Excerpt from "Night Support" 

by Corin Cummings

As they pull into the Kilala’s ungated drive, the doctor appears in his doorway with his arms spread grandly. "Welcome, my friends, come in."

His modest cement-block house rests in a broad yard surrounded by banana and papaya trees. Wilma and Barney’s mama wags her tail and cowers at their feet.

"Lynn, my dear, how are you feeling?" asks the doctor as he kisses her on each cheek.

"Not quite one-hundred percent," she says, "but much better."

"I saw you at the office the other day, and I’m sorry to say you looked terrible. I should have sent you home." He holds her by the shoulders and smiles at her. "This isn’t your American university," he chuckles. "You mustn’t come to work with malaria."

"Next time I’ll stay home."

"I hope you don’t have a next time, my dear," he says as he turns from her. He calls to his wife, "Gosia, our guests have arrived."

From the kitchen bustles Mrs. Kilala, who cheerfully kisses their cheeks. "Alex, Lynn, Karibu sana. You are very welcome to our home." Gosia speaks with a heavy Polish accent.

"Asante, mama. Shikamoo," says Lynn.

"Marahaba," says Mrs. Kilala.

"My wife speaks Swahili perfectly, but English not quite," says the doctor. He places his hand on his wife’s shoulder. "My Polish, on the other hand, is quite rusty. Isn’t it, my dear?"

"Quite so, Kilala," she teases. Turning to Alex, she says, "So, Alex, how are you?" She grasps his hands warmly between hers. "Are you learning Swahili?"

"Kidogo," he says.

"Good boy," she smiles. "I must return to the kitchen."

*

Dr. Kilala seats his guests in the living room under a wobbling ceiling fan and offers drinks. "Are you a beer drinker, Alex? Have you had Kilimanjaro?"

"It’s my favorite so far."

The doctor nods seriously. "It’s the best." Turning to Lynn, he says, "For you, I will make one of my special cocktails."

"I’ve been warned about those," she says.

"Who told you, Dr. Mahinga? He’s had plenty of them!" Dr. Kilala laughs and punctuates his words with a waving finger. "You will love it, I promise you."

As he leaves the room, Lynn stands and tiptoes over to Alex. With a mischievous grin she gives him an unexpected kiss. "It’s times like this when I’m so happy you’re here," she whispers and returns to her seat. Alex knows she is afraid that he’s having second thoughts, but he’s no less warmed by her affection.

The exuberant Kilala re-enters the room and hands them drinks. He announces, "I have invited also some other Americans for you to meet. I think you will like them." Then he raises his glass and calls loudly, "May the money your Bill Gates has given for malaria be well spent!"

"No more malaria," echoes Lynn.

"As for me," says the doctor, smacking his lips after taking a drink, "I have found that beer drinking is prophylactic against malaria. Many nights, my friends and I have sat outside drinking beer with the mosquitoes, but we rarely become ill. My friends who do not drink, my wife, who only drinks Konyagi, get malaria much more frequently."

"Very scientific, doctor," says Lynn.

Alex laughs and takes his medicine.

"We don’t need these reasons, do we Alex?" says Kilala.

Another 4X4 pulls into the yard. "Our other guests have arrived."

*

Cindy and Robert are from Virginia. She works for USAID, and Robert is a supervisor for the construction of the new American embassy. Their daughters Bailey and Erin are thirteen and six. They have been in Dar for nearly a year, and Cindy is pregnant.

Dr. Kilala offers the girls soft drinks. Erin eagerly accepts, but Bailey is sulky and declines.

"Don’t mind her," says Cindy cheerfully. "She’s mad at us because we won’t send her to boarding school back home. Aren’t you, sweetie?"

With her back to her mother, Bailey sneers.

"You should have heard the arguments she put together. All she was missing was a PowerPoint presentation."

"Mom," Bailey protests.

"I’m complimenting you, darling. It was very professional. What was it you said? ‘Dar is the worst place in the world.’"

Bailey looks uncomfortably at the floor.

Alex sympathizes. "I don’t blame her."

"Thanks a lot," says Cindy, leaning over the coffee table to slap his leg. He catches a look from Lynn.

"Yes," says Dr. Kilala compassionately. "It must be difficult for a girl her age."

Just then Mrs. Kilala steps into the room to welcome everyone to dinner. Cindy hops to her feet, apparently unencumbered by her bulging belly, and nearly screams, "Oh, you’ve saved us all from dying of embarrassment."

*

As the guests circle the table to find their seats, Gosia smiles playfully and makes an announcement. "I must tell you first," she says. "My house girl is Islamic, so in respect for her, we are not having pork. We will have Catholic goat." Taking a moment to understand the joke, the group laughs, Cindy loudest of all.

Discussions begin as surprisingly elegant dishes of food are passed hand to hand. Dr. Kilala leans over to Alex and says, "Tell me, what are you writing about?" The doctor waves his long black finger at him and answers his own question. "You are writing about relationships."

Alex nods and takes up the serving spoon. "What makes you think so?"

"It is what concerns people your age," he says swiftly, then chuckles paternally. "You’ll get over it."

Across the table, Alex hears Lynn question Cindy about her pregnancy.

"I’m going home for delivery," says Cindy. "I’ll stay for a month, but then I’m coming back. We were in Kenya when Erin was an infant."

"Is it difficult here with kids?" asks Lynn.

"No," says Cindy, "People are great with kids. We have a fantastic nanny, and it’s so much easier at work. If you say you’re going home to nurse your baby nobody looks at you funny. Africans have much more respect for motherhood," she says resolutely.

Cindy has very large, cow-likes eyes, Alex notices.

"In this culture," offers Mrs. Kilala, "children belong to the village. One child is everyone’s child." The American women nod.

Alex turns to Robert and asks about bomb proofing the embassy.

*

In the dark yard after dinner and drinks, Robert carries his littlest daughter to the car and lays her in the back seat. Bailey tiredly drags her feet over the grass.

"Hang in there, Bailey," says Alex, eliciting her first and last smile of the evening.

"We’ll have to get together again," says Cindy, who is no less bubbly now than at the start of the evening. "We’ll have you over to dinner. You’ve got our e-mail, so drop us a line."

The Kilalas smile and wave to their guests from the lighted porch.

Clipping his seatbelt, Alex smiles at his tipsy girlfriend. She never drinks and drives. "You all right to drive, Princess?"

"I’m better off than you," she says. "You unlicensed driver." She turns the key to heat the coil. "I’ll show you princess." She starts the car and pulls roughly onto the road. Out of the darkness punch bowl-sized potholes appear in the headlights as if in a video game. Lynn works at the controls.

"There’s a joke I heard," she says after a bit. "You can always tell a drunk driver in Dar because he drives in a straight line."

Along the road the greasy fires at chip stands illuminate the glossy opal faces of men waiting for meals of fried potatoes and eggs. Patrons at road-side bars housed in battered steel shipping containers sip beer while seated on plastic lawn chairs. As they pass a more upscale bar, Alex sees Masai warriors directing cars into parking spots. In their traditional red robes and with clubs and knives, they stand watch over a new metal herd.

"Did we spook you with all the baby talk?"

Alex turns from the window and blinks to change focus. After a moment, he says, "Well, nobody wanted to point out all the diseases babies are exposed to here in mother-friendly Africa."

Lynn does not respond.

"Maybe," says Alex, "everyone is so nice to mothers because of the despair they face. Would you really want to have a baby here?"

"I don’t know," she shrugs and then says lightly, "I don’t have enough birth control pills for two years."

Alex scoffs. "Then maybe you should see a witch doctor about some local methods."

Lynn sputters an unwilling laugh.

After a bit, she says, "You know, you kind of put your foot in it with what you said about Bailey."

"I don’t care," he sighs. "She brought it up."

"Alex, you might not want to be so quick to judge things. You don’t really know what it’s like."

"Maybe," he says. "You know, Robert told me that someone poisoned their dog." The words escape before he can check them. As soon as Robert had mentioned it, Alex decided not to tell Lynn, at least not tonight. Lynn is almost desperately attached to her two dogs. She spoils them and insists she’s going to bring them back home with her, despite the customs regulations that make it ridiculously unlikely.

Alex sees she is blocking him out, and that eggs him on. "It was a black lab they brought from home. Robert said it’s common for thieves to poison dogs before they attempt a break-in."

*

They arrive home to find the electricity out. As they pull up to their driveway, Abdul’s angular face appears between the gates. He tells them that all of the Mikocheni neighborhood is out, probably because of the rain. They promise him a lantern and a thermos of coffee.

"No jumping," Alex tells the dogs as he gets out of the car.

"Listen to those frogs," drones Lynn wearily. "You practically have to shout over them."

"Hear that?" says Alex. "The neighbors have a generator. That’s what you ought to ask AFRAM for."

In the kitchen, Alex says he’ll take care of Abdul. Lynn goes to bed. Alex lights the gas jet on the stove to boil water. He’s glad to have had a few drinks. All the stories about break-ins have shaken him. He hopes the lights come back on.

*

"You Alright?" asks Lynn as Alex strips and gets under the bed net.

"Hot is all," he says. "How are you feeling?"

"Yeah," she says, "I don’t know if I’m still feverish or just hot."

"I could get you some ice cubes from the freezer," he says and kisses her damp forehead. "They’re going to melt anyway." He slips his hand beneath the sheet to rub her belly. "What do you suppose Abdul would think if we went and slept in the car with the AC on?"

"Crazy Wazungu."

Expanding the circle he makes with his palm, he kisses the corner of her mouth.

"What do you think you’re doing," she says slyly.

"Just kissing you goodnight," he says and rolls onto his back.

"That’s no goodnight kiss," says Lynn and leans over him.

"No?"

"Hmm," she sings with her breath. Beneath the sheet she straddles him.

"It’s hot. You’re sick," he fools.

"Hmm," she sings and begins to roll her hips. She closes her eyes.

That’s my Lynn, thinks Alex. She never says she’s tired, never says she’s sick. With his hands on her thighs, he pulls her closer. He thinks back to the night he arrived, how they’d been so tentative with each other, so unsure, like they’d just met. They’d been apart for three months. Three months isn’t that long, he thinks. Two years is long. He remembers how the gauzy veil of the bed net seemed like a silly prop. Now it marks a sanctuary, beneath the net is the only place he doesn’t slap at mosquitoes, real or imagined.

Lynn moves languidly on top of him, her eyes closed, the veil in her hair. When she slides off him, out of breath, she falls quickly to sleep despite the wet, suffocating heat.

Alex lies awake for hours listening to the frogs. The sweaty black air seems to visibly shake with their collective roar. He picks apart the layers of frog noise: croakers, peepers, a whole skin-breathing orchestra. He is slick with sweat and alcoholic spininess. He rides on the chortle of frogs, floating on their dark, wet howling. It’s a sound, he thinks, that could only belong to slimy green creatures that flop in the mud like cursed birds or cursed fish. Crruuhhh, crruuhh, crruuuh …

Corin Cummings is from Vermont and lives in Toronto. "Night Support," the novella from which this piece is excerpted is available online from Wind River Press. Cummings was nominated for the Pushcart Prize in 2003 for his story "Biking Distance". His work has also recently appeared in the Mississippi Review and Tatlin's Tower. More of his work can be found at www.onewordlowercase.com.