grilled white asparagus. Forty-eight U.S. dollars. Keita wondered what a meal like that would cost in America.
“I’ll take the oatmeal,” he said to the waiter. Keita would eat oatmeal another day in another country if he played his cards right.
“Have it with the berries and cashews,” Hamm said. “Good for runners and full of natural stimulants.”
“Would you also like brûlée?” the waiter asked.
“Brûlée?”
“With a custard and baked brown sugar glaze.”
Keita nodded to the waiter. His father was dead and Keita was ordering the most expensive meal of his life.
Had they tortured Yoyo again? Or killed him quickly? Did he ask for anything before he died? Keita imagined his father saying: I’ve had a good life, so go ahead and do it quickly.
Hamm spoke of the times he had seen Keita run lately: in a ten-kilometre race and in a half-marathon. He mentioned Keita’s times; he had memorized them.
“You run very well,” Hamm said, “but you could use more coaching. If you like, I’ll see that you get some advice from one of the running coaches in America.”
“Why would American coaches know anything? Their runners never win. They’re barely faster than the runners from Canada or from Freedom State.”
“Don’t knock Freedom State,” Hamm said. “They’re investing a lot of money to develop a marathon infrastructure. They may see a breakthrough.”
“How do I sign up?” Keita said.
Hamm took a thick envelope and passed it over the table. “Inside,you’ll find two thousand dollars U.S. The same amount that every runner gets. No exceptions.”
“Thank you,” Keita said. “But I meant the contract. What are the rules?” Although he was asking questions, Keita would sign any paper necessary to leave the country.
“The contract is straightforward,” Hamm said. “Inside Zantoroland, you can race as you see fit. Outside Zantoroland, I own you. I decide when and where you will race. I pay the entry fees and get you there, arrange your room and board while you’re overseas, and I bring you back. I also arrange and pay for your passport and visas.”
“What is the percentage?”
“Since I absorb all the costs, I take eighty percent of your winnings. You get the remaining twenty percent, in American dollars, at the end of each running tour, once you are back here.”
“Seems steep.” Keita said it only because he didn’t want to appear desperate.
“If you don’t want it, we won’t waste any more time.”
“I have two conditions,” Keita said.
Hamm laughed. “You are in no position to impose conditions.”
“Then consider them requests.”
“Shoot,” Hamm said.
“I want to run Boston. This year.”
“The Boston Marathon is in a few days. Are you ready?”
“Yes.”
“You’re cutting it awfully close,” Hamm said.
“You’ve been telling me for years to get in touch. Well, here I am, and ready to go.”
“Boston usually leaves an extra spot for me. I’ll get you in. What’s the second condition?”
“When are you leaving?”
“I’m flying to the United States tonight.”
“I propose to travel with you.”
“It will cost me extra to get you a flight that fast. You will have to run like hell in America to make this up to me.”
“Understood.”
Hamm stood for a handshake. Keita risked taking it and was relieved that the agent did not attempt to crush his hand.
A S SOON AS HE LANDED AT B OSTON’S L OGAN I NTERNATIONAL Airport, he began emailing and calling Charity. He left more messages on her voice mail, but still she did not reply. He had imagined that she would greet him with hugs, screams of joy and tears. They would console each other for the death of their father, and Charity would be able to advise Keita about how to apply for asylum in the United States. Perhaps he would be allowed to stay because of his promise as a marathoner. If not, he would have to go into hiding until a solution presented itself.
Keita had imagined that after
“I’ll take the oatmeal,” he said to the waiter. Keita would eat oatmeal another day in another country if he played his cards right.
“Have it with the berries and cashews,” Hamm said. “Good for runners and full of natural stimulants.”
“Would you also like brûlée?” the waiter asked.
“Brûlée?”
“With a custard and baked brown sugar glaze.”
Keita nodded to the waiter. His father was dead and Keita was ordering the most expensive meal of his life.
Had they tortured Yoyo again? Or killed him quickly? Did he ask for anything before he died? Keita imagined his father saying: I’ve had a good life, so go ahead and do it quickly.
Hamm spoke of the times he had seen Keita run lately: in a ten-kilometre race and in a half-marathon. He mentioned Keita’s times; he had memorized them.
“You run very well,” Hamm said, “but you could use more coaching. If you like, I’ll see that you get some advice from one of the running coaches in America.”
“Why would American coaches know anything? Their runners never win. They’re barely faster than the runners from Canada or from Freedom State.”
“Don’t knock Freedom State,” Hamm said. “They’re investing a lot of money to develop a marathon infrastructure. They may see a breakthrough.”
“How do I sign up?” Keita said.
Hamm took a thick envelope and passed it over the table. “Inside,you’ll find two thousand dollars U.S. The same amount that every runner gets. No exceptions.”
“Thank you,” Keita said. “But I meant the contract. What are the rules?” Although he was asking questions, Keita would sign any paper necessary to leave the country.
“The contract is straightforward,” Hamm said. “Inside Zantoroland, you can race as you see fit. Outside Zantoroland, I own you. I decide when and where you will race. I pay the entry fees and get you there, arrange your room and board while you’re overseas, and I bring you back. I also arrange and pay for your passport and visas.”
“What is the percentage?”
“Since I absorb all the costs, I take eighty percent of your winnings. You get the remaining twenty percent, in American dollars, at the end of each running tour, once you are back here.”
“Seems steep.” Keita said it only because he didn’t want to appear desperate.
“If you don’t want it, we won’t waste any more time.”
“I have two conditions,” Keita said.
Hamm laughed. “You are in no position to impose conditions.”
“Then consider them requests.”
“Shoot,” Hamm said.
“I want to run Boston. This year.”
“The Boston Marathon is in a few days. Are you ready?”
“Yes.”
“You’re cutting it awfully close,” Hamm said.
“You’ve been telling me for years to get in touch. Well, here I am, and ready to go.”
“Boston usually leaves an extra spot for me. I’ll get you in. What’s the second condition?”
“When are you leaving?”
“I’m flying to the United States tonight.”
“I propose to travel with you.”
“It will cost me extra to get you a flight that fast. You will have to run like hell in America to make this up to me.”
“Understood.”
Hamm stood for a handshake. Keita risked taking it and was relieved that the agent did not attempt to crush his hand.
A S SOON AS HE LANDED AT B OSTON’S L OGAN I NTERNATIONAL Airport, he began emailing and calling Charity. He left more messages on her voice mail, but still she did not reply. He had imagined that she would greet him with hugs, screams of joy and tears. They would console each other for the death of their father, and Charity would be able to advise Keita about how to apply for asylum in the United States. Perhaps he would be allowed to stay because of his promise as a marathoner. If not, he would have to go into hiding until a solution presented itself.
Keita had imagined that after
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