Indigo by Richard Wiley Page A

walked toward them Lawrence quickly joined him again, pulling him off to the side of the room, under the noisiest air conditioner.
    Jerry was about to thank Lawrence, to say, at least, that he was terribly glad not to be going back to jail, but Lawrence shushed him. “There is something rotten in Denmark,” Lawrence said.
    Jerry knew that well enough. What was rotten in Denmark was the trumped-up charge and the prolonged inability of Lawrence to get him out of jail. But now that he was out he was of a mind to forget all that, to get back to his office and see what was going on with the school. He was sure there was a great deal of work to be done and there was nothing he looked forward to more than doing it.
    â€œI don’t know,” said Jerry, “the judge certainly seems to be on our side.”
    â€œThat’s what I don’t understand,” said Lawrence. “You have just been freed on your own recognizance for the second time. I am proud to have pulled that off, but now that I’ve done it, I don’t trust it at all.”
    â€œWhat do you think?” said Jerry. “Now that I’m free should I fool them all and get the hell out of town?”
    He had meant his comment to sound light and he was ready to laugh when Lawrence did, but Lawrence’s demeanor was serious and no laugh came. “This is not the place to talk about it,” he said.
    Jerry Neal was not guilty of any crime but now that it appeared that he would not be deported for what he had not done, was his attorney telling him that something else was up and that he ought to run away? Jerry wanted to say something further, but the teachers were standing nearby and Lawrence, when he saw them, stepped away a little.
    Jerry looked at his watch, which had just been returned to him along with his other belongings from the jail. It was December 13, 1983. If he stayed in Nigeria, he would be standing trial for murder in just about four weeks’ time. What he wanted to do now was get together with Lawrence, to talk about the difference between deportation and flight, to discover what it was that Lawrence seemed to think had gone so terribly wrong.

    Jerry slept fitfully that night but spent the next day back in his office, trying to catch up on his work and meeting with various groups of teachers, most of whom would be leaving town for the three-week period of Christmas break. Since he was under house arrest he could not, of course, leave himself, but it didn’t matter. The idea of being alone on the campus appealed to him, giving him the feeling that he was breaking back into ordinary life in stages. That evening, however, he did attend a party, given in his honor at the home of Leonard Holtz, the school board president. He had become a kind of celebrity in the international community, and it was only by the strictest enforcement of his will that he avoided agreeing to a reception line.
    All of the school board members were at the party, as were many of the teachers and most of the people from the embassy who had children in the school. Leonard Holtz lived in an elegant house, one that overlooked the harbor. As he stood at one of the picture windows, Jerry could see ships leaving, and he imagined himself on one of them, creeping away.
    Jules’s food notwithstanding, Jerry had lost weight during his eleven days in jail. Now his best suit fit loosely, allowing him to twist his trousers half a turn around. He had his hands in his pockets and was thus experimenting when Leonard came over to him, accompanied by Lee Logar, a black American diplomat, new to town. Jerry had met Lee once before, but Leonard introduced them anyway. “Lee has been working on your case from the embassy side,” he said. “He had someone at the jail every day but nothing went according to plan. We did try, I hope you realize that, Jerry. If we weren’t in bloody Nigeria we’d have had you out on that first