Salif asks, “What do you think happened that made Mum and Auntie Padmini go into panic mode this morning?”
Bella tells him she has no idea.
“I hope they are okay.”
“I hope so too.” And she means it. She doesn’t wish Valerie and Padmini to be subjected to further harassment of the sort they endured in Kampala. On the other hand, she will not be sorry if this turn of events makes them hasten their departure for India. After all, her motives in paying their hotel and legal bills were not entirely altruistic; she had hoped to get them closer to the exit door. Not that Padmini is likely to let Valerie know who their unnamed benefactor is. Pleased with her own discretion, Bella can’t help but allow herself a smidgen of mischievous curiosity at how things will pan out. You never know if a given development will pique Valerie’s rage or elicit the grace to admit defeat, say “thank you,” and then depart.
The contractor enters the kitchen, rubbing his hands together and looking happy.
“We are done,” he says. “Please come see.”
At first the room is too dark for them to see. Then the contractor, who is behind them, turns on the light. Bella likes what she sees: plenty of room for their immediate purposes, as well as for improvements for her professional purposes. The contractor says to Bella, “Give it until tomorrow for the putty to harden and the grout to set, and then it will be ready for use.”
Bella pays in cash, giving each of the workers a generous tip. The contractor gets Mahdi on the line. “Listen,” he says to him, “there is a happy lady here who wants to have a word with you.” He passes her his phone.
Tears well up in Bella’s eyes unexpectedly, and her voice is tender with unreleased emotion. She tells Mahdi how delighted she is with the result his contractor has managed in such a short time.
Just as the men are leaving, Dahaba comes back downstairs. “Is it done, the darkroom, done, done?”
“Yes, it is,” says Salif.
“What’s it like?”
“Amazing.”
“Can I see, Auntie?”
Salif tells her, “Not until tomorrow.”
“Auntie, let me have a quick peek, please.”
Bella allows Dahaba to stand in the doorway but no farther, lest she ruin the work before everything sets.
“A celebration is in order,” says Dahaba.
“How do you want us to celebrate?”
Bella makes herself some tea and they toast each other with tea and soft drinks. Then Bella, exhausted, goes upstairs to bed.
She dreams that she is dressed to the nines, but the heels of her shoes are broken and she can’t find a cobbler anywhere to repair them for her. It is raining very hard, so she shelters in a low shed with huge cracks in its zinc roofing. Wet and miserable, she sets out to seek better shelter, but her way is blocked by several stray dogs that bark viciously at her then attack her. She defends herself the best she can, but the harder she fights, kicking away at them, snarling, cursing, and screaming for help, the more dogs join in the attack. Eventually, she employs the shoes without heels as a weapon and hurls them at the dogs.
She retreats back into the shed and her bare feet come into contact with a bag. It seems to have been pushed into a corner and abandoned. She hasn’t the time to investigate, however, before one of the smaller dogs makes its way past her, snarling, as likely as not to lead the attack from the rear, she fears. But when she kicks at him, she misses and kicks the bag instead. It breaks open, revealing bones. Is it possible, she thinks, that it was the bones the dogs were keen on instead of her?
She makes the opening in the bag bigger, then takes a handful of bones and scatters them over a large area outside the shack. The dogs fight fiercely over them and tear hungrily into them. While the dogs are busy fighting over the bones, she tries to scuttle away, unobserved. But a big bloodhound seemingly uninterested in the bones impedes her progress. Scared stiff, she searches for something to defend herself with — a stone, a stick big enough to strike with. She finds nothing. She lives on the edge of her nerves for a few minutes, trying frantically to imagine what it is about her that is drawing the hound’s attention. Via a process of elimination, she focuses on the necklace of bones she is wearing. She unclasps the chain and throws it at the bloodhound, and at last he lets her leave.
She wakes up, heavily perspiring.
—
A couple of hours later, after a hot shower, Bella comes down to the kitchen. She makes herself some porridge and brews some strong coffee. The children aren’t yet downstairs, but Bella has an appointment with Gunilla at the UN office this morning. Before long, Salif wakes and comes down to have his breakfast, and eventually Dahaba saunters in, holding a toothbrush aloft.
She says, “Somebody give me toothpaste, please.”
Salif scoffs at her. “You’re in the wrong room.”
“Who says this is the wrong room?”
“A kitchen isn’t where you want to be.”
“But there is none in the bathroom,” she says, and then she issues an abysmal groan, supplemented by a blob of phlegm that she spits into the kitchen sink. “Did I ask you to give me toothpaste? Please stay out of my way and keep your nasty comments to yourself.”
Bella rises from her chair in anger then dispossesses Dahaba of the toothbrush, takes hold of the girl’s wrist, and leads her out of the kitchen and back up the stairway toward her bathroom, where Bella is certain there is toothpaste.
When Bella returns to the kitchen, Salif says to her, “Why must you give in to every one of her vagaries, Auntie? This is no good. She will never grow out of it, you are spoiling her rotten.”
“I know what I am doing, darling,” says Bella. “Trust me.”
She sits down to resume the notes she was making, but her millet porridge has hardened. She adds a lump of butter to it and microwaves it, but just as she takes a spoonful, Dahaba reenters the kitchen. Without asking for help, she sets about making her own breakfast this time. Bella wonders which of them is right. She’s certain Salif believes that it’s the pressure he has been putting on Dahaba that will ultimately pay off. And Bella thinks he may well prove right, although it is too early to determine how consistently Dahaba will do anything. She remembers that Hurdo used to say that raising a child is a long-term project, the nature of the child’s needs changing as the child grows, but not the need itself.
Dahaba brings out the bread and puts two slices in the toaster. Then she takes out the marmalade and margarine, and when the toasts pop up, she picks them up with her forefingers. Although she flinches, giving the impression that her fingers are burned, she is pleased when she sits down with her toast. You would think she is expecting applause, so delighted is she with her achievement. She spreads large dollops of margarine and marmalade on the two slices and eats them, getting food all over her mouth and chin.
She says to Bella, “You going somewhere fancy?”
“I’ve an appointment.”
“Where and with whom?”
“With Gunilla, at your dad’s place of work.”
“What’s going on?”
“We need to sort out a few things.”
“Would you like to tell us more?” Dahaba says.
Salif says to Dahaba, “Are you mad?”
Dahaba carps, “What have I done this time?”
Salif says, “Next time you’ll ask Auntie to tell you how much money there is in Dad’s bank account and how much of it is coming your way and how much my share is and how much, if any, will go to Auntie Bella.”
“There is no harm in knowing any of these details, is there, Auntie?” Dahaba says. “Or asking questions of this kind?” Then she turns on Salif. “Why do you mouth off at me? What right have you got to talk to me like this?”