In the chaos following the nightclub bombing the story of Ruby’s disappearance never travelled beyond her immediate community. Ruby had been the daughter of one of the ill paid native porters at the American hotel and during the year in which she turned sixteen two local men had begun fighting over her. One happened to be the chief of police while the other was the chief’s former friend and associate, the organiser of an illegal lottery. This pair had vied in their ambition to have Ruby as a mistress. Ruby’s father, insignificant as he was, did his best to fob them off by spinning some yarn about his daughter’s betrothal to her cousin, the son of the headman back in his home village on the slopes of the volcano. He did this not so much to spare Ruby the policeman or the lottery owner—they weren’t such terrible fellows—but to leverage his daughter’s position. In response the lottery fellow threatened to have the head of the son of the village headman separated from his body and the policemen threated to have the next volcanic incineration of the man’s village brought considerably forward. Ruby’s father sensed they weren’t joking. Certainly not the policeman. So the bombing came as a welcome diversion. But once Ruby’s father had seen off the airport minibuses evacuating the expats and returned to the snarl of shanties at the rear of the now deserted hotel he discovered Ruby had vamoosed. When she hadn’t returned by the next day he guessed either the policeman or the lottery owner had taken advantage of the chaos to make off with their prize.
literally stories 