Sister Sebastian's Library by Phil Whitaker

Author:Phil Whitaker
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Salt Publishing Limited
Published: 2016-07-22T10:54:29+00:00

Eleven

The petit taxi took them funnelling through labyrinthine streets. Much of the journey was spent crawling along, stopping and starting, the superheated air shimmering with the exhaust fumes of the cars ahead, the incessant horn blasts sounding less angry or frustrated than resigned and bored. Pedestrians and cyclists and motor scooters overhauled them, weaving in and out of the coagulated traffic. There didn’t seem to be any of the straight wide boulevards of the capital. No space in which to move with freedom.

‘I always thought of this place as some kind of small-town backwater,’ Elodie said, watching out of the window.

‘Third largest city in the country,’ Henning said. He was resting his elbow on the door on his side of the cab; his other hand was holding hers. ‘‘Population around four hundred thousand. It’s the gas. Beb’s ten times the size it was just a few decades ago. Phenomenal rate of growth.’

Their palms were becoming wet with perspiration, but she didn’t want to let his go. ‘You’re amazing; you do know that, don’t you?’

He looked at her quizzically.

‘The stuff you know.’

He shrugged. ‘You get into the habit of briefing yourself. It never pays to arrive somewhere with no idea where you’re going.’

There seemed to be endless amounts of litter, plastic bags and discarded wrappers lying on the pavements, in the gutters, from time to time animated by gusts of hot breeze, stirred into little eddies. The residue of consumption.

‘The way Bridie talked, you’d’ve thought it was poverty-­stricken.’

‘It is. Massive fields of natural gas, but hardly any of the wealth stays round here – that’s the story everywhere in Africa. Most people will have less than five dollars a day. It’s not exactly a fortune.’

‘All these cars, though.’ Elodie was amazed at the number of them, mostly identical little boxy hatchbacks in black or white or grey, their tail badges bearing an Arabic insignia.

‘What’s your phrase? Cheap as chips? What we pay for a car in the West reflects the huge cost of production – the raw materials are next to nothing. All global manufacturers have third world plants where the labour is cheap. These are Renaults, you know, turned out by a subsidiary in Algeria.’ Henning laughed. ‘And you wouldn’t believe how cheap petrol is!’

She gave his hand a squeeze. ‘‘I couldn’t have done this on my own.’

‘Sure you could.’ His eyebrows pulled low over his eyes when he was serious. ‘But I’m glad to be here with you.’

She moved across so she could lean against him. She liked the feel of their bodies touching. She liked the solidity of his shoulder. She liked the solidity of his character, too; nothing seemed to perturb him. Last night, same as the night before, all she’d wanted was to be held. Worry, dislocation, guilt; she couldn’t seem to get to that place where desire lived. But she’d felt bad for him, aware that their previous assignations had been oases at which they’d both drunk thirstily. It wasn’t the sex as such – though, God knows, it felt good to be alive in that way again.

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