The truck bounced by, wheat colored chickens squawking at us from its cargo hold. We stood by the side of the road, staring after it in a cloud of exhaust fumes.
“Come on.” He nudged my elbow. “You know you want to laugh.”
I kissed him then, suddenly and without warning, standing on my tiptoes to reach him.
“What was that for?” His mouth quirked higher.
I wanted to know what your lips taste like after a smile. I shook my head and grinned like I was holding a big secret.
Everything seemed sharper and clearer after that, even though the day was gray and painted in a dull, desolate light.
Magesa was little more than a collection of crumbling mud homes in the shadow of a tall, rocky hill. It was a hot, sweltering dust bowl—dry brush, a dried up well, and dry, bony people. It seemed like a place that rain clouds skipped over, probably because the hill soaked up most of the precipitation.
“Give me sweet. Give me sweet. I am school child. Give me sweet.” A doe-eyed boy came running up and tugged on my top.
“A school child, huh? Why aren’t you in school then?”
He looked at me blankly and held out his hand. He had no idea what I had said, but he’d had memorized all the English he needed.
I laughed, and he smiled shyly, before turning to Jack and repeating the same four lines.
“Give me sweet. Give me sweet. I am school child. Give me sweet.”
Jack said something to him in Swahili. The boy ran off and returned with a woman who I assumed was his mother. They talked to Jack for a few minutes. Furaha’s name was mentioned. The woman shook her head. Jack asked a few more questions and got the same response.
“Thank you.” He handed her some things from his backpack. Then he pulled out some granola bars and gave them to the boy.
“Asante sana!” they said.
“So . . .” Jack turned to me after they left. “You want the good news or the bad?”
“How bad is it?”
We were standing next to an empty oil drum behind a tin-roofed hut. Small, green bugs hovered at the bottom, atop what remained of the rainwater it had collected. It was thick now, with dust and debris.
“Furaha isn’t here. But—” Jack held up his hand as my shoulders sagged “—the good news is that she moved with her family a few weeks ago. Her father inherited some property. The lady said he’s a rich man now.”
I stared at him for a few seconds. “So that’s it? They’re gone?” I looked up and down the row of sagging huts. “I mean, good for them. Really. But this is just so frustrating! Three kids, three strikes. What are the chances? I didn’t even get to one of Mo’s kids. Not one! And now we’re stuck here—no car and no phone service. Tell me they have a mechanic, Jack. Someone who can fix the car?”
“No mechanic, but there’s a bus that comes around. We can take it to go get the spare parts.”
“Okay. That’s good.” I wasn’t just dealing with the crushing disappointment of having let my sister down, I also felt terrible for dragging Jack away from the farm. It had amounted to nothing but a wild goose chase. “How long before it gets here?”
“Three days.”
“Three days?”
“It comes by once a week.”
“There’s got to be another way. Do they have a landline? A phone box? Some kind of roadside assistance?” I flung my hands out in despair.
“Rodel.” His long, tapered fingers slid down my arm and tightened around my wrist. He didn’t have to say anything. He was doing it again—bringing me back to the moment. He had an artless way of communicating with his eyes. He could blur everything in the periphery, so all that remained was his calm, commanding presence.
“You do that to the calves when they get skittish.”
“Do what?”
“What you’re doing now.”
“Does it feel good?” His thumb slid back and forth over the pulse in my wrist.
“Like I’m being hypnotized.”
“Good. Now come here.” He pulled me into his arms.
My eyelashes fluttered shut as I rested my cheek against his chest.
“Unbelievable,” I mumbled. From all wound up to Zen mode in under ten seconds.
“Are you talking to your sister again?” asked Jack.
“I don’t hear her anymore. She’s stopped talking to me.” My throat ached as I said it. “I think I’ve let her down.”
“Or maybe she’s said everything she needed to say.”
“She never said goodbye.” The swell of pain was beyond tears. “I wish I’d picked up her call.” I had failed Mo. And I had failed at getting whatever closure I thought I would find in Tanzania. And I had royally buggered up my heart in the process.
“Hey,” Jack whispered into my hair. “Come back to me.”
We stood there for a few moments, locked in each other’s arms. A black bird watched us from the thin grass, hopped closer, and then vanished in a dry scatter.
“Jack, I—”
We both froze as his phone rang.
“It’s working. Holy hell, we have a signal! Hello?” he answered. The person on the other end started talking. And continued talking. And talking.
“Bahat—” Jack intervened, but was cut off. “Stop. Bahati. Listen. Listen!” It came out like a lion’s roar.
Pin drop silence from the other end. Even the brown leaves around us seemed to stop rustling.