Chapter Twenty-Three

The role of the artist is to not look away.

—Akiro Kurosawa

Hunter returned to his room and slept until late in the afternoon. When he woke, he sat on the edge of the bed and reached for a cigarette. “I’m getting too old for this late-night shit,” he said out loud to the nothing he greeted each time he woke. His body felt like it had taken another beating. He wondered why he put himself through this grueling routine, then just as quickly, he thought of the answer. He was driven to see what was there, to see what life and music really had to show him, and there was no other way to know life’s arcane secrets other than by showing up and having the guts to not turn one’s head when she spoke.

During his nap, Hunter had dreamed of being with Caitlin again, and the dream was sweet, without sex, just him and her together. The same dream had often haunted him while in prison, and in the morning the dream’s memory drove him crazy because it was only a dream and would likely never be a reality.

Hunter dressed and walked down to the Waffle House. After he ate, he walked along Highway 80, until his head cleared and his energy level rose, then he walked back to his room to clean up and get ready for Caitlin’s show.

Hunter went to the hotel desk and asked for an iron. In his room, he showered, then dug into his duffel bag and pulled out the only pair of dress khaki pants he had and a white Oxford shirt. He ironed his pants and shirt carefully on the dresser top. After he dressed, he studied himself in the mirror, trying to remember what he looked like a year ago when he and Caitlin had dated. She looked the same—the long, curly blonde hair, the blushing skin of her fair face, the blue eyes. Yet, somehow, she looked more beautiful than ever.

Hunter saw himself differently, and he felt that if Caitlin couldn’t see the difference, she must be blind. His body was much more scarred than the body she had known before, and he knew his insides were as well. Scars—injuries, wounds, badges of shame, of stupidity, of failure. Many things can happen to a man in prison. And the jabs of pain he felt occasionally were more than the bruised and broken ribs from prison fights, or from the scar left by the prison shank that had nicked his kidney—or the sore spot in his heart.

The Lost Bazaar was crowded with people and Hunter could feel and hear the buzz of the energy her work generated. Inside, Hunter spotted Caitlin. She was dressed in black—a short skirt, and a top sheer enough that he could see her bra underneath. She was talking to a couple and she gave him a small finger wave. While she was occupied with them, he picked up a glass of red wine from Melissa’s tray when she walked by, then strolled through the exhibit. A collection of African artifacts hung on the wall. All of Caitlin’s paintings were of Africa —mostly oil and watercolor—and they were unsettling. He noticed several boys in the paintings had Tejan’s face

He found a stack of Caitlin’s artist statements on a table and picked one up.

BLOOD DIAMONDS: A STORY OF AFRICA

BY CAITLIN JOHNSON

My time in Africa was the richest, yet most painful journey of my life. The worst was the suffering I saw, and the best was the fact that I gained a son, Tejan. It is his face you see in many of the paintings. The images in this collection are our story of Sierra Leone, once a beautiful land with beautiful people, now a land ruined by greed—greed for power, and especially for diamonds.

It is hard for Americans to grasp the horror this land suffers as a result of diamonds—these pretty little stones, which Marilyn Monroe described as “a girl’s best friend.” Today, the diamonds of Sierra Leone are mined by slave labor and exchanged for guns in a vicious cycle of suffering. Children are taken into forced slavery as laborers, prostitutes, or soldiers. They are beaten and drugged and used until they are soulless. Citizens are often the victims of pillage, rape, torture, and amputations. Salone is a place where a diamond can literally cost an arm or a leg. These images have haunted my mind for over a year, and in the creation of these paintings, I have experienced a strange catharsis.

I have inexpressible joy when I remember my time at the Xaverian Mission in Freetown, Sierra Leone. But I also have moments of terror and anger and deep sadness as a result of having watched this beautiful land disembowel itself. View these paintings with your heart. None of them are for sale at this time. Perhaps at a later time I can bear to part with them. This exhibition is scheduled to be presented at several diamond conventions this summer, and for the Louisiana Senate in September when I am scheduled to speak on behalf of State legislation requiring proof of origin for all diamonds sold in the United States. I am asking our state government to allow Louisiana to be the first to implement this legislation.

“Good luck on getting Louisiana to be the first at doing anything,” Hunter said out loud. “We tend to study the failures of others states and then imitate them.”

“Excuse me?” a man next to him said.

“Nothing. Just thinking out loud.”

Hunter folded and stuffed Caitlin’s artist statement into his pocket, then strolled around and studied the paintings. There was a painting of her Uncle Ambrose, one of a worker whose name was Mandy, and another of a group of boys in a class at the mission. The centerpiece of the show was called Blood Diamonds, and in it a boy held out two arms. One arm was missing a hand, but the good hand held diamonds which sparkled and flashed. The boy stared at the diamonds as if mesmerized.

He moved on to Operation No Living Thing, which portrayed soldiers moving through a burning village. The ground was covered with dead bodies. Next, he saw Operation Pay Yourself in which villagers were stopped at a roadblock and piling their belongings at the feet of some very young soldiers. He moved on to the next, So You Won’t Vote, an image of a line of people behind a block of wood where a youth had raised a machete to cut off a villager’s hand. Another, titled Boy Soldiers, pictured a marching regiment of very young boys carrying AK 47’s and machetes. Next to it was Sierra C-section. In this painting, a grinning, wild-eyed soldier held a machete in one hand and in the other what seemed to be a very small baby. On the ground at his feet lay the naked body of a young woman.

Soon, Caitlin did something Hunter didn’t know she could do. She moved to a podium and made a speech.

“I want to thank all of you for attending this reception at the Lost Bazaar. Every day, a constant stream of men make their way to the bazaars of diamond merchants in Sierra Leone, Liberia, Guinea, and Angola. The men—miners, thieves, and soldiers—arrive alone, or in small groups. Some would have walked a month or more with one or more stones wrapped in cloth or newspapers and hidden in jean pockets or body orifices. They would arrive, having successfully evaded roadblocks, soldiers, gangs, and armies. After they are paid, the travelers slip back into the bush and return to their families or the place they were sent from. And once there, each man resumes his thieving, soldiering, or the backbreaking work of mining. They will break their backs, ruin their health, and risk prison seeking the little stones they hope will deliver them from their poverty-ridden existence.

“Now, the citizens of Sierra Leone sigh when they remember how organized and beautiful the mining districts of Sierra Leone were before the civil war. The earth itself had paid a high price for man’s voracious quest for diamonds. In Sierra Leone, the diamonds are close to the surface, nearer to man’s hands than anywhere else in the world. Without tight government controls, riverbeds and dry land had been dug, panned, sifted, and searched until the earth was pocked as if stricken by an eruptive disease. Parts of the once beautiful country are now so full of craters and holes that it resembles an artillery-blasted World War I battlefield.

“These small milky-colored diamonds are the smuggler’s perfect commodity. They are virtually undetectable in transport. The stones’ exodus from West Africa might be by plane, by boat, by pigeon, in letters, in sandwiches, in watchbands, or packed inside tourist souvenirs. The stones’ destination would be Israel, Antwerp, Amsterdam, or India to be cut and polished before being sold again. The journey of the blood diamonds ends when they are set in gold, silver, or platinum, and then as multi-faceted tokens of love and beauty, placed on the hands and wrists and necks of American and European women. Yet, as Cupid’s trophies, the stones would say nothing of the sad and gory stories of their genesis or the terrors and travail from whence the stones came, or the life of crime the stone had lived, or the bloody or corrupt hands that have handled them.”

Caitlin’s speech and paintings jarred something loose on his insides, and Hunter felt queasy. He decided he had seen and heard enough. He moved to the refreshment table and quickly drained two glasses of wine. As he was about to pour another glass, he felt Caitlin’s hand on his shoulder.

“Hey, Hunter, slow down on that stuff—as you used to say to me.”

Hunter spoke without looking at her. “How can you produce work like this, Caitlin? This is nothing like the art you used to do.”

“No, it’s not. I’ve given up painting swamp and Cajun scenes for a while. I admit, the show is intense, but it’s a story that must be told.”

“But Caitlin, I liked the Louisiana paintings. And these… they’re so graphic. I wasn’t ready for what I saw in your paintings. Looking at your paintings is like going to a horror show. You’re telling me you came up with this because of your stay in Sierra Leone? Jesus Christ!”

“Jesus wasn’t there, Hunter. He really wasn’t. Most probably don’t believe the conditions were as bad as I’ve tried to portray them. And really, they weren’t—they were worse.” Caitlin decided to not mention what happened to the statue she had made for Hunter since he didn’t even seem to notice its absence. Let the river hold its secrets.

“Who’s the white dude in a couple of the paintings?” Hunter asked.

“A diamond merchant I met. I used to work for him, and we dated a few times. He’s very rich and very talented. He’s supposed to be here tonight.”

“You also use Tejan’s face in your paintings,” Hunter said.

“Yes, I use his face. I love him, I hurt for him, and he is Africa to me. I wonder what songs you’d write if you went to Africa.”

“Going to Africa is not at the top my list, but I do wonder what songs I could have written if we hadn’t split up.”

She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “You’re not done writing about me yet. I’ve missed you, Hunter. I mean, I have really missed you. You’ll come to my reception party on the boat tomorrow night?”

“Yeah, but I can’t get there till after midnight. Jed’s hired me for the Back Door Lounge.”

“Well, come anyway. The party will go way beyond midnight. And bring your guitar. I want Tejan to hear you play.”

Three men entered the Lost Bazaar. One waved and called out, “Caitlin!”

“Excuse me, Hunter. He’s the owner of Vermeer Diamonds and the benefactor for the African artifacts. I need to introduce him to the guests. The News Star reporter is here somewhere, and I need to find her so she can interview him.”

“All right. I’m tired, so I need to get back to my room anyway.”

“Oh, don’t leave yet. Hang with Melissa and drink some wine.”

Hunter did take another glass of wine, and he studied the three men. In her painting, Caitlin had portrayed Von Vermeer well in her painting. Tonight, he exuded arrogance in his high-dollar suit. Hunter didn’t like him.

The large black man and the other white man also wore suits, but they lacked Von’s refinement. Their faces were harder and their bodies more muscular. Hunter eased up behind Caitlin as she talked with them.

Von put his arm around Caitlin’s waist, pulled her to him, and kissed her. “Caitlin, I’m so sorry we’re late for the reception. We missed our connection in Atlanta, and that threw us off schedule a couple of hours.”

“I’m glad you made it here safely. Well, Biko and Rilke. I wasn’t expecting to see you in Monroe. Does Von need security that badly?”

“Hello, girl,” Biko said. “Yes, Von, he be bad boy. He cause trouble everywhere. He needs us with him.”

“Caitlin,” Rilke said, “I’d still like to steal you away from Von.”

“Rilke, you are still the patronizing flirt I met in Sierra Leone.”

“Biko and Rilke are multi-talented men, Caitlin,” Von said. “Not only do they provide excellent security, they have good business sense. How were the artifacts received?”

“People are in awe, Von.” She hooked her arm into his. “Biko, you and Mr. Rilke can help yourself to the cheese and wine. There’s a reporter here that needs to interview Von.”

Caitlin passed by Hunter without a word or introduction to Von. Hunter saw Melissa and picked his way through the crowd back to her.

“So, that’s Caitlin’s old boss,” Hunter said. Caitlin and Von now were talking to the reporter. As the reporter took their picture, Von put his arm around Caitlin’s waist and kissed her on the cheek. “Seems like a friendly sort of fellow, a real kissy sort too.”

“He certainly has the gift of gab,” Melissa said.

“Gab. That’s another word for bullshit, isn’t it?”

“Hunter, I do think you’re a little jealous.”

“So, are the three of us going to do something after the show?”

“I can hang out with you, but Caitlin can’t. She has to meet with Von.”

“Why?”

“She kept books for him in Africa, so she has to turn those over to him. She’s also going to explain why she quit the diamond store.” Melissa took Hunter’s arm. “Let’s get some more wine. I’m sorry I was such a bitch at the Back Door Lounge, Hunter. I didn’t mean anything by what I said. Really. Caitlin will be happy you came to our little soiree tonight.”

“Don’t worry. I deserve a good thrashing most days.” Von’s hands seemed to touch Caitlin constantly. “This guy is acting like she’s more than an employee.”

“She dated him in Africa.” Melissa leaned over and whispered, “But just so you’ll feel better about things, she’s also going to make it clear tonight she’s not interested in dating him anymore.”

“Oh,” Hunter said. “Maybe I will hang around. How long can it take to break up with someone?”

****

Von dropped Rilke and Biko at the hotel, and he and Caitlin drove to a diner. After they placed their orders, Von said, “At last, we are alone, even though I’d rather we be alone in a room somewhere.”

Caitlin set a small bookbag on their table “Here’s the records I kept for you in Freetown.”

Von nodded, then placed the bag on the seat beside him. He scanned the diner and shook his head. “Why would you want to come here? I could have taken you to a much nicer place.”

“Because we need to talk, Von, and I want you to listen to me. This is hard for me to say, but I don’t think we should date anymore. I’ve decided to get back with Hunter.”

“Your old boyfriend? You’re kidding me. You want to jeopardize what we have for some country bumpkin?”

“Von, stop it. We’ve had a great time, but it’s time for both of us to move on. I’m not suited for your world. I don’t belong there. I don’t even want to be in it.”

“You are talking crazy. Haven’t I been good to you? Give me one reason why you don’t want to be in my world.”

“Because you worked with the RUF for one thing. I don’t know exactly what you did with them, but if you did anything, it’s too much.”

“Where would you get such a ridiculous notion?”

“My uncle told me. He said you’d be arrested if you ever returned to Sierra Leone.”

Von sipped his coffee and signaled the waitress for a refill. “Business is complicated in Africa, Caitlin. It’s like working in a madhouse—one day something’s legal, the next day it is not. One day the government official you see has complete authority, the next day he’s in prison. You saw firsthand the extent of graft and bribery there. If you fail to pay the right person, or fail to pay enough, they will use whatever influence they have to coerce you to do so. In this case, I think my competitors poisoned the well so to speak by attaching me to the RUF. It’s like calling someone a child molester here. How can you prove you’re not?”

“Is that really what happened? You weren’t running guns and getting diamonds from the RUF?”

“Caitlin, I am a simple businessman. I assure you that whatever transactions I entered into, I did so with a clear conscience and the tacit approval of the government. And every diamond I’ve ever purchased or exported had a certificate of authenticity. My diamonds are legitimate. They are not conflict diamonds.”

“Oh,” she said. After her stay in Africa, Caitlin could see how a businessman could easily find himself in awkward situations that would require ethical compromises. Bribery seemed to be ingrained into the West African psyche. The mission staff itself had been forced to bribe some officials from time to time to insure they had electricity and security. Nearly every passenger on her flight out of Freetown had slipped the customs officials money to avoid a time-consuming search of their luggage.

“But the RUF? Do you really do business with them?”

Von drummed his fingers on the table, and his lips tightened the way a man does when he wants to think as he talks. “Everyone in Sierra Leone does business with the RUF. Even those who succeeded in blacklisting me. I’m not worried though. My approved status will be restored, once I find the official I neglected to bribe. So, does that explanation satisfy you?”

Caitlin set down her Reuben and wiped her mouth with her napkin. “Yes, Von. I’m sorry. God, I must have sounded so accusing. I had forgotten how complicated doing business in Africa can be.”

“And I understand your wanting to see this Hunter. I probably have been rushing you a little. Just don’t dismiss me entirely, okay?”

“I don’t know, Von. If you can handle the fact that I’m also seeing someone else, I guess we could still go out once in a while—at least until things become more serious. Can you accept that?”

Von snapped his finger to get the waitress’s attention, signaling her to bring the check. “I’m not worried. You’ll change your mind about this hick. You belong in my world, and you know it. What are you doing tomorrow night? Let’s go to a movie and a decent dinner.”

“I would love to, Von, but Hunter and I already have plans. Can I have a rain check?”

After Von drove Caitlin home, he called one of his contacts in Sierra Leone.

“Why do you have to ask?” Von said. “You know what I want you to do. Find out who it was that put my name on that list and either get him on our payroll or kill him. I expect to hear from you tomorrow.”

He hung up the phone. This situation was more of an annoyance than a problem. Africa had no shortage of annoyances.