Old Lovers Don't Die (26 page)

Christian found Emmanuel waiting outside the surgical ward. They walked down the hill together, both pleased to be out of the hospital and away from the day’s trauma. Cicadas stretched their lymbals from a clicking sound to a raspy irreverent evening chorus. In another world, the night smells and sounds would have soothed his soul.

“Kariba’s son. He is going to survive?”

“I don’t think it’s the burns that are going to be the major issue. We will clean those in theatre in the morning. They don’t seem to be infected, but he is spiking a temperature and his pulse rate is above normal.”

“Most of the children here have malaria; you should consider that. Perhaps treat him as though he has, since there is so much riding on his getting better.”

“I was going to start him tomorrow on malarone that Isabella had brought me. I will switch to another antibiotic and hope I do not relapse. There is one piece of good news: Michelangelo is safe and doing well,” Christian said as they turned into the Sudani’s driveway.

“That’s good to hear. You will also need to let Isabella’s mother know what has happened.”

“I was going to get my phone once we were inside and call my mother in Australia who has Nadine’s number in Cape Town. I want to send Isabella a text as well so that she knows that we are thinking about her. Fortunately, she remembered to take her phone from my pocket when she was taken away.”

Their feet crunching on the rock chips as they walked up the driveway alerted Chantal to their presence. As they approached the back door, she smiled and waved. Emmanuel, in the gathering darkness, fumbled for the key long enough to allow Chantal to unlock the door from the inside.

“Good evening, darling,” she said to Emmanuel as she opened the door, the smell of her vegetable curry drifting past her to Christian.

He was instantly reminded that he had not eaten all day and was ravenous. However, he knew he could not relax until he had phoned his mother and sent a text message to Isabella. As Emmanuel turned into the kitchen, Christian continued down the hallway to his room. On the floor next to his bed, he noticed his rucksack. That was a little strange, he thought, as he had left it under his bed that morning. The other strange thing was that all the contents had been emptied and placed neatly alongside the rucksack. For a moment, he wondered whether Chantal had been tidying up. However, he was certain she would not have gone through his rucksack, nor could he imagine she would place everything in it in a neat tidy pile next to it if she had. He quickly reached inside his rucksack searching for his phone and the small bag, which held his passport and documents. He could not feel them. He searched the three zip pockets and in one of them, found his phone. He moved back from the bed to where there was light coming through the door from the kitchen. A small star in the top right hand corner indicated there was a message. He touched the screen to open the message on his note page.
We will find him
was all that
it said.
Kim Yao had clearly been through his belongings; he hoped she had not been able to access his address book, which contained Mohammed’s number.

He walked back down the hallway to the kitchen and quickly glanced into Isabella’s room. Her rucksack he could see tucked under the bed, undisturbed. In the kitchen, Emmanuel and Chantal were in one of their familiar, loving embraces.

“What is it , Chris?” Chantal said seeing the concern on his face as he walked in.

“My passport is missing; someone seems to have been through my things.”

“Are you sure? The back door was locked when I came home and Anna our maid hasn’t yet arrived.”

“Yes, I double checked. My passport and health documents have all disappeared.”

“I can’t imagine who would be able to silently break in like that,” Emmanuel said.

“I think it’s pretty clear who it is,” said Christian, holding up the phone with the message on it.

Christian could not enjoy the meal; he felt nauseated. He kept thinking about Kim’s threat and how he needed to inform both Isabella’s mother and his mother. He excused himself from the table and went through into the front room. He sat and thought about how difficult life had suddenly become before sending a text message to Isabella.
Stay strong, Kariba’s son okay, we will see you soon
. He waited for a few minutes hoping that there might be a reply. There was not.

“You can use our phone to call your mother in Australia if you would like,” Chantal said from the lounge room doorway, interrupting his thoughts.

Christian smiled and nodded his thanks. He dialled the Australian number and listened while the phone rang, trying to imagine the golden retriever sitting in her favourite position. He wondered whether she knew, in that instinctive way that dogs have of knowing things, that it was Christian phoning. He closed his eyes and imagined her soft ears, which she loved having scratched. He suddenly missed her intensely.

“Hello.” His mother’s voice interrupted his thoughts.

“Hi, mum. It’s Christian.”

“Yes, sweetheart, I should know your voice after all these years! And it is lovely to hear it again. How are you?”

“Mum, there is a bit of an issue which I need your help with.”

Christian then explained about the events of the day. As he spoke, he could sense his mother processing the information; all of her intelligence, which normally analysed pathology, concentrated on what he was telling her. In addition, as he had come to expect when he finished, she took over. Telling him first that Isabella’s mother, Nadine, would be contacted and not to worry about that. She would also send her an email with all the details in the morning. Moreover, Kariba’s son may have drug-resistant TB. He should also consider that HIV might be a cause and start him on retroviral medication. She had a copy of all his documents, as well as passport and health certificates. The Department of Foreign Affairs she would contact in the morning to get special travel documents issued through the embassy in Kenya. When Christian told her about the lack of medications available in Garanyi, she said that Sibokwe was now the Minister of Health in South Africa and she would ask him to send antibiotics by courier the following day for Kariba’s son. Christian put the phone down grateful for his mother’s considerable resources, but still wondering whether he would sleep.

A mosquito’s incessant buzzing on the mosquito net woke him. Partly opening his eyes, he could see the fingers of the early morning light reaching beneath the curtains into his room. A mosquito silhouetted, as a tiny black spot above his head. He watched, not moving, as it searched determinedly for a way through the net. Then without a second thought, he swatted it viciously. All that remained was a tiny smear of blood marking the spot on the torn net, an odious exclamatory epitaph. The satisfaction that the small smear of blood produced initially shocked him, as well as his angry reaction in killing the mosquito. For a minute or two, there had been intense satisfaction but then the feeling of frustration had returned. It was suppressed anger and frustration at not being able to protect Isabella.

There were no other sounds in the house - it was too early for Emmanuel and Chantal. He got up quietly and dressed, hoping that Kariba’s son had improved overnight. Checking his phone as he pulled on his shirt, he was disappointed. There were no messages from Isabella. There was one from Cindy saying to call him when he could, and another from his mother saying to stay calm; everything is under control. He took the remaining malarone tablets and put them in his pocket for Prince Kariba, before letting himself out through the back door and snipping the lock. At 6:30 AM in the morning, there were only a few people out. Most were carrying some produce for the town market. A few who now knew him greeted him as he walked, but he was too busy processing the possible scenarios for Kariba’s son to be able to respond cheerfully.

Walking in through the ward door, he knew the first thing that he would see was the temperature chart at the foot of the bed. As he walked towards it, he could see there had been a steady increase overnight. Kariba’s son, he noted, was restless and a new nurse, whom Christian did not recognize, was trying to calm him down. She called Prince Kariba Matthew, and was dabbing at his perspiration with a small towel. From the foot of the bed he could see perspiration gathering in small pools on the plastic mattress. Christian said good morning to the nurse and felt for Matthew’s pulse. He counted 120 beats per minute; Matthew had a tachycardia and was septic. Sepsis, if it not treated correctly, would result in death. He asked for a pair of scissors and quickly removed the bandages covering the burns. There was no sign of gross sepsis, meaning something else was causing his high temperature. Christian examined his abdomen and chest, and both looked fine but then as he took out his stethoscope, Matthew coughed. Dark green phlegm flecked with blood narrowly missed him and landed on the floor next to the bed. Putting his stethoscope on Matthew’s chest, he heard the coarse crackles and bronchial breathing that is advanced lung disease associated with TB. To be sure of curing him, they would need the specific medicines from South Africa. If they did not get them within forty-eight hours, Matthew and Isabella may die.

He doubled the dose of the antibiotics, knowing that it would be of little benefit against the tuberculosis bacillus. Nevertheless, it felt like he was doing something, however irrational, to keep Isabella safe and alive. He checked the intravenous line to make sure that it was running correctly and then headed to the pharmacy and the computer. Once inside with the door locked, he scanned the shelves in case there was any isoniazid that he could give to Matthew—there wasn’t.

The computer only took a few seconds and then the emails flashed up. True to Renata’s word, her email was one of the first telling him that everything was under control. He saw that she had copied it to Nadine, Isabella’s mother. Nadine’s email, when he opened it, reminded him that she had the same efficient gene as his mother. She was concerned for Isabella but it was more about what needed to be done to get her back. Nadine quickly explained that she had been in contact with Sibokwe and that the drugs would be delivered within forty-eight hours. She had also contacted Mike and Galela, who were on their way to Garanyi, and they would bring the medication.

It was nine years since he had seen Galela, who with Mike had rescued both he and Isabella from the renegade white supremacist group in South Africa. Both, he knew, now belonged to the new National Government Intelligence Agency in South Africa. He knew that Mike had given up full-time anaesthetics and become head of the South African government’s equivalent to the CIA. Galela, he had heard, remained the head of covert operations. Having them both would be great moral support.

As he closed off the computer, he remembered the text message from Cindy. He quickly sent a message asking if she was free to talk. The message quickly returned
. Be careful I am being watched, have new information about Kim and Michelangelo. Phone you later.
Thank goodness, Mike and Galela were coming he thought, things were starting to get out completely of his league. He closed down the computer and thought he would pay Matthew one final visit before he headed to the overnight carnage, which would be waiting in Accident and Emergency. Thankfully, Doctor Nikita was back which meant he would have the afternoon off from surgery. Peering through the open door into the ward, he could see that Matthew was more restless. In the middle of a coughing fit, the new nurse, Saone, had bought in the bottom half of an old Coca-Cola bottle as a spittoon. Christian could see that was already one third full of green phlegm and blood. However, next to his head, a woman was now seated. Christian assumed that Matthew’s mother had arrived. If anything happened to Matthew, there would be no delaying the news to Kariba.

The morning’s surgery he did on autopilot. Fractures reduced; lacerations sutured, two babies delivered by caesarean section. Teresa, who had been assisting him, had been her normal efficient self. She had sensed his stress, and quietly handed him the instruments and the sutures. Satilde had managed to keep the patients mostly restrained and without too much movement. After suturing the last patient, he tore off his surgical gloves, walked out through the small theatre reception room, and stood outside breathing in the fresh air. Part of him immediately wanted to check on Matthew in the hope that he was improving; the doctor in him knew that there would be no change without the new drugs. One of the reasons that he had opted for surgery is that it mostly eliminated uncertainty. If there was a problem, you could diagnose it, operate on it, and fix it. He had never been good at sitting and waiting. While thinking about how frustrated he felt, his phone vibrated in his pocket. He took it out and looked at it. There was a message was from an unknown number, although he recognized the prefix +27 as being from Cape Town
.
Touching the screen revealed the message:
Arriving early hours of the morning, with drugs, staying at the Lakeside hotel. Join us for breakfast. Mike.
Christian heaved a small sigh of relief. Mike and Galela would not only arrive early, but they had the drugs to help Matthew survive and ensure Isabella’s safe return. He decided to go and have lunch down by the lake to dissipate some of the stress. He would also treat himself to a cold beer before heading back up to the mosque to check on Michelangelo.