“They passed Lester’s, the coffee shop on Eighty-fourth where Robert used to take Grace for breakfast sometimes before school.”
The fifth line of the fifth page of the fifth chapter of “The Horse Whisperer” by Nicholas Evans
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| credit Canva-Irena Szirtes |
In honour of Wilhelm Imiołczyk, whose name I've taken for this story.
In the living hell of WW2 Poland, his forged papers saved lives.
Hoods and Bots: Part Five
Bhuresi poured us coffee in the glossed kitchen
that graced her home in the village near our base. There was a single piece of
Zimbabwean folk art on the wall, a nod to her roots, to the ancestors who fled
Mugabe many decades ago. It looked incongruous among the sleek trappings of
high-tech modern life. But Bhuresi, even when decked in African fabrics and towering
headgear, never looked out of place. Without trying, she emanated an impression
it was everything and everyone else who might be just a little out of kilter with
her very own brand of normality.
“Now Mia. You say you want to discuss Roland. What’s your problem?”
She never was
one to waste time. I noted her assumption any problem was mine, not his. I
fixed my gaze on her younger image in the graduation photo opposite, rather
than meet her eyes.
“I want out these
six months of missions with him. I’ve always had a bad feeling about him. We’re
not compatible.”
“I’m
expecting you to work with him, not marry him. You know full well that after
six months he’ll be assigned to someone else. He needs to see as many tasks as
possible, and yours are very varied. Request denied.”
“Really?
Just like that? No discussion?”
“Really.
There’s nothing to discuss.”
“So, what
about my gut feeling?”
“What has he
done to justify it?”
“Nothing,
but...”
“All the
more reason to stay on assignment.”
I should have known this might be the
response of a scientist, someone who acted on evidence, not gut feelings. But
even Bhuresi, with a PhD in Marine Biology and recent promotion as an aide to
the leadership team, was usually more reasonable than this.
“But girl,
you’re to keep him observed,” she went on. “You use that gut feeling and watch
him, then report back everything to me. Get to know him. He’s far more likely
to open up to a colleague than to us, especially a young and pretty one.”
“But he’s ....
Bhuresi, please! He gives me the creeps! And he’s old enough to be my father,
and he doesn’t see me that way – he’s cold - reptilian comes to mind!”
She leaned across the table and looked
directly at me:
“Irrelevant Mia!
He’s a man, isn’t he?”
“He might be
gay, then my alleged charms won’t work.”
“Still irrelevant
– gays appreciate beauty like anyone else, don’t they? Besides, gay men
befriend women and vice versa - you know – friendship with no complications.
And there’s something else – you listen up, now - crucial times are coming.
World changing times! We need Roland, and so far, there’s every indication he’ll
turn out to be useful. His knowledge – his experience of the Regime, will prove
invaluable.”
“But
Bhuresi, please listen...” She swiped her hand in front of my face.
“No, you listen
to me. You must complete your allotted time with Roland. There’s an end to it. You need to toughen up, Mia. An assignment
like Roland is exactly what you need, because, to be brutally honest with you, you’re
going to have to get used to being less comfortable with your work. That’s the
bottom line. Things are changing, sooner than you think. The time’s approaching
when hiding underground and preserving our heritage won’t be enough. The
movement must come first now, more than ever before.”
Less comfortable
with my work? Was she referring to Paweł Imiołczyk, to not becoming the thing
you hate? She knew all about Paweł, of course, but did I really know Bhuresi? I
used to think so: she and my mother had been friends since university days, and
they'd kept in touch after Mum, long widowed, had moved to another unit with
her new partner. I’d encouraged her to
go – I’d just married Frank, and my future had looked settled. Now everything
seemed a little shifted, even Bhuresi, the lady I used to call Aunty B.
As I
got up to leave, she took my hand in both hers and looked right at me.
“We’re two
of a kind, Mia! If anyone could claim to be Resistance royalty, it’s you and I.
We, my dear, are daughters of destiny, marked for the fight. As for gut
feelings, I’ll wager one day you’ll make your mother – me too - proud. I’ve
always said you have a significant part to play.”
I shook my
head, but she nodded. “Yes! It’s true! Receive it, sister!”
Perhaps she was more than pure scientist after all.
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