This Shared Dream (60 page)

But even Abakar knew Yaccoub was doing something bad. Something he got a lot of money for. He kept a lot of guns under his bed and Issa said that he sold them.

Abakar ran faster, passing people lugging buckets of water for the day back home. A poda-poda passed him, stuffed with passengers, with a chicken coop tied onto the roof. He dodged the wadded-up paper bag someone tossed out the window right in front of him and coughed in the dust of the van’s wake. Sweat ran into his eyes and his mouth was very dry. He pictured the Schweppes Yaccoub had said he could get for himself, imagined the rattle of ice falling into the space his aching-cold bottle would leave when he pulled it from Mr. Hauron’s big washtub.

“Abakar!”

He glanced across the street, past two mules carrying baskets, driven by a man with a stick. A motorbike roared past. It was more crowded here; the market was only half a kilometer away. Across the road, a young woman swept the dirt in front of her compound, while some older people sat around a pot of plantains boiling over a fire, talking in the morning sunlight. This road led to other villages.

“Mauka?” Mauka was only a little bit older than him. Her eyes danced and her bright green scarf lifted in the wind.

“Come,” she shouted, and waved her hand.

“No!”

“Just for a minute! I have something to show you! Something strange!”

He thought of the Schweppes. He thought of something strange, and veered across the street.

Then he saw it. On the vacant lot in which they often played, and where old man Zbu sometimes kept his cow, was a large white building, shaped like a dome. The door was round, with twisty sections that untwirled into a short, low tunnel. He could see children inside; a lot of the wall was clear.

Mauka said, “You have to crawl inside! Come on! It’s fun.”

“I’m getting a Fanta for Yaccoub.” He felt the big money in his pocket, the money that would get him a soda too.

“Just for a minute!” She bounced up and down in her eager way, grabbed his hand, and pulled him through the door, which twirled shut behind him.

Inside it was cool, and a soft white light fell on everything.

The floor was light-colored planks, like wood, but they had a smoother feel beneath his feet.

“Come and play!
C’est amusement!
”

He walked, slowly, drawn by the colors and shapes he saw before him.

Low shelves held some kinds of toys. Children played with them on small rugs that lay on the floor. He saw tiny Zanir from down the street, wearing his usual bedraggled red shorts, sitting with his own big sister Naufa, who was counting wooden sticks. She could count very high. But Abakar could count high too. He counted fourteen children.

“Come and play with me,” Mauka said. She plopped down in front of a pile of blocks and began building a tower. “Find the next big one,” she said impatiently.

He heard low, quiet words when he touched one of the blocks. “Cube,” the voice breathed.

“Is it all right to play in here?” whispered Abakar.

Mauka laughed. “Yes! I have been here for many days. Look. If you want a snack, you can make it at that table. Ground nuts and biscuits. Oh! And sugar-cane.”

Abakar didn’t know how long he stayed there. He played with many things. He learned sounds. He learned names. There were many, many things to do, and Mauka showed him how to do things.

“Hey!”

Abakar jumped up. Yaccoub had his head inside the center of the dilating door. It was too low for him; Abakar saw that he was on his knees. “I can see you, you little maggot! So this is where you’ve been playing around. I’m going to slap you so hard that your head will spin!”

Abakar trembled. He couldn’t help it.

“No,” said Mauka, putting a calming hand on his calf. She didn’t seem worried. “He cannot get in!” She giggled.

“Don’t be silly.” Abakar yanked his leg from her grasp and tried to see if there was a back door so he could get away from his brother. The places that were clear became white, most of them, but he could still see through some of them to the dusty street outside, and people gathering around Yaccoub’s butt, pointing at him and laughing.

Yaccoub struggled, trying to shove his shoulders inside. “This fucking thing is crushing me!” He backed out and the door shut completely. In a moment they saw him beat the walls, very hard with a stick. It was a dull, thudding sound, accompanied by his curses. “I will sell all of you children! You girls! You know what is coming!”

“He will shoot!” whispered Abakar. “He will kill all of us.”

“Bullets bounce off. He cannot come in! The building knows if someone is bad.”

Abakar didn’t believe her. But he found that it was true.

They didn’t all die, even after Abakar heard the familiar
pop-pop
of bullets flying. Instead, Mauka got out a small tablet and started talking funny to it. And after a few minutes, soldiers came and dragged his brother, who kicked and cursed, away.

Abakar watched in amazement. “Where are they taking him?”

“I don’t know? To jail?”

“Who will feed us?”

“Haven’t you been to the New Market?”

“What?”

“Here,” she said. She went over to a shelf and pulled out a basket. The basket was full of plastic rings. “Put one on.”

“Can I have any color?”

“Yes.”

Abakar chose a red ring with a snake on it. “It’s nice.”

“The New Market is on Saturday mornings, over on Wbab’s field. You show them the ring and they touch it with a wand, some kind of computer wand, and then they will give you food. Millet, jackfruit, even lamb.”

“No! Why?”

“I don’t know. But the ring works.”

Suddenly, a lot of children picked up small tablets that they carried with them and started talking that silly talk again. There was urgency in their voices. Mauka pulled one out of her pocket.

“I want one,” said Abakar.

Mauka frowned. “Someone is in trouble. One of our friends. In the United States.”

“No one is in trouble there.”

“His name is Whens. We must tell someone.” She jabbered to herself for a moment. “The ambassador. We’re telling the ambassador. And then the police. They can find him by his classbook.”

“Who is the ambassador?”

Mauka talked into the classbook then held it in front of Abakar. A voice said, “An ambassador is a person from one country who represents the people to another country. He or she lives in the other country. They have special legal rights…”

“What is ‘represents’?” asked Abakar.

“Aggh! I have to get you your own classbook right away!”

The Ambassador

July 23

“S
IR?”

The Senegalese ambassador pushed his speaker button. “Yes?”

“It’s those troublesome children again who can’t speak English very well. They keep saying ‘Senegal.’ Maybe they speak your language. If you could please, sir—”

“Just hang up.” He glanced at his budget, unknotting his tie. It was getting late, and he had a ceremonial luncheon to attend. Sighing, he left his budget to get ready.

He had just finished changing to Senegal dress for the luncheon when the phone buzzed again.

“Sir?”

“Yes?”

“This time it’s a little girl who says she’s from Nantes. She does speak English, quite well. She says that children from your country know about a little boy who has been kidnapped in Washington, D.C. His name is Whens.”

“What kind of name is that?”

“I don’t know, sir.”

“What can I do about it? Why doesn’t she call the police?”

“I asked her, sir. She said they tried, but that the police wouldn’t listen to them because they are children. And also, if I may, sir? I’m not sure that the children from Senegal trust the police.”

He sighed. “Put her on the line.”

“Hello? Sir ambassador?”

“Yes. To whom am I speaking?”

“Adelie, sir. This is very serious. Please do not hang up. Are you there?”

“Yes.”

“This little boy doesn’t know where he is, but he has been kidnapped in Washington, D.C. He is talking to us on his classbook. Maybe the police can tell where the classbook is and find him.”

“Please hold on.” He switched to his secretary. “Could you please get the Metro police on the line?”

In a moment someone said, “Metro police.”

“Yes. I have gotten a very strange call about a kidnapped boy—”

“Is his name Whens?”

The ambassador was surprised. “Yes.”

“Please stay on the line.” In a moment, another man came on the line. “Detective Kandell. To whom am I speaking?”

“The Senegalese ambassador, here in Washington. Is there really a kidnapping?”

“Yes. What do you know?”

“I have been getting calls all morning from some children who say they are in Senegal, and now a girl from France has called and says that he is using his classbook to try and get help. I suppose they have a frequency you can track?”

“Thank you for calling. Thank you very much. I’m going to give you back to the desk sergeant to get some information. Is the girl from France still on the line?”

“I think so.”

“Good. Keep her there.”

Jill

A TURN OF EVENTS

July 23

A
S SOON AS ZOE GOT BACK
, the phone rang. The house phone.

The FBI guy nodded. Jill picked it up, trembling. “Hello?”

“Is this Jill Dance?”

“Yes.”

“This is GW Hospital.”

“Yes?” She imagined Whens, badly hurt—but they’d called all the hospitals, again and again—

“This is kind of a strange call, but we have a John Doe here that had a bad concussion last night. A blow to the head. He has no ID. He was brought to the emergency room, and he’s finally revived. He can barely speak—can’t write; his hand is broken. But we think he’s asking for you. I’m sorry to bother you; we’ve called about ten people whose names sound like yours. We can’t quite make out who he’s asking for.”

“It’s not a little boy?”

“No. An elderly man with a beard.”

Jill’s heart seemed to stop. “An elderly—”

“He does keep saying ‘I seem to have lost my wife again.’”

“I’ll be right over.”

The FBI agent looked up from his console. “Ma’am you can’t leave. You have to wait for the ransom call.”

Jill called Brian. “Where are you?”

“Driving around with Elmore.”

“I think Dad is in the GW emergency room.”

“I’ll be there in two minutes flat.” He hung up.

Jill stood in the silent foyer, searching for the
Golden Arrow of Breath,
but it seemed to have disappeared permanently.

“Jill?”

Jill shut her eyes. She hadn’t heard that voice in …

Her mother’s arms came around her. She pressed her cheek to Jill’s. “It’s okay, honey. You can open your eyes. It’s really me.” Jill felt her heart beating hard, and could feel her mother’s heartbeat too, soft and comforting and very, very present. After a moment Bette murmured into her ear, “Can you forgive me?”

Before Jill could speak, Zoe came in with her notebook. She dropped it and stared. “Grandma?”

Bette kissed Jill, turned to Zoe, and knelt. “Yes, honey, it’s me. Just older.” She hugged Zoe, her eyes glistening, a huge smile on her face.

Jill said, “You’re the ghost in the attic they’ve been playing with! You gave me the photos! You—”

The phone rang again. Everyone hushed. The FBI put it on their speakerphone. It was Daniel.

“Whens is in Anacostia. We know the block, from his classbook, but we’ve lost the signal, and can’t get any more precise. I’m sending some men, along with the ambassador from Senegal, who has just arrived at the station. I’m hoping we can pick up the signal.”

A hundred questions crowded Jill’s mind. Zoe interrupted. She held up her notebook, a wild spatter of color. “I know where he is now. Really.”

*   *   *

Whens had been in the nasty apartment all night. They made him sleep on a blanket on the floor, in his clothes, and Tall Thin Man took away his classbook and put it on top of a shelf in the kitchen, which was empty and bad-smelling and filled with bugs that scuttled under the cabinets when you went in.

Bip brought them breakfast in a bag and gave him some kind of awful sausage thing and a Slinger, and they drank Slingers with their breakfast too. Maybe his mom was right. Maybe Slingers were bad for you.

He drank all of his, though.

Tall Thin Man went back to watching television. Bip joined him on the couch. Whens went into the kitchen, where they peed in the sink, trying not to breathe. He climbed up on the counter. He could just reach his classbook. He turned it on and found the emergency band and started to talk to some kids who were listening just then, in Africa. He thought of his globe. Wow. Really, really far.

“Hey,” said Bip. He was in the front room, looking out the window. The TV was on, loud.

Tall Thin Man didn’t pay any attention.

“Hey, there’s a lotta kids out front.”

“So?” The man turned the volume up.

“It’s weird.”

Whens ran from the kitchen, carrying his classbook, and ran to the window. He waved, then pounded on the window, and yelled. They were looking at him. They waved back. They talked to their classbooks.

“Hey, kid, stay away.” Bip pushed him back. “And stop that crazy smack talk. You retarded or something?”

A sleek black sedan pulled up in front of the apartment building.

“Some African dude getting out,” said Bip nervously.

“So? We’re in Anacostia.”

“I mean, he’s wearin’ funny African clothes and all.”

“Lotta them dealers do.”

The regal-looking African peered up at the building. He leaned down and talked to somebody in the car. A white girl stuck her head out the car window and nodded.

“What did I tell you!” Bip smacked Whens across the face and the classbook clattered across the floor. “No more a that talk! Hey! Another man comin’ up the walk.”

Tall Thin Man finally turned, an angry look on his face. “Look, just get away from the fucking window. Now! Nobody’s gonna come lookin’ for us here. You’re botherin’ my show.” He turned the volume up to a deafening level.