Nuruddin Farah - Hiding in Plain Sight

So Bella turns her attention to the papers Gunilla has placed before her, crossing and uncrossing her legs as she concentrates on the thick file in her lap. Bella reads in silence, noting questions and comments here and there with a red pencil. Gunilla has explained that Bella must sign the documents, which include important insurance papers, in the presence of an outside lawyer, Godwin Wamiru, once her questions have been answered. He is expected to join them shortly, but just now he texts to say that he is going to be very late. “I hope that doesn’t put your schedule out of joint,” says Gunilla. “Do you have other business you need to get to today?”

“No,” says Bella, “I cleared the day for this.” Then she adds, as an afterthought, “For you, I have all the time in the world.”

“There is no worry then,” says Gunilla. “Let us go to lunch.”

“Do we have to go back through security when we return?” says Bella.

“You’re with me,” says Gunilla. “I can sign you in. Just bring along your passport, and I’ll lock the rest in my office.”

A flush of affection sweeps over Bella. She is looking forward to spending time with Aar’s lover, not only to hear about him but also to get to know her better for herself.

—

It takes them a few leisurely minutes to walk to an Italian deli nearby, where they sit apart from everyone else at a corner table with an umbrella. Gunilla is known to the staff here and the manager, a Sicilian with heavily accented English, comes round to greet her.

Gunilla sits across from Bella and, as if for the first time, Bella takes her in. She knows that Aar’s lover is soft of voice, pleasant of face, and sweet-smelling, especially for a Swede in the tropics. On the matter of scent, Bella harbors a personal and unscientific theory: If you are the kind of person who bears grudges or is given to unfounded mistrust, she believes, your body will betray that in the sour odor it emits. Gunilla, for example, seems to produce less sweat than, say, Valerie. Bella has noticed all this before, but now she is struck as if for the first time by how gorgeous Gunilla is. Bella can hardly take her eyes off her, admiring her every move. Bella cannot recall feeling this way about another person, male or female. The only person who came close was Aar, with that beautiful face she knew better than her own almost from the moment she opened her eyes upon the world. Somalis say that you love the jinn of the person you adore. Maybe what she is seeing and adoring in Gunilla is the Aar both of them adored, if that makes sense.

Gunilla is wearing a dress and heels, her blond hair long but kempt, her makeup light, her skin evenly tanned wherever it shows except for a paler bit at the neck. Bella watches her chest rising and falling as she breathes, her fingers fondling the necklace Aar gave her, Bella’s twin. Bella is sorry she hasn’t worn her own today. It brings to mind a story she heard, about a poet who, fearing that he would die at the hands of a neighboring foe, composed a couplet and taught it to his daughters. If he was murdered, he told them, they should recite the first line to anyone who called on them; whoever knew its mate would also know who his murderers were. Is there some secret about Aar’s last days on earth, some uncovered mystery, Bella wonders, that only Gunilla knows? A pity he died in Mogadiscio, not in the arms of this woman who loved him dearly.

“It is lovely, isn’t it?” Gunilla says, fingering the necklace.

Bella thinks of telling her that what makes the necklace lovelier is its proud wearer, but she refrains, fearing it will seem crass to speak that way to a woman she hasn’t known for very long. Besides, what if Gunilla misinterprets this and thinks she is making a pass at her! So Bella says only, “Yes, it is lovely.”

“And you were with him when he bought it?”

“I was there.”

Bella recounts how he bargained with the Turkish jeweler but, failing to persuade him to lower the asking price, gave in even though Bella thought the necklaces cost too much and could be had for a quarter the price in Mogadiscio, where he was due to travel in a month. When she insisted she didn’t need it, he said, “I am buying two. The second is for a close friend in Nairobi.”

That was the first time in a long time that Bella thought he might be seeing someone. The news gladdened her heart, but she didn’t press him to give her the details, imagining that sooner or later he would tell her of his own volition. After all, she had gone to Istanbul a week ahead of him to spend several nights in the company of Humboldt, a liaison that she had never breathed a word to him about, nor had she mentioned her other two lovers.

But now it is Gunilla who is forthcoming, by a larger margin than Bella had ever expected. “We had plans afoot,” she says. “Serious ones!”

Bella pictures a wedding party — friends gathering, Salif serenely welcoming the guests, Dahaba ecstatic — and she, the groom’s sister, playing the role of host. “Tell me more about your plans,” she says.

“They were in a rather advanced stage.”

“A pity you didn’t let anyone know about them,” Bella says, as though to herself. Then she adds, “Why was that?”

Gunilla’s expression darkens as she enters this sad world where death now reigns and grabs whatever it wishes. She says, “Aar wanted to prepare Salif and Dahaba for the news. He was worried about what they would think, how they would behave toward me. He said they could be difficult when they chose to be. And there was the matter of Valerie — technically still his wife as they’d never divorced — to deal with. But he worried much less about Valerie. The children were uppermost in his mind; he wanted them to be happy; he wanted me to be happy; he wanted everyone to be happy. No rush, he kept saying. Everything will fall into place.”

Suddenly Gunilla looks bewildered, as if the world has become a mystery, as if death were all the more calamitous when it takes away someone with a plan. Bella remembers how Dahaba had called Aar’s death “unfair.” Why must death take away her father and not someone with no job, no life, and no love? Gunilla weeps gently, and when Bella goes around the table to console her, she cries harder. Bella hands Gunilla a tissue and the Swede wipes her tears dry. They sit in silence for an appropriate period of time and then resume sipping away at their coffee.

Then Gunilla’s mobile phone, which is in her bag, tinkles and she brings it out and reads the text to herself. “It is Godwin. He says he is just round the corner from the office.”

Gunilla pays for the coffees, apologizing to the waiter for not being able to order lunch, and they walk back to the office in some haste. Since Bella is with Gunilla, the security guards at the gate take only a cursory look at her passport and they are about to wave her through when another officer, evidently more zealous, makes her go through a more detailed check. Almost as soon as they get back to Gunilla’s office, the receptionist rings to inform her that the attorney is waiting. Gunilla says, “Let him come in, please.”

A knock on the door heralds the entry and then the imposing physical presence of Godwin Wamiru, who turns out to be a broad-shouldered, wide-jawed, long-limbed man. He is wearing a generously cut suit, his tie loose, his stride expansive and his self-regard high. He shakes hands with the attitude of a man on top of his game. Before he takes a seat, he says, “My name is Godwin Wamiru and I am a forensic expert in legal matters for the UN offices in Nairobi. One of the things I deal with is the complexities of wills when someone dies in UN employ. Now, let us get down to business so that we can wrap things up quickly for the sake of you and your family.”