Джон Гришэм - Sooley

Beatrice asked the driver, “Why are we getting the boys?”

“We have a surprise. You’ll like it.”

The boys squeezed into the back seat of the jeep and waved to their teacher. They had never been in a jeep before. In fact, they could barely remember their last ride in a motorized vehicle, the old pickup owned by their uncle in Lotta.

Their rides would only continue to be upgraded.

As they left Rhino, Beatrice was concerned. Again, she asked the driver, “Where are we going?”

“To Kampala, then to America.” She was stunned and speechless. They rode for almost an hour over a busy, wide gravel road, dodging supply trucks and troop carriers. At the airport, a small Ugandan air force cargo plane was waiting as another one landed and taxied to the warehouse.

In the rear seat, the soldier asked the boys, “Ever been up in an airplane before?”

They shook their heads no and watched wide-eyed as the jeep stopped next to the cargo plane. Beatrice had never considered air travel, and thus had no opinions about whether or not it was for her. However, at the moment she was stricken with fear and didn’t want to leave the jeep. The soldiers gently coaxed her out with promises of safe travel, and a visit to the big city before leaving for America. Once inside they strapped her in, the boys too, and wished them well. The two engines sputtered to life and the old plane shook itself. Two cool pilots in aviator shades turned around, smiled at them, and gave them thumbs-up. Beatrice was too stiff to move, but the boys were grinning from ear to ear.

Murray, Gaston, and Silvia were lounging under a wide umbrella by the pool, sipping drinks with no alcohol, and waiting, for the second day in a row. In the bush, the best-laid plans often go awry, and the delay was being blamed on some confusion regarding cargo planes. It didn’t matter and it wasn’t a big deal. Delays were always expected. There were worse ordeals than hanging around Kampala Serena, a five-star hotel in the middle of the commercial district.

Gaston’s phone rang and he got to his feet. He said, “One hour. Great.” He put the phone away and nodded at Murray and Silvia. They went to their rooms, changed, and returned to the lobby where they waited. The family arrived in a white van with no military markings, proof that Immigration had now taken over. The driver was an officious-looking man in a suit. He slid open the side door and helped Beatrice to the pavement. The boys followed and all three stood frozen, unsure of what to say or do, or where to go. The Serena hotel was a vast and beautiful building, and they had just driven through the chaos and congestion of a big city, their first ever.

Gaston stepped forward and said, “We represent your American family. We’re here to take you home.”

Murray smiled at the boys and said, “I’m Murray. I lived with your brother and he was my best friend.” They immediately recognized him from the videos Samuel had sent. They awkwardly shook his hand.

As they entered the lobby, the always courteous doormen smiled and then exchanged looks. Three well-dressed Americans and three bewildered and somewhat ragged refugees from the bush.

It came as no surprise that the boys wanted lunch. They had never eaten in a restaurant before, neither had Beatrice, and once their bags were checked in, they followed Gaston to a corner table where they could talk. And talk they did. As Beatrice realized that they were indeed headed to America, she had many questions. The boys asked Murray what they should eat and he ordered cheeseburgers and sodas. And, of course, they wanted to talk about Samuel.

For people who had slept last night on the floor of a tent, and every night for the past year, and who spent hours each day waiting in endless lines for food, and who had lost half their family and all hope in the future, and who had no idea why they had been plucked from the camp, the moment was simply overwhelming. Beatrice cried a lot, and then she laughed, and ate, and tried her best to understand Murray as he tried his best to explain how a nonprofit worked in the U.S. He finally gave up and said, “Let’s just say that Samuel is responsible for this.”

After a long lunch, they escorted the family to their large room with two beds. Murray showed them how to work the shower and toilet. From the balcony, he pointed below to the beautiful pool and told the boys he would take them swimming as soon as they changed.

Gaston called the front desk and organized a van to take them shopping, and he and Silvia left with Beatrice to buy new clothes. It was imperative that the family, now full-fledged Ugandans, looked the part of well-documented immigrants headed for America. If a customs agent somewhere checked their luggage, he would find some nice new clothes and nothing out of the ordinary. And new clothes were certainly needed. Staying clean in the camps was impossible, and the dirt and grime had become part of the fabrics.

In the pool, Murray marveled at how skinny James and Chol were. They were already tall for their ages, eleven and thirteen, and he could almost count their ribs. He had never seen kids so thin in America. As they frolicked in the water he watched closely for the slightest hint or sign that they shared the same marvelous DNA as their brother. They could not swim so they stayed in the shallow end, and as he listened to them chatter and play he remembered many wonderful stories Sooley had told about his little brothers. He said James looked just like him, and he was right. He said Chol would be the best basketball player in the family. They would soon see about that.

Water became the topic. Water in the pool. Water in the tub. But especially water from the tap that ran nonstop and they could drink all they wanted. The boys took shower after shower, and Murray didn’t have the heart to tell them that in Durham there would be a monthly water bill. When they were bored with the shower, they returned to the pool.

Murray recalled that the team managers had been amazed at how little water Sooley consumed.

After another fine meal at dinner, they met in Gaston’s room to walk through tomorrow’s schedule. So far, each leg had gone as planned. Gaston often smiled at how far a little cash could go in the developing world. Cash under the table certainly worked back home as well, it just took more of it.

Ida believed the optimum time to land at Raleigh-Durham International was around two or three in the afternoon. Though she had been negotiating with Immigration and Customs Enforcement and thought they had an understanding, she knew from experience that things could go wrong. She might need an hour or so to run to Immigration Court, where a judge was on standby.

They left the hotel in the same van at 4 a.m. and drove an hour to the airport at Entebbe. Gaston thanked the driver and tipped him heavily. He’d been tipping a lot in Kampala. A woman with the same sense of authority as Ida Walker met them at the general aviation terminal and led them inside. The word “Customs” was embroidered above the pocket of her shirt and she seemed to own the place. It was deserted and there was little traffic in this corner of the sprawling airport. She collected all six passports, pointed to a pot of coffee in a corner, and disappeared. On the tarmac, their beautiful jet was glistening in the lights as the pilots went through the preflight routines.

James and Chol wore matching khaki shorts, white golf shirts, and white socks and sneakers. Beatrice had found a bright yellow gomesi, the floor-length traditional dress of Ugandan women. She would have preferred something from her own country, but for the moment she was pretending to be Ugandan. At any rate, the three looked adorable and gave every indication of being a prosperous family headed to a new adventure in the United States.