MUNACHI (COMPLETED)

|Chapter 26|

William Constant is awake when I returned home just after dark. Jamal is sitting beside him, helping him drink a little water. He's even offering him some soup. I smile. I should have known Jamal would have been looking after William perfectly well.

“Well, well, you look as if you're on the mend, Mr. Constant. Sitting up and all!”

He smiles, and I'm surprised to see his eyes travel over me as if he's looking at me for the first time. When his eyes do meet mine, warmth and interest sparkles brightly in them. I suddenly feel shy. Can't think of anything else to say.

“Jamal tells me I owe you my very life. Thank you. I don't know what I'll ever be able to do to repay you!”

I feel even more flustered. “Please don't mention it, Mr. Contact. I was just doing my job. It was nothing. I'm only glad you were brought here in time. If not for the quick thinking of the men who were with you, it would have been too late. Now, how long have you been sitting up? You mustn't tire yourself, you know,” I say.

“Yes, I am feeling rather tired,” William says. “I suppose you're right and I should lie back down.” Jamal eases him down onto the bed.

I can see that the movement is very painful for my patient, but I'm gratified to see how gently Jamal handles him. I should really train him to help me. Perhaps when my clinic is finished, I could do that.

♣♣♣

Three evenings on, I walk back from the building site, hot and thirsty. The sun dips quickly down to the horizon. I wonder if I'd ever get used to the speed of the sunset in Cameroon. I hurry up the pathway, quickly lifting my eyes to the east to check for clouds.  A little too soon to expect the rains.

I arrive at my veranda and stride up the steps two at a time.

“Good evening!” says a voice.

I jump, gasping. I hadn't noticed anyone arriving by the road. But there, deep in my biggest chair, is a reclining figure.

“Wow, you scared me!” I reply. I move closer. “Mr. Constant! What're you doing out of bed? You're far too sick to move yet!”

“Nonsense. I don't know how long I've been lying there, but I know when I've had enough of staring at the ceiling. I got Jamal to move me out here. He wasn't too happy about doing it, mind you. And please, call me William. No one calls me Mr. Constant. I'm liable to ignore you if you do.” He smiles wanly. The long speech has tired him out, and he lays his head back against the chair.

“Well, the sun has set, and it'll be getting cool now. Why don't I assist you back to bed?” I suggest gently.

“No, thank you. I'm tired of staring at the walls. I'm staying out here.”

I sigh. Well, now I know one more thing about this William Constant. He's definitely stubborn. I could tell Astrid that news. I can also see he won't make a docile patient. If he's well enough to watch the sunset, then he's well enough to discuss his future.

“I'm going inside to wash up for dinner. Would you like me to bring you anything to eat, Mister . . . I mean, William?”

“I'm game to try a little something. This liquid diet is getting rather dull for me, I must say.” He leans his head back again and shut his eyes. I have the feeling I've just been dismissed.

I walk to my closet to change from my hot, dusty trousers and blouse into a cool, clean dress. Well, it's time to send this man back to his life in Bamenda, I thought. No doubt he'll have to be in the hospital for a few more weeks, but his own friends can look after him there. I've work to do here, and I don't really have the time to be looking after such a stubborn man.

But once again, a funny feeling flashes through me. I'll miss him when he leaves. I've actually grown quite attached to him.

Jamal has arrived with the supper tray and is just lighting the lamp when I walk out onto the veranda, wearing a simple white cotton frock. It flatters my slim figure, and the small lavender-flowered print on the neck and waist complements my dark, afro hair.

“You look nice tonight,” William says.

“Thank you,” I answer briskly, sitting down in the chair next to him.

I feel self-conscious. Here I am having supper with a handsome white man, alone and far out in the outskirt of Cameroon. I'd spend so many hours looking into his face, hoping he'd open his eyes, wondering what his voice sounds like; but I'd forgotten that when all those things happens, he'll look into my face, gaze into my eyes, and listen to my voice. I'm now finding it very unsettling.

“You know, I am rather tired,” he says. “Perhaps you could just pass to me few potatoes. I can only move one of my arms, anyway. I'll just have a couple of bites, and then I should go back to my bed, Miss . . .”

“Munachi Anozie,” I say firmly.

“Munachi . . . A-Ano . . .”

I chuckle at the effort he's making in trying to pronounce my name right. “Please just call me Muna for short.” I reach for the potatoes and put some onto his plate.

“Your name doesn't sound Cameroonian. Which part of Africa are you from?” he asks, taking a piece of potato and brings the fork up to his mouth.

“The Western Africa, Nigeria,” I reply.

“Oh. That is not far from this country.”

I nod. “Um, William, perhaps we should discuss how we're going to get you back to Bamenda. Now that you're well enough to sit up, you'd better get back to a proper hospital and have a doctor examine you.”

William slowly and carefully chew his food and painfully swallows.

“I'm sorry, but I'm getting rather tired. Could you help me back to bed, please, Muna? Could we talk about it tomorrow?”

I wonder if he deliberately avoided the subject, but I get up and walk around to one side of his chair. Jamal goes to the other side. Gently we lift him out of the chair. I'm surprised at how so tall he is, even though he looks thin and not terribly heavy. However, he winces with pain, and I can see that the gashes on his chest must be hurting him terribly as we lift him onto his feet. His face has gone very white, but he's determined to try to walk back to bed.

I'm relieved when I and Jamal are able to lay him down at last. I still feel strangely shy, but I thought I should at least lift up the white cotton shirt I'd given him to wear to check that none of his wounds had open with all this movement. Gently, I lift up the shirt and probe around his abdomen. His eyes are closed.

“I'm sorry if this hurts you,” I whisper. “I just need to make sure we didn't damage anything when we moved you.”

Everything seems to be fine. I pull his shirt back down and look at him just as he opens his eyes. Our eyes meet.