Aminatta Forna - The Memory of Love

‘No, really. I’m fine. He wasn’t trying to kill me. I’m sure if he wanted to he could have.’ Adrian poured a small amount of water from a bottle into his whisky, stared deep into the glass for a moment, swirled the contents and inhaled. ‘Smell that. My father used to call it releasing the serpent, the water frees the flavour. He was a whisky man. I didn’t really take to it until a few years ago. Funny, that.’

‘What did he want?’ asked Kai.

For a moment Adrian looked at him, perplexed.

‘The guy back there, I mean,’ said Kai.

‘I don’t know.’ Adrian shook his head and stared into the glass. ‘Money?’

‘And yet he didn’t steal anything from you?’ Kai took a sip of his beer and shook his head. ‘Makes no sense. He had every opportunity. You were out cold.’

‘What then?’

‘My guess? He just didn’t want you around.’

‘So it would seem.’

‘For sure not.’

They were silent. Adrian continued looking into his whisky glass. Then, without warning, he said, ‘I need to go back.’

Kai didn’t answer. Instead he tipped the rest of his beer down his throat, opened the bin and dropped the bottle inside. Then he opened the fridge and brought out some eggs, set the frying pan on the flame. By the time he broke the first egg into the pan the oil was so hot the edges of the egg curled up and began to brown. When he cooked he could think more clearly. He flicked hot oil over the surface of the egg, watched the white grow opaque, the yolk stiffen.

Behind him Adrian repeated, ‘I need to go back.’

Kai gave a slight shake of his head. ‘Don’t be fucking crazy.’

‘I need to.’

‘Listen,’ said Kai, more sharply than he intended. ‘You have no idea what you’re getting into. A lot of things have happened here. During the war, a lot of people did a lot of things. Others used the opportunity to make a lot of money. War makes some people rich. That guy is mixed up in something heavy. Whatever is going on in that house — drugs, most likely — you don’t want to know.’

‘What about Agnes?’

‘What about Agnes?’

‘She’s suffering post-traumatic stress. She’s ill.’

‘Jesus!’ Angry now, Kai turned to face Adrian; oil dripped from the spatula on to the worktop and the floor following the sweep of his hand. ‘How the hell can I explain this to you in a way you’ll understand? How many months have you been here? Two, three? There’s been a war. What do you expect? This isn’t a game. The guy in that house doesn’t give a damn that you’re a British passport holder. If he needs to kill you, he will.’

Adrian took a piece of kitchen roll and wiped the oil from the counter, squatted down to wipe the floor. Kai saw the grimace, the juddering in his breathing, evidence of the effort it cost him. Now he felt bad. He shook his head. ‘This isn’t your country, man. I’m sorry. But this isn’t your country.’

‘I know that,’ said Adrian. ‘I know this isn’t my country. But it is my job.’ He stepped forward, reached for the whisky bottle and poured himself another glass before returning to his former position against the wall, only this time he slid down it and sat on the floor.

Kai removed one egg and cracked another into the pan. It was errantry that brought them here, flooding in through the gaping wound left by the war, lascivious in their eagerness. Kai had seen it in the feverish eyes of the women, the sweat on their upper lips, the smell of their breath as they pressed close to him. They came to get their newspaper stories, to save black babies, to spread the word, to make money, to fuck black bodies. They all had their own reasons. Modern-day knights, each after his or her trophy, their very own Holy Grail. Adrian’s Grail was Agnes.

And yet.

And yet, for Kai it was simple. His patients came, an unending trail. If he worked as a surgeon his whole life it would never be enough. In that way his professional life was self-sufficient, possessed clarity. His achievements were measurable. The people he treated walked again, or breathed again, lived again. Kai knew something of Adrian’s early experiences here at the hospital. When they first met, he remembered his sense of the other man as, what? Unanchored. Since then Kai had witnessed the shift in Adrian. Talk of Ileana, of the man who ran the mental hospital. What was his name? Attila. Kai had met Attila only once. At a funding conference he had found himself alone with Attila for a few minutes, the only two black faces in the room. Kai had been impressed, thinking Attila had got closer to a kind of truth than anyone else. Attila understood something which Adrian didn’t. Not yet.

He looked at Adrian’s face, narrow and pale. The lethargy in his friend, dispelled during the course of the day, had returned.

Kai thought, too, of the last time he’d been to that town, Port Loko. With Tejani, their last trip together, on their way to find the Lassa fever doctor. They’d done it against the odds, not even knowing if the man existed, the country on the brink of anarchy. For the hell of it. Ah, Tejani.

The second egg was cooked on the underside. Kai flipped it over. He said, ‘So what’s the plan? Go back when he’s not around?’

Adrian lifted his head. ‘Yes. Talk to the daughter. She wanted the best for her mother. It was the son-in-law who was the problem. Whatever he is involved in, she isn’t a part of it. I’m certain.’

Kai removed the pan from the gas ring, slid the cooked egg out on to the plate, reached for another egg and rolled it around the palm of his right hand, contemplating possibilities. ‘And how is that going to work? You can’t just hang around on the street corner in a place like that. You, especially.’ With one hand he cracked the egg into the pan.

‘You’re right,’ said Adrian. He struggled to his feet, whisky in his hand. ‘What if …? No, it’s too much to ask.’ Then, ‘What if you came with me?’

Kai looked at Adrian and looked away. He took a deep breath and released it. A moment ago for some reason, he’d been on the brink of saying yes. Now he felt Adrian’s hopes building, filling the space. The idea was reckless. He shook his head.

‘It’s just too dangerous. Look what this guy already did to you. You could end up making it worse for Agnes. Listen, man, I’m sorry. I know how you feel. But it isn’t worth it.’

Kai could feel the disappointment in Adrian, the slackening of the shoulders. He didn’t look at him. Too bad. What to do? There were too many like Adrian, here living out their unfinished dreams.

He reached up to the shelf above his head and brought down a bottle of ketchup. ‘Come on. You should eat.’

My first reaction, upon my release, was to rid myself of the odours of that vile place. I showered twice, then shaved. Later I called and arranged to see Saffia. She was thinner, the skin beneath her eyes puffy and darkened, strands of hair had loosened from her braids. She embraced me and for a few seconds she remained with her forehead pressed against my shoulder. I became overwhelmingly conscious of her physical presence. Her relief, of course, lay in knowing where Julius was being held, if not the exact reason why. In the account I gave of my own time in custody, I omitted mention of the visit to me by the Dean. I’m not sure why. I suppose I felt it would complicate matters unnecessarily.

First thing Monday Saffia visited the building where Johnson worked. She telephoned me later. Johnson, with his usual obtuseness, had kept her waiting for two hours then sent down a number of forms for her to complete. She’d had no option but to oblige. When she returned he promised to process them. It might take a few days.