“Everyone said that about Kenya,” she rejoined. “Then the whole country blew up.”
They reached the airport as the sun rose above the plains. Joseph pulled into the drop-off lane and stopped beside the curb. He regarded her silently, and she realized that he was at a loss for words. Something had changed in their relationship the night before. She felt more comfortable in his presence, but at the same time she felt vulnerable, as if in giving voice to her attraction she had shed a layer of psychological clothing. From the look in Joseph’s eyes, she knew the feeling was mutual.
“I’ll call you when I buy my return ticket,” she said. She hesitated and then kissed him lightly on the cheek before climbing out of the truck.
After passing through security, she took a seat in the departure lounge. At some point, her eyes were drawn to a television monitor hanging from the ceiling. A newscaster from the BBC was giving an update on the primary race in the United States. In advance of the debate in Orlando, her father’s lead had tightened from fifteen points to eight, and a new challenger—the Governor of Kansas—had surged on a wave of anti-establishment rhetoric. The telecast showed the Senator waving to a cheering crowd, while the announcer, in voiceover commentary, questioned whether he could hold on to his advantage. Zoe shook her head. It was surreal to see her father surrounded by such adulation and controversy.
The flight to Johannesburg lasted a brief two hours, and she dozed through most of it. When the plane began its descent, she watched the city take shape through the skein of brownish haze. She saw the great flat-topped mine dumps of the Witwatersrand in the distance, and smiled. During her year in the judicial trenches with Judge van der Merwe, she had explored the many dimensions of the city—the gritty urban core, the not quite desegregated townships, the leafy suburbs and lush parklands—and had developed a deep fondness for it. While in many ways crass and dangerous, Johannesburg was the birthplace of the Soweto uprising against apartheid and the repository of the continent’s greatest legal treasure—the South African Constitution.
The plane touched down at OR Tambo International Airport at half past nine. An hour later, she left the airport driving a sporty Volkswagen coupé. She navigated toward the N12 and placed a call to Dr. Johannè Luyt. At first, the epidemiologist was skeptical of her request, but she warmed when Zoe told her about Dr. Kruger’s role in saving Godfrey’s life. She took Zoe’s number and promised to call her back.
Traffic heading into the city center was a bumper-to-bumper mess of flashing lights and honking horns. Zoe’s iPhone rang in the midst of the gridlock.
“I spoke with Dr. Kruger,” said Dr. Luyt. “Can you come to Wits?”
“Of course. Where shall I meet you?”
“How about the steps of the Great Hall?”
“I’ll be there in half an hour.”
Zoe arrived at East Campus of the University of the Witwatersrand a few minutes ahead of schedule. After obtaining a visitor’s pass, she parked in the lot at the top of the hill and followed a path to the terraced lawns of the quad. The campus was alive with activity—students hurrying to class, professors engaging in conversation, and rugby enthusiasts grappling with one another in the grass. She walked toward the imposing edifice of the Great Hall. A thin middle-aged woman in a white lab coat was standing on the steps.
Zoe waved. “Dr. Luyt,” she said, holding out her hand, “I’m Zoe Fleming.”
The doctor returned her handshake curtly. “Dr. Kruger is in the field today.”
“Will he be available tomorrow?” Zoe asked.
Dr. Luyt looked at her carefully. “I might be able to arrange a meeting, but I wanted to speak to you first. The findings of our recent study have generated an avalanche of interest. We have had to be cautious with our time.”
Zoe concealed her puzzlement with a fib. “I know of the study but not the findings.”
Dr. Luyt’s voice grew passionate. “We worked with HIV-discordant couples—that is, one positive partner and one negative partner—and introduced antiretrovirals early, as prevention rather than treatment. We had only one new infection in the study period—an astonishing result. We now believe that with early ARV treatment and prenatal treatment of HIV-positive mothers it may be possible to eliminate the transmission of the virus over the next generation.”
“Eliminate?” Zoe was astounded. “You’re talking about a future without AIDS?”
“It would take time, but yes. The only question is whether the politicians will give us the funding.” She began to walk down the path beneath flowering trees. “Tell me more about the young man Dr. Kruger saved.”