Chapter Eleven

If you are going to the hill to make a sacrifice for the devils there and you meet them on the way, will you still go?

—Krio Proverb

Somehow, the rainy season, or as some workers called it, the sick season, changed the rhythm of Caitlin’s life. The work slowed, and when not working, she found herself staring into the rain-soaked ground.

The war against the rebels continued to go badly for the government forces, and Freetown swelled with refugees. The United States and England issued stern travel advisories. The Sierra Leone government was considering an evacuation of all Westerners. As a result, the British and American embassies were in lockdown as they struggled with the logistics of arranging emergency travel out of the country by plane and boat. In spite of the growing tension, Caitlin and some other workers took a taxi to Paddy’s Bar and Chinese Restaurant, where she was to meet her uncle. Paddy’s was a favorite haunt of Westerners and had a reputation for being a place where Africa met the world. The food was good, the drinks affordable, and on most evenings, the bar was crowded to capacity. Mandy had left the mission earlier in the day, saying she would pick up Caitlin’s uncle and they would meet her there.

Caitlin shook out her umbrella as she entered, and she slipped past two smiling hookers who had taken their post near the door. She thought them both beautiful. One was a Halle Berry lookalike, and the other an incarnation of a young Whitney Houston. The two prostitutes hissed at men who passed by them, called out to patrons in the restaurant and shouted retorts to other hookers outside who were jealous of their strategic position. Caitlin thought they would make good studies for her paintings. She slipped a dollar out of her pocket, held it up to get their attention, and pointed to her camera. One of the girls took the dollar, put her arm around the other in a pose, and Caitlin snapped their picture. When Caitlin heard gunshots, she lowered her camera and peered over the restaurant’s half-wall into the darkness. The rain intensified and the sound of the gunfire faded.

“Don’t worry about the gunshots,” a male voice said.

She turned and spotted the speaker, who had evidently just entered the bar behind her. He was a tall, striking Anglo with a blonde crew cut, wearing a Panama shirt, cotton shorts, and leather sandals.

“Oh, hello,” she said. With her fingers, she brushed her hair back over her ear. Another African surprise. Nice looking man. Very nice.

“The shots you heard come from the bay,” the man said. “My guess is the Brits are firing on a smuggling boat. Of course, attempting to sneak past the British at night is a sign of a newcomer to the gun and diamond business, one who doesn’t know that smugglers can operate with impunity here in the daytime if they just grease some palms. It is truly amazing what a well-placed bribe can accomplish in Africa.”

“You seem to know what you’re talking about,” she said.

“Everyone and anything is for sale here. Africans are much more practical about such things than we idealistic Westerners. I can tell by your speech that you are an American.”

“Yes, I am, but your accent suggests that you are British.”

“Very good. Though I’ve been in Africa so long that sometimes I think of myself as African. And you are?”

“I’m Caitlin Johnson. In the states, I worked for Vermeer Diamonds, and I now teach art at the Xaverian child-protection school. What do you call yourself?”

“Rilke. I would have thought you were another Peace Corp volunteer. So they call it a child-protection school now. Most of Sierra Leone’s citizens worry about being protected from the children in your school. A teacher, and a beautiful one at that. What a delightful Southern accent. Can I buy you a drink, Caitlin?”

“Why, you flatter me, suh. Since I’m sure y’all don’t have mint julips, I’ll take one of those Heinekens. I do like that purty green bottle.”

He laughed. “Nothing stronger?”

“No, I’ve got too much to do tomorrow. I don’t want to have a hangover.”

“I can’t believe I haven’t seen you about town or at the casinos.”

Caitlin blushed. “As for the casinos, I don’t go to them. They’re tourist traps and I hear that they are very expensive. I couldn’t even afford to go to the casinos in Louisiana or Mississippi. I’ve been working my little ass off for Von and at the school, and painting in most of my spare time. I can’t afford any distractions.”

He took her arm and walked her to the bar. They took seats next to a UN soldier who watched a soccer game on the television above the bar. “I am a UNAMSIL military advisor for the army here,” Rilke said.

The bartender set the Heineken in front of her and she took a sip. “Impressive,” she said. “I’m sure the situation here keeps you quite busy.”

Rilke turned and his eyes scanned her from head to foot. “Who did you say you work for?”

She noticed how Rilke’s eyes checked her out. Lech. “Von Vermeer. Do you know him?”

Rilke turned his face so he could eyeball the hookers at the door. “Everyone here knows Von.”

“I’m not surprised. He is a go-getter.”

“That’s a nice way to describe him. Teaching at the school has to be something, So, are you able to make decent human beings out of any of the little buggers?”

“Yes, actually, some of the boys have made remarkable progress.”

“You’re a bloody magician or a miracle-working saint if you’ve changed any of them,” Rilke said. “Now, don’t take this wrong, but once you’ve gone and they can’t get free food and board, they’ll be back in the jungle under the leadership of another psycho. And soon they’ll be drugged out of their minds again, playing machete games, and killing each other off.”

Caitlin lifted her beer to her lips and said nothing.

“Ah, I’ve pissed you off now. Don’t take my comments personally. I’m sure you’re doing a wonderful job with the lads. It’s the liquor talking.”

Von entered, came up behind Caitlin and placed his hands on her shoulders. “Sorry I’m late, Caitlin. Have I missed much?”

“I haven’t been here but just a minute myself. Rilke here bought me a drink and we’ve been talking. He said he knew you. I told him I worked for you and about my work at the mission.”

“Actually, Rilke works for me as well as UNAMSIL. He was formerly an officer with Executive Outcomes,” Von said. “I hope he hasn’t bored you. Sometimes it is difficult for Rilke to have anything but a soldier’s point of view. Even his tastes are questionable. Camouflage is his favorite color, and he knows surprisingly little about anything other than war.”

“I apologize for what I said about the boys, Caitlin,” Rilke said.

“Well,” Caitlin said, “unfortunately, you touched a nerve. I’m really worried about their welfare and future. The mission administrators are convinced that Freetown is likely to be overrun by the RUF.”

Von drained his glass and motioned the bartender to bring another. “Do you believe the RUF could be any worse than the banana republic politicians presently in control of the country? Wake up, Caitlin. The RUF might be an improvement.”

“It looks to me like things are falling apart,” Caitlin said.

“Achebe’s already used that phrase about Nigeria, the country sending troops to save us.” Von said. “Their troops are no different from those in any other African army. One trip to Nigeria would quickly cure one’s naivete. However, I’ll make sure your trip here is safe and memorable. You might even fall in love with me while we’re here.”

“Von! You’re my employer. Quit talking like that. I’ll file a sexual harassment suit.”

“No, you won’t,” Von said.

Caitlin was irritated with Von’s arrogance, and yet still attracted to him. Slow down, Caitlin. She had heard there were Anglos here whose interior wiring had shaken loose, mostly ones who had lived in the bush. What was the old English word for someone going native? Fontee. Yes, that’s it. Perhaps Von has gone fontee.

Caitlin turned to Rilke. “So, what do you do for Von?”

“I provide security.” He took a swallow of his beer, lit a cigarette, and set it in his ashtray. “And Von informed me that I’m also to watch out for you.” He reached in his pocket for a folded piece of paper. “Let’s see. Caitlin rises at five, showers, eats breakfast at six. Von arrives at seven. Shall I go on?”

“How much do you know about me?”

“Everything. I’m paid well to know what I’m doing.”

“Why do Von and I need a bodyguard? There’s so many soldiers here. Who would want to hurt us?” Caitlin wondered how Rilke obtained these details of her life. She also wondered what everything included.

“In a tight, the soldiers here, with the possible exception of the British marines, will never be where they can help you. Who would want to hurt you? You can’t make as much money as Von does and not have enemies.” Rilke snickered and toasted Von with his drink. “Yes, he is a well-known powerful man, and as such, he will have enemies. “

“You haven’t lived out in the bush for a long time, have you, Rilke?”

Rilke laughed. “Oh, that’s a good one! You’re concerned that I might be a little daft. No, I have not lived in the bush for any extended period of time. I much prefer the comfort one can buy in a city.” He placed his hand on her leg. “And the beautiful women one can find.”

Caitlin was already beginning to feel the buzz of the beer and as she moved his hand from her leg she laughed. “You, sir, are a patronizing flirt. Please keep your hands to yourself.”

“Caitlin!”

Caitlin turned just as Mandy and her uncle entered Paddy’s. Mandy pointed at a table toward the back.

Caitlin nodded. “Well, thanks for the drink, gentlemen,” Caitlin said. “I must join my friend and my uncle.”

“Oh, please don’t leave me alone,” Von said. “We need to talk about work. Bring your friend over. Perhaps she can enjoy Rilke’s company.”

“As handsome as you are, I doubt you or your friend will ever have to worry about leaving a bar alone. It just won’t be with me tonight. And I don’t believe that Mandy is Rilke’s type. It’s been pleasant meeting you, Rilke. Try the Halle Berry at the door.”

“He has,” Von said. He put his arm around Caitlin’s waist and drew her to him so tightly that Caitlin felt the breath squeezed out of her. Then Von kissed her on the lips again. “Caitlin, I think I am in love with you.”

Shocked, but slightly dizzy, she gently but firmly pushed him away. “Von, you behave yourself. How much have you had to drink tonight?”

“I’m completely sober. Do you believe in love at first sight, Caitlin?” Von asked.

“No,” she replied. Liar.

Caitlin saw Mandy carry drinks away from the bar. “Look, I really must see my friend and uncle. Thank you for the drink, Rilke.”

Mandy met her and hugged her. “Who are those men at the bar?” Mandy asked as they walked toward her uncle

“My boss, the one who helped me come here. His name is Von Vermeer. The other man is Rilke, his bodyguard. I felt obligated to talk a minute, then before I knew it, Von professed his eternal love and his bodyguard pawed at me. God, are all men here sex-starved lechers?”

“All men everywhere are lechers, as far as I can tell, but they seem to get worse when they drink.”

“How do you like my uncle?”

“Oh, Caitlin. He is so funny. I know he’ll be glad to see you.”

Caitlin’s uncle was circled by a group of men. She heard one say, “Why if it’s not Father Ambrose. I heard the rebels had you.” He extended his hand.

“I’d shake your hand,” Ambrose said, “but someone would have to hold my glass, and I already need a refill.” He laughed, then extended his handless arm through the sleeve’s mouth. “It seems I’ve joined the amputated ranks of many others here. The Bible says: ‘If thy hand offend thee, cut it off.’ The experience I had recently gave the verse meaning it didn’t have before.” His eyes brightened when he saw Caitlin, and he set his glass on a nearby table. “As much as I have enjoyed our conversation, my friends, you must excuse me. My niece is here.”

“Caitlin, Caitlin. It’s been so long since I’ve seen you.” He stepped back and looked at her. “You look so like your mother.” Father Ambrose picked up his glass and saluted her. “May your father and mother rest in peace.”

“How are you, Uncle Ambrose? You haven’t changed at all.” Caitlin glanced at the white bulbous bandage and felt a rough rope of emotion loop and knot itself inside her stomach. “I’m sorry about your hand, Uncle Ambrose, I…”

“No worries, dear. Let me refresh this drink and we can catch up on all the news. I’m drinking far too much tonight for a man of God.” He laughed and strode to the bar.

“It’s so sad to think that someone would do that to a priest,” Mandy said. “I hope none of our boys did it.”

Her uncle returned and said, “Well, what do you think of our little African paradise, Caitlin?”

“Working at the mission is not like what I expected. I feel so inadequate. I only know that working here has changed me for the better.”

Ambrose glanced down at his handless arm. “Me too, child, me too.”

“Father Ambrose worked at a mission in the Northern District until the RUF invaded,” Mandy said. “He’s known Tejan for several years. Luckily, he saved Tejan from being executed by government troops and brought him to the school.”

“You knew Tejan before he came to the school?” Caitlin said.

“Tejan. Yes, I knew him and his family very well,” Ambrose said. “He was a student in our mission school in Kamalu until he was kidnapped by the rebels. I also buried his family.”

Her uncle’s jaded, matter-of-fact account jolted Caitlin. “Oh, that’s terrible!” she said.

The priest continued. “And, as Mandy just indicated, I saved him from being butchered by the Kamajors and our so-called government troops. It speaks well of your heart that you want to take care of the boys at the mission. So many children here will have no one. Ever. You should quit your job and work for the mission fulltime.”

The thought had actually flitted through Caitlin’s mind. “We’ll see. I wouldn’t want to leave my boss in a lurch.”

“I’ve heard Tejan is doing much better,” Ambrose said. “Mandy says we have you to thank for that.”

“Tejan is improving,” Caitlin said. “He’s growing emotionally, and he has no serious health problems, thank God. And he’s so sweet. I’m quite taken with him, Father. He has a sharp mind and speaks French beautifully. He’s trying very hard to improve his English.”

“I taught Tejan French. He had already learned much from the Guinea traders who did business with his father in Kamalu,” the priest said. “He was an excellent student, and if conditions had not changed, I believe he would have become a wealthy trader and leader in the community—just like his father. Sometimes one can sense greatness, and I sensed it in him.

“Tejan was in our mission’s school until the RUF swept through our area the first time five years ago. They killed his parents and took him as a slave. I believe he was twelve at the time. The next time I saw him, he was with the RUF when they returned to our village. By then, Tejan possessed the drug-clouded eyes of a boy-soldier, and I don’t think he even knew where he was. When I heard Tejan had killed his own grandfather, I was afraid that he was lost forever.

“The rebels did this to me.” He held up the stub. “But I’m fortunate. They killed several in Kamalu, and our gardener’s daughter lost both hands. And worse, their megalomaniac leader made us listen to his speeches while they did these things. As one of your American travel writers said, ‘The rebels here truly have a way with machetes and words.’

“That was when we abandoned the mission and came to Freetown.” He drained his drink. “Well, I’m ready for another.” He walked to the bar and Caitlin heard him say as his voice faded, “and another, and another…”

“Poor man. He seems so cynical for a priest,” Mandy whispered. “Okay, Caitlin, tell me about your boss. Very handsome, don’t you think?”

“Yes, he is.” Caitlin glanced over her shoulder. Rilke was gone. Von was slouched, leaning on his elbow at the bar and looking at Caitlin. “And though a bit pushy, he has been the perfect gentleman.”

Her uncle’s voice cut in. “Even Satan transforms himself into an angel of light.”

“What do you mean, Uncle Ambrose?” Caitlin asked.

The priest’s face flushed, and Caitlin was unsure as to whether the subject on hand or the drink had caused the redness.

“Von Vermeer is your employer?” Ambrose asked.

“Yes. If it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t have been able to come to Sierra Leone and to see you.”

“Child, you know you could have come here any number of ways. Von Vermeer is an evil man,” Father Ambrose said. “I wish he were a demon so I could exorcise him from the land.” The priest waved his bandaged nub in the air at Von.

“He’s a businessman, a diamond merchant,” Caitlin said. For some reason a novel Mrs. Jeanson had made her English class read popped into her mind. She thought the book was called The Heart of the Matter.

“Businessman, my arse. Unless one would call gun and diamond smuggling a business. And Vermeer does other things. He lives in a dark circle of greed, ambition, lust, drugs, and diamond smuggling. He has a skill of political manipulation that is frightening. He is known to be on both government and rebel payrolls.”

“I think you’ve confused Von with someone else,” Caitlin said.

“No. Vermeer is a gangster who calls himself a diamond merchant. Oh, yes, he peddles diamonds. Blood diamonds. Conflict diamonds for guns. Diamonds for money. Diamonds for soldiers and mercenaries like the Apartheid attack dog who sat next to him tonight.”

“Rilke is Von’s bodyguard. He was a little rough, but he seems like a nice enough man,” Caitlin said.

“Vermeer’s friends are as corrupt as he is. Yes, he has an influential circle of friends—politicians, gangsters, businessmen, soldiers of fortune. His interest in you is not a compliment. He is an incubus who will suck you into that black soulless hole where he lives. If he possessed your affections he would show you off at his parties like you were a cheap piece of costume jewelry. On the other hand, it’s quite possible that you would like this intoxicating life—the parties, the pretty dresses, moving among prominent people. He could give your art publicity and notoriety you could receive nowhere else.”

“Doesn’t sound so bad,” Caitlin said as she cast Mandy a questioning glance.

Her uncle leaned over and looked into her eyes as if he were inspecting her insides. “No, such a life probably sounds quite appealing. The only problem is that Caitlin would lose her soul in the process. And what then?”

As Father Ambrose spoke, the drink sloshed onto his hand and the ice cubes rattled in the glass. “Men like Vermeer have never brought anything but slavery and death to this country. Mohnki nohba lehf in blak han!”

“What did he say, Mandy?” Caitlin asked.

“He said that a monkey can’t change his black hands. It’s a proverb they use here about thieves.”

Father Ambrose’s Scotch-wired eyes swept the room. “I predict that everyone in this room will be gone within a month. Conditions have been bad; soon they will be worse. This is a country God has abandoned!”

“Let’s change the subject, Father,” Mandy said.

“Certainly,” he replied. He handed Mandy his drink, took a handkerchief from his pocket, and wiped his forehead. “I am getting agitated. I am so sorry. Ever since I had malaria, my mind lunges into these tangents of thought.”

“Did you hear the Liberian ambassador’s speech on the radio today?” Mandy asked.

“I did,” Father Ambrose said.

“Do you think he meant what he said about Liberia helping us rehabilitate the boy soldiers?” Mandy asked.

“Not a chance in hell,” Father Ambrose said. “The Liberian leaders only have power because of their own child armies, so any changes on their part or help from their hands will only be token and cosmetic.”

After a few more drinks, Caitlin and Mandy bade her uncle goodnight and returned by taxi to the mission. Once inside their apartment, Mandy collapsed at once under her mosquito netting, but Caitlin turned on her reading lamp wanting to work on the pencil studies which she intended to turn into paintings when she returned to Louisiana. She stripped down to her panties and slipped on a T-shirt. In spite of the draining heat and the drinks earlier that evening, she felt energetic, and an outline of an artist’s statement for her next show took shape in her head.

Caitlin listened to Hunter’s CD while she drew and wrote down her musings, then listened to the rain, then to the silence when the rain stopped, then to the rain when it started again. In a sudden moment of inspiration, she sketched Von. She felt a strange mixture of fascination and pity for the man. Yes, he was attractive, but her uncle said he was wicked and dangerous. There was also something pathetic about the way he had professed his love for her.

“Oh, Von. Oh, Von. At last I know what true love is!” She laughed out loud held the drawing up to the light, and then titled the drawing: The Diamond Merchant.

After dozing off twice, Caitlin shoved a rubber doorstop under the door for added security and cut off her light. As she patted down her pillow, she saw a man’s shadow slip past her window. She slipped off the side of the bed to the floor.

She whispered, “Mandy… Mandy!”

“What is it, Caitlin?”

“There’s someone outside our window.”

“He’ll go away. Besides, there’s nothing we can do. It’s probably just someone scavenging through the mission’s dumpster. You didn’t leave anything outside, did you? Is the door locked?”

“No, I brought everything in and the door is locked and propped. Do you think he’s a peeping Tom?” Caitlin scooted up to the window on her hands and knees with her flashlight in her hand. She pulled the curtain aside, and in the illumination of a lightning flash saw a white man running across the mission patio. She could have sworn it was Von.