“Well,” she said, “I can’t offer you a river cruise, but I do have a pool.”
“A swim sounds nice,” Joseph replied. “As long as you have a radio.”
They returned to Zoe’s flat and spent the afternoon lounging by the pool along with half of the residents of the complex, all on temporary leave. When the shadows grew long on the grass and the sun disappeared into the trees, Zoe invited Joseph to a makeshift dinner of ham sandwiches and apples—all she had left in her refrigerator. Afterward, they retired to the living room to watch movies, keeping Zoe’s iPhone tuned to the ZNBC news broadcast.
The hours marched on without an announcement. When the credits began to roll at the end of District 9—an alien invasion film set in Johannesburg—Zoe yawned and checked her watch. It was past midnight. She was about to make a trip to the bathroom when she heard the voice of Chief Justice Ernest Sakala of Zambia’s Supreme Court come on the radio. She turned off the TV and increased the volume on her iPhone, holding her breath as Sakala began to recite the vote count.
“Michael C. Sata of the Patriot Front: 1,170,966 votes. Rupiah B. Banda of the Movement for Multiparty Democracy: 987,866 votes. Hichilema Hakainde of the United Party for National Development: 506,763 votes …”
Zoe turned to Joseph and heaved a great sigh of relief. “It’s over, thank God. And PF has nothing to complain about.”
Joseph gave her an enigmatic look. “The people wanted change. But they chose another old man to lead them. I wonder what they will say about Sata in four years.”
Zoe imagined President Banda sitting in his palace, contemplating the end of two decades of MMD rule. How many of his friends had benefited from his patronage? How many in his government now feared for their livelihoods? She had a terrifying thought. He still had the military at his disposal. In Africa votes were paper things, no match for men with guns.
“Will Banda concede?” she asked. “What if he uses the army to force a recount?”
Joseph looked at her quizzically. “What is this worry? You are usually so confident.”
“I don’t know,” she admitted, feeling strangely vulnerable.
He shrugged. “Who knows what will happen? But life will go on. The President doesn’t make the world turn.”
This simple reassurance found deep purchase in Zoe’s heart. Her pulse increased, and she scooted closer to him. She couldn’t remember the last time she had responded this way to a man. All of her previous relationships had been transient things, inspired more by passing attraction than by compatibility or genuine passion. Watching her girlfriends receive rings and walk down the aisle, she had often thought that something inside her was broken. Every time she pictured herself in their place, she felt Clay Randall’s hands driving her into the sand. With Joseph, however, she felt safe. His dark eyes were only kind.
She placed a hand on his chest and leaned toward him. He grazed her cheek, and his touch made her shiver. Just before their lips met, she closed her eyes, wondering what it would be like to take him to her bed.
Suddenly, she felt fingers on her lips. “Not yet,” he said softly.
She opened her eyes. “Why?” she whispered.
He searched her face. “Good things should not be rushed.”
She didn’t know what it was that restrained her, but the anger she felt passed as quickly as it came. If he wants to wait, I can wait, she thought, nuzzling into him.
After a while she led him to the door and kissed him chastely. “Be safe tonight.”
“This was a good day,” he replied, and turned toward the stairs.
That night Zoe had one of the most vivid dreams of her life. She was standing on Los Angeles Road in Kanyama watching the gang leader in the green bandana and a hundred other kids celebrate PF’s victory when a convoy of trucks rumbled to a standstill, carrying soldiers with AK-47s. Shouts were exchanged and then the army opened fire on the revelers. As the street filled with bodies, the gang leader leered at her and said, “The fun is only beginning.”
In the morning, Zoe awoke with a sense of dread. She opened her MacBook and checked ZNBC, certain that the night had been consumed with violence. What she found astonished her. Rupiah Banda had called a press conference and was expected to deliver a concession speech. She read the story in disbelief, marveling that such a bitter contest could end without bloodshed.
After breakfast, she called Mariam and learned that the CILA office would reopen at noon. Remembering Joseph’s suggestion the day before, she pitched Mariam about approaching the Nyambos’ housekeeper. Mariam hesitated at first but eventually agreed.