“Did Andrew visit you there?”
“He did, but not as frequently. I sometimes think I shouldn’t have sold the house in Bulawayo. He didn’t know anyone in Gaborone—I had an apartment there—and when he was on break, he wanted to see his friends. Of course, Kim wanted time with him, too. Sometimes I would return to Bulawayo and stay in a hotel, but that wasn’t the same, either. He was an adult by then. A young one, but I could see he was beginning his own life.”
“What did he study?”
“He ended up taking a first in chemistry, and talked about becoming an engineer. But after he graduated, he became interested in precious gems, especially colored diamonds. He’s a diamond broker now, which means he travels to New York City and Beijing regularly. He was a good lad who turned into a fine young man.”
“I’d like to meet him one day.”
“I’d like that, too,” he said.
“Does he ever go back to Zimbabwe?”
“Not often. Nor do Kim or I. Zimbabwe is experiencing some difficult times.”
“I read about the land confiscation. Did that affect your family farm?”
Tru nodded. “It did. You should understand that there’s been a long history of wrongs committed in that country by people like my grandfather. Even so, the transition was brutal. My stepfather knew a lot of people in the government, and because of that, he thought that he would be protected. But one morning, a group of soldiers and government officials showed up and surrounded the property. The officials had legal documents stating that the farm had been seized, along with all of its assets. Everything. My stepfather and half brothers were given twenty minutes to gather their personal things, and were escorted off the property at gunpoint. A few of our workers protested and they were shot on the spot. And just like that, the farm and all the land was no longer theirs. There was nothing they could do. That was in 2002. I was in Botswana by then, and I was told that my stepfather went downhill pretty quickly. He started drinking heavily, and he committed suicide about a year later.”
She thought back to Tru’s family history. It felt epic and dark, almost Shakespearean. “That’s terrible.”
“It was. And still is, even for the people who received the land. They didn’t know what to do with it, didn’t know how to maintain the equipment or the irrigation methods, and they didn’t rotate the crops correctly. Now nothing is being grown at all. Our farm turned into a squatters’ camp, and the same thing has happened all over the country. Add in the currency collapse, and…”
When he trailed off, Hope tried to imagine it. “It sounds like you got out just in time.”
“It makes me sad, though. Zimbabwe will always be my home.”
“What about your half brothers?”
Tru drained his glass and set it on the table. “Both are in Tanzania. Both are farming again, but it’s nothing like it was before. They don’t have much land, and what they do have isn’t nearly as fertile as the old farm. But the only reason I know that is because they had to borrow money from me, and they’re not always able to make the payments.”
“That was kind of you. To help them, I mean.”
“They had no more ability to choose the family they were born into than I did. Beyond that, though, I think it’s what my mum would have wanted me to do.”
“What about your biological father? Did you ever see him again?”
“No,” Tru said. “We spoke on the phone a couple of weeks after I returned to Zimbabwe, but he passed away not long after that.”
“How about his other children? Did you ever change your mind about meeting them?”
“No,” Tru answered. “And I’m fairly sure they didn’t want to get to know me, either. The letter from the attorney informing me of my father’s death made that clear. I don’t know their reasons—maybe it was because I was a reminder that their mother wasn’t the only woman our father loved, or maybe they were worried about an inheritance, but I saw no reason to ignore their wishes. Like my father, they were strangers.”
“I’m still glad you had a chance to meet him.”
He turned his gaze toward the fire. “I am, too. I still have the photographs and drawings he gave me. It seems like so long ago,” he said.
“It has been a long time,” she said quietly.
“Too long,” he said, taking her hand, and she knew that he was talking about her. She felt her cheeks flush, even as his thumb began to caress her skin, his touch achingly familiar. How was it possible that they’d found each other again? And what was happening to them now? He seemed unchanged from the man she’d once fallen for, but it made her think again how different her own life had become. Where he was as handsome as ever, she felt her age; where he seemed at ease in her presence, his touch triggered another wave of emotion. It was overwhelming, almost too much, and she squeezed his hand before releasing it. She wasn’t ready for that much intimacy yet, but she gave an encouraging smile before sitting up straight.
“So, let me see if I have this straight. You were in Hwange until…1999 or 2000? And then you moved to Botswana?”
He nodded. “1999. I was in Botswana for five years.”
“And then?”
“I think, for that, I’ll probably need another glass of wine.”
“Let me get it.” Taking his glass, she retreated to the kitchen before returning a minute later. She got comfortable beneath the blanket again, thinking the room was warming up nicely. Cozy. In many ways, it had already been a perfect afternoon.
“All right,” she said, “what year was this?”
“2004.”
“What happened?”
“I was in an accident,” he said. “A rather bad one.”
“How bad?”
He took a sip of wine, his eyes on hers. “I died.”
DYING
As he lay in the ditch by the side of the highway, Tru could feel his life slipping away. He was only dimly aware of his overturned truck with the demolished front end, and of the way one of the tires was finally rotating to a stop; he barely noticed the people rushing toward him. He wasn’t sure where he was or what had happened, or why the world seemed blurry. He didn’t understand why he couldn’t seem to move his legs, or what was causing the relentless waves of pain throughout his entire body.