blue uniforms strolled along Alick Nkhata. Joseph watched them with fond pity as he dried a beaker and the centrifuge tubes. He hadn’t gone to his UNZA classes in ages, not since Naila had transferred out. The One Hundred Years Clinic and RIP Beds & Coffins were schools of a different sort.
Just as he finished drying, he heard loud voices next door. Joseph walked over to the woodyard, slipping through the gap between a dresser and a coffin. Jacob was leaning against a tree, jeans low on his hips. Joseph’s eyes narrowed – Jacob hadn’t come by in a couple of weeks. He was talking to God, who was facing away, a block plane in his hand.
‘Isa kuno, iwe,’ God called. ‘Come closer if you want to ask for things! You need what?’
Jacob strode over to him and God’s hand fell onto his shoulder. He gestured for Jacob to assist and they levered a plank onto the trestle. As God began shaving bits of wood off it, their words grew inaudible. In the bright midday light, the wood flakes looked like scraps of gold.
God stopped to point at the metal lumps around the yard. ‘And what are these?’
‘False starts,’ said Jacob.
‘You buy these machines and just break them,’ God chided, picking up a discarded drone.
‘I’m almost there, bashikulu,’ Jacob protested.
‘Almost!’ God laughed and tossed the machine to the ground again. ‘No, I’m not throwing kwacha away so you can build some more almost-robots.’
‘I’ll lend you the money.’ Joseph stepped forward.
Jacob gaped, a laugh catching in his throat. ‘I will not owe money to a stranger—’
‘Ah, you!’ God shoved Jacob towards Joseph. ‘You need the money? So take it.’
* * *
I never thought about that possibility. You think? Jacob is darker than both my dad and his mum, so I always assumed – although Sylvia’s skin is artificially light after all. AMBI-valent, so to speak. And the genetics of skin colour do play out in unpredictable ways.
Naila. I miss you. There’s a crack in my screen because Musadabwe’s secretary boy dropped my phone, but I got your WhatsApp. Your new haircut is lovely. Why did you decide to dye it silver? I’ve never seen that before – it looks like a helmet. My Joan of Arc. You’ll call me a fool for giving any of Gran’s money away, especially to Jacob, and for drones at that. But he’s aiming high, right? Striving for innovation! I sound like a muzungu. Maybe you’re right – maybe it’s just guilt like he really is my brother. Is the selfie you sent from the rally you told me about, after the protests? You look so hopeful. So strong.
* * *
‘Eye for an eye. Or is it tit-for-tat?’
Joseph reached out his hand.
‘Are we bazungu that we must shake on it?’
Joseph blinked and lowered his hand. He leaned down, opened his satchel, and took out a paper bag with the money in it. ‘Okay, here it is. Five thousand sharp,’ he said.
He sat on the high stool, watching Jacob take the block of kwacha notes and count them out, slipping them onto the workbench. Joseph looked over the loan contract – he had printed it out this morning without proofreading it. Jacob counted the money again in that leisurely way of his.
‘So,’ Jacob said finally, pinching the bridge of his nose.
Joseph was at the sink, idly rinsing out test tubes.
‘What are you doing in here with this Virus thing?’
Joseph looked at him. ‘I’ve told you. Musadabwe and I are trying to cure it. We’re scientists.’
‘Scientists? Nts.’
Joseph folded his damp arms across his chest. ‘What word would you prefer? Doctors?’
‘What do you know about doctors?’ Jacob sucked his teeth again.
‘Yes, of course. Africans know nothing about medicine,’ Joseph said sardonically.
Jacob pointed his finger in Joseph’s face. ‘I know your medicine is killing my mother.’
Rage beat across the air between them. Standing across from each other in this dark room had kindled something.
‘Jacob. The Virus is killing your mother, not the medicine.’
‘Your father is the one who brought her to this clinic.’
‘He did not take her away from you.’ Joseph released the words one at a time.
‘You people are using her!’ Jacob shouted. ‘For experiments!’
‘No! I don’t know exactly how my father did his experiments, but we’ve only used animal subjects.’ Joseph strode across the room and opened the door to the yard between the lab and the clinic, where they kept the crates of mice and chickens. His words cut through the smell of shit and bleach and