Bingo's Run Page 23

  This run had been my greatest. In one run, I had taught Wolf how to fly and got Slo-George a girlfriend. I had survived Nyayo House and Mr. Edward’s philosophy. I had been an art dealer worth millions, hired a legend as a lawyer, and a master as an artist. I had outscammed the Boss of Bosses but was tricked by a cleaner. A lunatic had turned into a prophet and an orphan into a son. There had been as much scam as truth, from beginning to end. It had been the best run ever. I looked up into the stars and smiled. I imagined running from star to star. Easy, I thought.

  A full 16B matatu with SWAGGA written on the side and blaring music drove by. Arms hung out where windows once were. I watched the van curve away down Kenyatta Avenue and toward Uhuru Park on its way back to Kibera. I remembered being at Uhuru Park with all the St. Michael’s boys, and I thought of Smoking Boy. He always sat and smoked and watched me, but he never ran. If Smoking Boy had a destiny, he would never reach it.

  I felt that I was being watched and looked around. Charity stood behind me, a soft pink smile on her closed lips. “Hello, sir,” she said. “Your American business colleague asked me to come and check up on you.”

  In an instant, my body was concrete and my head was filled with construction. A hammer was jammed in my throat. Just a grunt came out of my mouth.

  “Sir, how’s the business coming along?” she asked. “Have you sold any of those most valuable paintings?” Charity could mock dirt off a beggar. Sense entered my head and I answered her businessman style. “My business is doing jus’ fine, ya,” I said.

  She went on, “Sir, I thought you went to America.”

  The way she said “Sir” was mocking. “I come back to finish a deal,” I told her.

  Charity cocked her head. “You mean to see me?”

  I did not answer but stared at the string spider around her neck. It looked back at me. “Answer her,” it whispered. But before I could speak Mr. Edward shouted from the hotel door, “Miss Charity, you are kindly needed back at work.”

  She called back to him, “I am coming, sir. I am just conversing with a guest.”

  Every fragment of me wanted her, but my legs were stone and I could not move.

  Charity smiled at me. “Sir, I will have to go.” She turned—the spider, too—and began to walk away.

  I stepped toward her. “Ya!” I called to her back. “That’s right, ya. I come back to see you.” It was as true as anything else.

  She turned to me. “Sir, so you came back to see me so that you can leave me again?”

  My thinking was all over the place, like a crane turning around inside my head. “Maybe I stay in Nairobi,” I said. “Maybe I don’t go to America.”

  Charity’s smile dropped. “No, sir. You and your colleague have many deals to do in America. I would not want you to miss that.” She blinked a few times. “Sir, you are a most special businessman. I want the best business for you in the world.” She tried to clean her words of sadness, but I heard it.

  Words came out of my mouth like water from a burst water pipe. “But I want you,” I said. “I want to be with you.” Then something else gushed from my mouth.

  She frowned. “Sir, you want to shove me?”

  I shook my head and looked down at her Maasai sandals. “I want to love you,” I said again. “I stay here,” I said.

  Charity said, “No, sir, you must go to America. Your colleague loves you very much, and that is your destiny.” She smiled. “But perhaps you will write to me from there—maybe in between those important business deals.” A water drop inched down her cheek. She did not try to wipe it.

  “Maybe,” I said.

  “I’d like that,” she said back.

  I looked into her eyes. Both were leaking. I said, “But you have to write, too.”

  She waved her orange duster across her face. “Maybe,” she said. “But you will have to write first. I can’t just send a letter to Bingo Mwolo, Art Dealer, U.S.A.”

  She had a point. “Ya,” I said.

  The children across the road yelped, and I turned away to look at them. I did not want Charity to see my eyes fill up. Now a third child, a small girl, was playing with them, all three drenched from the water.

  Charity came closer and said over my shoulder, “Perhaps, sir, you will come back and visit me one day.”

  I wiped my face with my shirtsleeve. I turned, and Charity and me were closer than a Sony TV. “Maybe you come to America,” I said. Streams had formed on her face and tears dropped off her cheeks. I reached out, brought her to me, and we held each other. Her water went into my shirt, and mine went into her stiff brown uniform. I wanted to give her every drop of me.

  A cough interrupted heaven. Manager Edward stood there. Fast, Charity and I let go of each other. Mr. Edward looked at us. He filled his lungs. I knew what was coming. “Mr. Mwolo, you are aware of what the great African philosopher Browning once said of love?”

  I looked at Charity, and then back at him, and said, “No, Mr. Edward. But wha’ does tha great philosopha Managa Edward say about it?”

  He looked up at the sky and then across the road at the wet, laughing children. He took a breath longer than it takes to drink a Tusker. Mr. Edward said, “Mr. Mwolo, this world rests upon a lake of never-ending love. Discover the fountain and then drink until you are drunk.” Without another word, the best-dressed man in Nairobi left us and returned to his post.

  A new thought banged into my head. Perhaps the whole run—everything—was for this, Destiny No. 3: Charity.

  But I had done enough thinking for one run. I took Charity in my arms and moved my mouth to hers. Faster than spit, Charity shoved her orange duster into my face. It smelled of cleaner. “Only after eight turn-downs,” she said.

  I did the eight turn-downs fast, as if I did not care, and then, at last, I kissed her.

  The end of Bingo’s Run.

  For JJ

  Acknowledgments

  Bingo’s Run is a testament to the enduring faith of Cindy Spiegel, my publisher, and Natanya Wheeler, my agent. Cindy never settled until Bingo climbed as high as he possibly could, and Natanya pushed me forward, even when Bingo flailed from exhaustion. To Cindy and Natanya, thank you.

  This book speaks to family. When you climb a mountain, it never crosses your mind that the mountain might crumble beneath your feet. Such is my family. I never worry because they bear me.

  In Nairobi, I thank the staff of the Stanley Hotel for crushed cane juice, hospitality, and rum. Thank you to the Red Cross, the Kenyan army, and the Nairobi police. Most of all, thanks to Jeremiah (“JJ”), my driver. Once, JJ and I were drinking beer in a part of Kibera called Mathare 3A. It was filthy hot. Out of nowhere a riot erupted over a stolen television. I was spotted as a tourist and they came for me, but JJ never left my side.

  BY JAMES A. LEVINE

  The Blue Notebook

  Bingo’s Run

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  JAMES A. LEVINE is an internationally known scientist and physician. He is a professor of medicine at the Mayo Clinic and professor of Health Solutions and professor of Life Sciences at Arizona State University. Much of the author’s scientific work and his two novels have focused on the rights of children with respect to labor practices, prostitution, and poverty.