Spirits' Gold

News of a Visitor

News of a VisitorThe fax machine came alive with a squealing squawking sound reminiscent of tuning a short-wave radio. When the connection was finally made, the printing started. Seated behind his desk, Roland looked up from the week-old London Times newspaper and wiped the perspiration from his forehead with a handkerchief as the ceiling fan pushed the sweltering air around the office. The paper grew in length in short spurts until suddenly the grunting sound paused as the paper cutter sliced off the first page allowing it to tumble into the tray. When the second page finished, a long sharp tone sounded, and the machine fell silent once again.

Roland pushed back his chair and maneuvered his stout frame across the room to retrieve the curled-up pages. He put on his glasses, spread the pages on his desk and studied them for a few seconds.

“Just what we need. Someone snooping around looking for problems. Just f*****g lovely.”

He was silent for a moment while he finished reading. “Brilliant. Just f*****g brilliant. I knew something like this was going to happen.”

“Kwame come in here.” He removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes.

I had been cleaning the main floor hallway but dropped my mop immediately to hurry into the General Manager's office. Roland, in his mid-sixties, often looked like he'd slept in his clothes. And today was no different. His cheeks and nose were red, and his hair needed cutting and was sticking out in all directions. Sometimes he would put his feet up on his desk and when he got up, his shirt tails would be hanging out. But beneath the untidy exterior he was a warm kind man with warm kind eyes and everyone, or almost everyone, loved him.

“Kwame, please go and find Mr. Konaté and ask him to come and see me.”

“Yes, Mr. Roland.”

I hurried downstairs to the Operation Manager's office. He was an ill-tempered man who I avoided whenever possible. As it happened, he had someone in his office and I was afraid to interrupt him. So, I stood waiting in the doorway a moment.

He finally looked up at me and said “Are you just going to stand there like an i***t or are you going to tell me what you want? I'm not a mind reader.”

“Mr. Konaté,” I said nervously. “Mr. Roland would like to see you in his office.”

Adjobi Konaté was physically intimidating. He was muscular to the point of being almost as wide as he was tall. His neck tapered from his shoulders to his ears truncating at the top of his shiny shaved head. He wore his shirt with several buttons undone and flashy gold chains draped down his chest. He sported enormous matching gold rings, one on each hand. Sweat rolled down his forehead and his white dress shirt clung to his soaking wet body becoming almost transparent.

Konaté was Ivorian but had spent several years working in the Ashanti Goldfields of neighboring Ghana. It was there that he gained his mining experience, and along with it, a heaping helping of conceit. The Ivory Coast had comparatively little mining history and this allowed him to brag about his knowledge and experience. He used this, as well as his physical stature to make himself stand out and intimidate others. Roland had hired him to oversee the day-to-day operations of the mine, which he did with an iron fist. He had an office in the Chateau and another at the mine but didn't live in the Chateau with the expatriates. He lived in a private house with his family in the city of Abengourou.

He was obviously annoyed at being interrupted and barked, “Can't you see I'm in a meeting you stupid boy? Tell him I will be along when I am finished.”

“Yes sir. I'm sorry for the interruption sir.”

I could see the visitor was the Head of Security, Lokossou Bamba. As I was leaving I heard Konaté say to Bamba, “I wish that drunken old fool would quit bothering me so I could get my work done.”

I felt extremely uncomfortable being stuck between those two. Roland was a nice man. He had always treated me, and everyone else, well. It was true that he drank too much. But he didn't bother anyone. On the contrary, the more he drank the more stories he would tell. And I loved to listen to his tales. But Konaté had nothing but great disrespect for him. I had often heard Konaté lie to Roland and talk badly about him behind his back. But there was nothing I could do about it short of telling Roland what Konaté had said. And I wasn't about to do that. I wouldn't do anything to hurt Roland. I wished the Spirits would get rid of Konaté.

“Mr. Konaté said he will be here shortly,” I said from the doorway of Roland's office.

I noticed he had poured some whiskey in his glass. It was three o'clock and he usually started around four or five. Probably the news in the fax had upset him. I went for ice.

On my way back from the kitchen I ran into Roland's wife, Jenny. She spotted the bucket of ice and said, “So the old boy is starting early today is he?”

She knew I didn't have an answer, so she continued, “Perhaps you would like to come to my room and spend some time with me Kwame? The old boy will have his nose stuck too deep in his whiskey glass to notice us. Your friend Afuom visits me sometimes. Perhaps he has told you about it?” she teased.

Jenny was quite pretty, short dark hair, tall and slim. Fifteen years younger than her husband, she had a reputation for flirting with the young men working in the Chateau. Afuom, the gardener's helper, had indeed told me about his encounters with her, and he seemed to be quite enjoying the experience. I didn't know how much was true and how much was Afuom's imagination but didn't want to have anything to do with Jenny. Her behavior made me feel uncomfortable and badly for Roland.

“I'm sorry Mrs. Jenny, I must finish my work or Nsia will be unhappy with me.” I said putting the blame on the head housekeeper and rushed off down the hall.

I heard her giggle behind me and say, “Come and see me if you change your mind.”

Jenny was Roland's second wife. He told me they met while working in Johannesburg for a large South African gold mining company. Jenny had been Roland's secretary when he was Vice President of Operations. The couple didn't have any children.

When I arrived at Roland's office, Konaté was there, reading the fax. When he finished he placed it back down on Roland's cluttered desk and said, “So what?”

I added ice to what remained of Roland's drink and put the bucket beside the bottle.

“So what? Are you crazy? This guy, Conner Jackson, is being sent here from Canada by the company's financial backers to look for flaws in our operation. What if he uncovers something here that we don't want uncovered? That's what.” Roland picked up his glass and took a long pull.

I stepped back out to the hall to continue my cleaning but Roland's door was still open. I could see Konaté leaning back in his chair with his wrists resting on his belly and his fingers together in the shape of a roof.

“Relax Roland. He can't possibly find anything. I think you're giving this guy too much credit. He'll probably spend most of his time here drinking beer and chasing women. And besides, we've been extremely careful.”

“Of course, we've been careful, but his job is to find things that we don't want anyone to find. That's what he does. And we must give him free rein,” Roland said as he drained his glass.

“That's why I'm here. I know how to handle guys like this “Conner Jackson” fellow. I'll keep him on a short leash. You'll see.”

“I'm sorry I don't share your confidence,” Roland responded. “We don't want to end up with our balls in a ringer. I wish I never got mixed up in this.”

Konaté leaned forward in his chair, stared at Roland for a moment and calmly said, “I'm afraid it's a little late for that Roland.” Then he stood up and walked out of the office.