Free Sudan: A Novel by Ninie Hammon Page B

every black basketball player on his team at Purdue—which was just about the whole team—his heart remained true to what Ron had not so affectionately dubbed his “twang-twang” music.
    And it burned, burned, burned, the ring of fire, the ring of...
    The phone. Who on earth would call at this time of night? Then he heard Sherry’s shout from the top of the stairs, and he couldn’t get to the extension fast enough.
    “It’s about time you called!” Dan said—more like bellowed. Ron could have sworn it was the voice of their father. Both men could address an auditorium full of people without using a mike, and the old ladies in the back row could hear them without turning up their hearing aids. “Where are you?”
    “I’m sitting right here in beautiful downtown Khartoum, home of the hottest kebabs and the ugliest women you’ve ever seen.”
    “Not exactly a tour bus destination, huh.”
    “It’s best described as the sphincter of the rectum of the universe.” Then the playfulness drained out of Ron’s voice. “Dan, what’s going on in Sudan is worse than anything you’ve heard.”
    “Are you OK?” There was apprehension in Dan’s voice.
    “As what’s-her-name the housekeeper used to say..."
    Then the two responded in unison in a singsong duet: “I haven’t had so much fun since the last time I cleaned the oven.”
    “Really, I’m fine. Tired, dirty—well, actually, I happen to be rested and clean right now, but it’s the first time in weeks, and it won’t last. I’m good to go—just massively frustrated. I still haven’t found what I came here for.”
    “And that is?” Dan knew the answer to the question before he asked it. Still, there was always a chance his younger brother had set his sights on a different, safer goal. Not a very big chance, but still...
    “A slave auction.”
    Even though Ron spoke barely above a whisper, Dan could hear the steely determination in his voice and recognized it instantly. It sounded just like their father.
    “I won’t leave here until I get pictures of one. I think I’ve finally found a guy who can help me. He lost his job as a professor at the university because he committed the heinous crime of being a normal, reasonable, moderate Muslim.”
    “And the ruling lunatic Muslim fringe only wants wild-eyed, foaming-at-the-mouth crazies to incite the masses to jihad.”
    “You’ve done your homework.” Ron wasn’t surprised by his brother’s quick grasp of the situation, but he was glad to hear it all the same. Sometimes, when he was in the middle of a nightmare like Sudan, he’d get to thinking that there wasn’t a soul outside that world who grasped, or cared, what was going on. It was reassuring to know that his brother did.
    Dan stretched his long legs out in front of him and leaned back. “Yeah, but you’re right there in the classroom.” He paused. “It’s ugly, isn’t it?”
    “Uglier than you can possibly imagine. I just delivered a stack of documentation to a correspondent.” Ron brushed his sun-bleached hair out of his blue eyes in a gesture that had become habitual, and wondered if he could possibly snag a haircut before the barge chugged out of the dock. “I’ve talked to former slaves in refugee camps. Real horror stories, Dan. You need to be very, very grateful that your kids don’t have to grow up on this side of the planet.”
    There was a heartbeat of silence while Ron switched his focus to his brother’s side of the world. “How’s the bill going?” He looked around to be sure nobody lingered nearby before he continued. “Unless the U.S., the U.N., or somebody gets some help to southern Sudan soon, there won’t be anybody left to save.”
    Dan’s voice sounded flat and tired. “Next Monday I’ve got a meeting to talk about the bill with a few of my esteemed colleagues, at least one of whom has likened this particular piece of legislation to the warm, sticky substance you find on the south side of a horse going