The Song of Mawu. Jeff Edwards
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spot.’
‘Yes, I know, and none are friendly.’
The old man regarded Mick and Eliza. ‘What do you know?’
‘I know that I am talking to a man who was once highly regarded. I know that I am taking a risk by talking to you, just as you would be taking a risk if you were to talk to me.’
‘Then why are you here? Go, and save us all from trouble.’
‘I have family news.’
‘I have no family so there can be no family news,’ replied the old man cautiously.
Mick nodded, ‘I can understand why you would deny your son’s existance but you are with friends.’
‘Words. Merely words.’
‘We know your story. How you lost your family.’
A bitter expression crossed the old man’s face and he refused to be drawn into a conversation he did not wish to have.
Eliza had been staring off into the distance, checking to make sure that there was no approaching traffic. She turned to the old man. ‘Your son wears around his neck a very particular item.’
These words startled both the men present.
What the hell is she talking about? thought Mick.
How would this young woman know that? thought the old man.
‘You must be very proud of him,’ said Eliza.
The old man still did not know enough about these strangers to trust them. Perhaps they have taken my son and removed the gift from him, he thought.
‘Do you want me to describe what he wears?’ asked Eliza.
Mick was totally confused. What is she talking about? How can she know anything about this man? I only spoke about him on the way out here.
The old man chose his words carefully, ‘If the person you speak of had such a thing then it would be easy for it to be removed from his dead body.’
Eliza was silent for a few seconds before replying, ‘Then perhaps I can give you the words that were spoken when the gift was given?’
‘For you to be able to do that would be impossible.’
Eliza smiled, ‘Your wife said to your son, ‘From the mother hen to her chick.’’
Mick stood with his mouth open, totally lost.
The old man stared at Eliza, a single tear escaping his right eye. Softly he said, ‘Those were indeed my wife’s words.’
Eliza nodded, ‘And your son continues to obey your wishes by not returning home despite his great desire to do so.’
‘It is far too dangerous for him to return. Lattua keeps me alive for his own reasons.’
‘The President believes he killed all your family. Your eldest son was lucky to be overseas.’
‘He must never return. Someone will recognise him.’
Eliza nodded, ‘You’re right to insist that he stay in England, but he does miss you.’
Mick was recovering his composure and eager to take advantage of the turn of events. ‘If he did manage to return, the two of you could rally the country in opposition to Lattua.’
‘No!’ demanded the old man. ‘Never! There is no opposition. There can be no opposition. It’s too dangerous. I tried once and I failed. Don’t even talk about it. It will get us all killed!’
‘You wouldn’t even consider the proposition?’
‘I sit on my chair here and consider it every day. Every day I see the folly of my ways and how much it cost me. I wouldn’t wish that burden upon my worst enemy.’
Eliza reached out for the old man’s hand. ‘We’ve taken a risk to come and see you but now we have your answer and we’ll leave you in peace,’ she said quietly.
Mick nodded in agreement, ‘Yeah, Mr Zibu. We’ll go and leave you in peace. Sorry to have disturbed you.’
‘My son? How is he?’
Eliza replied, ‘He’s now a surgeon at Guy’s Hospital.’
‘Good. Good,’ whispered a pleased old man.
Mick and Eliza climbed back into the Land Rover and were about to drive off when Chand Zibu waved to stop them.
Mick wound down his window as the old man approached. ‘How did you find me?’
‘I have spoken to many people. In quiet, secret places, your name is spoken. Some hope for your return while others make their own plans for a future free of Joseph Lattua.’
The old man nodded, ‘Perhaps there can be a new future, but it’s not up to me to lead the country to that future. I had my chance and failed,’ he placed his hand on Mick’s arm. ‘Wait a moment.’
They watched as the old man walked over to the rickety chair and picked up the tin box beneath. He opened it as he walked back to the car. ‘I can’t tell you who to trust, but I can tell you who not to trust.’ He extracted a stained, and much folded sheet of paper from the box. ‘I shouldn’t have done this. My life would have been forfeited if they had ever found it. These are the men who betrayed me,’ he proffered the paper to Mick Sloane, ‘Be careful…tell my son he is always in my thoughts.’
Mick took the sheet and tucked it into his shirt pocket. He shook the old man’s hand in thanks. ‘You take care as well.’
Eliza watched out the back window as the Land Rover drove away. She saw the old man light a cigarette while he stood watching their departing cloud of dust. Then he slowly made his way back to the rickety chair and settled down to await his next customer.
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