Who Will Catch Us As We Fall (48 page)

After it is completed, the two of them step back to observe their work. Forty-seven hands joined together – a representation of the forty-seven tribes of Kenya – fingers intertwined. Within the unbreakable oval of their union, Michael has written:

PEACE IS ONLY POSSIBLE WHEN WE COME TOGETHER

Jai asks his friend, ‘Do you think this made a difference? All those hurried nights, you going to jail – do you think it was worth it?'

Michael stands with his hands in his pockets and his reply is as composed as always. ‘Whether one person or a hundred see it, we did our part. That's what matters.'

As they make their way to Michael's apartment, the stars blinking at their backs and a smell that lingers like an ache in Jai's chest – smoke and dust, the honey-sweetness of flowers – he thinks of how this is his favorite kind of evening. It has an endless quality about it, the kind that allows you to know yourself completely, even for a short time.

They are on the main road, surrounded by
matatu
noises and the leering whistles of touts. A cyclist speeds by, narrowly missing them and ringing his small bell in irritation, echoing far into the obscure darkness. Tired street vendors pack up, taking a momentary rest for a steaming plate of
githeri
, which they buy off the old woman who sits by the roadside with her
jiko
and small radio. They talk together briefly before the men drop their dirty dishes in a bucket of soapy water and leave for the night. A young woman leans into a car window; she is smiling a painted smile and adjusting the shortness of her dress. Her eyes dart about before she disappears behind the tinted windows.

It stuns him because life in Nairobi is so raw, a series of short and poignant moments that, standing on the curb and watching life pass, acknowledge him like an old friend. Jai finds it impossible that anyone could ever wish to be any other place but here.

The city is restless and, tired of waiting, rouses early on voting day. Before dawn, eager Kenyans blow whistles and trumpet-like vuvuzelas, calling for people to rise from the warmth of their beds. Raj wakes his son at five o'clock, the stars waning figures in a bluing sky.

‘I want to get a headstart.'

They leave Pooja and Leena at home, slow breathing bumps beneath bedsheets, and drive to the closest polling station in Muthaiga. By the time they arrive, a pink chill has hardened the air and the wind disturbs Jai's unbrushed hair.

‘Looks like everyone had the same idea as us,' he says.

The voting is taking place in the suburb's main police station, temporarily transformed into a frenzied market of people. The absence of signs and officials means that they wait in shifty, confused lines – bickering and shoving, eager to cast their ballots. The two Kohli men walk the entire vicinity before spotting the main desk, hiding within a narrow, cool corridor. While Raj shows their IDs and Voter Cards, Jai returns to the waiting crowd.

‘The main desk is this way,' he calls out. ‘You need a number first.'

There are six different stations, separated into alphabetical order according to surnames. Yet still they must wait four hours before dropping their ballots into the color-coded containers. Breath held, folded paper forced into too-thin slits of the boxes, and when Jai exits the dark room he is met with dazzling, late-morning sunlight.

People are growing impatient, disturbed by the heat, their voices rising as they begin to argue with officials and each other. Somewhere, a cheeky voter is caught trying to skip the line, causing a chaotic disruption as people turn on him.

‘I've been waiting here since early morning – are you the future president, you think you are so special?'

‘These Kikuyu think they can get away with anything.'

The man is jostled, kicked and tugged by the collar to the end of the queue where, reprimanded, he stands baffled and wearing a shamefaced grin.

An elderly woman wrapped in a shawl lightly touches the man's arm and says in a voice loud enough for Jai to overhear, ‘It's okay to wait because we are making history. If you want to do something good, you must be patient.'

These are the words Jai carries home with him and that dissipate slightly the nervous fear that springs up whenever he thinks of the long day still ahead, the predicament that Michael and ultimately his sister have found themselves in – the unsettling clench of not knowing what is yet to come.

The phone vibrates noisily, skipping over the table with a flashing blue screen. The name appears in bold, black letters and Michael turns the mobile over so that he can no longer see the display.

The apartment is empty. He has sent Jackie and his aunt to stay with his mother in Eldoret. ‘Things are uncertain here. No one is sure what will happen,' he had told them.

‘What about you,
cuzo
?' Jackie had been a wide-eyed child, clinging to his wrists. ‘Aren't you going to join us?'

‘I'll see you very soon,' he had promised.

With the glare of the late-afternoon sun in his eyes, Michael moves slowly through the rooms of his home. He notices the things he has forgotten to look at: the permanent indentation of the living-room carpet from where his mattress used to lie; the bathroom door with its constantly squeaking, loose hinge; the wine stain on the couch where his aunt, after a working night, had fallen asleep with a glass between her fingers.

He puts his hand to the rough upholstery, cracking now with age. It is also where Leena had trusted him with her secret: where twelve long years had stretched out and disappeared between them, rising in a new and much more urgent way.

These are the stories of his life, neglected and left to fade, and he wishes he could take them with him. Misunderstood, they will be nothing but a nuisance to the next occupants, things to be fixed, because only he can see their magic.

He is pulled from these musings by a loud rapping – quick and hard knocks on the door – and instinctively, he presses closer to the wall. He checks his watch. It is just past four thirty; the policeman is early. Then he hears her voice and his muscles weaken with relief.

‘I'm glad you're here,' he starts, pulling open the door, but the expression on her face stops him. It is stiff and annoyed and she stalks into the apartment with hurried words.

‘It's such a disaster – my mother has found out about us.' Leena throws herself onto the couch. ‘What am I going to do?'

Her panic is abrasive, setting his already racing heart pounding even faster. He closes the door and goes to her.

‘At least now we don't have to hide.' Then Michael remembers that he has not yet told her about the policeman's visit. Perhaps now he will be able to convince her to go with him – a leaping, painful hope in his throat turning to stone as soon as she speaks.

‘This is the worst thing that could have happened. Everyone at the temple is laughing and talking about me. I told you, I didn't want to have to explain this to anyone.'

She is so caught up in her own worries that she doesn't even notice the emptiness of her surroundings. Gone are the bed, the
sufurias
, the portable drawers of vegetables – even the
jiko
was packed up in a cardboard box and taken to Eldoret. Only the couch and threadbare carpet remain.

‘Just tell me what you want to do.' For the first time, Michael is angry with her – feels a pang of irritation at her childish selfishness.

She asks, ‘What if there comes a point when we can't cheat ourselves about how different we are from each other?'

‘The only difference between you and me is that I'm not constantly questioning this relationship.' He is cold; he thinks of all the things he has agreed to do and how oblivious she remains – caught up in silly anxieties that hold no real importance.

‘It's not so black and white, Mike,' she protests.

‘And it never will be. You just have to figure out if this is worth the risk.'

Having dispelled some of her anxiety, she finally recognizes that he is not his usual, patient self. His eyes keep wandering up to the clock, his fingers fidgeting over his stubble; he looks like he hasn't shaved or slept in a few days.

‘Is everything okay?' she asks, feeling the inklings of alarm.

He says, ‘Actually, it's getting quite late.'

‘My parents are expecting me home for dinner.' She wants to reassure him of her feelings but something holds her back. As she glances around, she notices the absence of all the luxuries she is used to, seeing the frayed couch and the old-fashioned floorboards, and is reminded of her own home, so spacious and full, tucked into an expensive, modern suburb, and she feels the truth of her mother's words pinching her stomach.

When her eyes fall back on him, he gives her a long and hard stare. ‘Then you should leave.'

As Leena walks by him, the sunlight a tangle of topaz in her hair, he wonders if this will be the last time he sees her. He is tempted to stop and tell her what is happening but before he can, she is reaching up to kiss his rigid cheek.

‘You mean a lot to me but there are other people I have to think of as well. Please just be patient.'

His chest deflates sharply, disappointment gnawing at him as she walks away; he is angry at how easily she can do it.

After she leaves, it takes him a long time to get dressed and he does so sitting on the edge of the couch, his legs heavy. He has to skip some of the button holes because of the tremor in his fingers; his khaki trousers snag and he pulls so hard that the seam tears. When he pauses, he notices that the shaking in his hands has become worse, has traveled up to his chest and shoulders.

The phone rings again. This time he picks up without hesitation.

Jeffery slips his mobile phone back into his breast pocket, holds up his empty glass and shakes it at the bartender.

‘
Ingine
,' he calls out and then, because he is feeling slightly unanchored, promises himself that it will be the last one. It is almost five o'clock – in less than two hours, it will be dark. The streets outside remain empty. Most people have either stayed at home or shut their businesses early. ‘Turn on the television!' he shouts in the direction of the bar, wishing that it was Marlyn here to serve him. But she had left for Eldoret that morning, promising him that she would not be returning to Nairobi, and the way she had looked at him, so neutrally, as if he no longer mattered to her, Jeffery believed it.

A staticky flicker, a silver buzz of promise before the screen falls blank again. ‘It's not working,' he is told. ‘Go home, even your companions have left.'

‘Who is in the lead?' Jeffery speaks to the shadows, detects a slight, gray movement as the bartender wipes down the shelves.

‘It's still too early to tell,
m
zee.
Why worry?'

He thinks of Betty, hopes that she is safe wherever she is. He is used to the dull bellyache her memory gives him – is beginning to understand that it will stay with him forever. ‘Do you think it's going to be alright?' His voice has shrunk into a pleading whisper. ‘Do you think we're all going to be fine?'

‘God gave us this country. He will keep it safe.'

Jeffery slides off the bar stool and pushes away his glass. The two men had left over half an hour ago, after listening to his plan with unamused scowls. They had not been happy when he told them that it would be necessary, after all, for them to be present in Kibera.

‘I thought we told you to take care of it.'

‘I'll do the most important part but you must bring the equipment. I have some last-minute things to work out before I can join you.'

And they had threatened and growled at him but had eventually agreed as he knew they would, because they were bound to another person the way he was to them, someone who had compelled them into action, leaving them little room for choice.

Now, Jeffery moves toward the door, finding the speed in his feet at last. There are still many things to be done and the sky is fading quickly.

A voice springs up in the darkness. ‘Do you think she'll hate me when she finds out?'

‘You're only trying to protect her, Mike.'

It has been almost an hour and the waiting is worse than anything. With no distractions, Michael cannot stop the thoughts that hound him. Ice-cream parlors and black silk hair – her warm laughter against his mouth. How close they came to the end.

‘I won't be able to stay here after this,' he tells his friend. ‘Not for a while, at least.'

‘Where will you go?'

‘My mother needs some help with the
shamba
in Eldoret and Jackie is already there.'

‘If you tell her the truth, maybe she'll wait for you.'

Michael shakes his head. He is tired of putting his life on hold. ‘That's not fair to either of us.'

Kibera is asleep. For those residents who have televisions, they remain glued to the news, filling their houses with anxious neighbors, packed tightly within mud walls, and the two friends sit outside the polling station undisturbed. The dim, yellowing moon reveals the outline of a primary school, flat and boxy with countless pillars along thin corridors. On the wall closest to them, the times tables from one to twelve have been printed out in childish colors. It reminds Michael of his old school in Eldoret, sitting in an L-shape around a concrete playground.

‘They don't even care about what will happen to the children afterward.'

Before Jai can say anything, the air drags with heavy footsteps, labored breathing and then a pause. One man spits into a mountain of garbage,
thwack
, disturbing the stillness. Jai tenses up and it dawns on Michael how difficult this will be.

‘You better go,' he tells Jai. ‘They can't know that you're here.'