Fletch, Too

Juma said, “It will be nice to get away from here.”

Carr gave him a sharp look.

“What can we do for him?” Fletch asked.

“There’s a mosque down the street.” Carr sipped more of his coffee. “Be sure and take off your shoes. There’s a sign on the main gate saying, Do Not Encourage Beggars.”

“Oh, dear,” Barbara said. “Poor Fletch.”

“We shouldn’t have gone to Thika with you,” Fletch said. “Because my father didn’t show up when he was supposed to, I acted snotty. I wasn’t here when he did show up.”

“Water over the dam,” Carr said.

“Well, there isn’t that much water in Africa,” Fletch said.

“Walter’s over the dam,” Barbara said.

“Which brings up the next point,” Carr said.

“There’s nothing I can do for him?” Fletch asked.

“No.”

“I can’t see him?”

“No.”

“Shit!”

“Today I’m flying down to my digs,” Carr said. “Get some work done on them. I thought I’d stop by first, bring you up to date on affairs Walter Fletcher, and ask if you’d like to come with me.”

“To your digs?” Fletch asked.

“Oh,” Barbara said. “Now we go looking for a lost Roman city.”

“It’s not a very grand camp. You’ll be living under canvas. And it’s hot there.” Carr looked at the wall of the Norfolk Hotel. “But it would be cheaper for you than staying at this palace of eternal delights. And it might be interesting for you. See something of the real Kenya.”

Fletch sighed. He looked at Barbara.

“Bomas Harambee,” Barbara said.

“What?” Carr said. “That’s right. Let’s pull together for our own sakes. You might even help me root through the jungle. No telling what we might find.”

Fletch, too, looked at the wall of the hotel. “Barbara? I want you to be precisely clear as to what you want to do.”

Barbara sat up in her chair. She swallowed. Carr, Juma, and Fletch were watching her. She swallowed again. “How can I agree to something when I don’t know what I’m agreeing to?”

“Rather nasty living,” Carr said. “In tents, at the edge of the jungle. No telephones, electricity, or ice cream parlors. What we’re doing is hacking our way through the jungle, either side of a river. Digging holes, here and there, seeing if they turn up anything vaguely ancient Roman. Still, Sheila likes it.”

Barbara was staring at Fletch.

“Barbara?” Fletch asked. “Would you like to go home?”

“It is our honeymoon,” she said.

“One of the all-time great ones,” Fletch said.

“Sheila could use a bit of company,” Carr said.

“I don’t see how we can go home,” Barbara said. “We came all this way to meet your father.”

“True,” Fletch said. “But his absence here is just as real as his absence is in the States.”

“But now you know he exists,” Barbara said.

“True.”

“And probably you’ll never be able to come back.”

“Probably not.”

“And there is this other matter …” Barbara looked at Carr. “… no one knows what to do about.”

Carr said nothing.

Barbara said, “Why are you leaving it to me?”

Fletch sighed.

“Is it something you want to do?” Barbara asked.

“I don’t know any more than you do.”

“Nice time,” Juma said.

Everyone looked at Juma.

Carr then looked at his watch. “It’s getting nigh onto checkout time. If you’re checking out, that is.”

Barbara said, “Okay.”

Fletch said to Carr, “I’m afraid we’re not being very gracious about your kind invitation.”

Carr grinned. “Didn’t I show you a nice time at Lake Turkana?”

“I’m not sure just what arrangements have been made.” Fletch, in speaking to the man in the hotel’s cashier cage, hesitated. “The name is Fletcher.” The sound of his own name made him slightly sick. The pin on the cashier’s coat said his name was Lincoln. “We wish to check out this morning. We don’t know if we’re coming back to the Norfolk. We hope to.”

The cashier pulled a long card from a file box. “Yes, Mr. Fletcher.” He looked at the card. “Your expenses are being paid. By Walter Fletcher. No problem.”

“If we go and come back again will our expenses still be paid?”

“Unless Walter Fletcher directs otherwise, we’ll leave the bill open. You just sign for your expenses so far, and we’ll free the room.” He turned the card around and slid it under the grille to Fletch with a pen. “Going on safari?”

“Yes.” Fletch signed the bill, which was in shillingi. “We’re going on safari. We weren’t invited until just now. Also, there’ll be a breakfast charge coming in from the terrace.”

“Are you going to Masai Mara?”

“I’m not sure where we’re going. Someplace south. Near a river.”

“You should go, to Masai Mara,” the cashier said. “It’s nice there.”

Fletch slid the billing card and pen back under the grille. “And I want to thank the hotel for the new sneakers.”

The cashier smiled. “Nice time.”

“Good grief.” In their room, Barbara was stuffing ski suits, mittens, earmuffs, thermal underwear, and woolen socks into the big, framed knapsacks. “If you’d told me a week ago we’d be heading off today to search for a lost Roman city on the East African coast today, I wouldn’t think you were crazy, I’d know it!”

“I wouldn’t be so crazy as to predict such a thing.”

“Do you think there’s anything to it? Is there any chance of our finding such a place? I mean, my God, Carr’s best source of information seems to be a witch doctor!”

Fletch shrugged. “It’s Carr’s thing. It’s what he wants to do. He’s inviting us into his life. I appreciate it.”

“Daft,” Barbara said. “How could the Romans have built a city here in East Africa without its being a known, established, historical fact by now?”

“I don’t think very much of history is known,” Fletch said. “Percentage wise, I mean. Look how hard it is to find out the facts of my own, personal history.”

“Going into the African jungle to dig holes,” Barbara said. “Are we sure we want to do this?”

“I just got a look at our hotel bill,” Fletch said. “It’s in shillingi, of course, but many thousands of shillingi. Carr says my father is not rich. I don’t think we should stay here racking up such a bill, if we have a choice. Carr has given us a choice.”

“Your blue jeans and T-shirt are back from the laundry. They’re hanging in the closet.”

“Great. I can dress like a bum again, instead of a streetwalker.”