“And people believe in it?” There were just two strips of phone numbers left on the flyer.
“If you are desperate enough, you do.”
I nodded, thinking of the woman who had just left fresh flowers at the site. I could see how the first line in the flyer would appeal to friends and families of victims of the mall attack. “These mgangas—are they also the ones that perform spells using albino body parts?”
“Some of them. It’s impossible to tell unless you’re in their trusted circle.”
“Have you ever been? To a witchdoctor?” I asked, as we walked toward the car.
“No. Unless you count our oloiboni, Lonyoki. A lot of people don’t have access to doctors or health care in the rural areas. Healers and herbalists are usually their first line of defense. Many healers have legitimate knowledge of how things work, passed down to them from their forefathers, but there are an equal number of quacks. Personally, I shun local superstitions. Maybe because I fell victim to them myself, and had to leave my home and people.”
“Just like Scholastica.”
“Yes.” Bahati paused before getting into the car. “I never thought of it like that, but yes. I guess Scholastica and I have that in common.”
I rested my head against the window and listened to Bahati chatter on. It had become strangely comforting, like familiar background noise. Goma must have felt the same way because she dozed off and her head rolled from side to side as we drove past patchwork fields and shacks with corrugated iron roofs.
When we got to the farm, Bahati backed Suzi into the garage. It was a sloping structure, extending from the house, open on all sides, but sheltering the cars under its roof. A hose was lying next to Jack’s car, with a stream of soapsuds trickling toward the drain on the floor.
“You’re back.” Jack was in his car, one long, tanned arm leaning out the window.
“Are you going somewhere?” asked Goma.
“No. Scholastica and I were washing the car, and out of the blue, she just started crying. I think she’s homesick and missing her father. She’s all right now, but exhausted. She fell asleep a few minutes ago.”
I peered into the car and saw her curled up on the passenger seat, her head resting on Jack’s lap. “How did you manage to calm her down?”
“I told her a story that Lily used to love.” He stroked her hair absently, as if strumming a beloved, forgotten lullaby.
“I’ll take her inside.” Bahati scooped her out of the car, careful not to wake her.
“I think I’ll lie down for a bit too,” said Goma. “These rough roads rattle my bones.”
We watched them open the door and disappear into the house.
“I don’t know how any man can abandon his daughter,” Jack said softly. “If I could squeeze in one more moment with Lily—one tiny, fleeting moment—I would do it. No matter the cost. I’d trade my soul to the devil for it.”
“I don’t think Gabriel’s abandoned Scholastica. It doesn’t make sense. Here he is, getting all these kids to safety—putting himself at risk in the process. And then he just takes off and leaves his own daughter? It just doesn’t fit.”
“How do we know he was really getting those kids to safety? All we know for sure is that he was rounding up albino children, using your sister. Did she ever say they actually delivered the kids to the orphanage in Wanza? Did they physically lead them in through the doors, get them registered, and settled in?”
“Mo never brought it up, but I’ve never questioned Gabriel’s motives. He has an albino daughter himself.”
“Yes, but that doesn’t automatically align him with the cause. We know nothing about him as a person. We’re assuming he’s a good guy. What if he’s not? What if he’s just been using Scholastica to get the families of other kids to trust him? We know he offered Juma’s family some sort of compensation. Is it out of his own pocket, or is he working for someone else?”
“Are you saying that Gabriel could be an albino hunter? That he duped my sister into helping him?” I felt sick to my stomach at the thought of it.
“I don’t know, but it’s a possibility we need to consider. We won’t know for sure until we get to Wanza. Once we’re there, we can check the records and find out if he really delivered those kids to the orphanage.”
“Why don’t we just call them?”
“I don’t want to tip anyone off—in case Gabriel has someone keeping an eye out for him there. I’d rather just show up and check it out myself.”
“What about the police? Goma has Hamisi searching for him.”
“Hamisi keeps his mouth shut. His discretion is what earns him a second income.”
I nodded, but it felt like the ground was shifting from under my feet. Everything I had based my decisions on seemed to be illusory, like a distant mirage. “I stopped at the mall today.”
We were talking through the window, with Jack still sitting in the car. For the first time since our early morning exchange by the barn, our eyes met and held. There was something indefinable in his, something he didn’t want me to see. And then like a curtain, it dropped, and he cupped my face. The rough pad of his thumb brushed against my cheek in a gesture that was so tender, the breath stilled in my chest.
My lashes spiked from unspilled tears, though I didn’t know exactly why I wanted to cry. It could have been from seeing the mall, or the possibility that I might have totally misjudged Gabriel. But a part of it was also because of this. This sense of fitting so easily into the curve of Jack’s palm, the rightness of it, the ripeness of it, like a fruit—sweet and heavy—waiting to be plucked. I knew I would have to leave it hanging—untainted, untasted—like a perfectly round echo of what could have been.