Gravel Heart(73)

All I could say was: ‘Amir?’

‘Yes Amir,’ Yusuf said.

He moved away from the window and stood beside his desk, hands on his hips, angry that he was in any way a part of this. I took in the information. Rape the Vice-President’s daughter? But it was unreal, unfounded, a mad accusation, like something imagined or fantastic. At the same time I felt the impact of Yusuf’s words somewhere in the cavity of my body, a churn of terror for what was now going to happen to Amir. I wondered at Yusuf’s anger, perhaps he had had to humiliate himself to discover the information. Then he shook his head and turned towards the door. ‘It has been a horribly busy and messy day,’ he said. ‘I must get back to work now.’

I understood this to mean that the interview was over, that there was nothing more to talk about, that there were powerful people concerned, and it was now time for me to go. ‘Thank you for what you have done,’ I said to him, reaching out to shake his hand in gratitude. ‘We did not know …’

‘You keep saying that,’ Yusuf interrupted, holding my hand for just a second longer than necessary. ‘Your brother has a reputation,’ he said, and I could not miss the sneer on his face again as he said your brother.

‘I had no idea,’ I said.

‘Well, my old friend, you are the only one in this town who doesn’t,’ he said. ‘You must excuse me now, I should return to these papers.’

‘Where is he held? What can we do?’ I asked.

Yusuf shrugged and looked helpless, then he opened the office door, ushering me out. On my way out of the building, the receptionist who had been keeping an eye on me said, Give my regards to Saida, and I said I will, but I forgot to ask for her name.

After I got home and reported my conversation with Yusuf, Saida too was speechless with shock for a moment, and then she said: ‘I had no idea.’

‘Yusuf said we are the only two people in town who don’t,’ I said.

But Saida meant something else. She said: ‘I mean, I had no idea he mixed with such powerful people. The Vice-President’s daughter. Where could he meet with such people? At the hotel perhaps. They must go there to relax. It can’t be true about him forcing her,’ Saida said, evading the word. ‘And anyway, being a schoolgirl does not mean she is a child.’

‘Yusuf’s words were that she is an under-age schoolgirl,’ I said. ‘I don’t know what the legal age to be under is, perhaps sixteen. People used to marry off their daughters at fourteen and no questions asked, and the husband could be anything from fifteen to fifty. I did not even know there was an under-age law now. Perhaps there always was and no one took any notice.’

‘Yes yes yes,’ Saida said impatiently, not interested in my ramblings. ‘We must find out where he is,’ she said, ‘so we can hear what really happened. I am sure it did not happen like that. Rape? Amir! I don’t believe he could have done something like that. He is the only brother I have, we must do whatever we can to get him out. Whatever happens afterwards.’

I asked: ‘What does that mean, whatever happens afterwards?’

‘I mean whatever kind of person he really is or becomes,’ she said. ‘We did not do anything when they took my father, and then just watched while my mother died so wretchedly. Now we must do what we can, whatever we can, to get Amir out before he comes to harm.’

‘That was a different time,’ I said. ‘What can we do anyway?’ Perhaps I was speaking out of fear. We had become cowed by our rulers’ willingness to be stern with us.

She said: ‘We can go and plead with the girl’s father.’

We sat quietly for a while contemplating this bold suggestion, then I said, ‘That may make the father even more angry. Perhaps we should wait for a while, see what further news comes out. Maybe tempers will cool.’

But Saida shook her head and said, ‘I’m not waiting. Tomorrow morning I am going to the Vice-President’s office to try and find out what happened to Amir. You can come if you want or you can wait until tempers have cooled.’

Throughout the day, neighbours and friends came to the house to find out if there was any news, and we said no. All we knew was that Amir had been taken away. We were not yet ready to reveal our shame.

The next day Saida and I went to the Vice-President’s office together, although I was very nervous about what I expected would be a humiliating encounter. I did not even think we would be allowed to see the great man, but would be shouted at and chased away by his guards and minders. The armed guard at the door looked as contemptuous as I had imagined and refused us entry into the building. What was it about anyway? he asked. Saida said it was a confidential family matter of great importance and we needed to make an appointment to see the Mheshimiwa. The guard was adamant: this was a place of state business, not of family troubles. I wondered if he expected to be paid something or if that would make matters worse. I did not know how to do such things, but I wondered if the guard expected it, and if he did, how it was to be done.

‘Well,’ Saida said to the guard in the end, ‘you had better be sure you know what is state business and what is family business. Because if anything terrible happens as a result of our failure to see His Excellency, the responsibility will be yours, and then you’ll come to know without any doubt whose business it is.’