Gihilihili ordered the guards, “Take him to the holding area.” Four blue arms held me tight, then pushed me into Holding Cell 5. The walls were light blue. The electric was bright. Here, too, were cracks in the concrete ceiling.
The guards threw me to the floor, and the Thaatima’s gold pen, which was in my trouser pocket, dug into my leg.
After the guards left, I lay on the floor and stared at the cracks in the ceiling. I half expected the spider to come out, but he did not. I thought about Kibera and my past world. I thought about America and the world I would not see. Prayer is something to do when there is nothing else to do, and so I prayed.
The door opened.
“Mr. Mwolo,” Gihilihili said. Guards Nos. 2 and 3 followed.
I said, “Where Mrs. Steele?”
Gihilihili laughed. “She has gone,” he said, “to America.” His suit was dark blue, with thin prison-bar white stripes; his tie was a pattern of green, yellow, and black, and his shirt was white. The silver cross on his lapel shone. Gihilihili stared down at me. “Do you sincerely believe that she would want you, Mr. Mwolo? She is a dealer. Her paintings go to America and you stay here.” He held up my passport. “Your destiny is mine,” he said. He looked up at the ceiling and waved his hand in the air. “Mr. Mwolo, now perhaps you understand how fleeting is the promise of paradise.” He waited for me to understand.
A thought crawled into my head—I could not stop it: Mrs. Steele hustled me. I wanted to believe Mrs. Steele just as a bird believes in the beat of its wings. Gihilihili watched me as if he could see my thinking. The thought exploded, went wild, and thrashed everywhere: “She’s a hustla; she’s a hustla, she’s a hustla!” Now that Mrs. Steele knew where Hunsa lived, I was nothing. I had told Mrs. Steele about Mama’s death and she had hustled me on it: perfume, breasts, and a kiss. Mrs. Steele had made me feel that something dead inside me was breathing life; everyone needs a mother. I wanted the feelings of Mama the way a lonely tree wants water. I had broken the thirteenth commandment. Commandment No. 13: Run alone. I looked at Gihilihili’s bald-headed grin, smelled his man perfume, and knew terror.
“But I neva done nothing wrong,” I said to Gihilihili. “I did’na run no white.”
Gihilihili’s thin eyebrows lifted. “Now, is that right?” he asked. “That is not what I hear.” He turned to the guards behind him. “Search him,” he said.
Scarface pushed me against the wall, harder than he needed to, and searched me. He found the Thaatima’s gold pen and handed it to his chief.
Gihilihili slipped the pen into his jacket pocket and shook his head. “Mr. Mwolo, what shall be done with you? If the gates of paradise open on the balance of a man’s good deeds over evil, they shall surely be shut to you.” Gihilihili came toward me; he smelled strong of perfume. He whispered slowly in my ear, so I could feel his breath, “Bingo Mwolo, I shall erase you.” He cleared his throat. “That is, after I have cleansed you.”
Like a trapped bird, my shoulders tightened. My eyes darted to the blue walls as if sky was there for me to fly to. But I did not fly. For wherever I ran in Holding Cell 5, there was nowhere else to go.