Little Drummer by Kjell Ola Dahl

Author:Kjell Ola Dahl [Dahl, Kjell Ola]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Orenda Books
Published: 2022-04-15T00:00:00+00:00

SOUTH

Kisumu seemed to be a well-planned town, concentrated around a relatively small commercial centre. The building style varied from colonial houses that had seen better days, to modern shops, to poorer concrete constructions. The heroes from the war of independence against the English were honoured with street names. The centre was focused around Jomo Kenyatta Highway and Oginga Odinga Boulevard. Outside this zone were the big marketplaces. Between the centre and the lake were the railway station, the harbour warehouses and the slums. Frølich walked the streets to get to know the area.

But darkness fell quickly and swathed the town and countryside in darkness.

To begin with, he didn’t give it much thought. At home he was used to daylight lasting until well into the night. That didn’t happen here. Suddenly he realised he was alone, in a completely unknown place. He stopped and stood stock still. He had walked a long way and was unsure where he was. It was a long time since he had passed an illuminated shop window; it was a long time since he had seen any light.

Despite the heat and the humid air, he felt he was standing on ice, his arm and leg muscles tensed, as if he were standing rigidly on a lake after a frost and feeling the ground beneath him moving, sensing the ice could crack at any moment. It was quiet in this part of town, there were almost no cars. In the all-consuming darkness the place was teeming with people. But he couldn’t see them. Mumbling voices revealed their presence, and they flitted like shadows it wasn’t possible to see until they were close. The smell of sewage and open gutters that came in waves suggested that he was in a poor district. The buzzing of cicadas made the air tremble. Some cyclists pedalled past, mudguards rattling. Men talking in low voices passed in groups. Women with bundles on their heads passed so close that the whites of their eyes flashed when they looked at him. Some people had a torch. They would lift the torch and shine it in his face to see if it was someone they knew approaching. Blinded, Frølich mumbled a greeting in a thick voice.

He stared up at the stars. In a way, they seemed different, too. In Norway, the stars are white, here they are warmer, yellow, he thought, and as a result the sky was also able to emphasise that he was a long way from home.

I can’t stay here though, he told himself, and forced his legs to carry on. The sense that he was standing on thin ice returned. It had become so dark that it wasn’t possible to see where he was putting his feet. He thought about snakes, about open sewage and how no one would notice if he got a knife in the back. Why would anyone stab me in the back? He groped his way forward like a wakened sleepwalker. The only source of light was the starry sky.

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