‘Yes,’ I retorted somewhat testily. ‘Why am I here?’
‘Well,’ he said. ‘I cannot tell you. At this time we do not know whether you have any information, so we cannot say.’ He was at it again.
I said, ‘You’re saying you don’t know what this is about?’
‘We are making enquiries, you understand.’
‘You must know why you are making enquiries.’ I tried to maintain my composure, but the obtuseness was grating on me. I smiled to hide my anger. He smiled back at me. There followed a deadly silence.
‘Mr Cole,’ he said. ‘I am sure you have nothing to fear. Please let us continue.’ He bent to his paper, as if reading the next question from it.
‘You are a friend of Dr Kamara?’
‘Which Dr Kamara?’ Pathetic, but I couldn’t help myself.
‘Dr Julius Kamara. He teaches engineering. I am told he is a friend of yours.’
‘I know him, yes.’ I crossed my legs.
He asked about Julius. How long had I known him? Who were Julius’s other friends? What might I know of Julius’s background? I resisted any further temptation to parry with him, keeping my answers to a minimum, not least because of the intense pressure in my abdomen.
‘Dr Kamara uses your study at the university.’
‘From time to time, yes.’
‘How often?’
‘Not often.’
‘Once a week, twice a week?’
‘Once a week. No more.’
‘And when was the last occasion you allowed him to use your study?’
‘I can’t recall exactly,’ I said. I knew precisely. It was the day I had gone to see Saffia; though I recalled neither the day nor the date, I had them written down in my notebook.
‘This week, last week?’
‘During the exams, I believe. The Dean knows all about this. He was perfectly happy with the arrangement. There’s a shortage of space for faculty on campus.’
He nodded and looked at me, a long-considered gaze before applying his pencil to the pad once more.
With sudden desperation I said, ‘If I could use the toilet before we continue.’
Nothing, save the scratch of pencil upon paper.
‘Perhaps I could have your name.’
He looked up. ‘Johnson.’
‘Mr Johnson. I am happy to help you in any way I can. But I would like to use the facilities before we continue.’
He put down his pencil. ‘The problem is this,’ he explained slowly, as if he was talking to a moron. ‘The toilets on this floor are reserved for staff use. Somebody will have to take you to the correct floor to use the ones there.’
‘Perhaps, then, I could have your permission to use the staff toilets?’
He stared at me, before replying, deadpan, ‘I am afraid I do not have the authority to allow that. It is better we continue here,’ he tapped the paper with the end of his pencil, ‘and finish. Then you can go.’ He continued to gaze at me. The man was a small-time sadist, pedantry his weapon of choice. I felt a trickle of rage in my belly. I wanted to hit him.
For an hour more he questioned me. I hid nothing. I had nothing to hide. Eventually he put away his pencil and his notes, opened the door and called somebody. I was led to the toilets. The junior officer who accompanied me insisted that the cubicle door remain open. I turned my back on him, unzipped my fly and urinated. I had held on so long there was as much pain as relief in the act. At first the piss was slow in coming; when it hit the bowl it was lurid and evil-smelling.
I was shown back to the same room, which was empty. No sign of Johnson, of his papers, or my cake.
‘Am I free to go?’ I said.
‘One minute, please.’ My guide trundled off. I waited. A long minute passed. The air in the room was hot now and the smell of sweat was my own. I could have removed my jacket, but I chose not to, for to do so felt like some sort of submission. Neither did I sit down again. I walked about a bit, as much as I could in the confined space. The room was five paces long. Four paces wide. A half-hour must have passed before Johnson reappeared.
At the sight of him I felt a cold gust of anger. I said, ‘Are we through yet?’
‘Oh yes.’ His manner was amiable.
I was in no mood for it. ‘Am I then free to go?’
‘Yes, yes. There are one or two formalities to attend to. Forgive me if I delay you a few minutes further. None of it should take long. You did say you were not teaching today.’ He was amusing himself at my expense. ‘Do sit.’
‘I’m perfectly fine as I am, thank you.’
‘You will be more comfortable if you sit.’
I didn’t move but remained standing in the same spot. Johnson, too, stayed where he was, arms folded in front of him, and watched me. The seconds ticked past. I could hear the sound of rain, a rushing in the distance, ponderous drops from the eaves of the building and from tree branches. I was aware of Johnson’s eyes upon me, regarding me as though I were a querulous child. I felt petulant and aggrieved. My head ached and I experienced a strange and sudden urge to cry. He had even stolen my cake.
Johnson cleared his throat. ‘You will be more comfortable if you sit.’
I was about to decline a second time when I changed my mind, seeing how absurdly I was behaving. I was only delaying my own departure.
‘Fine.’ I walked across the room, seized a chair and dragged it into the middle of the floor. I sat down.
Johnson crossed to the door. ‘Be assured I’ll try not to keep you waiting any longer than necessary, Mr Cole. Just a few minutes.’ He smiled minimally, and as he left the room he turned the key in the lock behind him.
I had been wrong about Johnson. There was nothing civil about him at all.
I waited. Outside the rain eased off, slowing to a distant patter. I listened to the drip, drip of the run-off from the roof. I sat for an hour or so in the failing light until, without warning, the overhead light went on. A switch on the other side of the door. I called out, but nobody answered. A numbness was spreading across my buttocks. The heat had gone from the day and the room seemed suddenly cold. I stood up. I went to the door and banged. I counted to five. I banged again.
Nothing.
CHAPTER 23
‘Is it true,’ says the child Abass, voice juddering as he bounces on the car’s back seat, ‘that the number of stars in the sky is infinity?’
From the driving seat Kai glances back at him. ‘Nobody knows how many stars are in the sky. Nobody knows where the universe ends, so you could say there are an infinite number of stars in the sky. Yes.’
‘How many zeros does infinity have?’
‘A never-ending number.’
‘Never-ending,’ echoes Abass, trying the words out for size, staring from the window as they pass a palm plantation. His eyes switch back and forth from one row to the next, he begins to experiment, closing one eye and then the other.
‘Imagine you tried to drive to the ends of the earth,’ continues Kai. ‘You’d just go round and round, you’d never get to the end of your journey. Think of that as zeros.’
Silence for a while, between the three of them. Adrian can almost hear the whirring cogs of the kid’s imagination. His mind turns to the old man in the room at the hospital and his memories of the moon walk. Adrian had been ten when the moon walk happened. He remembered being in his grandparents’ house, sitting on the rug watching the television across the expanse of the coffee table. His father’s voice explaining what was happening. Calling Adrian to sit by him. His father had been well then.
‘When I was your age,’ says Adrian, then clears his throat. It has been a while since he spoke to a child. Kai has an easy way with Abass, whom he treats as a smaller and more vulnerable version of himself. It’s a matter of hitting the right note. ‘I mean, my father once explained to me how to think of infinity, the only way you could keep the idea in your head.’