— What?
Now I turned to the man and looked at him closely for the first time. His hollow eyes were like those of a holy anchorite who has fasted for days and reached that stage of numbness from which there is no return, unless perhaps by electric shock. Without thinking I stood up and made for the narrow path. The guards, surprised, didn’t react till I had gone a few meters, then Joseph ran to me and held me by the hand, the wide smile still on his face.
— I have to see the Professor.
Joseph was roughly pushed aside by the other guard, a short, stout fellow with red, merciless eyes, who stood firmly in my path. He threw away his cigarette into the bush and moved closer to me till his gun made contact with my chest.
— Where you tink say you dey go?
— I have to see the Professor. I’m a reporter—
— Go back before I blast you to hell!
I went back. The reclining man tapped me again on the shoulder.
— Well, you are a very brave man.
He stared directly at me, as the light fell on his face through the few tree branches, leaving blotches of light and shade where the shadow mixed with light.
— What do you mean?
— You don’t seem to be afraid of their guns.
— Who are you? Why are you here? Are you prisoners, hostages?
— We are militants, just like them.
— Then why are they guarding you?
— We have a slight problem, that’s all. Each of us is here for a different reason. Those two sitting right under the tree, they are from a different gang and they want to join this gang, so they are being watched for a day or two to make sure they are who they claim to be. That one next to them, in the blue shirt, he is being punished. He used to be one of the Professor’s top men, he was sent to buy boats from a foreign dealer and somehow he lost a lot of money in the transaction, I don’t know how much, but the Professor is very angry with him, very angry. See that one over there, near the path, sitting by himself? Well, he made a mistake. He brought back the wrong hostage.
The man he pointed to was seated on the very edge of the patchy shade cast by the tree’s few leaves. He was a fair-skinned, balding man, dressed in green military fatigues, mostly now torn and dirty, his head bowed between his knees, exposing the round bald spot at the back of his head.
— The Professor needed to raise money quick quick to pay for a consignment of guns he was expecting from overseas, so he sent that guy over there, his name is Monday. His assignment was simple: take some of the boys, and enough guns and boats and everything you need, go to one of the oil companies in Port Harcourt and kidnap one foreign oil worker and bring him back. Well, he went, and he returns with this cheerful-looking man who keeps saying they are making a terrible mistake in kidnapping him. Well, they didn’t listen to him. They lock him up in one of the tents over there reserved for such purposes. They send their ransom demand, and they wait for the company to get in touch so they can begin negotiations, but surprisingly, the company shows no interest. Meanwhile, the hostage is treated like all other hostages, very good food, everything he needs, they even bring a doctor to see him when he has a problem. Well, eventually they discovered what was wrong. The hostage was not a white man at all, despite his very fair skin. You know what he was? An albino! And here he was eating the best food and sleeping all day, as if he was on vacation. Very funny, isn’t it?
— What do they call this place?
— Forest. And you, what is a reporter doing here?
— I was taken by force, together with that man over there. If I can talk to the Professor, I can prove who I am.
— Don’t worry, the Professor will see you eventually. His men will tell him what you said and he will want to verify if it is true. I just hope you can prove you are who you claim to be.
And, having said that, the man suddenly lost interest in me. He went back to his spot and to his ruminations.
20
I was somewhat cheered by the man’s assurance that the Professor would definitely see me, and even further cheered when a team of women appeared with food in a big basin and then proceeded to ladle out portions in plastic plates to each of us. The food wasn’t remarkable — rice immersed in a mess of beans — but it was filling. After eating I decided to tackle Salomon right away — I had given him enough time to recover, and perhaps what he needed to snap him out of his self-pity was conversation. I went over and sat next to him, and he looked up but said nothing. He was a tall, angular beanpole of a man. His skin and clothes looked as if they hadn’t touched water in a long time, and he gave off a musty smell that was quite overpowering, even in the open air. He kept licking his dry lips as he waited for me to speak, and I saw his hand shaking slightly. He kept darting glances at the guards, who were now watching us intently.
— Hi, Salomon.
— Hello.
— We need to talk. .
— I don’t want to talk. Leave me alone, please.
— Look, Salomon, I know you’re scared of what might happen to you here. I’m scared too. But by talking to me, you’ll be doing yourself a favor.
— How?
— Once I have your story, they wouldn’t dare do anything to you, because they know when I go out there I will print it, and the world will know you are here, kept against your will. .
— Nonsense.
— What?
I thought I was doing so well, and for a moment I was telling myself that even Zaq would be proud of my persuasiveness, but obviously the driver wasn’t persuaded.
— These people, they no care. They have killed before, and I know nothing is going to save me. . nothing. . The Professor is a madman. I have seen what he can do. A few days ago, just before we ran away, he shot a man over there. Point-blank. He said the man was giving away information to the soldiers, he screamed at him and called him a traitor, then he took out his gun and, boom! He shot him and said, Throw him into the water for the fish to eat. Just like that.
I refused to let my perturbation show. If I showed no fear, nothing would go wrong. I renewed my effort, and as I spoke I was aware my words were also aimed at myself, at my quaking heart.
— Well, but isn’t that another good reason why you should tell me everything? Isabel told me what happened, about her husband and your fiancée. The police have everyone thinking you’re some crazy kidnapper — don’t you want to put the record straight? This might be your only chance, you know. Don’t you want your family and friends to know the truth, the real truth?
— It is a long story. .
— I’m very patient, and it doesn’t look as if we’re going anywhere soon.
— What do you want to know?
— Your side of the story. Why did you kidnap her?
— I didn’t kidnap her. .
— Well, okay. Tell me about you and Koko.
I saw his eyes darken with anger, and he started to rock himself back and forth, back and forth, his arms wrapped tightly around his knees.
— Well, I knew she was pregnant. We lived together, and we were happy — well, I thought we were. I was happy. I was looking forward to being a father. I never suspected she was cheating on me, how could she? It was I who brought her to Port Harcourt from our village. She wanted to be a nurse, she took the exam, and as we waited for the results, she begged me to help her look for a temporary job, just till the results came out. And so I talked to my Oga. He was always good to me. A nice man. And he said, yes, why not? And that was how she started working in that house. I did everything for her. If only I’d known things would turn out like this. I should have realized something was wrong when she got her exam results and she said she wasn’t going to nursing school anymore. She said we needed the money for the wedding, and for the coming baby.