place. He would give a reason why that would make sense. He didn’t know what it was. But he would make the homecoming scene just the last act in the sequence of scenes in which he had been keeping his eye clapped to Morel all the way back and especially since they had gotten onto the tarred roads, passing through real towns. He had followed him everywhere to see that he didn’t get hold of a phone or find some other way to send his own separate message of warning to Iris, some way Ray couldn’t even imagine. He had stood there in the washroom at the district council office while Morel shat and brushed his teeth and cleaned himself up, taking his own sweet time about it. He had shadowed him at every stop they made. The homecoming would just be a variant and he thought he could manage and get Morel out of there and away and then the fun could begin.
“Why don’t you let me drop you off first?” Ray asked.
“Because…” Morel answered, straining to think of an acceptable reason. Ray knew what the true reason was. He wanted to lay his eyes on Iris. It was understandable. That was love. Something was necessary about seeing her. Because Morel knew that an ugly drama was going to commence and he doubtless wanted to see her, perceive her as she was before the struggle began. It was possible he thought that the outcome might go against him and that he might never see her again, which was not going to happen, but it was the kind of thing it was impossible not to fear. He felt like reassuring him on that one, oddly enough.
But then Ray felt cold. He was being an idiot. If he dropped Morel off first there could be the thing happening that he had turned himself inside out to avoid, a quick phone call and the deed would be done. He had to withdraw the offer to drop Morel off. He had to do it immediately, before Morel saw what his advantage would be if he was given the time.
Ray said, “No it’s okay. We’ll go with the original plan. You drop me off and you say hello and then you take the Cruiser and go to your place. I have the Beetle to get around in, so you can use the Cruiser to get home. That was your own vehicle that was lost at Ngami Bird Lodge. Then you’ll have the Cruiser to get around in.”
“It’s fine. I have another car.” Morel did. An expensive one, a BMW.
Ray felt frantic. “No, but really just come in, not in, but just say hello, just wave, be there and wave hello, then go.”
“Okay that’s good,” Morel said barely audibly. He was slumped down. He looked like a bear or some other powerful animal sunk down and resting. It was guilt that was turning him into a jelly, a soft thing. He was agreeing to things.
Ray decided to drive fast and let slip the dogs of war. He didn’t care. It was so rare to get stopped for speeding in Botswana that it was a joke. He sped. Morel sat up more.
They were in the outskirts of Gaborone, crossing an iron bridge over nothing, a former brook or river, a former obstacle no longer there.
They went through two roundabouts. It was getting dark. They were passing through the modest suburbs just adjacent to Extension 16, where Morel and he both lived, and which was suburban but at a higher level, larger houses on larger plots and more lavish landscaping, home, itself adjacent to the yet more excellent suburbs where the diplomatic residences were. Fikile, their security guard, would be where he should be, if he was on time, walking around in the yard. Their housemaid would be on hand today.
They were almost at Kgari Close. Morel was sitting up straight. Morel wanted to look good when he arrived and Ray wanted to look as ruinous as he could.
“You can drop me if you want to,” Morel said.
“No, this is what we’re doing.” There was no fight in Morel.
They were there. Fikile was there. He was opening the gate. Ray could hardly breathe. They were there. The estate lights around the perimeter of the house were already on.
“There she is,” he said to Morel. Iris had come out onto the stoop.
She was wearing a mock-leopardskin hair band, one he liked and one he associated with sex, incidentally. She was wearing a pale blue linen longsleeved shirt he liked, and jeans and sandals. She was thinner. She had washed her hair, which was gleaming. Her face was thinner. And she had made herself up to a degree, the way she would if they were going out to something on the gala side. She was made up in a sharp, painted way. Ray felt sorry for her, seeing that.
Ray got out of the Cruiser and as he descended he tugged at Morel to get him to slide over into the driver’s place, to make it an automatic thing for him to drive off, be gone.
There was alarm in her eyes. He knew he looked alarming. He’d lost a lot of weight. His face was bruised. One side of his mouth was swollen. He had a heavy growth of a beard. He was wearing his beloved boots, stained shorts, a torn shirt half buttoned which he had acquired somewhere, and a baseball cap he had been given by someone at the district council office in Kanye, and he was carrying
It was too sad. She was carrying a present for him, something wrapped up, with a ribbon on it, a book probably, a birthday present because he had turned forty-nine while he was away. And under her arm she had a stack of papers,
Fikile came between them. Ray saluted him. Fikile wanted to welcome him back and he wanted to be acknowledged himself, in a more definite way. They shook hands and Fikile slid away. He liked Fikile.
Iris, trembling, embraced him, awkwardly because she was still holding his birthday presents. The papers she had set down on the stoop. Ray didn’t want Morel to be observing this, but there was nothing that could be done about it. He would go in a minute and the fun would begin.
Iris released Ray and stepped back.
“You’re all right, you’re fine. You look terrible. But you’re all right. He found you…” Her voice was artificial except for the genuine stress showing in it.
“I’m okay.”
“You found him,” she said to the Land Cruiser. She was afraid to go up to it and touch Morel, which was what she wanted to do, Ray knew in his heart.
She said, imploringly, again in the direction of the Land Cruiser, “Come in and eat something. Come in. Please. You have to tell me everything…”
There was silence from the Land Cruiser.
“He has a cook,” Ray said.
“Of course. But I could make you both an omelette. We could talk. I know you both need to rest, but you could give me just the outline. And you could have a drink.”
Dimakatso appeared. Ray had to be decent to her. She was a decent person. They exchanged greetings.
She said, “There is chicken all cooked up. There is plenty to eat. There is mince, for sandwiches. I have some buns…”
Ray said, “No, mma. I just want to lie down.”
“Gosiame,” she said, and then she too vanished, around the side of the house.
Morel was backing out of the drive, slowly. The man was being scrupulous, so far. Ray had no complaint against him.
“You’ll call us tomorrow,” Iris shouted after him, trying not to shout. She called out a second time, more softly, saying the same thing.
They went into the house, which struck him as very clean inside. The floors were brilliant. He hadn’t been in a really clean place in weeks.
She led him into the living room and then, studying him, obviously decided that he should lie down, so she led him to the bedroom. He would do whatever she wanted. He sat on the bed and rolled over onto his side. She picked his feet up and took off his boots, grimacing. The room was dim. Everything was clean. Waves of weakness were sweeping over him. He wanted to surrender to them, but it was too soon.
He wondered if she would volunteer something on her own. He had the option of saying nothing, like a
