liberal about liaisons between whites and Africans (more liberal when it came to white men and black women than the other way around), but a love affair with an SPLA commander was definitely out of bounds. If her involvement with Michael became public, more than her reputation would be tarnished; Ken could very well fire her. So she had to keep her thoughts and feelings to herself, and the lack of a confidant aggravated her symptoms.
She wrote Michael an uninhibited letter—five pages in her peculiar handwriting, slanting so far forward it threatened to topple into illegibility—marched to Knight Air, and handed it to Fitz. Was that a knowing smile he gave her? If it was, he was discreet enough not to ask questions, promising the letter would be delivered in two days, when the next flight was scheduled for New Tourom.
She then suffered the torment of waiting for a reply, and her moods for the next two weeks rose and plunged with greater violence. At last Fitz told her a letter was waiting for her in Knight Air’s office. She retrieved it immediately and read it as she walked to her tent.
My Darling Quinette,
With happiness and surprise I received your letter. Forgive me for taking so long to answer. I have been very busy, and of course I had to wait for a plane to deliver this to you.
You begin your letter, “Dear Michael,” I begin mine as you see. Is it bad manners to call you “My Darling” on the basis of one night together? (How I wish to have another like it!) I don’t care. You are my darling.
I do not feel for you what you feel for me. I feel twice as much! I have thought about you day and night since you left. Before I met you, I had no belief in “love at first sight.” Now I do.
I must see you again soon, but I am a soldier and cannot leave my post. I know you also have your responsibilities, but if there is a way for you to return here, I beg you, take it! Please write to me straight away. If I cannot hold you, I must be content to embrace your words. All my love,
Michael
In a delirium, she read it again, hungering for more. Her instinct was to fly to him that day, but those responsibilities he mentioned stopped her. By luck—or was it by God’s design?—her responsibilities came to her aid. Ken had studied her report and called her on the sat phone to make arrangements for a redemption mission in the Nuba. This took time, but finally Michael contacted her by radio: Bashir would be arriving in New Tourom with more than one hundred captives. She informed Ken that everything was ready. He and the team arrived in Loki within the week.
In some ways, being near each other was a worse trial than being apart. Michael was aware of her dilemma, and when she landed with Ken and the others, he greeted her with a serious mien and a handshake. Throughout the afternoon the feigning of disinterest strained their nerves. Quinette and her colleagues were put up in a compound of empty tukuls near St. Andrew’s mission. She shared hers with Jean, the Canadian nurse. To know that Michael was at his headquarters, less than a kilometer away, and to be unable to go to him was an agony. The next day, as they waited for Bashir’s arrival with the captives, she resolved to take a risk. That night, after Jean was asleep, she crept out and walked to Michael’s compound, daring not to carry a flashlight though it was a moonless night. Two armed men stood watch by the entrance. His bodyguards! She’d forgotten about them. There was nothing for it now but to brass it through. She approached them and asked to see the commander. While one stayed with her, the other went inside and soon reappeared with Michael, clad only in his shorts.
“Are you mad?” he said. “This is dangerous.”
“I couldn’t bear it any longer. I had to see you.”
“Dangerous in more ways than one,” he scolded. “There are leopards in the Nuba, and they hunt at night.” He murmured to the guards, who went off.
“What did you tell them?” Quinette asked.
“Never mind. I sent them away. They can be trusted.” He drew her into the courtyard, and as he embraced her, she felt ready to jump out of her skin. “You are a madwoman, but I