The Fall of Saints Read Online Free Page A

Zack. Yesterday I was an illegal immigrant. My mother was dead. My father had denied me. My womb would not carry a life. Zack had given me a home, a country, and a child. In return, I inwardly assured him of my devotion. I made sure he had the privacy he needed and kept Kobi away from his office down the hall from the kitchen. It was the least I could do.
    A few years later, with the blood and tears of agony flowing all around me, hope and deliverance precariously resting in the Kenyan police force, I would wonder whether it wasn’t a higher order that made me break my pact with myself to stay away from Zack’s office.

3
    A ctually, a rat gave me a reason to finally enter the office. Even before Kobi came into our lives, Zack kept his office locked. I had never needed to enter: I always saw it as the space he needed for himself. After all, I had my little space—which I hardly ever used or locked—and we had an office where we kept papers of common interest. But the little unwelcome guest broke my routine. For a whole week, the creature played tricks, entering at times and in places of its choosing. Sometimes Rosie and Kobi would join me in the chase without success. So I called the exterminators.
    Zack and Kobi were out for a drive. The office, which I had left till last, was immaculate. Everything was in its place. A rat would never find something to eat or a corner to hide. I had it fumigated all the same. After writing the exterminator a check, I went back to the office to ensure that everything was back in place. A piece of paper stuck out of a file in one of the drawers. I pulled the file with the intention of retrieving the paper, but instead, the entire folder landed on the floor. And with it, a gun.
    I held the thing in my hands briefly: It brought back memories of my brief moment at the shooting range and the encounter with the gunman at Shamrock. Zack obviously had the same love affair with guns as all Americans. I was afraid of guns and quickly put it back in the drawer. More worrisome were the scattered papers, reminiscent of my first encounter with Zack. He might well think I did these things on purpose.
    I started to assemble them. As I did, I saw Kobi’s name and a phone number on a piece of paper. I shoved the scrap in my pocket and put the folder back in place. Flustered, I closed the door and went downstairs, and retrieved the piece of paper from my pocket. Besides Kobi’s name and a phone number, there was nothing else on the piece of paper. I paused. The number did not ring a bell. I flipped the piece of paper. Nothing on the back. What had the number to do with my son? Was it the adoption agency’s? Or . . . could it belong to another woman? Curiosity aroused, I picked up the phone, not sure what I would say. Then I put it down. Better to use my cell phone. The number I dialed was currently not available, said the answering robot.
    “What is wrong with me?” I muttered to myself. Zack could have been talking about Kobi and scribbled down his name in the process. I felt bad for suspecting Zack of secret telephone liaisons with another woman. He had never given me reason; he had been very open about his affairs before we married, including his stint with Melinda. I had kept my relationship with the man from Ohio to myself. Zack and Melinda had maintained a healthy relationship of mutual respect and friendship. I had erased mine with Sam, not even opening his emails.
    Boisterous noise downstairs alerted me that Zack and Kobi had returned. I put the paper in my side drawer, tucked under some other stuff, and went downstairs, a little flustered at my furtive behavior.
    “Hi, Mommy, did they find the rat?” Kobi asked when I joined them in the kitchen.
    “No, they didn’t but the poison will get him.”
    The next day, after I dropped Kobi off at school, I went upstairs, took out the piece of paper, and scrutinized it. I saw some faint writing on the back. I held it against the light, then