Old Lovers Don't Die (31 page)

“He’s dead. Galela shot him.”

“Yes, I know. Mike and Galela told me.”

“Does my mother know yet that you’re alive?”

“No. What we are planning on doing is a medical evacuation of you to Cape Town.”

“So that would mean that Nadine, Isabella’s mother, knows that you’re alive. Don’t you think Renata should know, especially since you had an affair with Nadine?”

“I know that you know about that, and for that you may judge me harshly and quite rightly. Isabella and I have talked about it and she knows it’s one of those mistakes we both made which we regret, but more importantly in the years that I have been in Rwanda, I have realised how much I loved your mother.”

“What’s your favourite song?”

Christian scrutinised Jannie’s face as he thought about the response. Jannie held his stare, and Christian knew that he knew and therefore what he would say.

“‘Tom Jones, She’s a Lady’. Did I pass?”

“Not so fast.” Christian smiled. “Sing or hum the first four lines.”

Christian watched as Jannie took a deep breath and then in a deep baritone quietly sang.

“
Well, she’s all you’d ever want

She’s the kind I like to flaunt and take to dinner

But she always knows her place

She’s got style, she’s got grace--she’s a winner’

Everyone applauded as Jannie finished and Isabella bent over and kissed him on the cheek.

“Okay, well, I think you have a chance,” Christian said with a wry smile.

“That means we can keep it a surprise from your mother?”

“I won’t tell her. Does she know that I’m okay?”

“I have spoken to Renata and Nadine,” Mike said. “I told Renata what had happened and that you are okay. She’s obviously anxious to get to Cape Town and makes certain for herself that her number one son is intact.”

“We need to discuss a bit of business,” interrupted Galela. “With Kariba still being alive and having all kinds of informants in this area, we need to take precautions. He has been known to travel to Angola just to kill someone who crossed him. He still may want to even things up with you because of his son’s death. We’re going to keep you here in this area because it’s secure and easier to control than a general ward. We will each take turns to do a shift keeping an eye on you. If you are okay after three days, we will move you to Dr Sudani’s.”

“Christian, now I need to tell you this as your anaesthetist. Your dad is going to tell you about the operation when we leave you two alone to chat in a few minutes. If for any reason you start bleeding again, we would need to operate fast. So do not be concerned. In that table next to your bed I have left 100 mg of propofol drawn up in a syringe. That is so we know where everything is just in case we need it. So if you open that drawer, don’t get concerned that I have just left drugs lying around; it’s to make everything easier if there was an emergency, which we don’t think there will be. If you have a plan B, then you don’t usually need to use it if you follow the logic.”

“I understand that. Mike, is there anything else? What about analgesics?”

“Those are locked in theatre. We will take those out as we need to or as you require. Isabella is going to do the first shift until 6 PM and then your dad will take over until midnight. Dr Sudani is going to put a bed in here, so you’ll be able to find out whether your dad snores.”

“Thanks, everyone.”

“All right. We will leave you and your dad to get reacquainted, and let him tell you the neat piece of surgery that he did inside you.”

“Your blood pressure and pulse are good. Do you need any analgesic?” Isabella asked, folding up the blood pressure cuff and placing it on the chair at the foot of the bed.

“No thanks, Issy. That last injection of morphine seems to have taken away the pain completely.”

“That’s good; I like my patients to be comfortable and happy with my care.”

“Well, no complaints from this patient. Although, it is a very strange way to be reacquainted, do you not think?”

“I agree; certainly not the way that I visualised seeing you again in bed - as my patient. Well, part of that I could rephrase.”

“Yes. I imagined picking you up from the bus and wondering whether those original feelings and chemistry would surge back as I saw you.”

“Lying on that piece of plastic burning up from malaria, I imagine that would have been furthest thing from your mind and you would have had only feelings for survival?”

“That’s true. I cannot remember whether there were any feelings really other than the primal one of being glad to see someone who knew what I desperately needed to survive. Seeing you walk in there was part of me that just was relieved knowing you were someone who knew what they were doing. I thought if I did die, least it wouldn’t be because someone hadn’t done everything possible.”

“It was awful seeing you lying there, weak with a fever and dehydrated. Certainly not the memory of that strong and vibrant person you were in Cape Town. My feelings for you at that moment were as a doctor and what I needed to do to get you better.”

“I did wonder what you would remember when you saw me.”

“I think it was only once I got you back to Dr Sudani’s and that I could think about you and what you meant to me then and how I felt now. You are still very attractive to me, if that is what you are really asking. Which, being the boy that you are, it probably is.” Isabella looked at Christian and raised a quizzical eyebrow.

Christian smiled. “I see you have lost none of that insight which was so attractive.”

“Nine years ago, Christian, neither of us had discovered what sex was about. We met, we were enormously attracted to each other, and thought this was a love forever; it seemed to us at the time like winning the relationship lottery. In addition, we turned our virginal hormones loose on each other. There was no rational thought after that for quite some time. Indeed, for almost eighteen months, I thought that there was no one else in the whole world that I could be compatible with. This may disappoint you, but I tried a number of times to create that intensity with others before I realised the intensity of something which you do for the first time is really difficult, if not impossible to recreate.”

“It was really intense, wasn’t it? You were my first lover and in many ways, I knew nothing but felt I knew everything. Since then, I have also struggled to replicate the intensity of those feelings and wondered whether it was just because it wasn’t you that I was with, or that it was just the first time where, as you say, that it’s impossible then to recreate that intensity.”

“I think part of the issue is you can only climb Everest once, and there are not many who would get the same kind of feeling even if it was possible to climb it again. Which means it can then be hugely confusing if you have had that kind of experience for a first relationship. Chemistry and its intensity become defined by what you first experienced and you think that should be present in every relationship. When they are not, you accept that what we experienced was a one-off event in terms of intensity and adjust to a lesser chemistry. However, like you, I have a curiosity, partly through not being able to achieve the level of intensity in other relationships, and wonder whether that meant that I could only achieve that with you because of our unique interaction.”

“Yes, it has been the same for me.”

“It didn’t come back when you saw me again.” Isabella flicked her hair back and smiled in the slightly flirtatious way he remembered.

Christian laughed, hesitated for a few seconds, and then said,

“It’s difficult to answer that given the state that I was in, wondering whether I was going to die in Africa.”

“That’s not like a surgeon to squib on an answer; although I suppose it was an emotional question and we know how surgeons don’t deal with those.” Isabella laughed again.

“I hesitated a little, Issy, only because I didn’t really know how to answer your question properly, given the circumstances that we met under again. I have had girlfriends since you and we’ve had good physical relationships, but I kept thinking back, wondering whether ours was better, or whether it was just because it was the first time for us. Did we have something special that I couldn’t find in another relationship?”

“When did you lose that feeling that ours was the only chemistry that would work?”

“That’s what I’m trying to say. I don’t think I ever lost that feeling that our chemistry was unique. It might be that what we had was so different to anyone else, that it wasn’t just the first encounter, that it really was something special to us, and us alone.”

“Or it could be that it was just the intensity of the first time, just to keep your feet on the ground, and so that you are not disappointed when you are feeling better.”

“Realistically, I know you could be right. Did you lose the feeling that our chemistry was unique?”

“Like you, after I got over our relationship, I tried quite a few others. I hope that doesn’t shock you, but most girls have on average five relationships before they make a choice.”

“I don’t think I ever want to hear the details about other lovers, but if surgery has taught me anything, it’s that you have to deal with the realities of life, or withdraw and be incarcerated with your hopes and fears.”

“Okay, well I wouldn’t go into detail anyhow. However, I think it is important to give you just some background so that you understand a bit better, how I have evolved. I realise there is a risk in this that you may not want to try again but I think it’s important that you have insight into me beyond what you remember as a seventeen-year-old. The first boy I met was called Manfred, not really like the first part of this name unfortunately. He was very sweet, dressed beautifully, and was considerate but too effeminate. I was left thinking what a contrast to the raw physicality what we had. Manfred lasted six months and then Benjamin swept me off my feet. He was a coloured South African like me. Very good-looking, charismatic, and I hope this is not too hurtful, but he was wonderful in bed.”

“Sounds like you found a perfect replacement for me then,” Christian said with a rueful smile.

Isabella laughed. “I see surgery has dissected out humility.”

“I was mostly just teasing, but I guess I wished in some strange way, that you had said that there had been no-one else who was as good, and therefore that what we had was not replicable with anyone else.”

“Now where is that surgeon who is grounded in reality?”

“Well, there is part of me that still retains romantic delusions. Surgery hasn’t completely excised the dreamer.”

“Alright, no more details about Benjamin. Suffice it to say that I thought I had someone with the same kind of chemistry as you and I had, then the relationship broke down after several months, partly because he was more in love with himself, which I doubt you would ever be. The postscript therefore is the chemistry that you and I had was still superior.”

“I had one of those relationships that you described with Benjamin. April was a design arts student, who looked like she had just stepped out of
Teen Vogue
magazine. It took her an hour to prepare if we were just going to go out for a drink or barbecue. She was obsessed with her beauty and while she was gorgeous to look at, it was almost as though when you went to bed, the primary point was to admire her body. There was little of what we had, in addition to which she was incredibly insecure and jealous. I would get multiple text messages through the day asking where I was and who I was talking to.”

“It was a little bit the same with Benjamin. After we broke up, I then swapped sides, thinking that another female at least be on a similar wave-length when it came to understanding needs.”

“You have really tried to answer the chemistry question. A female lover, how did that work?”

“Are you sure that you are able to deal with this. Should I check your blood pressure and pulse again to make sure that we’re not stressing you too much?”

“No, this is very therapeutic; it’s keeping my mind off the wound. Keep going, Issy.”

“Her name was Simone; she was a black American third-year medical student. Her father was a diplomat in Cape Town. I first saw her in the university bar, surrounded by three or four rugby players. That was not surprising given her stunning looks, long black hair, and a figure to die for. What was surprising was that when the rugby players left, she came over to me and we got chatting. Within five minutes, we were like old excited friends and then she told me that I really turned her on. I was so taken aback that I do not think I replied for two minutes. I had never really considered sex with another woman before, and then I thought why not? It would be something new, fun, and definitely unknown chemistry.”

“So you are gay? And if the answer to that is yes, I guess there goes any future chance of revisiting our chemistry.”

“That’s a very cute pout. And don’t interrupt; although I suppose that I should be grateful that you weren’t like most boys and didn’t say something such as was it as good as being with me?”

“Well, was it?”

“Christian!”

“Okay, I was teasing. I promise to behave; please keep going.”

“I’m not sure yet whether I’m gay. There was an enormous warmth and fun with Simone. I loved exploring her body and its softness and having her explore mine. In many ways, because you know your own body so well, you instinctively know what can give pleasure. Many males can’t spell clitoris. You of course are one of the exceptions, I should add quickly, let alone finding it and causing pleasure. In my small research group, most seem to think it was down there somewhere, and a hard penis was all that was required.”

“That doesn’t sound like you want to cross back too soon.”

“Don’t go pretending that you are all hurt and rejected. What we had was very special, and you were very sensitive and stimulating as a lover, which is why I’m not completely won over to the other side.”

“So there’s a chance still.”

“Maybe. You had better hurry up and get better if you want to find out,” She said, standing at the foot of his bed smiling mischievously.

“Quick, place your healing hands on me then.”

Christian looked at Isabella sitting at the foot of his bed. She hadn’t taken her eyes off him, in a way that girls do when they’re intent on conveying pleasure and availability. He tried to think about being well again and whether they could recapture what they had, when he heard a light knock at the door. Isabella looked at her watch and said to Christian,

“It’s probably Mike, although he’s half an hour early according to my reckoning. He will most probably want to make certain that you have not been using the propofol!”

Isabella unlatched the door slightly and then stood back quickly as it was pushed open from the outside. Michelangelo appeared, a shocked look on his face, and then tripped on the step, falling facedown at the foot of Christian’s bed. Isabella helped him up and as she did so, Christian noticed him looking anxiously towards the door. Through the open doorway, Christian could make out the shapes of three men in the darkness beyond. None looked like Mohammed in his flowing robes. Michelangelo ran and hid behind Isabella when one of the men walked into the room. He was a tall muscular black man, hair carefully plaited with long golden earrings. A camouflage shirt was completely unbuttoned and rolled to his shoulders. A black T-shirt, worn underneath, had
welcome to Kariba’s hell
emblazoned in red letters. Evil emanated from under the bony ridges which shaped his eyes. He looked at Christian and then at Isabella.

“Stay where you are and I won’t kill you!” He half spat at Isabella.

Turning away from Isabella, he looked at Christian. He said,

“Your turn to die, Muzungu. You killed my son. Now it’s your turn to die.”

“I didn’t kill your son; his disease killed him.”

“You didn’t save my son so that means you killed him, and in Kariba’s world, it’s a life for a life. You should be grateful that you are going to die; I could just rip your eyes out and eat them. My brother is a devil worshipper and that is what he wants me to do. Eating a Muzungu’ s eyes will let me see things in the dark. The king should be able to see in the dark; however, I want you to see the hell that you are going to and feel your breath disappearing as my son did.” He then laughed in a way, Christian thought, that suggested he was high on some drug.

“Muzungu bitch, who escaped from me. Come and inject this morphine,” he said, pulling out two dirty 50 ml syringes from his pocket while pointing the pistol with his other hand at Isabella’s head.”

Isabella remained at the foot of the bed and shook her head.

“If you don’t do it, both of you will die, but I will kill Michelangelo in front of you first and then rape you.”