* * *
—
In the hours that follow, everything we discussed outside the back room happens as we’d hoped. Woja Beki is shaken when he hears that Kumbum might die on us. He asks Pondo many questions about the sick man—are his symptoms contagious? is there a chance the stranger could get well and do something sinister to one of his wives or daughters? he needs to keep his family safe—and Pondo replies that he has no answers, he can give no assurances, we’re all forging ahead with questions that cannot attach themselves to responses, at which point Woja Beki stops asking. He’s learning, just as we’re unlearning, that sometimes the best way forward is to do as commanded and offer no resistance.
Before I head to bed for a rest, I pack my raffia bag. Yaya does not cry when I kneel before her and ask for her blessings. She blesses me and wishes me a safe journey. She promises she’ll take care of my brother’s family in my absence. Sahel wraps up food for me and fills my water bottle. Juba gives me a long hug. Thula sits alone on the veranda and ignores my attempt to assure her that I’ll return in a few days.
* * *
—
We meet in the square before dawn—Lusaka, myself, and Tunis. The decision to make Tunis the third man was an easy one: Tunis’s sense of direction is the best in Kosawa, and we’ll need it to help us find the newspaperman’s office, much as we had relied on it to help us navigate the city when we went to search for Malabo.
We are about to head for the bus stop in Gardens when we hear a rustling. I think it to be no more than the sound of an early-morning breeze bothering tree leaves, perhaps warning of a coming rain, but it is not stirring air. It is Konga. He’s back in his spot, under the mango tree. Our thoughts solely on Bézam, we hadn’t seen him sleeping under a brown sheet. I move a finger to my lips, and the other men nod, a signal that they too have seen him. Together, we lift our feet off the ground slowly and return them with deliberation—we do not want to awaken the madman and be forced to reckon with whatever is bound to come out of his mouth when he opens his eyes and sees us.
Too late.
“My guess is that you’re heading somewhere important,” he says from behind us.
We stop. Should we turn around or keep walking? The voice is his, but which Konga is speaking? Our newfound sage, or longtime menace? Should we listen to what he has to say? Lusaka decides we should; he turns around to face Konga.
“Good morning, Konga,” he says, moving toward the madman. Konga flips off his sheet from over his body and stands up.
“May I ask where you’re all heading to?” he says. His politeness is uncalled for; from it I discern little about his current state.
“We’re going to Bézam,” I say.
“Bézam,” he repeats. “And are you going to tell me why you’re going to Bézam?”
I look at Lusaka. I decide it’s better to let him do the rest of the talking, so I remain silent, looking toward Gardens; I hope we don’t miss the bus. Lusaka says nothing for a while, clearly searching for the proper response to Konga’s question.
“I’m waiting and waiting for a response and I’ve got nothing to do but more waiting so I’ll wait until I have nothing else to do but wait,” the madman says. He’s speaking in a singsong manner, smiling. Patches of dried saliva are in the corners of his mouth. A large crust of snot is visible in his nostrils. I dare not avert my gaze from his face lest he think me afraid of him. I’m not afraid of him. If I’m to succeed as the leader of this operation, I cannot be afraid of anyone, sane or insane.
“We received some advice last night,” Lusaka begins. “We were given the name of someone in Bézam who can help us, so we’re going to meet him.”
“And this person is…”
“This person is an important person. We were given very good advice.”
“Would you like my advice on if the advice you got is indeed very good advice?”
Lusaka looks at me, and I nod, and he proceeds to tell Konga all what Kumbum had suggested we do. Konga does not blink as Lusaka speaks. He stares at Lusaka as if Lusaka has traveled a great distance to deliver stale news. I grow even more concerned we’ll miss the bus—Lusaka is going into every detail of what Kumbum told us.
Konga continues staring at Lusaka after Lusaka is done talking. When he finally takes his eyes off Lusaka’s face, they land on mine.
“You won’t find what you’re looking for in Bézam,” he says to me.