Aminatta Forna - The Memory of Love

Mamakay is Elias Cole’s daughter.

For a moment Adrian is quiet. Then he tells Mamakay about Lisa.

‘I know,’ says Mamakay.

‘How do you know?’ he asks.

‘Not how,’ she replies, looking at him. ‘Not how, but what. What I know is that you won’t be staying.’ She shrugs. ‘So I suppose the exact reason doesn’t really matter.’

Abass is on the balcony surveying the street when Kai arrives home from his visit to the Embassy. He runs to meet him at the gate.

‘Mum says you’re to make my supper and help me with my homework.’

‘And hello to you, too,’ says Kai.

‘Hello,’ says Abass.

‘Where are your mum and your aunties?’

‘The baby died,’ announces Abass. ‘It’s science homework.’

‘Which baby? The one Yeama was looking after?’

‘Yes,’ confirms Abass. ‘A lady had it and then she died. Now the baby’s dead, too.’

‘That’s sad,’ says Kai. ‘Yeama must be sad. Is her brother back yet?’

Abass stops swinging his arms, he drops his head, his face solemn. ‘I don’t think he is back, Uncle Kai, because I haven’t seen him and I’d know if I did, because he’s a soldier and wears a uniform.’

So the man has lost all his young family without knowing it. They’ll be buried by the time the news reaches him. No telephones, no post, the far reaches of the country are virtually cut off. Somebody will have to carry the message to him. Every day Kai sees women on the wards lying next to their sick children. The women’s listlessness frustrates the foreign doctors, who try to urge them to take better care, to own responsibility for monitoring their child’s vital signs. The local nurses, though, show less surprise. And Kai recognises the expression of the mothers. It is submission, submission in the face of the inevitable. People think war is the worst this country has ever seen: they have no idea what peace is like. The courage it takes simply to endure.

‘We’ll pass by once we’ve done your homework. Offer our condolences.’

‘Offer our condolences,’ repeats Abass, testing each word carefully.

‘Come on,’ says Kai. He catches the child across his chest, holding him tight and resting his chin on the top of his head. He feels bad. Abass was so cheerful a minute ago. ‘Food first. Or homework?’

‘Umm.’

‘Toss for it?’

Kai produces a coin. They toss, and when Abass loses they toss for the best of three. Abass still loses.

‘What’s the homework?’ says Kai.

‘It’s an experiment. I need iodine and something called an eye dropper. Mum says you’ll give me one. Lemons and other things.’

‘Let’s see what we can do,’ says Kai.

In the kitchen Abass stands on a stool at the stove heating cornflour and water in a pan. While they wait for the mixture to boil Kai’s thoughts are occupied with the events of his day.

First thing he had gone into town to the Embassy for an appointment with an immigration liaison officer, who told him his application was being processed and gave him a further set of forms. From there Kai had gone to the telecom offices to call Tejani, but realised he’d forgotten the five-hour time difference. Tejani would be asleep. So he bought a prepaid telephone card and then stopped by the Mary Rose for lunch, the first time he’d seen Mary in many months. As he ate he watched her moving around her restaurant, exchanging good-humoured jibes with her clientele. Mary seemed to have let go of the past. In between serving customers she came to sit with Kai; they talked about the hospital, Mary’s plans for a takeaway and home-delivery service. Kai did not mention his appointment at the Embassy. When he made to leave she’d taken both his hands, her eyes locked on to his, and holding him prisoner thus forced a promise out of him to come again.

After lunch he’d found a quiet place in the park and called Tejani on his mobile. Tejani yelled when Kai gave him the news, then seemed at a loss for words.

‘My man, my man, my man,’ he repeated. Kai heard him call to someone in a back room; Helena, he presumed. And finally, ‘So you’re really going to do it. I’m so pleased.’

‘Good.’ Kai could imagine Tejani standing in his new house in a pair of shorts, silhouetted against the summer sun coming through the sliding doors to the yard, shaking his head in the way he had. Then Kai remembered it was cold still in Maryland and they’d not moved to their new house, or even found the financing yet.

‘You’re going for the H1-B visa, right?’

‘Is that what it’s called?’ said Kai.

‘Yes. Highly skilled migrants. Doctors are top of the league. It’ll be easier if you have a sponsor here, but it isn’t necessary. You’ll have to take the professional exams for your licence. We should get an application in for those right now, you can always defer. Man, I can’t believe this!’

Kai listened to his friend’s voice; there was a faint echo on the line. Believe this. Believe this. He noticed the American inflection that had entered Tejani’s voice, remembered how they’d affected American accents at school, adopted American slang at university. Converse sneakers. Rap.

A sense of having turned a corner into the inevitable entered Kai, bringing with it a chill. ‘It’s not definite yet,’ he said.

A pause. Tejani spoke again. ‘I want you here, man. What can I say? I miss you, man.’ Miss you, man. A static-flecked silence.

In a fresh voice Kai said, ‘You’re right. What am I saying? I’m coming.’

They talked for a quarter-hour more. Tejani made plans, offered advice. Kai told him of the trip back to the waterfall.

‘Did you go through Port Loko?’

‘Yes.’

‘I wonder how that guy is doing?’

Kai knew immediately who Tejani was talking about. He’d wondered the same himself. Dr Bangura, the Lassa fever specialist.

Tejani continued, ‘Man, I’d love to know what happened to him.’

When the beeps on the line warned Kai’s credit was about to run out, Tejani offered to call back, but Kai said he needed to get back to the hospital. He put the phone in his pocket and for a quarter-hour more remained sitting on the bench, watching the children on their way home from school.

‘I think it’s ready now.’ Abass is staring into the recesses of the saucepan.

‘OK. How much iodine do we need?’ Kai consults Abass’s exercise book, where the instructions for the experiment are written out in spiky, child’s handwriting. ‘It says here we have to add some of your solution to a jug of water first.’ He finds the eye dropper.

‘Let me, let me!’ Abass climbs down from the chair.

‘Where are your fruit and vegetables? Shouldn’t you have them ready?’

‘Oh!’ Distracted now, Abass begins to search randomly around the kitchen.

In time he’s ready. They carry out the experiment to test vitamin C levels in different foods. Abass is mesmerised by his power to alter the colour of the purple liquid by dropping pieces of fruit and vegetables into it. He is still testing as Kai prepares to fry the chicken. He confines the child to one side of the kitchen, allows him a piece of raw chicken skin to drop into his test tube of iodine solution, and later describes for him the symptoms of scurvy, which the child copies down slowly amid much rubbing out and revision. Kai repeats phrases patiently as he coats each piece of chicken and places them into the pan of hot oil.

At eight o’clock his cousin is still not back. ‘Come on,’ he says to Abass. ‘Let’s take something to Yeama.’

He places several pieces of chicken in a plastic container. From his bedroom Kai collects a wad of notes from the store in his chest of drawers. They make their way up the lane and arrive at Yeama’s to find the women sitting in a loose circle, in the middle of which a pair of lamps burn low. Kai gives Abass the chicken to give to Yeama, and presses the money into her hand himself. From the gathered women comes a muttering of approval. Abass stands shyly in front of Yeama.