Free Sudan: A Novel by Ninie Hammon

shower in there. Soap. Water. Personal hygiene products, things like that.”
    “In the morning...”
    “You smell like a goat!”
    “Long as I sleep like one.” And then he was out.

    Ron had gotten up just after dawn. He felt rested and refreshed. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept as sound and deep, and he treasured the good night’s rest as a gift. A shower, shave and clean clothes had transformed his spirit as well as his appearance. Add to that a good breakfast with Olford in the hotel restaurant, which he wouldn’t have given five stars, even though it was certainly better than any cuisine he’d had in a long time. He’d have preferred American ham and eggs, but he’d ordered maschi, tomatoes stuffed with chopped beef, and his all-time favorite dessert, a Sudanese custard called crème carmela.
    He and Olford had quietly talked business, and agreed that when Ron had the shots he wanted, he’d contact Olford at the BBC Cairo Bureau using the Crocodile Dundee password.
    Ron had looked at the clock on the restaurant wall—7:30 a.m.—and decided to try to reach his brother. Olford had left to catch the 8:00 a.m. flight back to Cairo, and Ron needed to get to the dock before the 9:00 a.m. departure of the passenger barge for the return trip upriver. It would be 1:30 in the morning in Alexandria, Virginia, but knowing Dan, he would still be up.
    Ron left the restaurant and found a comfortable seat in the hotel’s phone bank, half a dozen payphones on a wall with carved wooden privacy partitions between them. He punched in the number of his telephone calling card and then followed the instructions of the computer un-person.
    Ron heard several clicks and then a female voice, as clear as if she sat right next to him, “Hello, Wolfsons.”
    “How’s my favorite redheaded sister-in-law?”
    “Ron?”
    “What in the world are you doing up at this hour?”
    “Ron! It’s so good to hear your voice! How are you?” Sherry didn’t wait for him to reply, just laughed tiredly. “And why am I still up? I have two words for you: History. Project.”
    “What?”
    “Don’t ask. You don’t want to know how I got roped into helping Jonathan build a replica of the Alamo out of sugar cubes.”
    Jonathan. Ron smiled at the image of the bundle of energy everyone said was the “spittin’ image of his uncle Ron.”
    “Sugar cubes?”
    “Or why I’m still up working on it while your favorite nephew snoozes away upstairs.”
    Ron’s smile widened. He could picture Sherry with her long curly hair pulled back in a ponytail, carefully arranging sugar cubes one on top of the other and—was she gluing them together? Would glue work on sugar?
    As Sherry continued her bubbly chatter, Ron thought, as he had hundreds of times before: Bro, you scored. Sherry had been his brother’s high school sweetheart, and Ron had secretly had a crush on her when he was a lowly sophomore and she and Dan were seniors. He had been the best man at their wedding. Even though a lifetime of serial relationships testified to Ron’s determination to remain a free spirit, in his heart he knew that if he ever found a woman who loved him like Sherry loved Dan, he’d get married in a heartbeat.
    “So how are the kids, I mean, the other kids?” he asked when she paused to take a breath.
    “Running me ragged. David made varsity and just started two-adays, Jennifer has band practice after school, and she’s determined not to give up cross-country. And Jonathan—don’t get me started!”
    “And my brother?”
    Sherry paused, and her tone grew somber. “Truth?”
    “No, lie to me. Come on, Sherry, of course I want the truth."
    “I’m worried about him, Ron. He works way too hard, drives himself like...like...oh, I don’t know.” Sherry’s voice trailed off. “I don’t want to exaggerate, but if he doesn’t slow down—and it’s not just the long hours. It’s the tension. He’s wound up tighter than...well, I can see the