Bella arrives at the UN offices in Gigiri almost half an hour late, and then, of course, she has to go through the series of checkpoints and scannings and screenings. She recalls Aar’s comments about the corrupt Ugandan security forces at Somalia’s international airport, but on reflection, she thinks that the blame lies squarely with the Somalis and especially with the current president and his regime. After arriving on a tide of great enthusiasm, he quickly proved incapable of steering the ship of state through disaster. He has been accused of unconscionable favoritism, of massive inefficiency, of unparalleled personal dishonesty. In the more than a year he has been in power, he has accrued more enemies than friends, both locally and among the international community. There is no one, it seems, he has not disappointed. UN investigators have uncovered corruption of immense proportions, reaching all the way up to his office and beyond. Two governors of the Central Bank later—one was sacked for impropriety, the other (with impeccable credentials) resigned—there is still no mechanism in place that can guarantee that the government kitty is safe from the pilfering of the president’s associates and clansmen. A member of parliament, a former premier, has accused the president of enjoying an unhealthy rapport with “terrorists,” and deny this as he might, the allegation keeps echoing in the media, especially on Somali-language websites.
Finally through the gauntlet, Bella is shown to Gunilla’s anteroom by one of the assistants. She takes a seat, opens her briefcase, and takes out the Camus essays, which she hasn’t found the time to concentrate on in the unpredictable emotional climate of the past few days. But after a few moments, the receptionist’s intercom sounds. “Yes, madam,” she says, then she informs Bella that Gunilla is ready to see her. Bella replaces the Camus in her handbag and, her knees creaking from lack of exercise, rises and knocks on Gunilla’s office door.
They shake hands, they hug, and they kiss, touching cheeks. Not long after they sit, Immaculata the tea girl comes in without knocking. Bella can tell Gunilla isn’t happy about this, but she lets it pass without comment.
Bella brings Gunilla up-to-date, starting with how much she and the children have enjoyed the album of photographs she gave them. Then she tells Gunilla about the cameras and the darkroom.
“How did the outing go?” Gunilla wants to know.
“Good until the last few minutes.”
“Then what happened?”
“Salif and Dahaba took turns putting unpleasant personal questions to Valerie,” says Bella, making sure that she doesn’t portray Valerie in a way that may prove counterproductive.
“What were the questions like?”
“Dahaba asked first and Salif followed suit, the two of them working her like those little dogs that go for your feet and bark nonstop,” says Bella, not wishing to reveal more than necessary.
“She was less worked up than I expected. But today was another story.”
“What happened today?”
Bella asks if Gunilla has had any recent contact with Helene Nsembemba. Gunilla replies, “Yes, we spoke a couple of days ago because I called her to make sure that we go over her billing.”
“Did you give my name and details at any time?”
“I didn’t.”
“Well, somehow Valerie found out more than she should have. She discovered that it was I who settled the bill, and she knows that you have been functioning as my intermediary as well. My guess is that someone at your bank provided her with the information, not through Helene, but through the other lawyer Valerie has been using since she regained her freedom.”
Gunilla reflects on this then says, “In my capacity as a UN official, I must abide by the banking laws of the countries I visit. My primary base is Kenya, but we have accreditation in Uganda. It is very possible that a banker there was able to trace both your name and mine. I am sorry; I meant well and did what I could to process the transaction as quickly as possible, but I can’t control everything.”
“No blame is intended,” says Bella.
“Anyway, was she grateful that you settled her and Padmini’s affairs so they could regain their freedom and leave Uganda?”
“No! She said that she could do without my charity.”
“How very ungrateful.”
“There is something else besides. In our Somali culture and also in Islam, if you give someone a gift, you don’t boast about it to others. If you do, then your present is deemed worthless.”
“So she is saying thanks but no thanks.”
They fall companionably silent and mull over their situation as Immaculata brings them their tea. Then Gunilla tells the tea girl to tell the receptionist that no one must disturb them again.
It has been increasingly obvious to Bella from each of their encounters that Gunilla had fallen under Aar’s spell, abandoning herself to his abundant charm. He could work wonders when he set himself to pursuing a woman with interest, and maybe his interest had grown keener after so long a time without a serious female companion. To see Gunilla savoring her memories of him is a novel way of appreciating Aar. But Bella reminds herself not to mix the official business that has brought her here with her increasing affection for Gunilla and her longing for Aar; there is time enough to explore both outside these walls when time and circumstance permit.
So Bella turns her attention to the papers Gunilla has placed before her, crossing and uncrossing her legs as she concentrates on the thick file in her lap. Bella reads in silence, noting questions and comments here and there with a red pencil. Gunilla has explained that Bella must sign the documents, which include important insurance papers, in the presence of an outside lawyer, Godwin Wamiru, once her questions have been answered. He is expected to join them shortly, but just now he texts to say that he is going to be very late. “I hope that doesn’t put your schedule out of joint,” says Gunilla. “Do you have other business you need to get to today?”
“No,” says Bella, “I cleared the day for this.” Then she adds, as an afterthought, “For you, I have all the time in the world.”
“There is no worry then,” says Gunilla. “Let us go to lunch.”
“Do we have to go back through security when we return?” says Bella.
“You’re with me,” says Gunilla. “I can sign you in. Just bring along your passport, and I’ll lock the rest in my office.”
A flush of affection sweeps over Bella. She is looking forward to spending time with Aar’s lover, not only to hear about him but also to get to know her better for herself.
It takes them a few leisurely minutes to walk to an Italian deli nearby, where they sit apart from everyone else at a corner table with an umbrella. Gunilla is known to the staff here and the manager, a Sicilian with heavily accented English, comes round to greet her.
Gunilla sits across from Bella and, as if for the first time, Bella takes her in. She knows that Aar’s lover is soft of voice, pleasant of face, and sweet-smelling, especially for a Swede in the tropics. On the matter of scent, Bella harbors a personal and unscientific theory: If you are the kind of person who bears grudges or is given to unfounded mistrust, she believes, your body will betray that in the sour odor it emits. Gunilla, for example, seems to produce less sweat than, say, Valerie. Bella has noticed all this before, but now she is struck as if for the first time by how gorgeous Gunilla is. Bella can hardly take her eyes off her, admiring her every move. Bella cannot recall feeling this way about another person, male or female. The only person who came close was Aar, with that beautiful face she knew better than her own almost from the moment she opened her eyes upon the world. Somalis say that you love the jinn of the person you adore. Maybe what she is seeing and adoring in Gunilla is the Aar both of them adored, if that makes sense.
Gunilla is wearing a dress and heels, her blond hair long but kempt, her makeup light, her skin evenly tanned wherever it shows except for a paler bit at the neck. Bella watches her chest rising and falling as she breathes, her fingers fondling the necklace Aar gave her, Bella’s twin. Bella is sorry she hasn’t worn her own today. It brings to mind a story she heard, about a poet who, fearing that he would die at the hands of a neighboring foe, composed a couplet and taught it to his daughters. If he was murdered, he told them, they should recite the first line to anyone who called on them; whoever knew its mate would also know who his murderers were. Is there some secret about Aar’s last days on earth, some uncovered mystery, Bella wonders, that only Gunilla knows? A pity he died in Mogadiscio, not in the arms of this woman who loved him dearly.
“It is lovely, isn’t it?” Gunilla says, fingering the necklace.
Bella thinks of telling her that what makes the necklace lovelier is its proud wearer, but she refrains, fearing it will seem crass to speak that way to a woman she hasn’t known for very long. Besides, what if Gunilla misinterprets this and thinks she is making a pass at her! So Bella says only, “Yes, it is lovely.”
“And you were with him when he bought it?”
“I was there.”
Bella recounts how he bargained with the Turkish jeweler but, failing to persuade him to lower the asking price, gave in even though Bella thought the necklaces cost too much and could be had for a quarter the price in Mogadiscio, where he was due to travel in a month. When she insisted she didn’t need it, he said, “I am buying two. The second is for a close friend in Nairobi.”
That was the first time in a long time that Bella thought he might be seeing someone. The news gladdened her heart, but she didn’t press him to give her the details, imagining that sooner or later he would tell her of his own volition. After all, she had gone to Istanbul a week ahead of him to spend several nights in the company of Humboldt, a liaison that she had never breathed a word to him about, nor had she mentioned her other two lovers.
But now it is Gunilla who is forthcoming, by a larger margin than Bella had ever expected. “We had plans afoot,” she says. “Serious ones!”
Bella pictures a wedding party—friends gathering, Salif serenely welcoming the guests, Dahaba ecstatic—and she, the groom’s sister, playing the role of host. “Tell me more about your plans,” she says.
“They were in a rather advanced stage.”
“A pity you didn’t let anyone know about them,” Bella says, as though to herself. Then she adds, “Why was that?”
Gunilla’s expression darkens as she enters this sad world where death now reigns and grabs whatever it wishes. She says, “Aar wanted to prepare Salif and Dahaba for the news. He was worried about what they would think, how they would behave toward me. He said they could be difficult when they chose to be. And there was the matter of Valerie—technically still his wife as they’d never divorced—to deal with. But he worried much less about Valerie. The children were uppermost in his mind; he wanted them to be happy; he wanted me to be happy; he wanted everyone to be happy. No rush, he kept saying. Everything will fall into place.”
Suddenly Gunilla looks bewildered, as if the world has become a mystery, as if death were all the more calamitous when it takes away someone with a plan. Bella remembers how Dahaba had called Aar’s death “unfair.” Why must death take away her father and not someone with no job, no life, and no love? Gunilla weeps gently, and when Bella goes around the table to console her, she cries harder. Bella hands Gunilla a tissue and the Swede wipes her tears dry. They sit in silence for an appropriate period of time and then resume sipping away at their coffee.
Then Gunilla’s mobile phone, which is in her bag, tinkles and she brings it out and reads the text to herself. “It is Godwin. He says he is just round the corner from the office.”
Gunilla pays for the coffees, apologizing to the waiter for not being able to order lunch, and they walk back to the office in some haste. Since Bella is with Gunilla, the security guards at the gate take only a cursory look at her passport and they are about to wave her through when another officer, evidently more zealous, makes her go through a more detailed check. Almost as soon as they get back to Gunilla’s office, the receptionist rings to inform her that the attorney is waiting. Gunilla says, “Let him come in, please.”
A knock on the door heralds the entry and then the imposing physical presence of Godwin Wamiru, who turns out to be a broad-shouldered, wide-jawed, long-limbed man. He is wearing a generously cut suit, his tie loose, his stride expansive and his self-regard high. He shakes hands with the attitude of a man on top of his game. Before he takes a seat, he says, “My name is Godwin Wamiru and I am a forensic expert in legal matters for the UN offices in Nairobi. One of the things I deal with is the complexities of wills when someone dies in UN employ. Now, let us get down to business so that we can wrap things up quickly for the sake of you and your family.”
He sits down, opens his briefcase with panache, and brings out a pile of papers, which he consults only once before he recites the facts known to all parties in the case: that Aar was killed while on a UN tour of duty in Mogadiscio, in circumstances that lead one to believe that terrorists murdered him in cold blood; that he is survived by two children, both in their teens, an estranged wife who has lately turned up and whose intentions have been unclear, and Bella, his sister, who is present here.
Gunilla raises her hand as if she were a pupil in a classroom. “If I may ask you a question?”
“Go ahead, please.”
“What’s the latest with Valerie? You told me that she had initiated a claim. What have you made of it?”
“It’s definitive,” he says. “She and the deceased were married out of community of property, and Valerie is not legally entitled to anything. End of story.”
“So it was all a lot of hot air and a waste of time?”
“All that I am prepared to say is that it was unwise on her part to pay those two lawyers,” Godwin Wamiru says. “She is not entitled to the dust from two of Aar’s shillings rubbed together.”
Bella likes this lawyer, who doesn’t sound like one. He has a severe, intelligent face, which he uses to great effect, and occasionally he raises his voice a touch for emphasis, as if to convince any skeptics. After he’s spoken, you feel there are no grounds that you can challenge him on.
Now he says, “I took the deposition myself, in the presence of Valerie’s attorneys. Here is the notarized document she signed, two copies of it, one for each of you. In her deposition, Valerie declares that she has withdrawn all claims and that the case is closed. In a codicil, she forfeits the right to make any further claims regarding the custody of the children.”
“Why has she withdrawn her case?”
“She is indigent, unable to pay her legal fees.”
Bella receives the information with mixed feelings: relief, because she has been worried about the effect that a drawn-out legal dispute might ultimately have on her relationship with the children on the one hand, and on Valerie’s relationship with the children on the other. Still, she wonders how Valerie’s concessions might have affected her. A lioness is at her most dangerous when injured.
Bella reads the deposition, made all the more satisfying because Valerie has signed it and was fingerprinted for it.
Gunilla says, “Out of curiosity, did Valerie and her attorney come into your office to have the document signed or did you go to her attorney’s?”
Godwin Wamiru says, “The woman is broke. She and her attorney came to me because he wanted to put a stop to the clock running and the bill mounting since she was in no position to pay what she already owes.”
“How does he intend to recoup what is owed to him?” asks Bella.
“Maybe he will have her arrested.”
“And how much are we talking about?”
“Several thousand dollars.”
Gunilla takes down the details of Valerie’s Kenyan attorneys, aware that she needs these men to wrap up the case and leave no loose threads hanging. Then Godwin Wamiru takes his leave.
Not wanting to part yet, Bella and Gunilla extend their time together and go back to the Italian deli for the lunch that Godwin Wamiru interrupted, feeling more relaxed than before. And while neither is ready to celebrate victory yet, they admit to each other that Valerie is in a very weakened position, especially given her failure to pay her newly accrued legal fees.
All eyes follow their entry into the open-air restaurant, where they are led to a corner table. After they’ve ordered their meal, Gunilla remarks that something seems to be troubling Bella. “What is it, dear? A kroner for your thoughts.”
“I can’t bear the thought of having Valerie arrested for nonpayment of the attorney’s legal fees. And yet I would have difficulty justifying my own action if I paid for it.”
A sort of nervous energy descends on the two women as they assess the situation in their heads. The waitress brings sparkling water in bottles and some bread in a basket. Bella mixes balsamic vinegar with olive oil and then dips the bread in it and, as she chews in silence, wonders if Gunilla can bear to get involved in Aar’s affairs again on her behalf.
“I am afraid that, having lost her shirt now and her marbles many years before, Valerie may do something desperate,” Bella says. “She is mad, bad, and positively dangerous; and I am worried that we are back where we started: Valerie under threat of being locked up and needing to be bailed out.”
“What are you thinking?”
“I am thinking of discreetly settling this bill too.”
“I see where you are coming from, and I believe I can work out something with the two attorneys she owes legal fees to.”
“How?”
“They can forward their bills to me and we will tell them that we will settle their fees from Aar’s estate to save his good name,” says Gunilla.
“How wise you are, Gunilla.”
They are silent for a minute or so. When their meals come, they eat, neither speaking because Gunilla knows a couple of people sitting at the next table and she doesn’t want them to hear her confidential conversation with Bella.
Gunilla says, “I’d like to see the children.”
“Let me see what I can organize.”
Gunilla reaches for the bill. Bella says “the children” as if it is synonymous with “my worry,” the same way she says Valerie’s name as if it is a euphemism for “trouble.” They walk back together, Gunilla to her office and Bella to pick up her car from the parking lot.
All is well when Bella gets back home, lugging takeaway for an army. Valerie, Salif, Padmini, and Dahaba are in the living room playing Scrabble. Salif is the quickest at word games, and to give himself further advantage, he has imposed a time limit on each player’s turn, regulated with the kind of timer professional chess players use. He has put himself in charge of the clock, on occasion declaring that a player has lost a turn because he or she is late in making a move.
Bella heads straight for the kitchen, avoiding Valerie’s icy stare. As she unloads the food—curries, sushi, Thai veggies—onto the kitchen table, Bella hears Dahaba challenging a call, bawling, “I was just about to make my move!” Then Valerie shrieks, “No more time wasting, please!” And Salif calls out, “Cheaters!”
Bella goes up to her room, carrying her briefcase, determined to enjoy what peace she can find there. She changes into a housedress and finds a pair of flip-flops for her feet, remembering vaguely that Mahdi has offered to take the children to see a movie tonight. Truth be told, she is longing for some time to herself, but it is Valerie she no longer wants to spend a moment with, unlikely as that possibility seems. Indeed, even from up here, she can hear Valerie berating Salif. What has the poor fellow done now? she wonders.
She catches up on her e-mails, many of which contain belated condolence messages, including a few from Aar’s colleagues. When she sees a long one from Ngulu, she deletes it right away. Then she boots up Aar’s computer and opens his e-mail.
She skips the newer messages in his in-box for the time being, most of which appear to be junk mail, and starts with the messages from before he died. Nearly a third of the messages in his in-box are from Gunilla. Many of them are of an intimate nature, but a great number of them have to do with the management of his Nairobi account and other work-related ones. Bella checks his sent mail and finds many e-mails to Salif and Dahaba, about two a day to each of them, and others to Fatima about her cancer. In one Aar even offers to help financially if there is need.
After shutting down Aar’s computer, Bella calls to invite Gunilla to dinner the next night, making their vague plan for a get-together definite. Then she thinks, why not make it a party? and she rings Catherine Kariuki. After updating her on how Salif and Dahaba are faring, she says, “If you are free tomorrow evening round about eight, we would like you and your husband to join us for supper. Please accept my apology for such short notice. We’ve been meaning to have you over, but the children’s mother is here, and it has not been easy for me to get the household in order.”
Catherine says, “Hold on, dear,” and then comes back in a moment to say, “My husband says he would love to come, but it will depend on whether his chauffeur is available as we don’t normally drive ourselves home at night.”
“I hope you can come,” says Bella. “That way we will be able to thank you properly for hosting Salif and Dahaba. And you will meet two or three of Aar’s friends along with Valerie, the children’s mother.”
Catherine says, “In the meanwhile, kindly send us directions to your house. And I’ll ring you tonight or first thing tomorrow to let you know whether we are coming.”
Downstairs, the game is over. “Who won?” asks Bella.
Salif says, “I did. And Padmini came in second.”
“Because you and Pad cheat, that’s why,” says Valerie. But she doesn’t sound very miffed, and the current state of her feelings is a mystery to Bella.
It’s Dahaba who begins to unpack the cartons of food and to ask who wants to eat what. Then Valerie takes charge, yammering away, ordering people about: Salif is to bring the cutlery; Padmini the napkins and plates; and Bella the drinks. Bella does as instructed and makes herself useful by serving everyone’s drink of choice, although she begs off lunch on the grounds that she has already eaten.
“And where did you have lunch?” asks Valerie.
Bella thinks hard before answering the question, which, innocuous as it is, reminds Bella of how peaceful demonstrations turn to violent riots. Answering “Where” may invite “With whom?” she fears.
“Where?” Valerie insists.
“Just some little deli, you won’t know it.”
Bella observes that Dahaba is liberally dropping food on her place mat and wiping it up halfheartedly with her curry-stained fingers, which she then licks. “Dahaba!” she admonishes.
“Sorry,” says Dahaba.
Valerie inquires, “Why are you sorry?”
Salif explains why, but Valerie answers, “Big deal. Just wash the place mat, it is made from cheap cloth anyway.”
Now that the animation of the game is over, Valerie looks to Bella as if she hasn’t had much rest; in fact, she looks like a street cat caught in the rain. Padmini seems subdued as well. Bella wonders if Valerie has informed Padmini that she has withdrawn her case and is no longer contesting the will or filing for child custody. Will their relationship come to grief when Padmini learns this, she wonders, or will Padmini see it as tit for tat for Padmini’s ruinous attempt to recover her family’s property in Uganda? And has Valerie told Padmini about her anger over Bella’s rescuing them? Bella stands on the periphery of the circle and listens.
Dahaba is asking, “Mum, have you read much gay literature?”
“Gay literature, did you say?”
“You see,” says Dahaba, “my friend Qamar has told me that nowadays you can take queer literature courses in America and the UK at universities. You can even do a PhD on the subject, it is so rich.”
Salif makes threatening pistol-shaped gestures with his fingers at Dahaba, warning her away from this topic, and even Bella tries to catch the girl’s eyes to suggest that she rein it in. But even when Salif kicks Dahaba in the shin and Valerie says to Salif, “Please. Where are your manners?” she doesn’t stop.
“I can give you a list of classic gay authors that my friend Qamar says you’ll enjoy reading,” Dahaba says.
“Have you read any of them yourself?” asks Valerie.
Dahaba replies, “No, I haven’t. But Qamar has.”
“Give the list to Padmini.”
Padmini says to Dahaba, “Give them to me. I am partial to such writing. Your mum likes thrillers and crime fiction. I can’t bear reading any of that.”
“Because murder has a built-in narrative structure,” Valerie declares.
Padmini says, “I just love gay classics like Nightwood by Djuna Barnes; The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde; Death in Venice by Thomas Mann; The Color Purple by Alice Walker; Zami: A New Spelling of My Name by Audre Lorde; and Oranges Are Not the Only Fruit by Jeannette Winterson. They are wonderful.”
Despite her worries that this discussion will lead the conversation back to areas that are best avoided, Bella is relieved that the topic of sexuality is now on the table. Nevertheless, she takes the opportunity to change the subject before too much more can be said. “We are having a dinner party tomorrow evening,” she announces. “What do you say to that?”
“It depends on who is invited,” says Dahaba.
“Your mum and Auntie Padmini for starters,” says Bella.
“Oh, that’s wonderful. I love parties,” says Valerie.
Padmini says, “I’ll help cook.”
Salif says, “That’s super. I love Indian food.”
“Mr. and Mrs. Kariuki,” says Bella.
Valerie says, “Who are they?”
Salif explains, “The principal of our school and his wife, who we stayed with. They were our hosts and they were very, very kind, especially the Mrs. She is large and generous and fun.”
“Can we invite Qamar and Zubair?” says Dahaba.
“Yes, of course,” says Bella.
“Can their mum and dad come too, please?” asks Salif.
“Sure,” says Bella.
“And who else?” asks Salif.
“Your father’s colleague Gunilla.”
This time, Bella senses the presence of a ripple of tension from Valerie at the mention of Gunilla’s name, which brings on a feeling of renewed apprehension.
“We know her,” says Dahaba. “She’s cool.”
Bella asks, “By the way, when is Uncle Mahdi coming to pick you up for the movie? Maybe it is time you showered, no?”
Dahaba goes upstairs.
“What movie are you going to see?” asks Valerie.
Salif replies, “A film called The First Grader, based on the true tale of an eighty-four-year-old former freedom fighter during the struggle for Kenyan independence from British rule. Never having gone to school, he enrolls himself in primary school with six-year-olds. It’s about the uneasiness his presence in the classroom creates among the educational and political authorities.”
“Fascinating,” says Bella.
“Mum, interested in coming?”
“Not my type of film,” says Valerie.
A quarter of an hour later, Mahdi, Zubair, and Qamar arrive to pick up Dahaba and Salif. Dahaba immediately invites them to the dinner party tomorrow evening, and Mahdi immediately says that the family would be delighted to come. Bella introduces him to Valerie and Padmini, and she can see his flicker of recognition as he puts the names and faces together with all that he has heard.
Mahdi says to Valerie, “My children mentioned you were here visiting. I am so pleased to meet you.”
Valerie says, “You have lovely children.”
Mahdi welcomes Valerie and Padmini, and he smiles at both, a little too formally, thinks Bella. Nothing in his manner betrays that he knows anything about the legal rows and custody battles that have been raging in the family. He is impeccably polite, and he also treats Padmini with the respect due an honored guest.
Bella brings Mahdi tea and pours him and her some. Valerie and Padmini take their usual sundowners. But the conversation doesn’t flow easily, and they are all relieved when the stairway echoes with the shouts of teenagers as the children and their friends roughhouse. Not that they lower their voices or make the slightest effort to calm down when they come into the room where the adults are. All four speak at the same time. Zubair and Qamar are impatient to get to the movie. “Dad,” Zubair says, “we’re going to be late.”
Mahdi looks at his watch. He says, “You’re not.”
Bella says, “The impatience of youth!”
“Please let me finish my tea,” Mahdi says.
“There is tea everywhere,” says Zubair.
They troop out, still full of excitement, and the younger ones race each other to the car. Watching them, it’s easy to forget that Dahaba and Salif have only recently lost their father.
Now that the three women are alone, the tension in the room is all the more heightened, and their conversation flows much less naturally. Bella points Valerie and Padmini to the liquor cabinet, saying, “Please do drink and be merry.” She moves away on the pretext of warming up dinner after taking their order for leftovers from the afternoon’s takeaway.
Valerie makes herself a whiskey on the rocks and Padmini pours herself some red wine. Bella takes only water with a slice of lemon. They sip their drinks silently, evasively holding back what is on their minds despite the fact that a lot needs to be said. Yet not one of them is prepared to speak.
Finally Valerie slips out to the bathroom, and Padmini hurriedly says, “We owe you a big thanks, Bella, for settling the bills. I’ll make sure we pay you back.” When Valerie returns, looking much the worse for wear, Bella abruptly changes the conversation and talks about the Nairobi weather. How cold it can get at night up in the mountains and near the lakes! Bella is too wary to trust that nothing nefarious is afoot, and she is therefore extra solicitous, fearful of rousing Valerie’s demons. What is more, Bella doesn’t want the rapport between Valerie and Padmini to unravel now that they seem to be on course for departure back to Pondicherry. She is relieved when the conversation starts to flow again, with Valerie suggesting they eat at the big dining room table for a change. And they find a legion of discussion topics that Bella presses into service, such as the state of their restaurant and hotel business, the children’s welfare, Bella’s place in the children’s lives—as well as Valerie and Padmini’s future. For the first time since Valerie’s arrival, Bella begins to feel the butterflies in her stomach settle.
Valerie says to Bella, “What occasion has prompted you to throw a party tomorrow evening? Of course, we are delighted that you’ve invited us too.”
Bella is aware that it won’t do for her to say that the party is their farewell party. “This is a welcome dinner for you, to which I’ve also invited friends of Aar’s, most of whom you haven’t met before. It is also a party I am throwing for myself now that my new life here in this new country is taking shape. In addition, I see this as a housewarming party.”
Gracious for once, Valerie says, “Thanks for the invite.”
After dinner, Bella drops them off at their hotel.
When she gets back home, Bella writes an e-mail to the Kariukis to give the house address and directions as she promised. Then she rings Marcella and leaves yet another message on her voice mail.
Finally, Bella takes the time to set up the darkroom. She puts all the equipment in place: an enlarger, an optical apparatus, a slide projector, sheets of photographic paper, a safelight, and the chemicals in which the paper will be immersed. To make sure everything is shipshape, she test prints a handful of photographs she took when she arrived here. The first images come out grainy and she isn’t terribly pleased with them, but she works at the images until they are sharp and clean. And because she doesn’t wish to sleep before Salif and Dahaba are back from the movies, she devotes half an hour to a long letter to Marcella, in which she brings the old dear of a woman up to speed on all that has transpired.
Salif and Dahaba get home close to midnight, full of beans and ready to chat about the film they saw. Bella, remembering that she has a dinner party to organize for tomorrow night, pleads exhaustion and retires to her bedroom, saying, “Good night. See you tomorrow, darlings.”