Her voice belying the extent of her worry, she says, “There are no problems that I know of, unless you are bringing some yourself.”
“We bring peace.”
Misty-eyed, she looks from the man who introduces himself as Bile to the military type whom he presents to her as Dajaal. Bile is squinting at the sun as he does the presentations, whereas Dajaal is moving about as one does when securing a battle zone, making it safe for the victors currently occupying it. First off, he retrieves the firearm and the club before telling MereBoy to move away. Then he walks over to the car and brings out elastic cables with which he ties Red-Eye’s and ArmedCompanion’s hands to their backs.
Cambara asks Bile, “Why is he doing this?”
“To render them inactive until we leave.”
Dajaal wonders aloud, “Where do we go from here?”
“Let’s ask the lady,” Bile suggests.
“A lift, please.”
“Where do you live?” Dajaal says.
Cambara seizes up.
To assure Cambara of his good intentions, Bile says, “We’ll take you where you want to go.”
Dajaal does not seem to approve.
“Come anyway.”
Eventually, as they leave, a general sense of triumph pervades the air. A feeling of relief etches itself on Cambara’s face, as at Bile’s insistence, Dajaal escorts her from “the scene of a virtuous woman’s battle against the wicked forces that are besieging the city” to the vehicle, the tips of his fingers in discreet contact with the voluminous sleeve of her veil. Dajaal tells Red-Eye Randy and his mates to bugger off and gives them fierce kicks in their pants, promising them worse reprisals if he sees them in the neighborhood. Inspired hope rises before her as she sits in the back of the car behind Bile, who, when silent, strikes her as living in a world of his own.
Cambara acknowledges with caution that she must beware of surrendering to Bile’s magic charm: a handsome man with a distinctively remote gaze not likely to come into close focus, despite Dajaal’s gentle prompting. The only bodily exertion he engages in is to take off his glasses, breathe onto them, one at a time, and then wipe them with a clean handkerchief, which he then replaces in his trouser pocket. Then he rubs his eyes, permitting a smirk to spread across his features. Bile strikes her as if he is a child refusing to wake up from a deep sleep.
Dajaal asks, “Where to?”
He receives no response.
He says, “I’ve asked where you live.”
She looks away from Dajaal to Bile, who, to the trained eye of a woman who takes pleasure in interpreting facial expressions, looks battle weary. Not that she can explain why it bothers her, but she cannot work out Bile and Dajaal’s relationship: Dajaal takes the initiative, and Bile quietly and self-absorbedly sits in the back, hardly advancing an opinion. She notes that he is holding a book gingerly and using his index finger as a bookmark; he stares away impatiently as though he were eager to return to his interrupted reading. No matter how hard she tries, she is unable to make out the title of the book he has on his lap. Convinced that he is more interesting to get to know than Dajaal, Cambara wishes she could eavesdrop on his unspoken thoughts.
Restless, her drifting gaze meets Dajaal’s, and she smiles. Although she does not wish to admit it, the truth is that she does not know the names of the streets they are in. Nor does she know how to lead him to the family property. After all, walking to a place is different from getting there in a car, driven by someone else.
“Shall I guide you to where I want to be taken?”
“Kindly do,” says Dajaal.
He follows her instructions, making a conscious effort not to look at either her or Bile. He stares ahead of himself, turning left, veering right, and then going straight until they arrive at the shopping complex, where she requests that he stop, and he obliges. She gets out, thanking them both. She stands on the passenger side of the vehicle, close to where Bile is. He is writing phone numbers on a piece of paper, which he hands over to her without saying anything.
As she takes her first two steps away from the vehicle, she becomes mindful of the undeniable consciousness that her life in Mogadiscio and her destiny have both taken decisive turns. She hopes that her encounter with the two men, Bile above all, will prove to be propitious.
FOURTEEN
On her way to the family property with an escort, Cambara is delighted that the shopkeeper, to whom she returns the bag he loaned her, with thanks, has proven himself worthy of her confidence and admiration, because he has served her truly well. A pity she didn’t remember to ask him about his wife, of whom, insofar as she could tell, there was no sign. Cambara has come away from the shopping complex laden with a motley collection of edibles, some of which she bought from him or some with his help; he has a friendly way of sending one of his assistants to get for her whatever she desires. At times, they go to other shops and on occasion to the stalls where you get fresh produce. Her purchases being too heavy for her to carry all by herself, the shopkeeper’s nephew, a teenager, has volunteered to help her cart the stuff, the two of them walking level for much of the way, neither speaking. She wonders how she can dispense with his services just before she reaches her destination without arousing his suspicions or inconveniencing herself, considering the number of bags she has to haul all on her own. After all, she does not want him to know what she is up to, nor is she keen for him to meet Jiijo or any of the other objectionable characters. If luck is on her side, they will get to her target with no one near the gate to the property or its vicinity, or for that matter anywhere along the road. She thinks that she will stop two gates down or up the road from the property’s, depending, tip him generously, and then dispose of him, saying, “Thanks, you’ve been most wonderful. I can cope now.” When he has been gone for a couple of minutes, then, unescorted, she will knock on the gate.
As it happens, fortune has favored her yet again, she tells herself. As they near the house she informs him that they have come to her journey’s end, thank you.
“My uncle…” he says.
“I know…” she interjects and falls silent.
“What will I tell him if I leave you here?”
“That you’ve seen me to my gate.”
He hangs back, hesitating whether or not to obey her command and remains where he is as though waiting to hear a confirmation. He looks anxious, the way people with impaired hearing do when they are not sure if they have read someone’s lips correctly. She hopes he won’t continue hesitating to go. His body language indicates that he does not wish to leave her before she has gained a safe purchase on her point of call, possibly because the shopkeeper will expect him to report back. “Please be on your way,” she says to him, her hands making shooing-away gestures. Unburdened of the load, the teenager stands awkwardly, looking a bit unbalanced, his eyes crossed with anxiety.
The teenager gives in to the curiosity of knowing what her next step might be, and he walks backward, pausing only after tripping awkwardly. He recovers his equilibrium quickly, and, turning around, grins from ear to ear. Then he takes his time and looks amusedly at the mound of earth that has halted his progress, showering curses on it. She waves good-bye to him the instant she senses a surge of excitement rising within her. Even if the source of her exhilaration is a mystery to her, she cannot help appreciating how fortunate she has been so far to get to where she has and achieve what little she has carried out without anyone taking hostile exception to her actions. It is to her good that she continues dealing amicably with the shopkeeper and his nephew if for no other reason than the expediency of seeking their assistance when she has settled on the means and the time to launch her plan and make her move to dislodge the minor warlord and his minions from the family house.