The Road to Destruction
“No West African path goes straight…”
Mary Kingsley
There was a horrendous pounding against the closed door, and Tom Anderson suddenly burst through with a disgruntled agent still holding onto him from behind. Which made what Meg was thinking to come tumbling out her mouth.
“Tom Anderson…how could you? You snake! You…” She leapt to her feet and flung the paper at him. “You wolf in sheep’s clothing!”
He caught it as it fluttered against his chest. “Let’s hold off having any squabbles in public, shall we?”
Which in turn caused a delighted chuckle to escape the man behind the desk, and he waved the apologetic agent out the door, again. “Yes, yes…by all means, it is time to bring in the husband.”
Meg had quite passed her limits and was ready to go to jail. “Call the American ambassador!” She scooped everything back into her bag and slung it over her shoulder. “Take me to the consulate!”
“One moment,” said the man at the desk.
“This instant!” demanded Meg with a stamp of her foot and then a bang of her fist on his desk for emphasis.
“All right.” Tom brushed her aside (like a pesky fly) to stand in her place. Then he reached into an inside pocket of his khaki vest to withdraw a wallet that was equally as bulging as the professor’s had been. “What’s it going to take to get us out of here?” He removed two bills that Meg could not see the value of and set them down on the desk.
The man’s eyes widened.
“That’s for the trouble she caused.” He set down another. “And that’s for any trouble you might have explaining all this. And” —he took out one more— “this is for the evidence.”
“Evidence…” The man rose to his feet and offered his hand across the table in good will. “The worthless thing. It is worthless, I assure you. But go ahead and take it.”
Tom and the man shook hands, (and acted as if she weren’t even in the room) after which he stashed the wallet back into his pocket (along with the offending document) and hustled her toward the door. She went along because she was dumbfounded. Speechless, as a matter of fact.
But she came to her senses well enough halfway to the exit.
She stopped and yanked her elbow out of his grasp. “You are nothing but a…”
But he only put an arm (a very heavy arm) across her shoulders and continued to sweep her along. “Not here, Megan. Do you understand? I’ll explain everything as…”
The first bar of the French national anthem emanated from one of his pockets, and he steered her out of the flow of traffic and closer to a waiting area before he took out his cell phone. He flipped it open with his thumb. “This is Tom,” he answered without letting go of her. There was a long silence, during which Meg could hear a woman’s voice on the other end of the line. She tried to pull away, again, but he only held on tighter as he continued to listen.
Meg felt her temper rising in a way she hadn’t experienced in years. What right did he have to treat her like this? He was holding her so close she could smell the leather straps of his backpack mingled with a faint trace of Old Spice aftershave. She put both of her fists against his chest and pushed. It didn’t faze him. The harder she pushed, the tighter he squeezed, and the sound of his voice when he finally answered didn’t betray even a hint of effort.
“Mother, take a breath. Now, listen. I have his passport. Yes. And all of his money, too. All of it. Yes. Isn’t that what I just said? No, he wasn’t. I’m going to meet him in Akosombo.”
At that moment Meg came to the ultimate end of her limits. She had exerted every ounce of her strength for nearly a minute, until, like a contest of arm wrestling, it gave out suddenly and failed her, when in spirit she would never have given up at all. Not for one minute. But instead, she went limp all at once (she couldn’t help it) with her forehead leaning against his chest, and such a great wave of frustration swept over her that she burst into tears. The iron hold went immediately gentle in response, then the slightest of tightening, again, in a gesture of apology.
Which so infuriated her that (without even thinking) she drew back one of her still-clenched fists and hit him in the stomach with every last bit of force she could muster. It caught him off-guard. He staggered half a step backward, let the phone down from his ear, and Meg distinctly heard— “has ruined my plans, again, Tommy, that reprobate! You know every time he gets with Eddie, it’s like”—but it still wasn’t enough for him to let go. He gasped (as if he only just could because the wind had been knocked out of him) and sank back into one of the empty chairs of the waiting area, with Meg simultaneously having to follow suit in the one next to him.
“Mother…” The voice on the other end was only an incessant drone now, because he had put the phone up to his ear, again. “I’ll handle things with Eddie. Take the wives and kids on holiday like you planned, and the rest of us will…just have to meet back up at the end of it instead of the beginning. That’s the only thing that’s changed…I know you can…it will, I promise.” He slowly returned the phone to his pocket and looked over as she sat there, still trembling from the entire experience, and an unchecked flow of tears streaming down her face. “Megan…”
She sniffed and began to rummage through her bag for a package of tissue. “Don’t talk to me! And don’t think because I’m crying that you got the better of me, Tom Anderson! I’m…” She found the tissue and snatched one out so fast that it tore in half. “I’m just worn out, that’s all. Do you hear me? I’m worn out!”
“Thank God, or you’d have killed me.” He rubbed an unconscious hand over his stomach, took one slow, deep breath, and then another. “Swing like that ought to be registered as a weapon.”
“Pushing people around who are smaller than you…” She blew her nose. “Well, maybe you’ll think twice next time.”
“I will.”
“Serves you right. But you made me lose my temper, and I hate that!”
“I’m sorry.”
You’ve got me bawling, like a baby, and I can’t stop!”
“I said, I’m sorry.”
“Well, just…” She sniffed, again. And then hiccupped (for heaven’s sake!). “Just save your apologies for your wife and kids and let me go back to my tour! Or, home even! I’m that upset.”
“I can’t let you go, yet, Meg.”
“Why, because you need me to smuggle more illegal documents for you? Take me to the consulate. I want to talk to the ambassador!”
“Listen.” He took another deep breath, let it out slowly, and got gingerly to his feet. “I didn’t put that thing in your bag, Pop did.”
“I don’t believe it! And there’s not a thing you can say to…”
“It wasn’t my signature on the bottom of that deed.” He reached for her arm and helped her up. “It was his.”
“I’m not going!”
“Yes, you are.”
“I’d rather go to jail!”
“No, you wouldn’t.” He resituated her duffel and his backpack on his other shoulder. “Will you please not make me force you? I’m a little worn out myself after all this.”
Megan took a deep breath of her own, held her chin up (like a good martyr) and rose slowly to her feet. She put the tissue into her pocket, but had to take it out again when she realized she was still wearing the same clothes since yesterday, and succumbed to another jag of tears. Tom held onto her arm as they started walking, but it was more to steer her clear of obstacles than drag her along this time.
When they came to the glass doors that led outside, he held the nearest one open for her. “And I don’t have any wife, or kids,” he informed her as she went through ahead of him, still sniffing. “Don’t think I’ll even be tempted after this experience.”
They took the first taxi he could flag down.
It was old and run down and smelled like grease. The windows were either open all the way or missing, and an uncomfortably warm humidity that seemed practically stifling hung heavily around them. And it was rush hour. The streets were crowded with people coming and going everywhere. Horns honking, loud music spilling out of dingy little bars and nightclubs they passed. This was not the Africa Meg had come to see.
The taxi driver was a heavyset older man with a bald head and a face that reminded her of a raisin. When he smiled, one of his teeth was gold. Tom rattled off an address as if he had done it a dozen times and knew right where he wanted to go. Which seemed very suspicious, under the circumstances, and made her uncomfortable all over, again.
“I thought you said we were going to sit at the airport and check every flight in from St. Louis,” she accused. “Now, where are we going?”
“Somewhere I can pick up a car. We’ve got to drive to Akosombo. Pop talked a friend into taking him there in a private plane so he could avoid being detained at customs. We have better connections there.”
“So, if you already heard from him, why do I have to go? He told you I was innocent, right? Did you even ask him? Hopefully you mentioned I’ve been accused of smuggling, now! “
“I haven’t heard from him, personally. Only Mother has, and she has a tendency to get overly excited about things.” He reached for his wallet and removed several bills. “He told her he was robbed. And since you had everything he said was stolen…”
He paused to lean forward as the cab pulled in toward the curb and handed the money to the driver. They were stopped in front of a rundown car lot that also had several goats and chickens meandering around the yard (right in the middle of the city). How long was this nightmare going to continue?
Meg slid across the seat to get out on the curb side, and refused Tom’s outstretched hand to assist her. But she didn’t let herself lag very far behind when he turned and entered the building: there were several strange-looking characters milling around the sidewalk in front of the entrance. A little bell on the door rang as they came in, and after a few moments, a dark man in a red t-shirt that said Uhuru on it, entered from a door behind the counter. Meg had seen that word before, but she couldn’t remember what it meant.
“Tom Anderson!” A white, brilliant smile in a handsome face.
“Hello, Mick.” They shook hands.
“Welcome, welcome! I didn’t expect you until next week.”
“Something came up, and I’m in need of a quick ride to Akosombo.” He set their bags on the counter. “Can you do it?”
“I can. But man, that road! Hard rains the last few days and it’s not so good over the mountain.”
“What’s it doing raining so hard this time of year?”
“You tell me. The whole planet is going crazy. My cousin says the road crews are out, but I don’t know how far they are. Might make it if you take it slow, though.”
“Well, I have to get there, so I’ll take my chances.” He reached for his wallet. “Give me something that can handle it.”
“I always do, my man. I always do.” He turned away to retrieve a set of keys from a row of others on a cork wallboard before stepping up to an outdated computer to begin typing in information with a quick agility. He hit the execute button, and as a printer under the counter began to tap out the paperwork in a steady hum, he looked up and flashed Meg a smile.
“First trip?”
She nodded, waiting for some off-color remark about her relationship with Tom. Well, she wasn’t going to say a word…not one word. Let him do the explaining this time, she was tired of it all.
“Freedom,” Mick explained to her as he reached back under the counter for the paperwork and then slid it across with a pen so that Tom could sign. “It means freedom. But it is also the name of a music group. And so the drums.”
There were two large drums under the black lettering on his shirt, and she had been staring at them. “I see,” she murmured, trying at least to be polite. After all, it wasn’t his fault that she was in this predicament.
“You shall have to hear them sometime when you get back this way.”
He led them out a side door then, and pointed towards an ancient jeep that not only looked like something left over from the world war, but also seemed as if it had been pieced together from several different vehicles. Tom tossed their things into the back and opened the passenger door for Meg. Then he went over to where Mick was taking five-gallon cans of gasoline out of a shed and began to help carry them. They set three in the area behind the back seat that opened from the outside.
“Good luck, my friend,” said Mick as they shook hands, again.
“Thanks.” Tom opened the door and climbed in. “I have a feeling we’ll need it.”
“Goodbye, lady friend.” He smiled at Meg through the open window as he closed the door after Tom. “Stay out of the jungle at night.”
“I’ll try.” His ready friendliness made the situation seem a little less sinister, somehow.
****
That melancholy time between light and dark didn’t last long in the tropics. By the time Tom had made a second stop on the outskirts of the city for some fresh fruit and bottled water, along with a box of crackers and canned American cheese to take along, night had fallen. Meg refused the offerings. She wasn’t hungry (how could she be under circumstances like this?). Things were growing worse by the minute.
She knew it was going to be a long drive, and she was not looking forward to it. The engine was noisy, and a distinct smell of gasoline seemed to waft in through the windows after every acceleration. It was still uncomfortably hot and humid, and the longing for a cool shower was almost overpowering at this point. She hadn’t slept in a decent bed for days, and suddenly she was close to tears, again. Of all things…why…she hadn’t been this emotional in years!
She reached into her bag sitting on the seat between them, and rummaged around in the dark for her package of tissue. Tom took a long swallow from a bottle of water he had been drinking and then set it back into a plastic cup holder that looked as if it had been added as an improvement sometime back in the eighties.
“Why don’t you crawl into the back seat and try to get some sleep, Meg. Should be a better breeze back there with all the windows down. It’ll cool off more once we get higher up the mountain, too.”
“Why do I think you’ve done this before?”
“I’ve done it quite a few times. Our company has some business going with one of the towns up here, and we make the trip every couple years. Don’t worry about what Mick said about the road, I know where I’m going.”
He didn’t have to offer twice. At least she could stretch out back there, and she wouldn’t have to keep up appearances. She really didn’t care what he thought about her anymore. Looks weren’t everything. Which just goes to show how low a person can go when they let themselves slip into a decline. Her own behavior over the last forty-eight hours had shocked even herself. Why she had broken nearly half of all those personal rules she had kept under control for years!
By all rights, she should probably at least help him stay awake. Especially since the faster they found that errant professor (who had some definite explaining to do, in her estimation), the faster she could get back to being her own normal self. The trouble was, she wasn’t exactly sure who that was anymore. But there was one thing she did know. Any person who could be accused of a felony, practically kidnapped and hauled across two countries by an intimidating stranger without losing her mind entirely, had to at least be halfway stable. Maybe even commendable. And who was to say she wouldn’t come out of these trying experiences a stronger and better person because of them?
That’s what they always said in church, anyway. That trials and tribulations made you stronger. Well, if they did, Meg decided, (as she plumped up her duffel to use as a pillow) she ought to be feeling like one of those Amazon women by now. Considering the fact that there was little left that could be worse, she gratefully surrendered herself to the welcome escape of total exhaustion, with a comforting assurance that if the car broke down, or even ran itself into a ditch…it could wait until tomorrow to be dealt with.
No, let Tom Anderson deal with it.