Reif Larsen - I Am Radar

“So then how do we get our cargo to Kinshasa?” asked Lars.

“By truck. Like everyone else. The road’s pretty good except where the rains have washed it away.”

Lars considered this. “And who do we talk to about renting a truck?”

“I’m going that way,” said Professor Funes.

Daneri snapped his fingers. He pointed at Radar. “Remember I told you about my friend who orders the books? It’s him. He’s the keeper of the great library.”

“If we can fit both containers on the bed of the lorry, I’ll take you,” said the professor.

“You will?” Lars’s eyes brightened. “That would be amazing.”

“But no guarantees,” said the professor. “The Mitsubishi has seen better days.”

“Haven’t we all?” said Fabien.

“Of course,” said Lars. Then, to Funes: “We’re grateful for whatever you can provide.”

The professor dabbed a handkerchief against his lips. “I have a small barge just north of Kinshasa. I load up there and then head up the river. But I can drop you in the city or wherever you’d like.”

Lars and Otik looked at each other.

“We’ll go upriver with you as far as you can take us and then figure out the rest,” said Lars.

“But you don’t know how far I’m going,” said the professor.

“Wherever you’re going, we’re going farther.”

“Oh, a clue!” shouted Yvette. “I love clues!”

“I’m leaving first thing tomorrow,” said Funes. “Or as soon as I can get those fools to unload the books off your boat.”

“Good luck with that,” Daneri chuckled. “Work seems to be optional around here.”

“It’s frowned upon,” said Fabien. “If the sun still comes up whether I work or not, then why make the effort?”

Daneri turned to Radar. “Africa,” he said, “will make you lose your mind.”

“ Mon chéri, you cannot blame this on Africa,” said Yvette. “A man will always lose his mind, no matter where he is.”

• • •

THEY FINISHED THEIR FOOD, and the plates were cleared. The last of the cognac was savored and dispensed with. Fabien disappeared into his famous cellar and came out with a rifle and three bottles of a vintage Bordeaux, a bottle of Johnnie Walker Gold, and a metal canteen of some local gin that smelled and tasted of gasoline.

“ Mais pourquoi le fusil, Fabien?” implored Yvette.

“Parce que je suis ton protecteur.”

At some point, the piano player stopped playing familiar medleys and seemed to devolve into experimental free jazz. The poodle shifted positions. Captain Daneri told them a long story about an island off Argentina inhabited only by women who never aged. At one point a glass was thrown across the courtyard into the fountain for emphasis.

Fabien waved it away.

“I own this place. I can do what I want,” he said, and with that, he stood up and shot his rifle into the air. Roosting birds fluttered away. The shot echoed across the courtyard. Lights turned on. A woman stuck her head out the window.

“Qu’est-ce qui se passe?”

“Tout va bien. Retournez vous coucher! Allez, au lit!” shouted Fabien angrily.

After his sixth or seventh drink, Radar began to lose the sensation in his fingertips. The night expanded, contracted. The courtyard became all courtyards that were, that would be.

Sometime past midnight, Otik and Lars announced that they had to be getting back to the boat.

“But why?” moaned Daneri. “Where else would you rather be than here?”

“Tomorrow is another day,” said Lars. He turned to Fabien. “Merci pour la nourriture et les boissons.”

“Merci pour les conneries.”

“Professor Funes.” Lars bowed. “We’ll see you at the docks tomorrow. We sleep on the ship, so we’ll be ready whenever you are.”

As if by magic, Horeb had materialized again from the shadows.

Yvette turned to Radar. “Are you going with them?”

Radar stood up, slamming his knee into the table. The multitude of glassware shuddered.

“Sorry,” he said. “I probably should.”

“Oh, don’t,” she said. “The morning’s still not for a long time.”

Radar looked at Lars, who raised his hands and said, “It’s your choice. We’re going, though.”

“If it’s all right, then, I think I’ll stay,” said Radar.

“Of course you’ll stay,” said Daneri. “That’s a good lad.”

“Whatever you want,” said Lars. “But when the truck leaves, we leave. We don’t wait.”

“Don’t worry,” said Daneri. “We’ll get him back to you in one piece.”

At some point, the last of the wine was finished. As if on cue, the man at the piano stopped playing abruptly in the middle of one of his long, spastic compositions. He dramatically threw a sheet over the topless piano and then nodded, formally. Daneri, and Daneri alone, stood up and gave him a long, loud standing ovation. The poodle followed the piano player as he exited stage left.

“It’s all so bloody brilliant,” said Daneri, collapsing back into his chair.

Radar was just beginning to wonder why he had not gone home with the others when a figure appeared in the courtyard. It was Ivan.

“Ivan!” he cried, waving with both hands. “We’re over here.”

Radar could not remember when he’d last been so glad to see someone.

“Hello, Radar,” said Ivan.

“Yvette, Yvette, Yvette,” Radar said. “This is Ivan. He can sing. You should hear him sing. He knows everything about the stars. He’s the most amazing person in the world.”

“Quels compliments,” said Yvette. “Enchantée.”

“Madame.” Ivan kissed her hand. “Nous nous sommes déjà rencontrés.”

“Vraiment?”

“Ca fait quelques années.”

“ And he speaks French,” said Radar. “So that’s true.”

“How did your business go?” grunted Daneri.

“What business?” said Radar. “What business, Ivan?”

“Your friend has interests in town. Do you want to tell them, Ivan?”

“This town is no good,” said Ivan. “It’s dying.”

“Careful, Mr. Kovalyov. We’re with the locals.”

“We’re not locals.” Fabien lit a cigarette. “You act surprised. This town has been dying a long time. It’s our hobby to die. We quite enjoy it.”

“Fabien, don’t be rude,” said Yvette. “They will never come back.”

“They’ll come back. They are vultures. They pick at the body. Why else would they be here?”

“For a woman,” said Daneri.

“We’re here to do a show with birds,” slurred Radar. He put his hand over his mouth, but it was already too late.

“Yes, tell us more, my little Harpo,” said Yvette. “Your friends are so mysterious. What is this all for? And what’s this about puppets ? What are you really doing here?”

Radar gazed across the table at her.

“All of us came here not by choice, you know,” she said. “No one comes here by choice.”

“I come here by choice,” said Daneri.

“Vanushka, get him to say something,” Yvette cooed to Ivan. “Tell him we want to know the truth.”

Everyone was looking at Radar. His head was spinning.

“Excuse me, please,” he said.

He got up from the table and began to walk. He was not sure where he was going, but he knew he must leave. He slid through a pair of palm fronds and then up a staircase. There were voices behind him, but he did not stop. Soon he found himself in a long hallway of rooms. He walked past a door that had a little figure made of sticks hanging on it. He stopped, his skin bristling. He raised his hand to knock.

“They haven’t been back in a long time,” a voice said. “They haven’t claimed their things.”