The Lord of Opium(115)

“Didn’t the bees sting him?”

“They sure did, and Samson brushed them off like bread crumbs. Heroes don’t worry about things like that.” Matt told her about how Samson’s girlfriend Delilah betrayed him by cutting his hair off, and how Delilah’s friends turned him into a slave.

“His hair must have grown back,” said Listen, with her usual logic. “Then he could beat everyone up.”

“His hair did grow back, but nobody noticed because he was a slave. Samson waited and waited until he got his enemies all in one place. One night they had a big party, and they brought Samson out so they could make fun of him. Samson got hold of the posts holding up the house and pulled them down. The building fell on top of everyone and squashed them flat.”

“And Samson lived happily ever after,” finished Listen.

Too late Matt remembered how the story ended. “Not exactly,” he said.

“He got out, didn’t he?”

“I’m afraid not. He died along with his enemies. But he got revenge, and that’s important.”

“I don’t like that story,” Listen yelled. “I want a happy ending! He should have picked up a rock and let ’em have it.” She grabbed a pillow and began to pound it with her fists.

“It didn’t really happen,” said Matt.

“It’s a Bible story. Sor Artemesia says they’re all true.”

Listen started to cry, and one of the guards came over and thumped himself on the chest. “Samson,” he announced. He flexed his muscles.

“Did you understand what we were talking about?” asked Matt.

“Nyet. Samson.” Thump, thump.

“That’s his name,” Listen said delightedly. “What’s the other guy called? Delilah?”

“De-lee-lah,” said Samson, pointing at his fellow guard and mincing around.

“Boris,” corrected the other guard. Now he came over and with gestures invited Listen to a game of scissors, paper, rock. They had seen that the little girl was upset and wanted to cheer her up. For thugs, they weren’t too bad.

Night came, or what Matt supposed was night. There was no window in the room. The men made gestures that indicated sleep. They turned off the light but left the bathroom door ajar. Matt still had Tam Lin’s flashlight, and they used that to move around in the dark.

Listen curled up on the bed, but it was too small to include Matt, and he had to sleep on the floor. Exhausted though he was, he couldn’t get comfortable. He dozed and woke and worried. The Russians snored erratically and occasionally woke each other up with a snort.

Sometime during the night Listen climbed out of bed and sat down next to Matt. “I get scared in the dark,” she told him. “Most times I used to climb into the crib with Mbongeni. I tried to teach him scissors, paper, rock, but it was too hard for him. We played paper and rock instead, but you need scissors to make it work. Anyhow, he liked moving his hands around.” She began to cry softly, and Matt held her until she fell asleep again.

* * *

They lost track of time. Air seeped in through a vent, but it was never fresh, and the fumes from the guards’ cigarettes made them sick. The same food was brought three times a day, but the Russians got most of it.

At night Matt went over his last sighting of Glass Eye Dabengwa. It had been at El Patrón’s birthday party three years before. Silence radiated from wherever the African drug lord walked. It reminded Matt of a large predator arriving at a waterhole. The birds stopped singing, the monkeys faded through the trees, and the antelopes clustered together, hoping that there was safety in numbers.

But there was no safety in numbers where Glass Eye was concerned. He had wiped out entire villages for trivial slights. Matt hoped that by imagining the man he could get used to his presence. But the memory of those unblinking yellow eyes appeared to him in dreams and lingered long after he’d awoken.

Matt practiced Russian with the guards and managed to communicate a few basic requests, such as soap, towels, and toothbrushes. Boris and Samson seemed unaware that such luxuries were necessary, but they were eager to please. They passed the requests on, and the supplies arrived.

“Ask them for deodorant,” suggested Listen.

“For us?” asked Matt, surprised.

“For them.”

“Boris would probably eat it,” said Matt. He suspected that even if he learned fluent Russian, the guards wouldn’t have much to say. They were stoned all the time. They sat in front of the door in a state that was almost hibernation. But they could wake up quickly. Matt tried to sneak Listen past them, and they hurled him across the room without even breaking into a sweat.