Who Will Catch Us As We Fall (49 page)

A few meters from where they sit, a thicket of bush runs the boundary of the school, cutting it off from the rest of the houses, and Jai heads that way now, disappearing from view with a loud rustle. After several seconds, the silence resettles and Michael is alone.

‘Who are you talking to,
kijana
?' The voice behind him is rough and smoke-filled, approaching from the shadows.

Michael doesn't turn around. A part of him is compelled to look upon the men who hurt her but there is a sick tightening in his gut and he finds himself paralyzed, able only to stare straight ahead.

‘Let's get this over with.'

‘Where is Jeffery?' The bulky figure comes closer, disturbs the thick night.

‘He stayed at home.'

They chuckle disapprovingly together, standing fully in front of him now, twin bald heads gleaming in the poor light.

‘And he has sent you to do his dirty work.'

Their dark faces creep with smiles. Their movements are unhurried, as if they don't mind being here, as if it never occurred to them that something might go wrong. One takes a tobacco leaf and pushes it underneath his red-stained tongue.

‘Didn't you make him your scapegoat?' Michael asks.

Their smiles catch. Unlike Nick, eager and nervous to please, this one is hard-faced and refuses to hide his contempt, spitting out his words.

‘Don't talk of things you know nothing of,' the chewing one tells him. ‘You're only a boy.'

Last week, after Jeffery had forced his way into the apartment, Michael had listened to his story with disbelief – a mounting rage that had set the room spinning.
They were going to kill me. I didn't know they would do such a thing
–
you have no idea what they are capable of. You must help me. They know where she lives so you have to do exactly as I say.

Being sneered at now by the two of them, one sending a spray of pink spittle to the ground, Michael is tempted to tell them everything he knows. Instead, he concentrates on the wet semi-circle in the mud and swallows down the truth.

‘Have you got everything?' he asks, sliding off the small wall.

One of them taps the backpack on his shoulder. ‘We told Jeffery to take care of it. I still don't know why I'm here.'

‘It was short notice and I couldn't get the kerosene in time.'

With a disapproving grunt, the man says to his companion, ‘I told you the
jama
was useless.'

Michael heads toward the school. ‘One of the classrooms on the ground floor should get the job done.' He holds his voice tight, hoping they won't sense how it wavers. He is overcome by a crippling doubt, convinced that he has been tricked – cornered in this faraway place by a wily policeman. Then he remembers Jai crouching behind the bushes and his nervousness slows.

There is a night watchman who has been instructed to guard the building but Jeffery has already bribed him for his silence and as he sees the three approaching figures, he turns down the corner and heads away from the building.

He has left the main door slightly open and they enter unimpeded. Their footsteps echo through the bare corridor – long sounds petering out behind Michael as he forces his feet forward, toward the last classroom. He thinks he hears the scrape of table legs, hushed voices and pauses to glance back at the men. They are relaxed, conversing pleasantly, and when they see him watching, one scowls.

‘We don't have all night,
kijana
.'

The classroom has not been cleaned up from the day. The wooden desks are littered with pencils and scraps of paper, empty ballot slips and an ink case, used to mark the fingernail of each voter. Along the far wall, taped-up cardboard boxes, full of votes, are piled haphazardly upon each other. Tomorrow, they will be transported to the main center to be counted but for tonight, they sit exposed and neglected, as if their contents are unnecessary.

A large stock cupboard sits at the back of the room and creaks slightly in the wind, looking ready to tip over. Michael's skin breaks open in an anxious sweat as the backpack is kicked toward him.

‘Get moving.'

He takes his time unzipping it. An overhead clock ticks inanely, mocking him with every second passed. The kerosene has been poured into a one-liter, plastic container of cooking oil and as he picks it up from the bag, Michael asks, ‘Are you sure you want me to do this? It's not too late to stop.'

They were meant to stand aside and let him do it but now that they are here, the two men have grown impatient and begin to reshuffle the furniture, shoving the desks together in a cluster behind the cardboard boxes.

‘Stop talking and give it to me.' When one of them gestures for the kerosene, Michael hesitates. ‘Hurry up! You're taking too long.' An annoyed shout and, reluctantly, the container exchanges hands.

As the man begins to unscrew it, Michael's ankles tense up. His shoulders clench, ready to tackle him. But he is distracted by the loud noise of cupboard doors slamming open. With a loud yelp, four policemen spring out of the stock closet.

Wild eyes, a heaving chest – the two men are astounded to see Jeffery rushing toward them, gun pointed and face set in such determination; they fall immediately to their knees before him. The cooking oil container is kicked away, unopened.

Jeffery shouts, ‘Stay on the floor – you are under arrest for attempting to tamper with votes.'

Michael follows their cue, spreading himself out onto the floor and shutting his eyes tight as a gun is pressed firmly to the back of his head.

In the pale lavender morning, the two men walk slowly along the gravel pathway of Parklands police station. Jeffery pauses at the edge of the parking lot, extending his hand outward. Michael shakes it with a firm warning.

‘Remember your promise.'

‘Those men will be in jail for a very long time – they have many things to pay for, as do I.' Jeffery's face is marred by an exhausted sorrow but the previous night has rid him of a certain weight and his steps are lighter, his voice moving with a friendly skip.

When Michael says to him, ‘I should go, I don't want to miss my bus,' the police officer scuffs his toe bleakly in the dirt and hovers in front of the boy, reluctant to let him leave.

‘What happened to your friend?' he inquires, secretly glad that he didn't have to face the
muhindi
boy.

‘He had to go home.'

Once he was sure that Michael was in no danger, Jai had left the police station, apologetic and explaining that it was an emergency. ‘You know I wouldn't go if it wasn't important,' he had called over his shoulder, hurrying out of the
mabati
door.

Jeffery says now, ‘It's a good idea to leave Nairobi, for the present time at least. Those men have many connections and you must keep yourself safe.' He feels a strange tie to this boy and is sorry to see him go. After a quick pause, he asks, ‘That girl – is she going with you?'

‘I haven't told her I'm going.'

Jeffery is surprised by the dull thud in the boy's words. ‘You fight for many important things so why give up now, at this most crucial time?'

It is Michael's turn to fix his gaze upon the dusty ground, to rub his toe in a frustrated circle. ‘There is only so much fighting I can do alone. At some point, she will have to join in.' It is easy to be truthful with the policeman, who, despite everything, is still a stranger to him.

‘It's unfortunate that some of us have to lose so much in order to learn what is worth keeping,' the officer acknowledges.

Attempting to change the subject, Michael asks, ‘Where will you go now?'

Jeffery glances back at the station – gray and unwelcoming, brimming with ghosts. He will not miss it. ‘I'm going home.'

‘Kibera is not safe at the moment.'

The police officer is taking small steps away from Michael, a new smile tugging the edges of his lips; it is not mean nor grimacing but sparks a sweetness in his dark eyes. When he speaks, however, his voice is grave. ‘It seems I have spent a lifetime avoiding my true duties. If things are to come crashing down now, I want to be there to catch them.'

The bus station in Nairobi is the busiest place in the city. The uncertainty from the elections has infected people with a restlessness and most feel unable to stay in the capital city, needing to be upcountry with family and loved ones.

He sees the orange and blue colors of the Eldoret Express, with its dusty tires and heavy load; already people are squeezed in against the windows and the bags that do not fit at the bottom of the bus are strapped insecurely to a rack at the top or piled up on passengers' laps. Michael has not taken the bus since he was fifteen years old, clutching his favorite satchel throughout the bumpy ride. Back then, he hadn't known what to expect when he reached the capital and he recalls the student he had met on the bus, how she had warned him of the city's lure – its ability to snatch up and keep you.

Stepping off the bus into this very station those many years ago, he had felt cheated by her, but today, he understands what she had been trying to tell him. He wonders what he will do without all the noise and cheerful busyness – the shivering promise that runs through Nairobi like a current.

He is so preoccupied by these worries, lost amid jostling bodies packed tightly about him as they fight to embark first, that they almost miss each other. It is only because he pauses to catch one last glimpse of the city that he spots her, a distant figure enshrouded by morning light, a protective hand over her eyes. A gust of wind disturbs the hem of her dress and she catches onto it. By the time he reaches her, the breeze has settled and the air is expectantly still.

When she speaks, he drops his bag at her feet with collapsing, relieved shoulders. It is everything he wants – all his memories in an urgent, sweet claim.

‘Ever since we were children, I have loved you in some way. You took away everything that ever frightened me and now it's my turn to keep you safe.'

They stand before each other, barely touching. When her fingertips brush his skin, he is reminded of what he loves most about Nairobi. As he brings his mouth down to meet hers, he feels it again – the possibility of all things – beating slowly in his chest.