Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Happy New Year 2009 to All!
“What the caterpillar calls the end, the rest of the world calls a butterfly.”
Sunday, December 28, 2008
The First Hot Summer
It was the warm summer of 1988.
It was a hot June. A swelteringly hot June. Cool breezes were rare. The rains had a month to go before they could come tap-tapping on the windows.
The red dust from the iron ore mines settled around us all like a burning gaze. The crackling red haze sucked the chlorophyll from leaves and turned them into rust. White was a forbidden colour: it took hard labour to wash the blood illusion from hardy clothes and hardier knees.
The heat drove all souls inside. Heatstrokes were the new gossip of the day. People conversed everywhere about carrying onions to work, of beginning work at 6am and being home long before noon to escape the punishing sun. Housewives cribbed about losing precious space to their early-home husbands.
And us?
For four inquisitive curious 10-year-olds, unscheduled weather meant unscheduled playing times. Oh yes, we could go for a trek into the neighbouring hills inhabited by the origines, lie hidden in foliage while being stalked by a curioser hungry cow, chased out by wild scared people using primitive wooden bows, wash the grime off at the broken water pipe and come home and blithely say “I was at Lija’s house…Aunty didn’t want us to leave in the heat.”
Oh yes, it was a summer of tasted adventures. And you know how it is – adventures are addictive. Get into one and you come out wanting to get into another as soon.
We did too. Our little foray into the abandoned mine at the edge of town was a slightly scarier affair than the mountain trek. Actually, calling it a mine is kind. It looked more like a miniature cave cut into the side of the chapped and chipped hillside. The mouth was taller than Roy’s uncle (he was rumoured to be 6 feet 3, though Shahid’s brother says he is just 6) and wide enough for 8 kids to walk in a line (we tested that, you know).
On a hot day, the cave was a salivating find. We had a cricket bat and a ball, a little scrabble box, a set of English comics about little known Indian superheroes clothed in snakeskin, cool-dude-leather pants and geeky bell-botts. So we behaved like good little children and spent two hours playing 5-over cricket matches, a five-minute crawling game of scrabble which soon spiralled into a raging fight about cheaters and then slumped down in the cool earth to read the comics. So now, what were we to do? Go into the cave, of course. We walked into the cave – past 20 feet, the light from the mouth gave out and our heartbeats spiked with the thrill of darkness. We kept up a pretence of the lingering scrabble fight and elbowed, jostled and pulled at each other to bite down on the rising fear of getting lost.
We had no light with us. The cave got progressively darker. We could feel the air getting mustier and the cave walls growing mossier as we went deeper. The ground was an odd mixture of mulch, pebbles, shallow holes and small crests. We held hands - Liza and Shahid, Roy and I – with Shahid spooking us with tales of lost children and mothers going insane and fathers turning into drunks interrupted only by Roy whining about being home late and being beaten to a pulp by his older brother. We were at the verge of a nervous breakdown with all this talk when Liza decided to play our principal Sister Olive and read out the riot act with me nodding and seconding her every word (This didn’t help much initially as the boys couldn’t see me so I had to say ‘Yes’ after every sentence from Liza and I realised then what a ‘yes man’ was).
We set out again with calmer hearts and minds resigned to having made a foolish mistake. All four of us linked hands and took shorter and shorter turns to walk on the left side. This person’s job was to navigate the cave by keeping in touch, literally, with the scraggly mossy rotting walls. After a lifetime of stumbling, falling followed each time with screams and rambled prayers, we seemed to have turned some corner and saw a distant light. That was the breaking point. We stood still. Someone screamed. Someone said something about holding hands and going slow. Then four pairs of feet were running towards the light.
There was some sliding, some panting, some jostling as we tried to maintain our balance in this headlong rush to reach the light first. Then someone fell, there was the pervading sound of screams - one moment I was flying on my legs and the other I was flying on my back. My mouth fell open and I could not breathe. My legs were hurting, my knees and elbows were wet and I closed my eyes. Some moments later, I saw the light rushing towards me and I shot out into its blinding arms. I slid and skidded to a stop on my side and I looked up to see bushes all around me. I heard the sound of a plop as if a rock had been thrown into water. I tried to right myself and the movement of my left foot dislodged a little rock and I was sliding again only to fall into water. Shallow water, thankfully.
I heard laughter. Blinking, I pushed my wet hair off my face and stared into the face of Roy. Roy was looking up and laughing as Liza followed us into the water. Shahid had managed to hold on to a bush and he managed to right himself up. All of us looked at each other and the relief of having come out of the cave was too much for us to take. We began laughing and taunting each other about how scared the other person was in the cave. Getting out of the water, we took stock of our injuries – there were numerous scratches all over our bodies and while it would be difficult to escape punishment altogether, we thought we could hide some of the major ones with the help of Liza’s older sister, who has often shown a softness towards our group.
Later, we realised that this shallow water body was the town river and we were lucky that it was summer or we could very well have been drowned that year.
I could tell you what we learned from this experience, except we didn’t. The next summer, we began the ritual of morning walks and came across an old elegant car with chipped paint standing alone in the nearby forest with blood splotches around its trunk and an empty sack lying nearby. I could also tell you about the fair stranger we met one powerless evening on our way back from our tuitions, who wanted us to show him the way to a part of town and then insisted that we walk him down this street and the next. Needless to say, we ran away on both occasions.
It was a hot June. A swelteringly hot June. Cool breezes were rare. The rains had a month to go before they could come tap-tapping on the windows.
The red dust from the iron ore mines settled around us all like a burning gaze. The crackling red haze sucked the chlorophyll from leaves and turned them into rust. White was a forbidden colour: it took hard labour to wash the blood illusion from hardy clothes and hardier knees.
The heat drove all souls inside. Heatstrokes were the new gossip of the day. People conversed everywhere about carrying onions to work, of beginning work at 6am and being home long before noon to escape the punishing sun. Housewives cribbed about losing precious space to their early-home husbands.
And us?
For four inquisitive curious 10-year-olds, unscheduled weather meant unscheduled playing times. Oh yes, we could go for a trek into the neighbouring hills inhabited by the origines, lie hidden in foliage while being stalked by a curioser hungry cow, chased out by wild scared people using primitive wooden bows, wash the grime off at the broken water pipe and come home and blithely say “I was at Lija’s house…Aunty didn’t want us to leave in the heat.”
Oh yes, it was a summer of tasted adventures. And you know how it is – adventures are addictive. Get into one and you come out wanting to get into another as soon.
We did too. Our little foray into the abandoned mine at the edge of town was a slightly scarier affair than the mountain trek. Actually, calling it a mine is kind. It looked more like a miniature cave cut into the side of the chapped and chipped hillside. The mouth was taller than Roy’s uncle (he was rumoured to be 6 feet 3, though Shahid’s brother says he is just 6) and wide enough for 8 kids to walk in a line (we tested that, you know).
On a hot day, the cave was a salivating find. We had a cricket bat and a ball, a little scrabble box, a set of English comics about little known Indian superheroes clothed in snakeskin, cool-dude-leather pants and geeky bell-botts. So we behaved like good little children and spent two hours playing 5-over cricket matches, a five-minute crawling game of scrabble which soon spiralled into a raging fight about cheaters and then slumped down in the cool earth to read the comics. So now, what were we to do? Go into the cave, of course. We walked into the cave – past 20 feet, the light from the mouth gave out and our heartbeats spiked with the thrill of darkness. We kept up a pretence of the lingering scrabble fight and elbowed, jostled and pulled at each other to bite down on the rising fear of getting lost.
We had no light with us. The cave got progressively darker. We could feel the air getting mustier and the cave walls growing mossier as we went deeper. The ground was an odd mixture of mulch, pebbles, shallow holes and small crests. We held hands - Liza and Shahid, Roy and I – with Shahid spooking us with tales of lost children and mothers going insane and fathers turning into drunks interrupted only by Roy whining about being home late and being beaten to a pulp by his older brother. We were at the verge of a nervous breakdown with all this talk when Liza decided to play our principal Sister Olive and read out the riot act with me nodding and seconding her every word (This didn’t help much initially as the boys couldn’t see me so I had to say ‘Yes’ after every sentence from Liza and I realised then what a ‘yes man’ was).
We set out again with calmer hearts and minds resigned to having made a foolish mistake. All four of us linked hands and took shorter and shorter turns to walk on the left side. This person’s job was to navigate the cave by keeping in touch, literally, with the scraggly mossy rotting walls. After a lifetime of stumbling, falling followed each time with screams and rambled prayers, we seemed to have turned some corner and saw a distant light. That was the breaking point. We stood still. Someone screamed. Someone said something about holding hands and going slow. Then four pairs of feet were running towards the light.
There was some sliding, some panting, some jostling as we tried to maintain our balance in this headlong rush to reach the light first. Then someone fell, there was the pervading sound of screams - one moment I was flying on my legs and the other I was flying on my back. My mouth fell open and I could not breathe. My legs were hurting, my knees and elbows were wet and I closed my eyes. Some moments later, I saw the light rushing towards me and I shot out into its blinding arms. I slid and skidded to a stop on my side and I looked up to see bushes all around me. I heard the sound of a plop as if a rock had been thrown into water. I tried to right myself and the movement of my left foot dislodged a little rock and I was sliding again only to fall into water. Shallow water, thankfully.
I heard laughter. Blinking, I pushed my wet hair off my face and stared into the face of Roy. Roy was looking up and laughing as Liza followed us into the water. Shahid had managed to hold on to a bush and he managed to right himself up. All of us looked at each other and the relief of having come out of the cave was too much for us to take. We began laughing and taunting each other about how scared the other person was in the cave. Getting out of the water, we took stock of our injuries – there were numerous scratches all over our bodies and while it would be difficult to escape punishment altogether, we thought we could hide some of the major ones with the help of Liza’s older sister, who has often shown a softness towards our group.
Later, we realised that this shallow water body was the town river and we were lucky that it was summer or we could very well have been drowned that year.
I could tell you what we learned from this experience, except we didn’t. The next summer, we began the ritual of morning walks and came across an old elegant car with chipped paint standing alone in the nearby forest with blood splotches around its trunk and an empty sack lying nearby. I could also tell you about the fair stranger we met one powerless evening on our way back from our tuitions, who wanted us to show him the way to a part of town and then insisted that we walk him down this street and the next. Needless to say, we ran away on both occasions.
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
The Beginning (5/?)
“You have to tell Pa.”
“Yes” A dolorous sigh. “I have to tell Pa and Cirill. You be with Vicky. Vicky and Denziel are volatile together. I find myself tingling with fear and anticipation whenever they get together chasing some ‘feeling’.” The brothers share an indulgent look which is only broken when Shashi follows it up with, “If you are with them, I need only fear for you.” Benjy scoffs at this but cannot hide his little smirk. He stands up with a hand on his brother’s left shoulder and gives a slight squeeze.
“Stay here with Ryan. We will bring them to you.”
A nod is the only answer. For now. Benjy walks out of the room and as he turns to shut the door behind him, he looks into the room. Shashi is striding towards the little alcove that houses little wooden bookcases. But they house no ordinary books – this innocuous place is where the maps are kept. Benjy nods to himself. Of course. Shashi - the chronic worrier. The only one who would insist that coins had a third side. If only, to avoid being surprised by such a thing ever.
But this train of thought is scary too. As difficult it is to surprise this brother of his, the uncomfortable truth is that someone has managed to surprise him. Not many people know them. Oh, many people know them, are acquaintances and even friends. But there are only a handful of people scattered across the world who actually ‘know’ them and know about them and their family. And many of these are family friends who have stood together for long. He has grown up counting them all as extended families. The siblings have been brought up on legendary stories of friendship and kinship connecting generations amongst these families.
They are all secretive families and any restless elements within them could have done this. Benjy is afraid for the first time.
He walks down the corridor to his room and begins to throw together a bag: not many clothes – a pair of jeans and three shirts, no, make it two shirts. This one still has a trace of tea that he spilt on it a week back. Ma says you must not be caught dead in dirty clothes. An absent laugh. But Ma’s true words go “You must not be caught dead in dirty underwear.” So, by a force of habit induced over 20 years of living with her, Benjy has picked out a week’s supply of underclothes that his mind hardly registered. Which is just as well. For he has packed only two pairs of socks and if he was aware of his actions, he would have shocked himself at the probability of stinking feet.
Mechanically, he counts down the necessities: brush and tongue cleaner (well, you didn’t think that a woman who wanted you to wear clean under clothes would let you walk out the house without a pink tongue), deodorant (he is vain like that – Vicky would have mercilessly teased him now), a sweater vest and scarf and his cell phone charger.
He zips up the bag and walks out the room.
“Yes” A dolorous sigh. “I have to tell Pa and Cirill. You be with Vicky. Vicky and Denziel are volatile together. I find myself tingling with fear and anticipation whenever they get together chasing some ‘feeling’.” The brothers share an indulgent look which is only broken when Shashi follows it up with, “If you are with them, I need only fear for you.” Benjy scoffs at this but cannot hide his little smirk. He stands up with a hand on his brother’s left shoulder and gives a slight squeeze.
“Stay here with Ryan. We will bring them to you.”
A nod is the only answer. For now. Benjy walks out of the room and as he turns to shut the door behind him, he looks into the room. Shashi is striding towards the little alcove that houses little wooden bookcases. But they house no ordinary books – this innocuous place is where the maps are kept. Benjy nods to himself. Of course. Shashi - the chronic worrier. The only one who would insist that coins had a third side. If only, to avoid being surprised by such a thing ever.
But this train of thought is scary too. As difficult it is to surprise this brother of his, the uncomfortable truth is that someone has managed to surprise him. Not many people know them. Oh, many people know them, are acquaintances and even friends. But there are only a handful of people scattered across the world who actually ‘know’ them and know about them and their family. And many of these are family friends who have stood together for long. He has grown up counting them all as extended families. The siblings have been brought up on legendary stories of friendship and kinship connecting generations amongst these families.
They are all secretive families and any restless elements within them could have done this. Benjy is afraid for the first time.
He walks down the corridor to his room and begins to throw together a bag: not many clothes – a pair of jeans and three shirts, no, make it two shirts. This one still has a trace of tea that he spilt on it a week back. Ma says you must not be caught dead in dirty clothes. An absent laugh. But Ma’s true words go “You must not be caught dead in dirty underwear.” So, by a force of habit induced over 20 years of living with her, Benjy has picked out a week’s supply of underclothes that his mind hardly registered. Which is just as well. For he has packed only two pairs of socks and if he was aware of his actions, he would have shocked himself at the probability of stinking feet.
Mechanically, he counts down the necessities: brush and tongue cleaner (well, you didn’t think that a woman who wanted you to wear clean under clothes would let you walk out the house without a pink tongue), deodorant (he is vain like that – Vicky would have mercilessly teased him now), a sweater vest and scarf and his cell phone charger.
He zips up the bag and walks out the room.
Sunday, December 14, 2008
Saturday, December 6, 2008
The Beginning (4)
Benjy picks up the phone singing away in his pocket. He takes the call and for a minute can only listen to the furious stream of rant coming from the other end.
A terse "Vicky!" stuns the caller in mid-rant. “If Abaeze wants you and Denziel off the plane to Nigeria, please listen to him. Abaeze knows his territory better and Djavon can blend in better than Denziel. We would listen to you if we were in Rio, wouldn’t we? So you can wait in Johannesburg or go to Cairo. You are in a better position to decide that.”
“We will stay here for a day – no leads but just a couple of niggles. I will call again tonight. Djavon will call you once they reach.” And the line goes dead.
Benjy pockets the cell and looks up at Shashi who asks, “Abaeze? You think he will still be able to help on his own soil?”
That was the question, wasn’t it. Abaeze may want to help but he will need the help of his family to get any requisite information. It has been years since they have had any direct relations with the Yoruba clan. They would like to believe the clan is wholly on their side, at least Abaeze’s father is. But unless the whole clan cooperated, this trip could at best be a goose chase and at worst, an open-eyed disaster.
“Vicky will call tonight. Ryan needs to stay back. And so do you. Jasmine and Janet are safe here with the kids. I have called in the siblings – I expect them here by tomorrow noon. Sharon and Jeevi have been informed – so they will watch out. And Jeevi will look in on Sharon before flying back. Nigeria is a good bet but that’s for Abaeze and Djavon to handle. I think as usual, Vicky’s niggle could turn into a hunch. Knowing Vicky, Shahbaaz will await them in Cairo. I will fly out to Cairo, Shashi. And Pa needs to know all this. That would…”
“Clarity of thought indeed, Benjy. Everyone scattered all over the place. And alone. And bring in Pa into this too why don’t you? This is what they want. Whoever has done this wants us to scatter. We are weakest like this. They shouldn’t be travelling. Jeez! The familiar is the safest place right now! You of all people should know this!”
The unexpected outburst has startled the younger twin into a silence which gradually turns into silent seething.
“God, Shashi! Don’t you see? Even if you had asked them to stay back, they will come here. We are scattered if everyone stayed where they are. This will keep us together.”
“You and Vicky at two opposite ends of a continent is a damn good way of keeping together!”
“But we will meet in three days!”
A snort of disgust from the older twin and Benjy flies into the defensive. “How else will we look for them?”
“I will go.”
“Not happening!”
“What do you want me to do staying here…? They will look at me and…” He walks towards the window and slumps against it.
“They will still see you, Shashi.” The words only garner a shake of the head and that patented snort.
Of them all, Benjy can understand the way his thoughts are running wild. Benjy remembers his moment of complacency and the consequences that arose of that moment. “Slip ups happen.” His voice is kind but firm enough to get through. “I need to be out there with Vicky. If Nigeria is right, we will have to rethink. But if Vicky is right, then we will have to begin from Cairo.”
The shoulders slump further.
He is a man who has prided himself on being the eldest of the Quartet, even if he is only older by mere minutes. He has looked out for them ever since they were six years old and his smaller sized twin had been in tears after being bullied by the neighbourhood 8-year-olds. In the long term, it had resulted in the boys being submitted to everlasting sarcastic barbs from the scathing Vicky and a devastating shrug off from the popular Jasmine. But that day, the three boys were subjected to split lips, puffed up eyes and week-long bruises from Shashi. Of course, it had not cut him any slack from his parents and had earned him a good beating from his father for not taking the matter to a grown-up and for physically hurting the boys. But it had been worth it. It brought him undying loyalty from his siblings and blatant hero worship from his brother.
Over the years, there have been several such instances. Not because Benjy couldn’t stand up for himself but rather because he liked to let big brother watch his back. And there have been rather interesting times when Benjy has insisted on answering a slight towards Shashi. Benjy serves his revenge cold – one among many similarities that he shares with Vicky. Vicky, who is all fire to Jasmine’s ice – even in this situation, he can spare a chuckle for his exasperatingly enigmatic family.
In an enlightening moment, he realises that for Benjy and Vicky, this is payback time. The thought strangely relaxes him. He trusts them and they always know the road they walk down. That’s all that matters right now.
A terse "Vicky!" stuns the caller in mid-rant. “If Abaeze wants you and Denziel off the plane to Nigeria, please listen to him. Abaeze knows his territory better and Djavon can blend in better than Denziel. We would listen to you if we were in Rio, wouldn’t we? So you can wait in Johannesburg or go to Cairo. You are in a better position to decide that.”
“We will stay here for a day – no leads but just a couple of niggles. I will call again tonight. Djavon will call you once they reach.” And the line goes dead.
Benjy pockets the cell and looks up at Shashi who asks, “Abaeze? You think he will still be able to help on his own soil?”
That was the question, wasn’t it. Abaeze may want to help but he will need the help of his family to get any requisite information. It has been years since they have had any direct relations with the Yoruba clan. They would like to believe the clan is wholly on their side, at least Abaeze’s father is. But unless the whole clan cooperated, this trip could at best be a goose chase and at worst, an open-eyed disaster.
“Vicky will call tonight. Ryan needs to stay back. And so do you. Jasmine and Janet are safe here with the kids. I have called in the siblings – I expect them here by tomorrow noon. Sharon and Jeevi have been informed – so they will watch out. And Jeevi will look in on Sharon before flying back. Nigeria is a good bet but that’s for Abaeze and Djavon to handle. I think as usual, Vicky’s niggle could turn into a hunch. Knowing Vicky, Shahbaaz will await them in Cairo. I will fly out to Cairo, Shashi. And Pa needs to know all this. That would…”
“Clarity of thought indeed, Benjy. Everyone scattered all over the place. And alone. And bring in Pa into this too why don’t you? This is what they want. Whoever has done this wants us to scatter. We are weakest like this. They shouldn’t be travelling. Jeez! The familiar is the safest place right now! You of all people should know this!”
The unexpected outburst has startled the younger twin into a silence which gradually turns into silent seething.
“God, Shashi! Don’t you see? Even if you had asked them to stay back, they will come here. We are scattered if everyone stayed where they are. This will keep us together.”
“You and Vicky at two opposite ends of a continent is a damn good way of keeping together!”
“But we will meet in three days!”
A snort of disgust from the older twin and Benjy flies into the defensive. “How else will we look for them?”
“I will go.”
“Not happening!”
“What do you want me to do staying here…? They will look at me and…” He walks towards the window and slumps against it.
“They will still see you, Shashi.” The words only garner a shake of the head and that patented snort.
Of them all, Benjy can understand the way his thoughts are running wild. Benjy remembers his moment of complacency and the consequences that arose of that moment. “Slip ups happen.” His voice is kind but firm enough to get through. “I need to be out there with Vicky. If Nigeria is right, we will have to rethink. But if Vicky is right, then we will have to begin from Cairo.”
The shoulders slump further.
He is a man who has prided himself on being the eldest of the Quartet, even if he is only older by mere minutes. He has looked out for them ever since they were six years old and his smaller sized twin had been in tears after being bullied by the neighbourhood 8-year-olds. In the long term, it had resulted in the boys being submitted to everlasting sarcastic barbs from the scathing Vicky and a devastating shrug off from the popular Jasmine. But that day, the three boys were subjected to split lips, puffed up eyes and week-long bruises from Shashi. Of course, it had not cut him any slack from his parents and had earned him a good beating from his father for not taking the matter to a grown-up and for physically hurting the boys. But it had been worth it. It brought him undying loyalty from his siblings and blatant hero worship from his brother.
Over the years, there have been several such instances. Not because Benjy couldn’t stand up for himself but rather because he liked to let big brother watch his back. And there have been rather interesting times when Benjy has insisted on answering a slight towards Shashi. Benjy serves his revenge cold – one among many similarities that he shares with Vicky. Vicky, who is all fire to Jasmine’s ice – even in this situation, he can spare a chuckle for his exasperatingly enigmatic family.
In an enlightening moment, he realises that for Benjy and Vicky, this is payback time. The thought strangely relaxes him. He trusts them and they always know the road they walk down. That’s all that matters right now.
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
The Beginning (3)
“I slept off.” He sits hunched, guilt oozing off him for having taken some ease while his family’s fate remains unknown.
“Djavan called. She was approached by an airport employee. Apparently, she told her that there was a call for her from Johannesburg. The girl does not remember the man at the kiosk.”
“And he of course was not the usual guy.”
“No. The man who runs the kiosk was inside. But he often sends out his office boys for such call errands, so she didn’t suspect anything. The man at the kiosk remembers Steph rushing out of a booth and asking him to connect her to New York.”
“To Me”
The twin ignores the breathed out words.
“He said that he remembers her because she had this most blinding smile. He could not get through to the number. He kept getting the busy signal.”
A rushed intake of breath. “That explains the persistent calls to buy credit cards.”
“She walked out saying she will try calling from outside the airport. Djavan is not clear about the sequence of events from there on. But something or someone convinced her to take a taxi. The taxi driver remembers her because she got down outside a block of offices and then walked back the way she came. There was a traffic light just ahead of where he dropped her and the light had just come on. So he noticed her walk back till almost the end of the block and then lost her as the light turned.”
The younger twin pauses and sneaks a look at the brother with a reputation as the stoic in the family. He is still hunched down on the sofa but his face is angled slightly to the window beyond. Benny isn’t sure what he can say but no words can be a balm now. He gazes for a while at his brother’s face and then resumes with a sigh.
“Djavan is down in Johannesburg. And Abaeze is there too though he believes they have been flown out of Africa…
The sharp trring of the cell phone startles them both.
“Djavan called. She was approached by an airport employee. Apparently, she told her that there was a call for her from Johannesburg. The girl does not remember the man at the kiosk.”
“And he of course was not the usual guy.”
“No. The man who runs the kiosk was inside. But he often sends out his office boys for such call errands, so she didn’t suspect anything. The man at the kiosk remembers Steph rushing out of a booth and asking him to connect her to New York.”
“To Me”
The twin ignores the breathed out words.
“He said that he remembers her because she had this most blinding smile. He could not get through to the number. He kept getting the busy signal.”
A rushed intake of breath. “That explains the persistent calls to buy credit cards.”
“She walked out saying she will try calling from outside the airport. Djavan is not clear about the sequence of events from there on. But something or someone convinced her to take a taxi. The taxi driver remembers her because she got down outside a block of offices and then walked back the way she came. There was a traffic light just ahead of where he dropped her and the light had just come on. So he noticed her walk back till almost the end of the block and then lost her as the light turned.”
The younger twin pauses and sneaks a look at the brother with a reputation as the stoic in the family. He is still hunched down on the sofa but his face is angled slightly to the window beyond. Benny isn’t sure what he can say but no words can be a balm now. He gazes for a while at his brother’s face and then resumes with a sigh.
“Djavan is down in Johannesburg. And Abaeze is there too though he believes they have been flown out of Africa…
The sharp trring of the cell phone startles them both.
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