Read Online Blue Gold by Elizabeth Stewart - Free Book Online

be gone from his presence.
    â€œYou are a stubborn one, you are. Like your father. Tell your mother not to fear for her son. He will be back with her by tomorrow.”
    Sylvie saw she would learn nothing more from Kayembe. She drew herself up, remembering her manners, and her dignity. “Thank you,” she said.
    He nodded his head in a slight bow. “One moment, fair mademoiselle. ” He went inside the shack that used to be his shop and came out with a small paper sack. “Please accept this with my compliments,” he said, handing it to her.
    â€œWhat is it?”
    â€œCassava flour, from back home.”
    Sylvie thought how happy the flour would make Mama. Now she could make real fufu ! Then she wondered how it was that Kayembe received goods from the Congo, here in the refugee camp. Or any of the goods he traded in, really. She knew better than to ask.
    â€œSweets for the sweet, as it were,” added Kayembe.
    As Sylvie walked away, she wondered why an important man like Kayembe found it necessary to mock her. But quickly her mind was filled with the question she had come to ask him, still unanswered: Where has Olivier gone? Now she had a new question: Is it too late to save him? She knew where she had to go next, if she had any hope of doing so.
    Â 
    â€œSYLVIE!” exclaimed Doctor Marie. She took Sylvie’s hand and squeezed it in the overly friendly way of North Americans, then checked herself and let her hand drop. “I’m so glad you’re here,” she said, smiling.
    In the waiting area, one of the nurses was taking a man’s temperature. Otherwise it was quiet inside the clinic. Not even the hum of the generator out back disturbed the calm. They were saving petrol—one of the cutbacks that had taken place recently, along with food rations.
    â€œThe picture you took,” Sylvie began. “Do you still have it?”
    Marie took her mobile phone out of her pocket and with a flick of her finger found the photo. “Here it is,” she said, showing the picture to Sylvie.
    Sylvie studied herself. If people saw past the scar, she wasn’t so bad looking. She might even look intelligent. Tears sprang to Sylvie’s eyes.
    â€œ Cherie , what’s wrong?”
    Marie moved toward Sylvie to give her a hug. By reflex, Sylvie pulled back.
    â€œSorry,” said Marie.
    Sylvie had never told Marie the reason why she didn’t like to be touched, but with the militias raping women, children, and even men in the villages they terrorized, she supposed Marie must have guessed.
    â€œPlease, can you send the photo to your friend?” asked Sylvie, her voice choking.
    â€œI’ll send it to Alain right away,” Marie told her. “He and some friends of his have a website they set up to tell people what’s happening in the Congo, because of coltan.”
    The idea that people somewhere knew about the suffering of the Congolese made her feel a little better.
    â€œI’m sorry for losing my temper the other day,” Sylvie apologized, and she meant it.
    â€œNo, Sylvie, it was my fault,” replied Marie. Now she was crying, too. “I had no right to make presumptions like that, to pressure you. Everything’s going to be okay,” she said, forcing a cheerful smile. “Alain will find a way to get you to Canada, where you’ll be safe.”
    Safe? Sylvie tried to imagine what that would feel like, to be in a place where there were no militias, no Kayembe. A worm of hope was taking hold inside her, that most deceiving of emotions that could lift the spirit but dash it just as quickly when promises fell through. Someday we will be gone from here. Someday we will be free . Could it be true? Could she trust this feeling?
    â€œWhat are you thinking, Sylvie?” asked Marie.
    â€œIt’s cold in Canada, isn’t it?” she replied.
    Marie laughed. “It’s summer there now. It’s not as hot as