manically round the room. His breathing. Shallow. Short. Teeth grinding down. Biting hard. Panting, he rested his gaze back on John. ‘Whatever you say… I accept it.’
‘Coop…? You okay?’
‘Fine.’
‘Your mouth’s bleeding.’
Cooper touched his lips with his fingers. Saw the blood. ‘I’ll be damned, must’ve bitten my tongue.’
‘You sound real strange. Coop, are you on something?’
‘No.’
‘You know you can trust me, right? I don’t want to see you going down that road again.’
‘It wasn’t that bad.’
‘Come off it. You were doctor shopping with the best of them. What was it? About twenty, twenty-five different doctors, all writing prescriptions for you in different aliases for painkillers, benzos and opiates, and God knows what else. The way you were and what you did, it’s amazing the court only sentenced you to psychological sessions.’
Cooper shifted uncomfortably. He said, ‘It’s not like that anymore. It’s all good.’
‘I hope so Coop, because you don’t realize how much your behavior affects everyone around you. I’m not laying the blame here but when you just took off to Eritrea and then fell off the radar, Jackson was in a real dark place. I wasn’t sure what I’d find from one morning to another when I went into his room…’
The president stopped. Embarrassed. Overwhelmed. Cooper decided it was probably a bit of both. But whatever it was, he wasn’t going to push it, he could see John was unprepared for his emotions taking such a stranglehold.
After a minute or so, and regaining his composure, Woods continued. ‘Jackson needs you, Coop… he values your friendship above anything else.’
‘And that’s why I lie to him is it? Because my friendship’s so valuable…? It’s all based on a house of cards, John.’
President Woods stared at Cooper in disbelief. ‘You want me to tell him the truth? Is that it? Is this what this is all about?’
Cooper tried his best to mirror Woods’s look of incredulity, but the pills were making his face feel strange. Kinda numb. ‘The truth?’ he said with scorn. ‘Don’t make me laugh, John. Everything’s secrets and lies. So no, that’s not what I’m saying. I just want you to keep the hell out of my work and my business. So you don’t have to worry, I’ll continue being part of your lies. Though, on reflection, I guess it also makes it convenient for you to keep Jackson in the dark because we both know it sure as hell would destroy you if it got out.’
‘Wait a goddamn minute, you really think…’
‘Hey guys…’ Jackson, burst exuberantly into the room with Cora piggybacking. He stopped by the door. Frowned. Glanced at Cooper. Glanced at his father. ‘What’s going on?’
‘I was just telling Coop about last month’s Redskins game.’
Jackson pulled a face. ‘Why does everyone say they’re talking about football when they don’t want to say what they were really talking about?’
President Woods winked at his son as he popped a peanut in his mouth. ‘Okay, I was actually telling Cooper he needs to look after himself.’
‘He’s right, Coop.’
Not wanting to get into it with Jackson, Cooper picked up a small framed photo of the president standing next to Captain Beau Neill. ‘I haven’t seen this before.’
Woods moved round to look at which of the numerous photographs sitting on the mahogany cabinet Cooper had picked up. He gave a small laugh. ‘That’s the day your Uncle Beau became Captain. He had to go and see the promotion board, but he’d been staying with me and he’d left his jacket at the base. My car wouldn’t start, so I had to get my next door neighbor to give him a lift on the back of his Harley to get there in time, and you know how much Beau hates bikes… They were good times.’
There was a knock on the door.
‘Yes?’
A young woman, with a quiet demeanour and hair scraped back too tight, entered. Said,
‘Mr. President, they’re waiting for you downstairs. Senator Walmsley’s call is due in seven minutes.’
‘Thanks, I’ll be with you in a moment.’
John Woods waited for the woman to leave the room, always liking to create a discernible divide between his private and public life. ‘Jackson, I’ll see you tonight. Coop, will you still be around later?’
Cooper gave a small nod. ‘I don’t think so, sir, so I’ll see you around.’
In the wet steaming air, near where the muddy brown waters of the Congo River ran deep, Papa Bemba stood over the mounds of unmarked red clay graves. It was best this way. Best for the possessed to remain without a name. To die alone. Unmourned. Unseen. Far away from the living.
Emmanuel had started to ask questions, when there should have been none to ask. Shown concern where there was no place for his scrutiny. And though he’d been warned, his asinine tongue had plagued his words. Voicing his opinion against what he’d learned. Then driven on by an injudicious spirit, and demons which had taken over his mind, Emmanuel had tried to direct others to his way of thinking.
When the illness had struck Emmanuel he’d known it was just. Unlike the others, his illness had been one where repentance and payment were not enough. He’d needed to be an example, to show the villagers how unwise it had been to question Papa Bemba.
Then afterwards, Emmanuel’s family had come to speak to him, asking him the whereabouts of their son. The whereabouts of his body. Wanting to give him a burial he didn’t deserve. But Papa Bemba hadn’t told them because he hadn’t known. Though once he’d thought about it, it seemed so clear. Emmanuel was obviously walking amongst them. Part of the living dead. Because how else had his body disappeared from the hut? Emmanuel had gone. Risen up to walk again. And it was obvious to him that with the power of wicked prayer, Emmanuel’s family had brought him back from the dead – getting him to walk with evil once more. But his family had paid the price. A heavy price. And the sorcery had been burnt out from them just like the others.
‘Papa Bemba are you ready to go?’
He nodded, turning towards the voice of Lumumba, a worthy man, who’d worked for him for six years.
‘I am. What time is it?’
‘Nearly four o clock. Shall I take you to them?’
Papa Bemba stayed silent for a moment. Although his certainty in his calling was irrefutable, and he would continue to follow the path set out before him, there was a lot of work to be done.
Smiling and using Lumumba’s arm to guide him across the uneven ground, Papa Bemba spoke. ‘No, I want to rest, I need to think more about Emmanuel. The others
