Sometimes two and two don’t add up to four. They don’t add up at all.’
‘If you came here to give me a lesson in art, you’re wasting your time.’
‘I came here to ask for your help, for old times’ sake.’
‘And I told you, the old times didn’t do you any favours. It’s over and done with, so why don’t you get off my boat?’
Damazeen was leaning on the railing. He studied Makana for a moment. ‘What if I was to tell you this was your chance to get back at Mek Nimr.’
‘What do you know about Mek Nimr?’
‘Quite a lot as it happens.’ Damazeen smiled. He knew he had Makana’s attention now. ‘We were partners at one time, in a business venture. You probably still think of him as an upstart. A man who was once your adjutant, a plodding sergeant in heavy boots. Well, you would be surprised. There is more to him than meets the eye. Did you know he attended Khartoum University? No? He never graduated, of course, he was suspended for political activities. But he was an activist for the Brotherhood. Before that he spent two years studying veterinary science. A farmer, can you imagine?’ Damazeen’s laughter spilled happily across the water. ‘He hails from a remote village in Kordofan, where his father was the sheikh at the local mosque. In another age he would have been educated abroad and brought up to enter the diplomatic service. Perhaps that is why he developed such resentment for those who were more fortunate than him in life.’
‘I’m having trouble seeing how any of this is relevant.’
Damazeen smiled. ‘You have to remember, the days of national salvation are over. This is the new age of pragmatism. You wouldn’t recognise the country. Things have changed. The new oil money has made everyone rich. When I went back I soon found myself swept into the highest circles, among the military men and politicians who are running the country. The Chinese and Malaysians are busy exploiting the petrol and it flows through the hands of these men. They are greedy and they know it will not last for ever.’
‘So you’re making a lot of money, mabrouk, now you can leave.’
‘She was a very special woman, Muna. You must miss her a lot, up here in your splendid exile.’ Damazeen’s face was half in shadow, but Makana could tell he was smiling. He was enjoying this. ‘When she first started seeing you we used to tease her. A police officer? What on earth could you have in common? She felt sorry for you. A man whose dedication to his work was all he had to believe in. She thought she could save you from yourself.’
When he went to pick her up at the university he used to change into civilian clothes, but she used to insist that he was handsome in his uniform, that he made the country proud. He never understood what that meant until she said it. He could barely remember her face, all he could recall was her, the way she was.
‘Why have you come here?’
‘I told you, I need your help.’
‘You have a funny way of asking. Right now I’m more inclined to throw you into the water.’
‘We are fighting a war in the south that we cannot win. The soldiers are disillusioned. They don’t know the bush. They just want to go home. To distract people’s minds from the fact the government is calling it a jihad, a holy war. The young men who die in it are martyrs. The president visits the homes of the fallen and calls for a celebration, telling distraught parents their son is now married to houris in heaven. Nobody believes that nonsense any more, except a small group of fanatics, like Mek Nimr.’
Makana recalled the hapless figure of his NCO. Underneath the meek exterior lay a shrewd and very dangerous man, as Makana was to find out at his own cost. He made sure that when Makana’s course collided with that of the regime’s new order, his career would be over. Makana was lucky to get away with his life but in the process he lost Muna and his daughter Nasra.
‘Mek Nimr will never be satisfied until you are dead,’ Damazeen went on. ‘He let you get away that night on the bridge, but it is as if he carries you inside him and can never be rid of you.’
Three years ago Makana had run into a dangerous man named Daud Bulatt,