The PEN,O Henry Prize Stories 2011 Part 9

No, really. I'm ready. His arms wrapped around her.

I thought you said you had a story to file.

It would give Bragg a heart attack if I handed a story in on time. The man spoke with a Kenyan accent, We are not in a hurry hee-ah.

Then he said, What are you doing to me?

She gave a small laugh, unconvinced.

You're dangerous, he said.

Okay. I was wondering if you were sincere. Now I know. You're not.

From the front room a door banged shut, rattling panes.

You're brave to be here, he said.

How's that?

Usually I scare them off.

She looked at his profile. It was not unusual for a man in his late thirties to have an unlined face, but the man's skin was unusually smooth and fair. It was not a face that would scare off a woman.

Them? she said. She looked past him to the curtains. They were thick and white but looked dark in the shadows. She sat up a little.

Hey, she said, something just went by. She narrowed her eyes. A red streak.

Where?

She pointed to the window. In that sliver of light.

He lifted his head off the pillow, looked concerned for a moment, then laid it back down. Who knows, he said.

Doesn't worry you? Can't.

You don't get worried about the attacks?

Oh, them. We've always had the attacks. They're just more newsworthy to the world at large at the moment. It's nothing new for us. He closed his eyes. If you let yourself worry here you'll go mad.

I thought everyone here was mad.

He opened one eye, interested. So she had been listening to what he'd said the night before. He peered back toward the sliver of light. Could be anyone out there. Edmond's got nine children. At last count.

Yikes. They're not all next door, are they?

No, but Cecily lets them visit. Which not all wives do. Cecily rules the roost. She also does my clothes washing.

Your staff is expanding.

He held his fist to her chin.

Where do the other wives live?

In Kibera.

People here are spoiled, she said.

Not in Kibera.

She gave him a withering look. The whites, I mean.

Did you know Kibera is one of the largest slums in the world? That's something to make us Kenyans proud.

She looked past him into the shadowy room. There was a kilim-covered ha.s.sock near a small table with an old brown dial phone on it. Clothes were gathered in small piles at the edge of the room and newspapers and books rose in loose stacks against the wall. Hanging in the doorway instead of a door was a faded purple and yellow kikoi with dangling ta.s.sels. On the wall beside it was a large black-and-white photograph of a Masai warrior leaping a few feet into the air above blowing dust. A heavy iron hat stand made by a local artist whose ironwork she'd noticed in other Nairobi houses held a dirt-spattered oilcloth, a few safari hats with curled brims, and balanced on top, a rungu, a carved wooden club with its persimmon-shaped k.n.o.b. She looked at the room, but she was thinking of the Kibera slum. She'd been filming the children there at an orphanage. Most of her work before had been in nature doc.u.mentaries; she'd not seen this sort of poverty up close. At first the children she was filming had watched her with an expectant stare as if she were about to burst into flame. Then gradually they became animated till they were swirling around her like a school of fish, showing the most perplexingly joyful smiles. These children had lost their parents and were living in a place made up of a jumble of lean-tos the size of armchairs and she couldn't get over how much they were smiling. The camera around her neck cost more than most of them would see in a lifetime. Most of these children had a deadly disease. She told herself, I am here to help, a weak plea of self-justification. She had an even more uneasy feeling she admitted to no one, that in some way she was worse off.

We are spoiled, said the man with his hands crossed behind his head. But there's justice. We're also miserable wrecks. What are you looking at?

You.

The man's face may have been smooth, but his eyes did not look spoiled. They looked worn out.

She turned on her back and faced the ceiling. It was painted dark blue and where it met the stucco walls you could see the undulating line of the human hand. The plaster had been smoothed by hand, too, making a soft, uneven surface.

So what are you doing here? he said.

She glanced at him to see if he meant something more. His face was placid.

The doc.u.mentary, you know- He shook his head. I mean, really. Here, on the other side of the world.

I always wanted to come here.

His eyebrows rose.

You mean, what am I running away from? She went on in a flat tone. Nothing. Getting as far away as possible from Darien, Connecticut?

Is that where you're from?

Was.

Not anymore?

It's not a place I ever really related to.

So you've come to Africa to relate?

Oh no, she said. You're not going to be one of those people.

What people?

Who give you a hard time for being in Africa.

He shrugged. I just don't have a lot of patience for the thrill-seeking tourist.

She said nothing. She thought of Babette, the German woman who ran the orphanage they were filming. Babette was not a thrill seeker. She was a good human being as far as one could tell, stern one moment, loving the next. She had a purposeful manner. The first day filming she had taken one look at Babette with her steady eyes and strong jaw and thought, Now there's the sort of person I'll never be.

After a while he said, I'm glad you're in Africa.

Can I ask you something?

Anything. He sounded relieved.

You don't happen to have ... her voice trailed off and she sort of laughed ... a girlfriend or a wife, do you?

Well yes, he said in the same gentle tone. I do.

You do?

Yes, I thought you knew.

Her body went still. They were both facing the ceiling and neither turned.

I thought Bragg would have told you, he said.

She shook her head. They were silent.

Which? she said.

Which what? He too seemed surprised.

Wife or girlfriend?

Wife.

They were silent again.

Children? she whispered.

Uh-huh. He cleared his throat. Two. Girls.

She turned on her side, propping herself up on an elbow. She thumped him on the chest. It hit harder than she meant it to.

Ow, he said.

Sorry. She flopped onto her stomach and smushed her face into a pillow. She reached back for the tangled sheet and pulled it up over her backside. The sheets were sort of olive brown, typical bachelor sheets, she'd thought.

That's okay, he said.

I'm an idiot, she said into the olive-brown pillow.

No you're not.

I thought you lived here. One finger tapped the olive-brown sheets near her head while the rest of her remained frozen.

I do. When I'm working in Nairobi.

She peeked out of one eye. How old are they?

Fiona's six and Emma's three.

Jesus. She sat up, holding the sheet around her. I didn't ask, she murmured. She looked at him. He looked back. Okay, so I didn't ask.

Where are you going?

Getting up. She dragged the sheet with her and stood on the thin rug. She scanned the dim floor for her clothes.

I thought you knew, he said again.

It looked like such a bachelor pad, she said under her breath. She located her bra and wisp of a shirt. I thought ... I mean, I wasn't even ... I mean, whatever. I didn't want to think. She found her skirt crumpled under the bed.

Are you upset? he said.

She was putting on her clothes and stopped for a moment. I don't know, she said. Then she started moving again.

He got up. He put on new clothes, different from the ones he'd worn last night. He b.u.t.toned a light blue shirt, looking at each b.u.t.ton. He went to the window and pulled back one of the curtains. More light came into the room.

Where are they?

He looked over, worried.

Your family.

In Naivasha, at the lake. His voice was still gentle but the honey had gone out of it. We have a house there.

Oh, they're out there, she said. She sounded as if she were daydreaming.

My wife grows flowers.

She looked at him, frowning.

No, he said, a farm. It's our business, a flower farm.

Oh. She found her sandals. That sounds nice.

He kept looking out the window. My wife's really the one who runs it.

Uh-huh. She sat on the kilim-covered ha.s.sock and began strapping on her sandals. They were well-traveled sandals with a worn-down heel.

He looked back at her. We're apart a lot, he said.