s saying the street children are sullied with the very filth they brought with them-immorality, disease, and so on?”
“Could be,” Cairo said.
“All right, we’ll take that one as a possibility. We have one more to go for the fingers.”
“I think everybody knows that one,” Cairo said. “ ‘No one points his left finger at his hometown.’ In other words, be proud of your village, town, or country.”
“The only problem with that,” Dawson said, “is that it was the fingers of his right hand chopped off, not the left.”
Cairo grunted. “Okay, never mind, then.”
“What about this?” Dawson said. “ ‘Adeo kake loko adeo enyo.’ Meaning, we must count one before we can count two. It doesn’t mention fingers itself, but he could be referring to counting on your fingers.”
“Maybe,” Cairo conceded. “A little subtler than the other two. So let’s suppose we’re right about this. How are you linking the street children to the Sankofa bird and the book of proverbs in Dr. Botswe’s house?”