I drove over to Robertsfield early and was just finishing my drink at the bar when Jenny’s plane landed. Two airline employees rolled a boarding stair up to the cabin door and I watched as the passengers started streaming off. Jenny was one of the last. She stood at the top of the boarding stair looking around, her shoulder length blond hair blowing in the hot wind. She was wearing a dress with a full skirt, and as she walked down the steps the wind blew it up above her knees. In the glaring sunlight, her face and exposed arms looked more delicate than I remembered.
The passengers were ushered to the terminal where they would go through Immigration and Customs. Memories of my own chaotic arrival in Robertsfield years ago flooded into my head. Mike McCoy had sent a handler to meet me and get me through this pandemonium. Otherwise, I doubt I would have made it. I began to push my way through the crowd looking for Jenny. As more passengers entered the building, the yelling and shouting rose to a near steady roar. Baggage boys were grabbing passengers’ bags, and uniformed Customs officials had started approaching random passengers. Jenny was nowhere to be seen.
Suddenly, the mob separated, and Jenny appeared, calm and smiling as if she were arriving in Washington, DC. She was being escorted by a diminutive, well-dressed black man. The two were chatting as if the crowd was not there.
“Jenny!” I shouted.
She did not look up. Judging from her escort’s dark suit and manner, he was a wealthy Americo-Liberian. I watched as the man signaled for porters to come. Two porters, pushing and pulling an empty loading cart, wedged their way through the waiting group of passengers to a pile of baggage. The man, with Jenny next to him, pointed out various bags in the pile and the porters immediately began to carefully place the bags on the cart. The man then pointed in the direction he wanted the porters to go, and he and Jenny followed them as they pushed their way through the tumultuous hordes.
When they were outside the roped area, I waved and shouted again to get her attention. She saw me and waved back with a broad smile on her face. I made my way through the noisy crowd to where they were. The man silently signaled for one of the porters to place Jenny’s bag next to her. Jenny held her arms out and embraced me. She felt lean and hard and smaller than I remembered.
“This is Mr. Harriss, Kenneth. Mr. Harriss is an adviser to President Tubman.”
“Very pleased to meet you, sir,” I said, shaking his hand, “and thank you very much for helping Jenny through Customs and Immigration.”
“Please, don’t think anything of it. It was truly my pleasure,” Honorable Harriss said, not taking his eyes off Jenny. He lifted Jenny’s hand to his lips and gently kissed it.
“I do hope you,” he hesitated, then added as an afterthought, “and your gentleman friend can attend. Please call my secretary. You have my card.”
“Thank you, Mr. Harriss, I will,” Jenny said.
I picked up her bag and started walking toward Junebug.
“What was that all about?” I asked.
“Oh nothing,” she said casually. “I met Mr. Harriss on the airplane and he invited me . . . us . . . to a reception at the president’s mansion this coming Thursday. I think it sounds exciting. Please tell me that you want to go.”
“Sure,” I said, “I’ll go. It may be the most exciting thing around.”
“God, I hope not,” she said, laughing.
“Jenny,” I said, “I can get you a room in a good hotel within walking distance to where I live. I think you would like it better than my place.”
“Why, what’s wrong with your place?”
“It’s got a couple of not very well-behaved guys who come and go all hours of the day and night and who aren’t very considerate or respectful of anyone’s privacy. And, with a woman there, they may keep everybody awake howling at the moon.”
“That explains something,” she said.
“Explains what?”
“That I almost didn’t recognize you,” she said.
“Really?” I asked. “What’s different?”
“For one thing, you are all tan, and your hair is so long! Actually, I kind of like it, but you’ve lost a lot of weight and . . .”
“And what?”
“I don’t quite know how to say it . . . but you’re kinda grubby looking.”
“Grubby looking! I shaved and showered this morning!”
“Yes, but I don’t know what it is. You just look different. And look at your clothes—a dirty t-shirt and a pair of torn shorts?”
“Okay,” I said, “you got me there. My wardrobe has diminished. But this t-shirt isn’t dirty, it’s just stained.”
Jenny smiled, a little condescendingly. “Is there any possibility at all that you could find a suit?”
“A suit! What on earth for?”
“You know, the reception, the party.”
I stopped in front of the Ambassador Hotel and got her bags out of the front of the car. She followed me in. The desk clerk looked up and smiled as though he recognized me. Jenny was given a room on the second floor. It was like most rooms in the hotel: plain, clean, and small with a slight view of the ocean and beach.
“Will you show me where you live?” Jenny asked.
“Sure thing, but let me show you the beach bar first.”
She followed me downstairs out the glass doors, across the street and down the short walkway to the bar area.
“Missah Ken!” Joe said with a smile. “An who dis pretty young lady ya ha wit ya?”
“This is Jenny. She’s visiting from the States—Washington, DC,” I said, anticipating his next question.
“Washington, DC? Oh, I hear about Washington, DC. Oh, so sorry about yo riots. I hear ees very unsafe dere. We are so fortunate not to have gangsters like da in Liberia. Ya will be safe hee. What can I get ya, my dear lady?”
Jenny ordered a vodka and tonic and I ordered a scotch straight up.
“Please, my dear lady, go fine a table an ah wil bring ya yor drinks,” Joe said.
We found a table near the end of the concrete deck near the beach. The ocean breeze was pleasant but not sufficient to cool us, and small beads of moisture stood out on Jenny’s forehead. She picked up a napkin and gently blotted the moisture from her face.
“You must be exhausted,” I said. “Don’t you think you should take a nap or something?”
“I’m just a little disoriented. But I’m too excited to sleep. Besides, I want to take advantage of every moment I have here. And perhaps . . . even take the opportunity to convince you to come home.”
“I think that might be a conversation for later on.”
“You’re right,” she said, “and right now I want to find out all I can about Liberia.”
“Where would you like to start?”
“Is what Joe said true, that they don’t have crime here?” Jenny asked, squinting in the fading sunlight.
“Oh, they have crime here. It runs through life here like water.”
“How do you mean?”
“Bribery, for example. In the states it’s considered a crime. Here it’s just a measure of how much you want something. A man can kill his wife, and if he can show he had good reason or pays enough dash, he can get usually away with it.”
“Really? I read that Liberia is one of the wealthiest nations in West Africa, has a high GNP, and is politically stable.”
“All true,” I said. “It’s one of the best examples of the trickle-down theory that I know of, and you’ll get a chance to see it in action when we go to the party.”
Joe brought the drinks and set them on the table in front of us. The light breeze from the ocean moved Jenny’s blond hair slightly across her face. She turned to look at the ocean.
“It’s beautiful here, isn’t it?” she said.
“Yes. It is very beautiful.”
“Kenneth, I want to go to the party and I want you to go with me. It’ll be a chance to see the people in power close up. It’s a rare opportunity, don’t you think?”
“I have to admit, it sounds like a cut above the local bar scene or hanging out at the beach, which is all that I can offer.”
She smiled and turned to face me, then took a sip from her drink. “This is good,” she said.
We talked for a long time about friends and family back home—her parents were doing well. She had spoken to my parents just before leaving. They were concerned since they hadn’t heard from me in months.
The president’s party was several days away, so before then I wanted to show her the “better side” of Monrovia. We had lunch at Heinz and Maria’s bar, where she was a hit with the aging Luftwaffe pilots. Then more lunches at the Gurley Street Bar where the rowdy RAF guys gathered round her. We had dinner at the Ducor Palace Hotel and spent many hours on the beach.
The evening of the president’s reception I managed to find a clean, pressed shirt and trousers but had a lot of trouble finding the only necktie I brought with me to Africa. It took several attempts before I remembered how to tie the thing. I buffed the mildew from my dress shoes with an old, worn out sock, then got into Junebug and headed over to the Ambassador to pick up Jenny. She looked radiant in her tropical white dress and white, high-heeled shoes.
The reception was one of several that the president held to celebrate his successful twenty years in office. We stopped at the entrance gate of the presidential residence in Totota. There were two uniformed guards armed with 30 caliber carbines. The guard on my left walked up to my window.
“We’re here to attend a social function,” I said.
“Hav ya an enveetation?” the guard asked.
“We don’t have a formal invitation, but the name should be on your list.”
The guard examined the paper attached to the clipboard he held in his left hand. “Wha de name?”
Jenny leaned across me and said, “Miss Jenny Morgan.”
“Miss Janni Moogan,” the guard repeated as he ran his index finger down the page. “Ah, yas mamah, here t’is, an a guest. Dis mon ya guest?”
“Yes, he is.”
“Den you may go in. Pak on de right where ya see de odders,” the guard said and pointed in the direction that we were to go. I thanked him and slowly drove through the gate following the driveway to where there were other parked cars. I pulled Junebug into the group of stately Mercedes and BMWs and switched off her loudly banging air-cooled engine.
“It definitely looks like we belong here,” I said.
We followed other arriving guests across the parking area and along the newly laid walkways into the residence. Inside, we were directed to a large, central room, which I assumed was the main ballroom. It had been finished in imitation of the French Rococo style, but without the elegance or refinement. Several crystal chandeliers hung from the high, rounded ceiling. Guards dressed in uniforms that looked similar to what might have been worn by Napoleon’s generals were stationed at doorways and along the walls. The sound of a string quartet playing chamber music echoed from the marble walls. An elaborate bar with several bartenders was at the far end of the room, and to the side was a lavish display of European and Liberian delicacies. There was an actual roasted boar with an apple in its mouth.
“My dear Miss Morgan,” said Honorable Harriss, seemingly appearing out of thin air. He was dressed in a well-fitted tuxedo. “It is a pleasure to see you. I am so happy that you could make it. I’ve told the president all about you and he would be delighted to meet you.” He took her hand and kissed it. “And I see you’ve brought your young friend?”
Honorable Harriss was, like so many of his fellow Americo-Liberians, well educated and well spoken. He was also very officious and very determined. Being an “advisor” to President Tubman could have meant anything. I knew that President Tubman had many advisors, most of whom had an array of non-specific duties.
He took Jenny gently by the arm. “Come, let me introduce you,” he said, leading her away and leaving me standing alone. I started to follow when I felt a familiar hand on my shoulder.
“Mr. Spike! How are you my friend? And what brings you to this grand celebration?”
I turned to see Honorable Williams. He had a drink in his other hand and was showing his usual broad smile. I explained that Jenny was visiting me from Washington. She had met Honorable Harriss during the flight to Monrovia and that he had invited her to this event.
“She couldn’t very well come without an escort,” I said.
“Of course not, my man. Of course not. Now that you are here, how do you like the president’s new residence?”
“Very large,” I said
The corners of Honorable William’s mouth dropped slightly. “The president wanted it twice as large as the White House. Do you think he succeeded?” Without waiting for me to answer he continued. “I don’t think he quite made it, but I’m not really sure. It has what you call the West Wing with many offices for his cabinet and advisors—auxiliary offices, so to speak—in addition to those in the Executive Mansion in Monrovia. I’m told that he has even ordered a copy of President Monroe’s portrait—don’t know where he plans to hang it.
“I think he had the place designed by one of the top architectural firms in London, working together with German structural engineers. He added a little touch of Hollywood too, don’t you think? Fortunately, he used some, but not much, local labor to build it.” He went on, “Ahhh yes, the use of local labor however small justified the whole thing. It was in all the papers and on television. He will not let them forget it. And they love him for it.”
Honorable Williams smiled a knowing smile and continued, “Just look at this place! What does it say to you? Don’t tell me. I know what you’re thinking. It says power, authority, great ambition, and most of all, permanence. Our president will be president forever and Liberia will dominate all of Africa. At least,” he hesitated, “I think that’s the plan.”
A server dressed in a white uniform with gold epaulets stopped in front of us bearing a tray full of champagne glasses filled almost to the brim with the golden, bubbling liquid.
“You had better take one,” Honorable Williams said. “The president doesn’t dispense his liquor easily.” I took one of the glasses and thanked the server, who nodded politely.
“I suspect,” Honorable Williams added, “that your lady friend will be occupied for some time. Why don’t you circulate? There’s bound to be one or two others here, besides us, who are interested in the future of air transport in this country.”
Honorable Williams patted me on the shoulder and left. I could see that Jenny was being introduced to President Tubman. He had a reputation of being charming with women and I could see that he was pouring it on—all smiles and kisses. He was wearing a tail coat and had a blue satin sash draped over his left shoulder that had various ribbons and medals pinned to it.
He was gesturing with his hand toward a group of people near him. He then led Jenny by the elbow over to them and introduced her. Honorable Williams was making his way toward the same group of people. I finished the glass of champagne—never have liked the stuff—and made my way to the bar. The bartender was someone I recognized: Set ’em Up Joe from the Ambassador’s beach bar.
“Hi Joe!” I said, giving him a slight wave. He waved back then came over to where I was standing. “Have you moved up from the Ambassador?”
“Naw, Missa Ken. Dis is a temporary gig fo me and it is no good shit.”
“Des rich bastards, dey not pay worth shit.”
“That’s how they get rich, my friend.”
“Ya right bout dat, Missa Ken. Dey get rich off de backs of de little man. Dis ah know, but ah tell you wha, one day dat’s gwana change.”
“If that happens, Joe, just remember I’m not one of them. I work for them too.”
“Ah know, sah. Ah remember ya. Ya tip large.”
“That’s right Joe, so could you get me one of those rare bourbons?”
“Straight away, Missa Ken, straight away.”
I had lost sight of Jenny. For a moment I thought of trying to rescue her, but I knew that the political science major in her was enjoying it. She was probably quizzing President Tubman about the GNP right now. Joe brought the bourbon—he had made it a double. He saluted me with two fingers and a smile, then went to serve other guests.
“And who are you with?” a woman’s voice said behind me. I turned to face an attractive woman with dark, straight hair, and blue eyes. “Coca Cola, Firestone, American Iron and Steel?”
“None of them,” I said. “I’m a pilot for Monrovia Airlines.”
She looked slightly puzzled, as if wondering how I got an invitation.
“One of the president’s advisors took a fancy, as my Brit friends say, to my girlfriend and invited her, which had to include me. She’s up there now, with him and the president, meeting the Big Men.”
“Well, dear boy. I hope you get her back. The president’s got a thing for pretty young women.”
“Oh, I think she’ll do just fine. She likes politics, presidents, and so on. I think she’ll see it as a learning experience.”
“I expect she will learn a thing or two but, still, you’d better keep an eye on her just the same. Beautiful things have a way of getting lost around here.”
A slight sense of foreboding enveloped me. I looked over at Jenny again. She was literally the center of attention—a sea of black suits encircled her. I took a deep breath and turned back toward the woman next to me. She was somewhere in her early forties and about five foot four. I detected a slight Virginia tidewater accent.
“Let me guess, you grew up in the Norfolk area, went to the University of Virginia, and married a diplomat?”
“Close, my lovely boy. I did graduate from UVA but I grew up on a farm near Richmond—well, back in the old days we called it a plantation, but it’s not considered polite to call it that now so we just refer to it as the farm. My husband is far from being a diplomat. In fact, I’m not sure he knows what the word means. He’s an executive with the Liberian International Ship and Corporate Registry.”
“What kind of organization is that?” I asked.
“It’s one of those organizations that make it easy for ship owners and corporations to register their businesses in Liberia. That way they can avoid the taxes and fees of their native countries and still do business there. It’s like a discount store for the big guys—Liberia gets a lot of revenue and the big boys get to keep the change. Clever, don’t you think?”
“Very clever. Makes me wonder why I didn’t think of it.”
“So what are your plans? I mean, after Liberia? You’re too young to settle for this kind of life, and I don’t suspect you’re running from anything.”
“Don’t really know. I’m too busy trying not to get killed. But I may return to the States and finish things I started.”
“How about your girlfriend, my dear, the one that Tubman is drooling all over. Any serious plans there?”
“Maybe, but it hasn’t come up at the moment.”
A man in a dark blue suit walked up beside her. He was about fifty, a few inches taller than me and looked at me as though he was stripping the flesh from my bones.
“Who is your young friend?” he asked the woman.
“He’s a pilot for Monrovia Airlines.”
“A pilot, huh! Does your pilot have a name?”
“I suppose he does. We hadn’t got around to that.” She looked at me and with a slight smile said, “Dearie, I’m sure you have a name, so would you tell it to little old Jimmy here so that he doesn’t start frothing at the mouth.”
“Kenneth,” I said, extending my hand. He ignored it and glared, first at me, then at the woman.
“Kenneth. Isn’t that a nice name, Jim—very American. Oh dearie, you don’t have to worry. He’s far too young for me and probably far too intelligent for you. Besides, he’s got a girlfriend here—see, the pretty one over there, being devoured by the political elite.”
The man’s jaw clinched like a spring tightening then he slowly backed away. He turned to greet a smiling, good-looking man dressed like the other “presidential advisors.” They immediately started talking business between themselves. It was time for me to leave. I excused myself, saying to the woman that it was a pleasure to have met her or words to that affect. As I moved past the two men I overheard the Big Man say to “Jimmy,” “Hah! You’re right! There is so much money coming in, we just can’t steal it fast enough.”
I quickly made my way closer to Jenny. She was now chatting animatedly with another group of diplomatic types, all armored in tuxedos and sashes. I elbowed my way to her, making my apologies to the gentlemen in tuxedos.
“I think it’s time to go,” I said, trying to keep the stress from my voice. She looked at me with some astonishment. “I’m uncomfortable here, Jenny. I feel like I’m in the palace of the czar. Nothing here reflects reality.”
Jenny looked irritated. She hesitated for a moment, then made her apologies to the men surrounding her and walked with me out of the president’s mansion to Junebug. She flung the door open, making a metallic cracking sound, and flopped into the seat then folded her arms in front of her.
She stared out of the window and was silent during the ride back to the Ambassador. I pulled up in front of the hotel. She glared at me. The dim street lighting outside clearly showed the tension in her face.
“I was having a great time. I was meeting people. I was talking to important people. And you, because of your obvious social inadequacies, forced me to leave. I’ve missed a great opportunity because of you.”
“Jenny, I’m sorry you feel that way. I’m sorry you’re angry, but you have no idea what it’s like here.”
“You didn’t give me much of a chance to find out, did you?”
With that she got out of the car and slammed the door so that it rattled like an empty tin can. I watched her as she walked through the open doors of the Ambassador. She didn’t look back. I drove away thinking that I would stop by for breakfast and try to iron this difficult wrinkle out.
The beach house was quiet even though it wasn’t really that late. Nevertheless, I was thankful since I felt like turning in early and sober. I stripped off my “evening” clothes, checked my bed for bugs and snakes, then crawled in, enjoying the feel of the sheets and pillow. I untied the cord holding the mosquito netting and let it fall. Then, feeling fully protected, I pondered over the events of the evening. I deeply regretted that Jenny was angry and upset, but I still felt that I had acted correctly. I could only hope that eventually she would understand.
The next morning I was awakened by the aroma of fresh brewed coffee and Ku shaking me by the shoulder. “Mornin, boss, something to start de day?” he said, placing the coffee on the night table next to my bed.
I sat up in bed. Several mosquitoes were lodged in the netting. I wondered if they were the malaria-bearing kind. The coffee was life restoring. Then I started remembering the events of the night before. I glanced at my watch on the night table. It was after nine. I hurried out of bed and dressed in my cleanest shirt and trousers. Grabbing the coffee, I rushed out to Junebug, got in, started her up and pointed her toward the Ambassador.
“Sorry suh, Meess Morgan na in her room. She lef bout half hour ago wit two men from de government.”
I ran back to the car and drove as fast as it could go to the president’s mansion. The guards at the gate stopped me, then ordered me to get out of the car. They had their carbines with fixed bayonets and held them at the ready. I explained that I needed to see Honorable Harriss right away. They wanted to know if I had an appointment.
“Of course I don’t have an appointment. This is an emergency!” I shouted. “My lady friend may have been kidnapped.”
“Da na fo us! Da be fo de police.”
I said that she had been taken by two government men from the hotel this morning and that Honorable Harriss could straighten it out. One of the guards looked thoughtful for a moment then told the other guard to watch me. The guard walked into his guardhouse and used his phone. In a few minutes he returned.
“Ya way hee,” he said, motioning to a clear area next to the guard house. “Honorable Harriss, he be down jus now.”
I thanked the guard and drove over to the clear area. “Jus now” can mean anything. I expected to sit there for hours. I would wait days if I had to. About two hours passed while I alternately dozed or tapped my fingers on the steering wheel. I noticed a green golf cart with two men in it rambling down the driveway of the mansion. I saw Honorable Harriss get out and talk to the guard who pointed at me. Honorable Harriss walked toward me. I got out of Junebug and offered my hand. He ignored it.
“Two government men showed up at Jenny’s hotel and left with her. I think they brought her here,” I said.
“Do you have proof of this accusation?” Honorable Harriss asked.
“Where else would they bring her?” I said. “Her father is a big man in Washington and it would not go well with your government if something were to happen to her.”
“Who are you to make threats here?” Honorable Harriss’s voice had gone up several notes. It was something between fear, anger, and panic. “If she is here,” he continued barely able to suppress his rage, “no harm will come to her. I can assure you of that.”
“That is well,” I said, “for her father has made me her guardian and I am responsible for her while she is here.”
This was a necessary exaggeration. I was not her guardian even in the African sense of the term, but as she was here visiting me, I felt I did have a responsibility for her safety in the American sense of the word. I thought it best that Honorable Harriss believed that I had some power to act, if necessary.
“I will be back for her in two hours. If she is not here, I will inform her father who has friends in the American Embassy. I don’t have to tell you what that could mean.”
He glared at me—it was a staring contest that the Big Men do to underlings until the underlings lower their eyes and back away. I wasn’t going to let that happen so we glared at one another for maybe five minutes. Then Honorable Harriss stepped back into his golf cart, his eyes still fixed on me, and motioned for his driver to go. It was the same game I had played with the commissioner in Guinea.
I glanced at my watch. It was hard to read in the shadow of the guard house. I made out 2:00 p.m. The Ambassador’s beach bar would be open, so I drove there and parked next to the hotel. It was a good place to while away an hour. I ordered a rum and tonic from Joe, and for a few minutes enjoyed the sound of the surf. It seemed perfect as though nothing could ever destroy the peace and beauty of this place.
I had probably stepped over the line. I may even have gotten Honorable Williams in some trouble. If so, then I probably wouldn’t have a job tomorrow, but the only objective that mattered, at the moment, was Jenny’s safety. I ordered another rum and tonic. This wasn’t necessarily a smart thing to do since Joe tended to fortify them with an extra dollop or two of rum. Joe brought the drink. It was well fortified. I slid a dollar bill over to him. He smiled broadly and held the bill up as though it was a trophy.
My concern for Jenny was more that she might be unknowingly manipulated rather than any fear for her physical safety. I had heard Tubman called a lot of unflattering things but never a rapist. Nevertheless, he was a man with a God complex and he always got what he wanted. I didn’t think a minor international incident would be in anybody’s self-interest.
I lost myself in the soothing sounds of the waves rolling up onto the beach. I looked at my watch again and was surprised to see that an hour had actually gone by. I thanked Joe and left the bar. I walked through the lobby and out of the front doors just in time to see a government limo drive up and Jenny emerge from the back seat.
“Jenny!” I shouted.” Jenny!”
She closed the door of the limo and looked up at me. It was obvious that she was very angry.
“Are you okay, Jenny?”
“I’m fine,” she said marching past me, like a storm trooper, toward the hotel.
“I was only worried about you,” I shouted after her.
She turned around and faced me like a charging bull. “You ruined a perfectly good opportunity for me. President Tubman is a true gentleman, probably one of the few gentlemen that I’ve known. They said you made threats. You brought my father into it. How could you have done such a thing?”
“Jenny, they know your father is well connected in Washington. I really think they wanted to get information out of you or use you in some way. But I was also concerned for your safety. This is Liberia. It’s run by goons and thugs, and despite how Tubman dresses up, he is no gentleman.”
“You’re wrong, Kenneth. Just as you’ve been wrong about a lot of things.”
“Tell me this: did they ask you to do anything or say anything to your father or any of his friends?”
“Well, maybe. But it’s no big deal.”
“What did they ask you do?”
“Well, um, it turns out that Uncle Eddie, Daddy’s best friend, is president of a company that Honorable Harriss and President Tubman are anxious to do business with. But I wasn’t going to actually do anything or ask any favors.”
“So what did they ask you to do?”
“They had a gift for Uncle Eddie, and a letter. That’s all. And I was going to take it with me on the plane and give it to him when I got home.”
“Do you know what the letter said, or what the gift was?”
“No, but it was small enough to fit in my pocketbook.” Her anger subsided as it started to occur to her that I just might have some legitimate concerns. We walked together over to an ornate wrought iron bench that was just outside the front door of the hotel.
“So you think that they were using me as a messenger?”
“I can’t be sure,” I said, “but that is certainly my guess.”
“So it looks like you’re not wrong about everything! Just some things.”
“What do you mean? Like what?”
“Arthur.”
“What about Arthur?”
“I know what you’re doing here, Kenneth; why you came here in the first place. You’re punishing yourself. You’re trying to run away from the guilt you feel about Arthur’s death. But there are some things you don’t know, too. You know Arthur was in love with me. And yes, he wanted to marry me. We never did have sex, despite what you believe. But what you don’t know is that Arthur knew about our feelings, yours and mine, for each other. We had a long talk about it, and I told him I was in love with you. I know it was hard for him, but in the end, he said he understood, and that he was okay with it.”
“He knew about us? But there was no us. We hadn’t dated, or even kissed for that matter.”
“I know,” she said. “He just knew. And he knew I hadn’t been unfaithful and that you had tried to keep your feelings to yourself. He was really quite an exceptional person, when you come to think about it.”
“He was, I know. It just makes it all that much worse. Why did he have to die instead of me? I was the one who was drunk. I was the one who called him to come get me.”
“The accident wasn’t your fault. The man that hit Arthur was drunk. He shouldn’t have been driving. You did the right thing.”
“I could have stayed,” I said. “They asked me several times to stay, but I wanted to get home. I am so selfish. If I hadn’t been so selfish, I wouldn’t have insisted Arthur come get me and he would be alive today.”
Jenny moved closer to me. “I was with him that night. He wanted to go get you. He wanted to tell you that it was over between us and that you were free to go out with me. He figured you weren’t too drunk to talk, but that you were being your usual cautious self and didn’t want to risk driving home. Kenneth, when you called, you did not insist; in fact, you talked about staying over, but he insisted on going to get you. It was his idea, Kenneth.”
I thought about all she had said. Somehow, I still didn’t feel better.
“Well, all this might be true,” I said, “but my parents still blame me. I know they don’t want to, but it’s there. Arthur was their favorite, and I killed him. That’s what they think.”
“Kenneth, that is just your imagination. They have known everything all along. You just misinterpreted their immense grief and thought they held you responsible. Believe me, you are far from being blamed. You are their cherished only son. If you came home now, you’d be welcomed back as the prodigal son.
“Anyway, it’s all in the past now. We can’t change one moment of it. We have to move forward with time no matter how much we may dread it. You have to move on, Kenneth.” She stood up slowly and started to walk toward the Ambassador, then she turned back to face me.
“I was going to make President Tubman the subject of my master’s thesis,” she chuckled, “but I don’t think that would be a good idea now.” She turned around again and headed for the hotel. At the door, she stopped again. “I’m leaving tomorrow,” she said, “at the government’s request. They’re sending a car with an escort. Not exactly how I had hoped to leave.”
With that she disappeared through the doors. No kiss goodbye; no wave goodbye; no goodbye.
They would put her on the daily flight out of Robertsfield to Dakar with connections to Europe, then home. I didn’t sleep much that night, and the next morning I waited outside the hotel in Junebug at a safe distance until the government car, a black Mercedes, arrived. Two men in dark suits got out of the car and walked into the hotel. In a few minutes they emerged. Jenny was walking beside one of them and the other carried her bags. They waited until she was in the car, then they got in and drove off. I followed them to the airport and remained until I saw Jenny board the DC-4. I realized that this could be the last time I would see her beautiful blond hair flowing in the wind. I continued waiting until I saw the airplane takeoff and turn north.