‘I can’t get to sleep,’ I said by way of excuse.
‘Neither can I.’
‘Worried?’
‘Not really.’
She shifted on the steps to make room for me. I sat down next to her. The touch of her body unsettled me. I felt the heat of her skin against mine, smelt her subtle perfume. I had the impression she was shaking, or perhaps it was me.
‘You should quit smoking,’ I said to fight back the wave of emotion overwhelming me.
She smiled and tapped on the cigarette to get rid of the ash. ‘One or two cigarettes a day isn’t so bad.’
‘If you aren’t hooked, why not give up altogether?’
‘I like one in the evening before going to bed. It relaxes me a little. And it also keeps me company.’
‘Do you feel lonely?’
‘Sometimes. But I don’t make a fuss about it. I do a lot of thinking, and that does isolate me a bit. So when I’m alone and I light a cigarette, it’s like having someone else between my thoughts and me. Someone who supports me, if you see what I mean.’
I didn’t press her. She looked at me and I looked at her. The moonlight gently illuminated her. She was very beautifuclass="underline" I’ll never stop saying that. Her vest clung to her voluptuous torso, her silky arms were long and magnificent, and her eyes were like two rubies wrapped in velvet. Her musky smell intoxicated me.
‘I haven’t seen you all day.’
‘I was with the old woman,’ she said, referring to the mother of the young man with the cart.
‘How is she?’
‘She’ll recover.’ She flicked her cigarette away and turned to face me. ‘Are you religious, Dr Krausmann?’
‘Kurt.’
‘Are you religious, Kurt?’
‘My mother was religious enough for the whole family. She took everything on herself … Why?’
‘I was thinking of the old woman. We left her for dead, didn’t we? We all thought she was dying. The only reason we gave in to her son’s demands was because we thought he wanted to be left alone to bury her. I can’t believe she’s still alive. I’ve been in Africa for six years now. I was in the Congo and Rwanda before this. And there are things I’ve seen that go beyond human understanding. There are phenomena in these countries that I can’t grasp or explain. It’s extraordinary.’
‘What’s extraordinary?’
‘The miracles,’ she said, looking in my eyes in search of something. ‘I’ve witnessed quite a few supernatural events. I’ve seen people come through terrible ordeals, sick and dying people get up out of their beds, and things so unlikely I can’t talk about them without sounding ridiculous.’
Her hand grasped mine, a gesture she had whenever she felt she was losing her way. It was much more a question of clinging to something than a considered move.
‘This continent is a holy land, Kurt. I don’t know how to say it. The people are … I can’t find the words.’
‘Strange?’
‘Not in the conventional sense of the word. They carry a kind of allegory inside them, or rather a truth that’s beyond me. And it comes home to me with such strength that it makes me shiver. There’s a biblical inspiration in these people. Something that strengthens my faith, even though I don’t exactly know what it is.’
‘Maybe because you give too much of yourself.’
‘It has nothing to do with that. In the Red Cross, we don’t have any respite. There are so many priorities that everything becomes urgent. But this is another dimension, don’t you see? When the old woman opened her eyes this morning, I saw a kind of revelation in them that bowled me over. As if a dead person had come back to life. I … I’m still in a state of shock.’
Holy land, I thought. My whole culture being incompatible with what I considered some kind of surreal folklore, that kind of statement disturbed me. Ever since the misunderstanding that had almost compromised my friendship with Bruno, any reference to an idealised Africa had made me uncomfortable. I hated to argue about subjects that led nowhere. I’d even say that I endured them with a patience I disliked. My embarrassment wasn’t lost on Elena, who frowned and asked me if she was tiring me.
‘Why do you say that?’
‘I have the impression I’m boring you with my ramblings …’
‘No, no, I’m listening. I don’t know much about Africa. I come from a continent where miracles are simply remarkable coincidences.’
She turned up her nose in mild annoyance and sighed. ‘You’re right. I suppose it’s very difficult to connect with that kind of story when you don’t have faith … Can I get you a beer?’
I gladly accepted. She went into her cabin, leaving the door open so that I could follow her inside. I hesitated, and she came back to fetch me. She apologised for the mess. Her cabin was an exact copy of Orfane’s, with the same padded benches, fitted wardrobe and tiled bathroom. I sat down on a chair next to the desk and crossed my legs. Elena brought me a can and a glass.
‘Who’s that?’ I asked, pointing to a signed photograph pinned to the wall showing a black woman surrounded by a happy gang of kids.
‘Marguerite Barankitse.’
‘An African singer?’
‘An icon in the aid field.’
‘She’s beautiful.’
‘In her heart and mind, too. She’s an exceptional lady and a great fighter. She rescued tens of thousands of orphans and child soldiers and built a hospital, a school, and farms to help the widows and their offspring. I’d give anything to do in Darfur what she managed to do in Burundi.’
‘You’ve already done a lot.’
‘We can do better. We don’t have enough medical staff.’
She sat down cross-legged on one of the padded benches. Polite as I was, I couldn’t help admiring the curves of her legs, barely covered by her shorts.
‘I don’t see any other photos,’ I observed.
She burst out laughing, with that spontaneous singsong laughter of hers that was like the chirping of birds. ‘I don’t have a boyfriend, if that’s what you’re trying to find out.’
‘I wouldn’t dream of it.’
She raised a sceptical eyebrow and let me sip my beer. ‘I married when I was twenty,’ she said. ‘A handsome Andalusian, intelligent, generous. But he was possessive, and I was independent. He wanted me for himself alone and forgot that he was only my husband. We’d loved each other since high school. We continued to love each other at university and got married as soon as he graduated. Two years after our honeymoon in Cape Town, we broke up.’
‘These things happen,’ I stupidly stammered.
‘I love my work, Dr Krausmann,’ she went on, brushing her hair back.
‘Kurt.’
‘I’m sorry … When I was a teenager, I had two idols. Robert Redford for my girlish fantasies. And Mother Teresa. My husband took the place of the first and tried to overshadow the second. We can’t have everything we want in life, can we, Kurt?’
‘That depends on what we want.’
‘I wanted to help people. Ever since I was very young, that’s all I’ve dreamed about. In my fairy stories, I didn’t see myself as a princess or Cinderella, but as a nurse devoted to the destitute. I imagined myself tending to the wounded on the battlefield. And when I saw what Mother Teresa was doing among the “untouchables” and the lepers, I was certain. It was exactly what suited me. It was quite natural for me to choose the Red Cross … What hospital do you work at in Frankfurt?’