A strong hand rubbed him across his shoulders. “It’s got to be so hard for you, to be one of the few survivors, having somehow escaped with little to no injury, while others have not been so fortunate.”
Nodding, Will dabbed at his eyes, hoping to clear them enough to identify who was speaking to him. It sounded mostly like Mr. Mwangi, but he wasn’t fully sure that it was.
“Are your legs going to recover?” the man asked.
“They’re supposed to,” Will replied. “I have no idea if they will. They were crushed, but they were put back together and are apparently healing well.”
“Well, I do hope they become strong again,” the man said. “And I see you have a bit of a scar on the back of your head. Did you hit it on something?”
Will nodded. “I have a concussion.”
“Oh,” the man said sympathetically. “That is not good. It is only your first one?”
“I’m pretty sure it is,” Will replied. “I don’t recall having gotten a concussion before.”
“Good, good, too many of those is not good for the brain,” the man said.
Finally clearing his eyes, Will looked at the man and found himself feeling a little disconcerted, as he didn’t recognise the man’s face. He was clearly a member of Sefu’s family, as he was dressed in the same traditional Kenyan mourning attire as everyone else, but Will had no idea who he was.
“You were very close to Sefu?” the man asked.
Will nodded. “He, was… the, the same age… as my brother.”
The man nodded. “Is your brother deceased as well?”
Unable to speak, Will nodded.
“I am sorry,” the man said. “He did not die in this crash, though?”
Will shook his head. “He died… when I was thirteen.”
“Oh,” the man said.
“But… Sefu, was also… like… another friend… I lost,” Will said.
“Previous to this you lost this friend?” the man asked.
“He was… murdered… by his stepfather… when we were seventeen,” Will replied.
“You have lost many people in your life,” the man said.
Will nodded. “My father too.”
“That is very, very sad,” the man said.
“I want it to be my turn already,” Will said.
A sudden shock shot through him and he covered his mouth with both hands.
“Why do you do that?” the man asked.
Will looked at the man warily. The man didn’t look to be terribly insulted, but Will didn’t dare uncover his mouth to elaborate.
“It is only natural for those who go through suffering to want it to end,” the man said.
Slowly Will uncovered his mouth, although he still didn’t say anything.
“And for people like you, who are among the few to survive such a great tragedy, the question is even more prominent,” the man said. “They call it survivor’s guilt. People who survive an incident question why they did, and others did not.”
Will nodded. He certainly wanted to know the answer to that question.
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