154 The Lonely Leader (1/2)
No one had challenged him on his way home, although a couple of times he saw heads turn and felt many eyes following his progress as he pedaled furiously, making the bicycle go so fast he actually overtook an ancient, farting scooter. He told himself that only the people waiting at the entrance to the colonial office knew his backpack was full of implant kits, but it didn't help much.
Implant kits were destined to become very, very precious. The size of the crowd at the colonial office convinced Samir of that. There had been several hundred people there. Samir was sure that without the soldiers being present, they'd have thrown themselves at him and knocked him off his bike and robbed him.
He felt very relieved when he finally turned onto the path that led to the front door of his house. It had seen plenty of traffic recently, and was rapidly turning into mud. He had to get it paved - maybe he could ask the men working on his house to help with that?
But the workmen had other ideas. When Samir entered the house, they were standing around the unfinished staircase in a moody silence. The eyes that met Samir's were full of grievance.
”What's the matter?” he asked right away.
The foreman took a step forward, and said:
”We have run out of blocks. We cannot finish the staircase.”
”Can't you get more?”
”We can, but concrete blocks are very heavy. And we have no transport.”
”Ask Mr Leduc to provide some. He told me he would provide your transport.”
”There is no free transport at the supermarket. They are very busy. It's their first day of normal business after a long break. They're very busy.”
”I heard that the first time around,” snapped Samir. ”It doesn't make sense. What's stopping you from borrowing a couple of carts for a few hours?”
”They're all very busy.”
”The carts are busy? The donkeys are busy?”
”Yes.”
Samir laughed. It was a short, bitter laugh, the kind of laughter that follows an unpleasant discovery.
”All right,” he said. ”What do you want to get this done?”
The workmen all fell into silent contemplation. Finally the foreman said:
”We will need to hire transport.”
”Can you do that?”
”We will have to pay.”
”You mean I'll have to pay,” said Samir. ”All right. I'm listening.”
”I think ten kilos of smoked meat,” said the foreman. His men murmured in approval, and he added:
”And maybe another ten of greens and fruit.”
”What makes you think I've got smoked meat?”
”We could smell it.”
”That's all gone. We've sold it. We hardly ate any ourselves.”
”Then you should get some more,” said the foreman. There was another murmur of approval.
”Come with me,” he said, and led him to the storeroom. It was the room across from the one he used to share with Rani. Used to, because presently it acted as the communal kitchen and dining room. Samir and Rani slept in the storeroom; they'd moved the launch pad in Kulaba so that goods sent from there arrived in the far corner of the room.
Rani and Samir slept under the room's biggest, double window: even then, sometimes they found it hard to fall asleep because of the intense smell of all the food gathered in the room. It was strong enough to make the foreman stagger when he stepped inside.
”You see?” said Samir. ”Half a basket of mangoes, two baskets of greens, and some saltfish. That's all we have right now.”
”You forgot about the air potatoes,” said the foreman, pointing.
”And you forgot that I already paid you with food for the whole week. Including tomorrow and Sunday.”
”I need the food to hire an ox cart,” said the foreman cunningly. ”I don't need it for myself.”
”I see. And the cart's owner told you he wanted smoked meat?”
”Yes.”
It was such a stupid, brazen lie that Samir was speechless for a moment. But there was nothing he could do. Accusing the foreman of lying would only result in his acting offended, and refusing to cooperate. And Samir needed him to cooperate. He needed everyone to cooperate.
He felt very alone when he realized that. Even Rani seemed to be in the other camp.
”All right,” he said to the foreman. ”Take ten kilos of greens and air potatoes as initial payment, and I'll make sure to have the meat by the time you've brought the blocks in. Agreed?”
It was, after some haggling that substituted a kilo of greens for saltfish.
Having dealt with that problem, Samir tackled another. He went to talk to Madan. The room Madan shared with Kali had a freshly installed door, and Samir saw that it was hung crooked. He would have to get the workers to fix that, and they would likely have more demands.
Repeated knocking on the door produced no result, so Samir pushed it open and saw that both Madan and Kali were fast asleep. He shook Madan's shoulder, then shook it again. On the third attempt, Madan finally opened his eyes.
”We have to talk,” Samir told him. ”Join me in the room when you're ready.”
'The room' meant the communal kitchen and dining room. It had automatically become the headquarters of the whole enterprise, thus confirming the old truth that most new ventures are launched around the kitchen table.
While he was waiting for Madan, Samir quickly ate some cold rice with chutney and - after a short hesitation - a strip of smoked antelope meat from the wicker box at the very back of the kitchen larder. He was brewing a pot of tea when Madan entered, drops of water from his wake-up wash glistening on his forehead.
To Samir's surprise, Madan seemed to be in an excellent mood: recent experiences had made Samir expect fresh problems everywhere he looked. It turned out Madan had a very good reason for his high spirits.
”I am proud to tell you, my friend, that we now have metal tools in Kulaba,” he announced right away. ”We have a bronze hammer, and two bronze knives. I am working on a pair of tongs. And Neil has brought in another antelope. That boy is an excellent hunter.”
”That's good,” Samir said. ”I need ten kilos of smoked meat right away.” And he told Madan about the workers' ultimatum. He didn't get any sympathy; Madan pooh-poohed his difficulties.