“And the truth, sir,” Jende went on, unable to stop himself, “is that the paper I signed as marriage certificate at city hall is not what makes me feel like I marry my wife. That does not mean too much. It is the bride-price I paid. I give her family honor.”
“Well,” Clark said, clicking on his laptop, “I hope she’s been worth it.”
“Oh, yes, sir! She is. I have the best wife in the whole world, sir.”
They drove in silence for the next forty-five minutes. Traffic was sparse in the lower part of New Jersey except for tractor-trailers, which seemed to appear out of nowhere.
“So you think America is better than Cameroon?” Clark asked, still looking at his laptop.
“One million times, sir,” Jende said. “One million times. Look at me today, Mr. Edwards. Driving you in this nice car. You are talking to me as if I am somebody, and I am sitting in this seat, feeling as if I am somebody.”
Clark put aside the laptop and picked up another folder, one with loose sheets. He flipped through the sheets, scribbling on a writing pad. “What I’m curious about still,” he said, without pausing to look up at Jende, “is how you could buy a ticket to come to America if you said you were that poor.”
Once more Jende thought of the best answer. There was no shame in telling the truth, so he told it. “My cousin, sir,” he said. “Winston.”
“The associate at Dustin, Connors, and Solomon?”
“Yes, sir. He is the one who bought me a ticket. He felt sorry for me. My cousin, he is a better brother to me than some of my brothers from the same mother, same father.”
“And how did he get here?”
“He won the green card lottery, sir. Then he joined the army. He used the money—”
“I know,” Clark said. “Frank told me.”
His phone buzzed. He looked down at it and turned his face toward the window. The phone buzzed several more times before he picked it up. “No, I haven’t,” he said to the caller. “Why?” The car in the left lane honked and cut in front of them. “Arizona?” he said. “When did he tell you this? … Never mind, I’ll call him right now … No, I’m not mad. He’s got to have a pretty good reason, which I’d like to hear … Of course I don’t think it’s a good idea … Yes, yes, I’ll talk to him.”
He quickly dialed a number.
“Hi, it’s Dad,” he said. “Give me a call when you can, will you? Mom just told me you turned down the Skadden internship offer, and she’s very upset. Why are you doing this? She says you want to spend a month at a reservation in Arizona? I’m just … I’m not sure what your thinking is—Skadden’s a great opportunity for you, Vince. You can’t just throw it away because you’d rather go sit around in Arizona. Can’t you go there before or after the internship? Please call me back as soon as you get this. Or come to my office tomorrow. Call Leah and check my calendar. Just wish you’d talk to me before making a decision like this. I wish you didn’t go about making major decisions without talking to Mom and me. It’s the very least you can do.”
He hung up and sighed, a sigh as deep and audible as it was hopeless and defeated. “Unbelievable,” he muttered to himself. “Un-be-lieve-able.”
In the front seat, Jende drove in silence, though he yearned to tell Mr. Edwards he was sorry Vince had upset him, that nothing could be harder than a disobedient son.
For twenty minutes they rode up the turnpike in silence, from exit nine toward Rutgers University, to exit ten for Perth Amboy, behind tractor-trailers and beside sedans with napping babies and dogs sticking out their heads for air; above a sky that bore the same cumulus clouds that had been following them like spies for three hours. Clark made a call to Frank, asked if he could arrange an internship for Vince at Dustin, in case Skadden’s was no longer available; in case Vince realized that he had to start acting like a grown man.
“I’m glad you understand what an opportunity you’ve been given,” Clark said to Jende after getting off the phone with Frank. The tallest skyscrapers of Manhattan had just begun appearing as they entered northern New Jersey. “I’m glad someone understands when they’ve been given a great opportunity.”
Jende nodded with every word. He thought about the best thing to say to make Clark feel better, the right thing to say to his boss at a time like this. He decided to say what he believed. “I thank God every day for this opportunity, sir,” he said as he switched from the center to the left lane. “I thank God, and I believe I work hard, and one day I will have a good life here. My parents, they, too, will have a good life in Cameroon. And my son will grow up to be somebody, whatever he wants to be. I believe that anything is possible for anyone who is American. Truly do, sir. And in fact, sir, I hope that one day my son will grow up to be a great man like you.”
Seven
ON A SUNNY DAY IT WAS HARD TO SEE HOW FAR THE LEHMAN BROTHERS office tower extended into the sky. Its walls seemed to soar on forever, like an infinite spear, and though Jende sometimes pushed his head far back and squinted, he couldn’t see beyond the sunlight banging against the polished glass. But on a cloudy day, like the day he finally met Clark’s secretary, Leah, in person, he could see all the way to the top. Even without the sun’s rays falling on it, the building glimmered and Lehman Brothers stood regal and proud, like a prince of the Street.
Leah had called him around noon, saying he needed to drive back to Lehman from wherever he was: Clark had forgotten an important folder in the car and needed it for a three o’clock meeting. “No, I’ll meet you downstairs,” she said after Jende offered to bring it upstairs. “Clark’s going crazy today and I could use some air,” she whispered.
She arrived downstairs while he was leaning against the car with the folder in his hands. He had expected her to be small—tiny, even—based on her high-pitched honeyed voice and the girly manner in which she sometimes giggled at banal things he said, but she was wide and round, like some of the people he’d seen when he landed at Newark; thick and fleshy humans who had made him wonder if America was a country of large people. In Limbe there were perhaps two people of that size in a neighborhood of hundreds, but at the airport, walking from the plane through immigration and customs to baggage claim, he had counted at least twenty. Leah wasn’t as plump as the largest of the women he’d seen that day, but she was tall, a head above most of the women standing in front of the building. She walked toward him waving and smiling, dressed in a lime-green sweater and red pants, sporting a curly bob that reminded him of the crazy wig Neni wore whenever Fatou didn’t have time to braid her hair.
“So good to finally meet you!” Leah chanted, her voice even more sugary than on the phone. Her lipstick matched her pants, and her round face had at least a half dozen layers of makeup, which were woefully failing in concealing the deep lines circling her mouth.
“Me, too, Leah,” Jende said, smiling back and handing her the folder. “I was wondering if you were going to know it was me.”