The Dragons, the Giant, the Women, стр. 50
There was a young girl who fought with her who, after realizing what Agnes was doing, tried to save some innocent families herself. “They lined up the family and were yelling at them that they were Krahn,” Agnes explained. The girl, younger than her, spoke up and said they were distant cousins. “She begged them not to kill the people. She said they were Bassa.” The rebels held the family overnight and on the following morning, after it was determined that the family was indeed Krahn, they stood the teenage girl with them and shot them all.
“The woman who was known most for this was B,” Agnes said. “She lied and said people were family and friends during checkpoints and she helped plenty of them cross the border.” The last Agnes had heard, B had escaped to Sierra Leone after rebels discovered her “crimes” and sought to kill her.
“And you have never heard of Satta?” I asked again, wondering if Satta was ever as fortunate as B, or if her sacrifice for my family was her last. The thought made me weak. “I don’t think so, no,” Agnes said. “But … but if you can meet me in town tomorrow, maybe I bring somebody with me to talk more about the war.”
“Really?” I asked, eyes widening at Mam, who stopped what she was doing. She pointed to her chest and I nodded toward the gesture. I knew she would come.
“And we will send her the place,” Mam added.
“I can text you where to meet us. That would be great.”
I wondered if she also thought my search was absurd—if she thought I was wasteful for chasing someone many, like my parents, and even maybe she, believed no longer existed, crazy for ignoring the fact that some saints, even mine, will die.
“Okay,” she said in a high-pitched voice.
Mam and I woke up early the next morning to beat traffic into town, where we told Agnes to meet us at a ground floor café. Papa insisted that his occasional driver, a bearded gray-haired man named Sumo who always wore a hat, would take us. On the drive there I kept looking over at Mam, who seemed as eager as I was to potentially find ourselves one step closer to Satta.
“I think I want to talk to Deek more,” I told her.
“The guard?”
“Yeah, and others like him.”
“Why?” she asked, shaking her head.
“I still don’t know. Curiosity, intrigue, answers. How does anyone live with that kind of past on their shoulders?”
Mam shook her head again and shifted her gaze to the lives outside the truck window. Mam and I arrived at the café and ordered a few pastries and tea, sitting near the window so Agnes and her contact would be able to see us. We could see Papa’s truck and Sumo from where we sat; he watched and waited patiently, nodding toward us any time we looked his way. I sent a text: “We are here. Right near the entrance,” which was answered with “Ok. Coming.”
Mam stared at me occasionally from a book she was reading. I caught her as I read from my notebook, particularly from notes I’d taken while talking to the general. I did not think I would have time to speak in depth with Deek, so I made notes of questions I would ask during my next visit. About an hour after, when we did not see or hear from Agnes, I texted her again: “How far are you?” This time I received no response.
“What did she say?”
I shook my head, and Mam’s eyes returned to the pages of her book. So I called. No answer.
“You gave the correct location, right?” Mam asked some moments later.
“Yeah,” I said.
I added more questions to the notebook, sporadically tapping my pencil on the corners of the pages. I looked out of the window at Sumo, at traffic now resembling yesterday’s, at pedestrians on the early-morning road to see if one of them were her.
I went to the bathroom and returned. I ordered more tea, more croissants. Twice.
“We should head back,” Mam said finally, close to noon. “I have work to do.”
“Why? I think maybe she’s in traffic. You know how it can be,” I refuted.
Mam stood up.
“Come on, this is important. Just let me call again,” I insisted.
“You now call plenty. You’re wasting your time.”
“You can leave me here,” I said. “Sumo can take you to work and come back for me.”
Mam sighed, reluctant. “Okay,” she said finally. “I’m just going to pick up something from campus and we will be right back.”
“Okay.”
“Less than an hour—”
“Cool.”
“—and when I come back we’re going home. She will not have you just sitting around all day.”
“Okay, that’s fine.”
She grabbed her book and her purse, and strolled out of the café to where Sumo waited. As they drove off, I became more obsessed with the faces of pedestrians. I studied each one, although I would not have known her if she were looking me in the face. I jotted down notes again, reviewing the questions I would ask. I texted: “Everything okay?” and called and called again. And as if the day had a vendetta, Mam and Sumo returned, my heart dropping when I noticed Papa’s truck turn the corner.
Mam did not ask me questions on the drive home. She did not have to. When I climbed into the truck, she shook her head, in disappointment but also what seemed to be disgust at the missed appointment.
“This too is Liberia,” she whispered in her corner, and I ignored it, kept gazing outward.
It was not until we entered the apartment that the sadness, the absurdity that I hoped to be reunited with this woman, hit me. That I wanted to see her again to touch her, to thank her, to understand myself. The gravity of that season, the breakups and