“The villagers don’t need a textile factory. They make their own clothes.”
“That’s what he said. So, he’s contesting?”
“Contesting for what?”
“All right, keep your cards close. Good to see you again.”
His delegate name tag hung out of his pocket, the blue cord trailing down his trouser leg. I was still not sure what exactly he did in Bamana. At least he had reassured me that I was still anonymous in this country. If I stayed any longer, my face would become famous and my person obscure. I would eventually become known as Kofi Adjei’s illegitimate daughter. Anna Bain would disappear for a second time. There was no better time to leave.
When I got back to the room, I checked my in-box. There was an e-mail from Campbell and Henshaw Family Law asking if I would like to keep my file open. There was also an e-mail from Adrian.
Dear Anna,
As I haven’t heard from you in over a week, I must hope that all is well. Perhaps I overstated your danger in staying in Bamana. Kofi may be a crocodile but he’s an old one.
There are rumors that he’s running for the next election. You don’t have to take my advice. In fact, you probably won’t, but if he does contest, I’d leave before things get hot.
I’m sitting at my desk as I type this and it’s raining in Edinburgh. I’m sure your view is far superior.
With affection,
Adrian
It was obvious once pointed out. The congress was a political rally. Kofi was gathering support. Warnings everywhere. Portents. And outside the bustle of Segu continued. What did it matter? I was leaving tomorrow. I went back to Skype. Robert was online. I called him with my camera off.
“Anna, thank God. We were worried about you.”
His camera was too close to his face. I could see the fine wrinkles that had grown around his mouth.
“Rose is looking thin,” I said.
“I know. I saw her last week. We finally had a proper conversation. She says it’s stress.”
“Last time she said it was because work was too quiet,” I said.
“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it. How’s your father? Rose told me you found him on the Internet. I can’t believe you traveled so far on your own.”
“I’m perfectly capable.”
“Can you turn on your camera?”
“I don’t know how.”
“It’s a little button in the top corner of the screen. It has a camera sign on it.”
“I have to go soon. I need to pack.”
“Just listen. Please. I have a therapist now.” He paused, waiting for a response to his revelation. When I gave none, he continued. “I was drinking too much and my GP advised I speak to someone. It’s strange. You sit in a room, talk about your childhood, and suddenly you’re in tears. It’s a bit embarrassing.”
I’d never seen Robert cry. He got teary, perhaps, when Rose was born or when his mother was diagnosed with breast cancer, but never shed any actual tears.
“How often do you go?” I asked.
“Once a week.”
“Good luck with it,” I said.
“I want us to try again. I know we said we wouldn’t talk until you got back, but you called and I just had to say it.”
He was even closer to the camera now. His face filled the screen. It felt intimate, almost claustrophobic. I leaned back.
“Hello? Anna? Are you there?”
“Yes.”
“I miss you,” he said.
“No. I’ve become a challenge you want to win.”
“Is that what you think of me? I’ve never been sure, all these years. You hide yourself, Anna, and the irony is, the more you hide, the more people are drawn to you. They think, gosh, she’s mysterious, and if you’re foolish or foolhardy like me, you decide, I’ll be the one to charm her.”
His speech was rushed, overly excited.
“You don’t sound like yourself,” I said.
His mood inverted. He smiled, the serene smile of the mildly drugged. “I know. I’ve been having these sorts of conversations with my family. My parents think I’ve gone a little crazy. Camilla says I’ve had a religious experience like the one she had in Nepal.”
“When she stopped wearing deodorant?”
“Yes. What about you? What have you discovered in Bamana?”
“I’m white,” I said.
“Pardon?”
“Obroni. That’s what they call me here. It means ‘white person.’”
I glanced at the wall clock.