In the kitchen, a newspaper sat on the kitchen table. I read the top: HERO GENERAL RESCUES NIKOS PARIS; WILL COLLECT MILLION-DOLLAR REWARD.
The General was collecting a reward? He was the one who had taken me in the first place. What a liar. I thought about telling Papa as soon as I saw him but decided not to. I just wanted it all to be over. I wanted to forget.
We rode in the General’s fancy Mercedes convertible, the seats covered in zebra hides. I sat in the back with my “hero,” wondering what it’d be like to see Papa and Thea again.
“Tell your father about the villagers who are suffering. He must stop buying up all the crops for fuel.”
“Why don’t you give the million dollars to the villagers?” I asked.
“You know nothing of how the world works, boy.”
“I know what I see. You live in a big house and feed your fat belly while your people are hungry. You’re worse than my father.” I wasn’t afraid of the General anymore, or anyone, really.
“I did what I had to do to help my people. Your father is all greed. He only cares about money. I wonder what he would have paid if your sister had been kidnapped. That was my plan, but Kofi made a mistake. Maybe it worked out better this way. Oba would have loved Thea.”
I got so mad at him. I thought about stabbing the General to make my kill count fifty.
“We’re here.” The Mercedes pulled into a small private airport where my father had parked his jet. Locals lined up on the road, cheering, holding signs. The General smiled and waved. This was his big moment. I hated him.
We stopped beside the Learjet with Paris Industries painted on the side. I glanced up. Papa walked down the stairs of the plane holding Thea’s hand, smiling for the cameras. He looked healthy, like he hadn’t missed a meal or a night’s sleep. Thea’s cheeks were rosy and pink, her eyes glowing with happiness. I was glad she was okay, that I’d protected her that night.
I climbed out of the car slowly, my body still sore. My father opened his arms for a hug. I stuck out my hand instead. Papa grabbed my hand with both of his and squeezed hard. Then he turned and smiled so the reporters could take a photo. Bastard. All he wanted was a story in the papers about his company.
I stood completely still, frozen like Thea had been that night.
I realized something—the General was right about my father. He only cared about making money.
REAL LIFE
It has been months since I’ve been back. I’ve been writing these pages for you, Dr. Goldberg. You wanted me to tell what happened. I showed the journal to Papa. After he read my story, he was quiet for a long time. Then he said softly, “You must never speak of this to anyone other than Dr. Goldberg, not even your sister.”
I asked him why I shouldn’t tell people what had really happened, and he said it would ruin my future, because people would be scared of me. I said, “But it wasn’t my fault.” And Papa said that sometimes that doesn’t matter.
I was sent to a medical clinic for a while. I had to do all sorts of tests, and people watched me all the time. Finally they let me out. After that, I started doing whatever I felt like. Sometimes I saw Papa staring at me like I was a dangerous animal. He didn’t talk about me taking over Paris Industries anymore. Now I’m going to a special school in Utah to “get help,” but I know that Papa wants me out of his sight. He doesn’t like what I did in the camp, but I just did what I had to to survive.
I will miss Thea. I’m taking her music box with me to Utah. Taking it apart and putting it back together makes me think about that night when my life changed. Papa said the song was about a man coming home, looking for a yellow ribbon to see if his family still loved him. There was no yellow ribbon for me.
That’s fine. I won’t let anyone bully me again.
No one disrespects Mzungu. No one.
The ink smeared on the final page, wet from Thea’s tears. It was the first time in years she could remember crying outside the refuge of a shower. She touched the old music box, the familiar notes playing in her mind.
She pictured Nikos when he was younger, full of potential. The abduction had stolen not only his freedom, but his entire future. Instead of becoming an oil baron, he’d become a killer.
Prime Minister Kimweri stirred, opening his eyes and sitting up. “Are you okay, my dear? I’m sorry about your father’s kidnapping. He’s a good man.”
He’d misunderstood her tears—or maybe not, as she had been crying for both men in her family: her brother, who’d suffered such hell, and her father, who hadn’t been able to cope with his damaged son.
She wiped the wetness from her face and pulled herself together. “Have you heard any rumors about Christos’s abduction? Do you think General Jemwa is involved?”
“I’ve heard nothing, I’m afraid. The general has a small army and a lot of influence in Kanzi, but I don’t see him having the international reach or resources to kidnap Christos Paris like that.”
“Unless he had a partner,” she said.
“A powerful partner.”