The Constant Gardener

Like a man moving a bundle of something that disgusted him though he was trying not to show it, Mustafa plucked Woodrow from the car and escorted him to his front door. Justin had put on his woolen hat and anorak again. Beams of colored spotlight were escaping from the marquee. The band was playing relentless rap. Still seated in the car Justin glanced to his left and thought he saw the shadow of a tall man standing in front of the rhododendron bushes at the curbside, but when he looked closely, it was gone. He kept staring nonetheless, first at the bushes, then at the parked cars to either side of them. Hearing a footfall, he turned to see a figure hastening toward him, and it was Ghita with a shawl across her shoulders, dancing shoes in one hand and a pocket torch in the other. She slipped into the passenger seat as Justin started the car.

"They're wondering where he is," she said.

"Was Donohue in there?"

"I don't think so. I'm not sure. I didn't see him."

She started to ask him something and decided better not.

He was driving slowly, peering into parked cars, glancing repeatedly at his wing mirrors. He passed his own house but gave it hardly a look. A yellow dog rushed at the car, snapping at its wheels. He swerved, keeping his eyes on the mirrors while he softly rebuked it. Craters came at them like black lakes in the headlights. Ghita peered out of the rear window. The road was pitch dark.

"Keep your eyes front," he commanded her. "I'm in danger of losing the way. Give me some lefts and rights."

He was driving faster now, swinging between craters, bouncing over tar bumps, veering to the center of the road whenever he distrusted the sides. Ghita was murmuring: left here, left again, big pothole coming up. Abruptly he slowed down and a car overtook them, followed by a second.

"See anyone you recognize?" he asked.

"No."

They entered a tree-lined avenue. A battered sign reading HELP VOLUNTEER barred their way. A line of emaciated boys with poles and a wheelbarrow with no wheel were gathered behind it.

"Are they always here?"

"Day and night," said Ghita. "They take the stones from one hole and put them in another. In this way their job is never done."

He pumped the foot brake. The car rolled to a halt just before the sign. The boys clustered round the car, slapping their palms on the roof. Justin lowered his window as a flashlight lit up the inside of the car, followed by the quick-eyed, smiling head of their spokesman. He was sixteen at most.

"Good evening, Bwana," he cried in a tone of high ceremony. "I am Mr. Simba."

"Good evening, Mr. Simba," said Justin.

"You wish to contribute to this fine road we're making, man?"

Justin passed a hundred-shilling note through the window. The boy danced triumphantly away, waving it above his head while the others clapped.

"What's the usual tariff?" Justin asked Ghita as he drove on.

"About a tenth of that."

Another car overtook them and Justin again peered intently at its occupants, but seemed not to see whatever he was looking for. They entered the town center. Shop lights, cafes, teeming pavements. Matutu buses racing by with music blasting. Out to their left, a smash of metal was followed by the blaring of horns and screams. Ghita was directing him again: right here, through these gates now. Justin drove up a ramp and into the crumbling forecourt of a square three-story building. By the perimeter lights he read the words COME UNTO JESUS NOW! daubed on the slab wall.

"Is this a church?"

"It was a Seventh Day Adventist dental clinic," Ghita replied. "Now it is converted into flats."

The car park was a piece of low ground surrounded by razor wire and if she had been alone she would never have driven into it, but he was already heading down the slipway with his hand out for the key. He parked and she watched him while he stared back up the slipway, listening.

"Who are you expecting?" she whispered.

He led her past grinning groups of kids to the entrance and up the steps to the lobby. A handwritten notice said LIFT SERVICE SUSPENDED. They crossed to a gray staircase lit by low-watt bulbs. Justin climbed beside her until they arrived at the top floor, which was in darkness. Producing his own pocket torch, Justin lit the way. Asian music and smells of Oriental food issued from closed doors. Handing her his torch, Justin returned to the stairwell while she unchained her iron grille and turned the three locks. As she stepped into the flat, she heard her phone ringing. She looked round for Justin, to find him standing beside her.

"Ghita, my dear, hullo," cried a charming male voice she couldn't immediately place. "How radiant you looked tonight. Tim Donohue here. Wondered whether I might pop up a minute, have a cup of coffee with the two of you underneath the stars."

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