Part 20 (1/2)
”Money.” The crowd surged again, and made me part of it. A new car arrived behind me. The crowd turned like a flock of birds on the wing and pushed me toward the open doors. Big men with dark gla.s.ses got out and made a s.p.a.ce around the watekni broker. He was a small Luhya in a long white jellaba and the uniform shades. He had a mean mouth. He fanned a fistful of paper slips. My hand went out by instinct and I found a slip in it. A single word was printed on it: Nimepata.
”Pa.s.sword of the day,” my thin friend said. ”Gets you into the system.”
”Over there, over there,” one of the big men said, pointing to an old bus at the end of the alley. I ran to the bus. I could feel a hundred people on my heels. There was another big man at the bus door.
”What're your languages?” the big man demanded.
”English and a bit of French,” I told him.
”You waste my f.u.c.king time, kid,” the man shouted. He tore the pa.s.sword slip from my hand, pushed me so hard, with two hands, I fell. I saw feet, crus.h.i.+ng feet, and I rolled underneath the bus and out the other side. I did not stop running until I was out of the district of the watekni and into streets with people on them. I did not see if the famine-boy got a slip. I hope he did.
Singers wanted, said the sign by the flight of street stairs to an upper floor. So, my skills had no value in the information technology market. There were other markets. I climbed the stairs. They led to a room so dark I could not at first make out its dimensions. It smelled of beer, cigarettes and poppers.
I sensed a number of men.
”Your sign says you want singers,” I called into the dark.
”Come in then.” The man's voice was low and dark, smoky, like an old hut. I ventured in. As my eyes grew used to the dark, I saw tables, chairs upturned on them, a bar, a raised stage area. I saw a number of dark figures at a table, and the glow of cigarettes.
”Let's have you.”
”Where?”
”There.”
I got up on the stage. A light stabbed me and blinded me.
'Take your top off.”
I hesitated, then unb.u.t.toned my blouse. I slipped it off, stood with my arms loosely folded over my b.r.e.a.s.t.s. I could not see the men, but I felt the shanty-eyes.
”You stand like a Christian child,” a smoky voice said. ”Let's see the goods.”
I unfolded my arms. I stood in the silver light for what seemed like hours.
”Don't you want to hear me sing?”
”Girl, you could sing like an angel, but if you don't have the architecture . ..”
I picked up my blouse and reb.u.t.toned it. It was much more shaming putting it on than taking it off. I climbed down off the stage. The men began to talk and laugh. As I reached the door, the dark voice called me.
”Can you do a message?”
”What do you want?”
”Run this down the street for me right quick.”
I saw fingers hold up a small gla.s.s vial. It guttered in the light from the open door.
”Down the street.”
”To the American Emba.s.sy.”
”I can find that.”
”That's good. You give it to a man.”
”What man?”
”You tell the guard on the gate. He'll know.”
”How will he know me?”
”Say you're from Brother Dust.”
”And how much will Brother Dust pay me?”
The men laughed.
”Enough.”
”In my hand?”
”Only way to do business.”
”We have a deal.”
”Good girl. Hey.”
”What?”
”Don't you want to know what it is?”
”Do you want to tell me?”
”They're fullerenes. They're from the Chaga. Do you understand that? They are alien spores. The Americans want them. They can use them to build things, from nothing up. Do you understand any of this?”
”A little.”
”So be it. One last thing.”
”What?”
”You don't carry it in your hand. You don't carry it anywhere on you. You get my meaning?”
”I think I do.”