Adrian walks to the window and draws the curtain against the sunlight.
‘It’s two o’clock.’
He helps the old man to a glass of water. From elsewhere the sound of the expatriate medical staff singing ‘Happy Birthday’ to a German colleague. Minutes before Adrian had stood with them in the staff room, sipping vinegary, dusty wine. He’d slipped away before the cutting of the cake.
Adrian sits, the other man’s eyes upon him. ‘You told me people often wondered what Julius saw in you.’
‘Yes.’
‘And that you yourself often wondered the same thing.’
‘I have no illusions.’
‘But what did you see in him, in Julius?’
‘I saw Saffia. Nothing but Saffia.’
*
20 July 1969. The Sea of Tranquillity.
It was all done for the Americans, of course. So they could take the afternoon off and watch at home with beer and barbecues. It was, after all, their money, their president, their rocket, their show. They were the winners. The rest of the world could but watch. The American Embassy on my way to the Ocean Club was alive with light and noise, dignitaries arriving by the score. The Soviet Embassy by contrast was closed and dark, a house of mourning. Winner takes all. The Soviets had even lost the loyalty of an insignificant state such as ours. Our Prime Minister — or was that the year he made himself President? Our President was at that moment rubbing shoulders with the Americans, basking in their glory, despite years of Soviet munificence.
The taxi I was travelling in came to a halt behind a long line of traffic. I took my chances and climbed down. Moments later it started to rain, but by then somebody had already claimed the empty taxi. No choice but to keep walking. I’d forgotten my umbrella. As luck would have it I passed a bar I knew and decided to stop for a drink to escape the rain. The bartender had the radio tuned to the World Service with all the preamble, the discussions and interviews, the expert opinion that would fill the hours up until the attempt. Who cared? Not I. I finished my first drink. I thought of Saffia and felt the familiar jolt of yearning.
My second whisky was followed by a third. They watered down the spirits in this place, I’d be hard-pressed to get drunk. So I stayed and drank. I drank to avoid the rain. I drank to avoid too early an arrival. I drank to keep my new shirt from getting wet. Most of all I drank to postpone, painfully, exquisitely, the moment when I would be in Saffia’s company again.
All talk in the bar was of the evening’s events. The same all over town, no escaping it. The mood of confidence was unshakeable; do you believe me when I say that? Men had died, it’s true. But America was the superpower. It was a time of gods and we in Africa were mere mortals.
‘I thought maybe you had forgotten me.’ A woman’s voice, soft and ingratiating.
I swivelled round. It took me a moment to place the young woman standing next to me. She spotted my hesitation, her eyes flickered in the direction of the barman, as if to check whether he was watching. Her smile though remained turned upon me. It was the girl from the bar, the one with whom I had spent the night the day of my first visit alone with Saffia. I had taken her home with me. I’d given her no thought from the moment I put her in a taxi and gave her a sum of money that amounted to somewhat more than the fare. Still, in my present state the thought of her company, the distraction it offered, was moderately appealing.
‘Hello,’ I said. ‘How nice to see you.’
She replied, ‘I have thought about you. I hoped you would come and find me.’
‘Well, here I am. What would you like to drink?’ I didn’t bother with excuses, what was the point? We both knew what it had all been about. She could play coy all she wanted. I clicked my fingers for the barman.
Why I invited the girl to the Ocean Club, I don’t know. An anger licking at my insides. Perhaps I wanted to spite Saffia. Her love for her husband, her immaculate coolness, her honour that seemed designed to keep me at a distance and yet allowed her friendships with men as she pleased.
And then, of course, the sound of her, the day I went to deliver the chairs. It burned. It burned.
Kekura was leaning against the bar when we entered.
‘Cool shirt, man. I thought for a moment Julius had just walked in.’ He looked at the girl, waiting to be introduced. I had forgotten her name, if I had ever known it.
‘Hello, my name is Kekura. Kekura Conteh.’ He extended his hand to her.
‘Hello,’ she replied shyly. She didn’t proffer her name, so neither of us were any the wiser. Kekura slipped off his stool and the girl sat down.
‘Are the others here?’ I asked.
‘Only Ade. I won’t be staying too long myself. I need to get up to the house and make sure everything is working.’
I remembered Kekura had been charged with providing the audiovisual entertainment because of his job with the state broadcasting station. I nodded. My head throbbed slightly. I was just considering what might fix it better, another whisky or a glass of water, when I saw Julius and Saffia.
The Ocean Club. Let me sketch it for you. A semicircular bar. A dance floor, vast and open to the sky. Sometimes they played live music there. Tables scattered all around. The sea was only a few yards away, you could walk straight on to the sand. The inside of the club was reached by a stairway of curved steps, which led almost directly on to the dance floor, so whoever had just arrived drew the eye of everyone in the room. Saffia was wearing a blue gown, the same dress as the day I first laid eyes upon her. I watched them descend, Julius one pace ahead, exactly as he’d been the day of the faculty wives’ dinner, when he was minded to skip the receiving line and she had drawn him back with the touch of her fingertips.
Kekura, too, stopped talking, and watched. I had the impression everyone in the room was engaged in the same act. Suddenly Saffia was standing next to me, greeting me, laying her hand upon my arm. No woman I knew had the power to alter my mood by such simple gestures. Where previously I had felt irritable, I was now elated.
‘Aren’t you excited, Elias?’ she said. I could smell her scent on the warm air, just for a moment.
‘Of course,’ I replied, taking the opportunity to look at her, aware of her hand still resting on my bare arm, the touch of her fingers. ‘It’s an historic moment.’
‘I wonder what the significance of this will be?’ Kekura said. ‘In ten years’ time, when we look back.’
‘I do, too,’ I said.
Saffia removed her hand. I was aware of her turning away to see who else was there.
‘Well, I pray it puts an end to this race between Russia and America. Perhaps the Americans will stop what they are doing in Vietnam.’
‘I doubt that,’ I said. I had no desire to be forced by Kekura into a discussion; my brain was slowly liquefying.
Saffia rejoined us. ‘Everyone else is wondering whether they’ll find men on the moon.’
‘There are not,’ Kekura replied flatly. ‘Otherwise we would surely see them waving at us.’
Saffia laughed. ‘No. But who is to say there aren’t other life forms, micro-organisms, plant life?’
She was a scientist, of course.
Julius joined us then, back from working the tables. Kekura called the barman and ordered more drinks. The conversation broke and reformed around Julius, who raised his glass and proposed a toast.