And Then Dawn Broke Over The Hills

At the foot of the bed, the cheap bed with the no-good mattress, lay yesterday's shirt. Charles Graves put it on and carded a hand through his hair and went to find his shoes. He eyed the bathroom at the end of the hallway.

Should I shave now or wait after breakfast? Charles Graves thought. I ought to shave. All right, you said so, so go in and shave then. For what, he thought. No. Go in and do it. It's been weeks and you have to go to check on Adamu before breakfast. Mary's still here, she'll think I shaved for her. No— she won't, she likes the beard. Exactly, Charles Graves thought. She'll think I shaved for her. And I don't shave for anyone anymore.

Charles finished the laces on his left boot that went up to half-way his calf and knelt to do the other. He couldn't hear anything from the other room, so he reasoned Mary was still asleep.

Let's keep it up, Charles thought. I was doing well before yesterday. Let's not think about shaving nor who I should do it for, or anything connected with it. Let's not even make a list of what I shouldn't think about. Let's not think of anything at all. Let's just leave it and leave it at that. And all the other things, he thought. All the things I've neglected to think about for too long. I won't think about them either.

Charles Graves went outside and passed the yard, the dust kicking up round his legs. The ward was but a single floor with two private rooms they used for private exams and surgeries respectively, and one large main ward.

Charles Graves opened and closed the single door quickly. He wanted to keep the wind out.

Two patients stirred. Others lay motionless on their cots, their rising chests the only indication that they were still alive. Occupying the cot furthest from the door was Niagh, a sixteen-year-old girl from Kalacha. The girl's face had undergone change, to a certain extent. The gloom had disappeared from it. A smile appeared more easily, and it banished sickness from her countenance even when she was still under heavy medication. Niagh smiled at him now, and Charles softly conversed with her while he sat himself down at her hip where she lay propped up and checked her temperature. Steady, he told her. And we'll have you walking by the end of the week.

Tutaona, she answered. We'll see.

Then Charles went to the cod opposite Niaghto do the same. Adamu lay on his side. The old man's face was ashen. His greeting dazed.

"Did you sleep?" Charles asked, untangling his linen from where it lay twisted round his legs.

"All I do sleep." The old man said.

"Do you want to go out?"

"Nenda kajitombe." He spoke. Go fuck yourself.

Charles barked a laugh. The old man was alright. Charles Graves went and emptied his bedpan and when he came back the old man had, contrary to his earlier sentiment, stretched himself upright on his own. Charles cursed under his breath.

"Lala tena. Lie down again."

The old man fixed him a stare and scrunched up his face. "Lala tena." He corrected Charles.

Charles couldn't hear a difference for the life of him, but he nodded anyway. "Go on, now. Go on. Lie down."

After he had helped Adamu back onto his cot, Charles Graves went out onto the patio and into the sun. Daudi stood at the main water tank next to the house. The kid was smiling broadly and carrying a roll of clean, bound linen under one arm.

"Did you see Adamu?" Daudi asked.

"Yes."

"He has suffered very much tonight. More than ever. But he won't say it himself."

"And the others?"

"Only Radhi and his brother slept through the night." He spoke. "Niagh was a little nervous. But it was nothing."

"Na wewe?"

"Me?" He smiled shyly and very pleased. "Same as always."

"And the family?"

"Well. Mama is working again."

"I'm glad."

"She is, too. But the baby keeps up her at night. Did none of the others sleep here?" The boy looked at the porch of the grey storage building across the yard and Charles knew he meant Mary's team.

"They did."

"I counted three in town, yesterday. They must be sleeping still."

"Sure."

Daudi looked at him again, a hand over his eyes against the reflection of the sun in the window behind Charles. "There were calls from Mombasa, last night. Dhakiya told me to write them all down. I hope you can recognize them. I can do nothing with Spanish."

"Write it as it sounds."

"But it does not sound the same to me as to you or Dhakiya."

"Did Hadebe call?"

"No."

Charles regarded him, frowning. "No word from Gatab?" He asked again.

"None."

"Alright— go home. Go home. See you tonight."

As the boy ran off, bale of linen shaking under his armpit as he went, Charles went back into the main house. Now you take a bath, he said to himself. Or a shower. And then you change into something clean.

Charles brought his breakfast out to the porch and sat in the quiet of the morning for a few more minutes before stretching and returning to the clinic. Dhakiya was to stay in town today.

After an hour of work, some boy he vaguely recognised, but did not know by name, came to call on him with a message, and Charles send him back into town for Daudi. They left for Olturot some thirty minutes later.

Charles Graves had yet to see his wife at that point.

It wasn't that he had expected them to spend that much time together, but it always amazed him how easy it had become to take such distance from each other even when living in the same house. It wasn't as if he retreated to his apartment that much when they were both in London, but Charles reasoned it was easier to stay out of each other's hair at the big estate. The clinic was far more limited in that regard.

Mary will have left for Nairobi by the time I'll be back, Charles thought. And that'll be it till next time.

He thought to make a point of it to be there when she left but he hadn't been there when she arrived and she hadn't made a point of calling ahead to tell him she was coming, so he didn't feel too bad about it. Charles knew Mary probably wouldn't care for him to say goodbye anymore.

The heavy feeling under his sternum was back again.