His Last Wife

Kerry and Val barely spoke, expect for Kerry giving an occasional directive about where they were going and what turns Val should make. It wasn’t that they were angry with one another. They were just exhausted by the day, the week, the months, all of time that predicted this circumstance. They were thinking about what was next, what was real, what was needed to survive. They both felt like they’d been on a long trip in the cramped seats of one of those countryside crawling buses that always stank of urinal deodorizing pucks mixed with human excrement and urine by the time the trip was over. They just wanted to get out of that car and figure out what the next move was. Val kept her eyes on the road. Kerry looked out the window and listened for another helicopter.

When they’d parked the car and walked to the front of the block-long brick building where Kerry had spotted the address Baba Seti sent in one of his e-mails, Val took a step back and fixated her eyes on the wood carving over the doorway. Every angle of the shape made a demand of her memory. She’d seen it so many times and never really understood what it meant, but knew enough to lock it into her subconscious. It would be back and it would have meaning.

She pointed at it. “Fihankra,” she said like a baby who’d learned a new word and image to match it.

“Yes,” Kerry confirmed by her side. “That’s what this place is called. It’s the Fihankra Center.”

Kerry felt Val’s hesitation, so she stepped ahead and held the door open for her, pointing inside as a breeze of holy oils and incense burning came outside to greet them. It smelled something like an aromatherapy.

Val took one step and then another toward the open doorway. Every time she’d heard Fihankra flashed through her brain. There was that time at David Bozeman’s office when she’d spoken to him about all of those sizable donations Jamison had been making to the Fihankra Organization. The symbol on the letterhead. The tattoo on Ernest’s wrist. Him saying, “It means protection, security. Every time I look at it, it reminds me that I have to take care of my own . . .”

It seemed as if as soon as they stepped on the white tile that complemented the bare white walls in the vestibule beyond the doorway at the Fihankra Center, a short woman wi

th a short Afro dressed in a nursing uniform showed up with a look of familiarity in her eyes.

Kerry tried to introduce herself anyway, but the woman stopped her.

Softly and humbly, she informed Kerry and Val that they’d been awaiting their arrival. They were to follow her.

Val and Kerry exchanged stares behind her back. Kerry took the first step and Val had no choice but to follow.

What looked like an old warehouse that might house a struggling community center or day school from the outside, was actually trimmed with contemporary comforts and the latest technology inside. As Kerry and Val followed behind the woman, who’d mentioned that her name was Mother NuNu, they saw that the walls and floors remained hospital white and hospital clean, but in what looked like maybe it was a waiting area, there were flat screens turned to different news stations, a row of 3-D computer terminals, and one wall filled with nothing but books. In the middle of the floor, there was an information center, where men dressed as security guards watched video coverage of cameras outside the facility.

Sleek black leather chairs comforted people of every anthropological and cultural background. There were white faces in Muslim robes, brown faces donning ascots, yellow babies and mothers, black elders in dashikis. They all turned and looked at Val and Kerry as the women followed Mother NuNu through the facility. Some whispered and pointed. All were silent or fell silent once Val and Kerry crossed their path. Some smiled. One old woman waved and nodded.

Not knowing what else to do, Val waved and returned the nod.

Mother NuNu took Kerry and Val to a fruit-juice bar and handed them prepared juice. She said they looked tired and thirsty and reminded them of the importance of keeping a healthy diet. They had work to do.

At the end of a long hallway, there were two closed oak doors.

Mother NuNu handled both knobs at the same time, pulling them open in some grand reveal.

In an office that was really bigger than the lobby and had even more flat screens turned to news stations and books and cozy chairs, there was a long, conference table–sized wood desk with a man seated behind it. While everything else in the room was big and over the top, this man was actually rather small and frail. Though he was seated, both women could tell he was shorter than them. His colorful kente-patterned kufi was sat back on his head to keep from falling down over his forehead.

He stood before Mother NuNu announced Kerry and Val. He walked out from behind the desk, revealing his long day shirt that matched the kufi.

“You’ve finally come,” he said, approaching Kerry with his arms outstretched. “Welcome, my sister. You are home. I am Baba Seti.” He bowed deeply and kissed Kerry’s hand, before doing the same to Val.

Mother NuNu took the already emptied juice glasses from Kerry and Val and said she’d come back with refills.

Baba Seti offered Val and Kerry a seat and listened attentively as they shared each detail of their brush with danger that morning in North Georgia. He nodded and added his take on the events throughout the telling. Kerry agreed with everything he said, but Val was just trying to take him in.

On the wall behind his desk was a life-sized painting of some African warrior with jet-black skin. He was all muscles and carrying a shield and spear. Beneath the picture was the name Shaka Zulu. Beneath that was plaque that read: THE PEOPLE WILL MAKE THE RULES. THE PEOPLE WILL NOT BE RULED.

Pictures and sayings like that were on all of the walls in the office. One was of an old black woman who looked like a warrior, but she was sitting on a stool and had what looked like jewels or offerings wrapped around her shoulders. Beneath her picture was the name Yaa Asantewaa. Beneath that was a quote: WE CAN ALL FIGHT, SO WE WILL ALL FIGHT. BUT ONLY IF WE HAVE TO.

While Baba Seti looked old and frail, his voice and ideas were as spry as a first-year college professor. He spoke with precision and detail, remembered every word Kerry had said and spoke it back to her with quick interpretation. He seemed to have an understanding and explanation for everything.

“It is a good thing you sisters came here. We can protect you here. What you saw today was no coincidence. It was the dribble of the casualties of war. Of war beginning. Of war continuing,” Baba Seti said when Kerry explained how they decided to drive straight to the Fihankra Center from Dahlonega.

Val and Kerry watched, impressed, as he called in a man he called his security director and told him to comb news stations and connect with contacts in the Bureau to see if the agents were really looking for them. He dispatched units to their homes to see if agents had been to the houses.

Val noticed that he kept using the word agent for every person outside. Most times she didn’t know who he was talking about.

Kerry sighed, sounding relieved by the swift action. “I’m so glad I e-mailed you and that we’re here. We didn’t know where else to go,” Kerry said, taking the new fruit juice from Mother NuNu, who’d entered the room. “I kept telling Val that you could help us, but she doesn’t believe—” Kerry stopped and looked at Val like she’d mistakenly let out a secret. “I’m sorry,” she said to Val and then turned back to Baba Seti at his desk. “It’s just that she’s not as convinced as I am. You know?”

Baba Seti looked at Val sympathetically. “No one should need to be convinced of the truth. The truth is reality set before you. But,” he continued with his sympathetic look turning to empathy, “there is a structure in place to disguise it. To make it seem like unreality. They even made reality TV to show you what reality is. What it should be. But it’s really right in front of you all of the time. Looking at you and begging you to be convinced. Begging you to see past what is placed in front of it.” Baba Seti stood and walked out from behind the desk again.