by Donna White
At last he spoke. “It has been seven night,” he said.
Fire nodded. “And you have been running since?”
“Yes.”
“And what brigade were you in?”
“What brigade?”
“Yes, were you with Gilva, Sinia . . .?”
“I was in the Stockree brigade. It was the one that raided my village. But we were always under the command of Otti.”
“Not Kony?”
“No.”
“You were never under Kony command?”
“No.”
Fire untied her child from her back, lowered the top of her dress, and brought her child to her breast. She rocked back and forth.
“And where are your parent, Charlie?”
“They are both dead.”
“By the LRA?”
Charlie paused. “Yes,” he finally said. The word caught tight in his throat. Hearing it made it real and true.
“And how long were you with the LRA?”
“A year and more.”
“You were with the LRA for that long, and you were under Otti command? Were you part of the Atiak massacre, then?”
Charlie dropped his head to his chest.
“That is why the Arrow Boy wanted to kill you. I cannot put blame on them. Over three hundred people were killed that day.”
“I know,” Charlie said quietly. He stood and stared at Fire briefly. He felt an emptiness that a lifetime of tears could never fill. He turned his back to Fire and walked away.
“It was not your fault,” Fire said.
Charlie stopped. “Not my fault? What do you mean by that? I pulled the trigger. I swept my gun over and over those people. It was my bullet and my gun. I had a choice. My life or the life of three hundred? Not a hard choice to make.”
“Oh, but it is, Charlie. And no one know of the choice that had to be made kit kwo ma ilum.”
“Kit kwo ma ilum? Life in the bush?”
“Yes. There was the life in the bush, and now there is kit kwo ma gang, the life at home.”
“But I do not have a home, and I do not know if I will ever have one.”
“You will. All the spirit have protected you. They will show you your home.”
“And what make you think I deserve a home? Or want a home?”
“Because everyone . . .” Fire stopped.
Half a dozen boys walked out of the bush. Charlie studied their faces, but he didn’t recognize them from the past night. Their weapons, however, were the same: bows and arrows, machetes, and clubs. An older teen, a rifle slung over his shoulder and taking the lead, stopped in front of Fire and stared at her and Charlie.
Charlie glanced at the teen, then at Fire. She calmly took her sleeping child from her breast and wrapped him to her back, tightening the sash with a doubled knot.
“We have heard of the chop-chop boy who bring his evil to our village,” the teen said as he rubbed his hand over his gun and smiled. “Come now, ka-boy. Come now or we will do our job here.”
“He is staying with me, Nikisisa,” Fire said. “Go. You and your ka-boy are not welcome here.”
Nikisisa nodded at a boy who now stood behind Charlie. The boy grabbed Charlie from behind, lifted him, and wrapped his arm around his neck. He squeezed, blocking Charlie’s airway until Charlie’s face turned red and his eyes bulged. Charlie struggled and tried to pry the boy’s arm away. It was no use; his grip was strong.
Nikisisa rammed his rifle into Charlie’s gut. “We do not fear your foolish witchcraft, Fire,” he said. “The boy is ours. He must answer for his killing.”
Fire looked at the teen with calm indifference. She reached into her sack and pulled out a rope to which several goat horns and bones were attached. She stood and shook the rope. The horns and bones rattled, sending an ominous sound into the yard. All of the boys, except Nikisisa and the one holding Charlie, took a few steps back.
“You are foolish with your concoction and bone, Fire. I do not fear you.”
“Oh, but you should, Nikisisa,” Fire said, glancing at the gun.
Fire shook the rope harder, and the horns and bones rattled more loudly. She moaned—a long, soft moan that bounced off the trees and filled the clearing. She closed her eyes, then opened them to reveal two white orbs. Charlie shivered.
“Stop your stupidness!” Nikisisa yelled at Fire. The boy dragged Charlie toward the path.
Fire jumped in front of Nikisisa and held her arms out, rattling the rope around and around in wide circles.
“Ooo-maaarrr-aah!” she moaned. “Ooo-maaarrr-aah!”
Nikisisa pushed Fire aside with his gun and followed the boy as he dragged Charlie toward the pathway.
“You say you do not fear me, but you should, Nikisisa. I have told the spirit to curse you.”
Nikisisa pointed his gun at Fire. “Maybe you have some people believing you and all of that stupid witchcraft. But I know who you are, Fire. A fake. And I am tired of you controlling the mind of all these boy, making them believe you have these power.” He shoved the gun into her chest.
“Your gun has no power over me,” Fire said calmly.
“You have no control over me or this gun.”
Nikisisa pulled the trigger. Charlie froze. Nothing happened.
Again and again Nikisisa pulled back on the action. Nothing happened.
“See, Nikisisa? The spirit protect me. You are cursed and your gun is useless.”
The boy holding Charlie stared wide-eyed at Nikisisa for a second, threw Charlie to the ground, and ran. The rest of the boys followed close on his heels.
Nikisisa glared at Fire, dropped his gun, and walked away.
Fire took Charlie’s hand and helped him stand. “Come. There is some cassava that is needing the harvest. You can help.”
Chapter 5
The axe forgets what the tree remembers.
~ African proverb
Charlie sat cross-legged on the ground beside the fire and rested Nikisisa’s gun on his lap. He opened the bolt action and peered into the clip, then pushed down on the bullets. The bullets stayed tight and refused to lift into the chamber. He peered closer into the chamber and smiled.
“Yes, that would do it,” he whispered.
He pulled a knife out of Fire’s bag, and with careful precision, inserted the blade into the clip and found the piece of metal that was bent. He twisted the knife, reinserted it, and twisted it again, then looked at it from each side. The bent piece of metal at the top of the clip was now flat and straight. The bullets wouldn’t have any trouble getting into the chamber now. “I un-cursed the gun,” he said, putting it on the ground.
Fire shredded a large leaf into a pot of boiling water.
“So how did you know the gun would not work?” he asked.
“Because I told Anansi to jinx it.”
“You asked Anansi? The trickster god? You did no such thing, and you know it. You knew the gun would not work. How?”
Fire lifted a spoon from the pot and sniffed at the green liquid.
“I have been honest with you. Why can you not be honest with me? I do not believe that witchcraft stuff, and neither do you. Your act is good, but you are too smart to believe in it.”
“Too smart?”
“Yes. You knew about me at Atiak. You knew about all the brigade. And you knew the gun was jammed. How did you know?”
Fire took another leaf and ripped it in half.
“And you told me that what happened at Atiak was not my fault, and that no one know of the choice I had to make in the bush. How do you know all this?”
Fire continued to rip the leaf into smaller pieces.
“Fine. If you are going to be quiet, I can be quiet too.”
Charlie sat and looked at Fire, then to the burning logs, and back to her again. Finally, he spoke. “If you were taken by the LRA, why can you not say it just?”
Fire glanced at Charlie and sighed. “Because when you are a girl, there is more to lose.”
; Charlie paused. An image of a familiar face came to his mind. A girl. A very beautiful girl. Dark skin, the color of a saw-wing as the sun cast its evening glow upon its ebony feathers. And eyes. Eyes that looked upon you and made you feel that all was good and right with the world.
“You are very pretty, Deborah.”
“You are being silly, Charlie. You are only eleven year. A young boy should never be so bold to tell a girl she is pretty. You have been long long from your maa and have forgotten the manner.”
“But you are, and what is the harm in telling you that? If you are, then I must say you are.”
Charlie raked the coals while Deborah turned the corn. A young girl, with her child wrapped to her back, walked to the fire and held out a large leaf. Charlie made note of the two small boys following her and gave her six cobs. Without saying a word, she turned and walked away.
“Do you think I will be as beautiful as Giona?” Deborah said, pointing her chin in the girl’s direction.
“Will be as beautiful as Giona? You already are more beautiful.”
Deborah took a cob of the blackened corn and passed it to Charlie. She took a cob for herself and sat on an upturned pail and took a bite. They watched Giona make her way back to her hut and pass the cobs to her family: one to each child, three to her husband, and one for herself.
Charlie stared at Fire. The small white diamonds painted around her eyes didn’t mask her beauty. She removed her hat and wrapped a scarf around her head, covering her cropped hair. Quickly, Charlie lowered his gaze, but not before he had come to his conclusion: Fire was far more beautiful than Giona or Deborah. She would have been the cause of many fights within the army. A lot of the commanders would have wanted her for a wife. Even Kony would have wanted to add her to his group of wives. And what Kony wanted, he got.
Charlie inhaled in the steam that rose from the pot. Now what is Deborah cooking up today? he asked himself as he added some more wood to the fire and stirred the pot. He took pleasure in breathing in the spicy smell. He looked up as she stepped out of the bush carrying several large sticks.
“Careful with that. Stir it slow slow. You do not want to break the husk from the grain,” Deborah said.
Charlie’s eyes widened. He dropped the spoon into the fire.
“Careful!” she shouted.
Charlie retrieved the spoon and continued to stir, slowly, keeping his gaze on the pot. He closed his eyes, trying to shake the image away, but he couldn’t. Two huge scars now covered Deborah’s cheeks. Dried scabs of blood left two darkened lines, running from her nose to her earlobes.
Charlie wanted to tell her she was still more beautiful than Giona, that the scars her knife left behind in her attempt to destroy her beauty couldn’t hide it, but he didn’t.
“Eeh, I am not going to be letting you stay here if you are not going to do the work,” Fire said, interrupting Charlie’s thoughts. “I am sure you have peeled the cassava before. Grab a knife there and get to work.”
Charlie took a root and sliced into the thick skin.
“No no. Not like that. Be careful. You are taking much of the food away. Take small small slice of the peel.”
He readjusted his knife and carefully sliced a thin piece of the brownish-orange skin away. The two worked in silence until the pot was filled and Fire covered the African potatoes with water. Charlie placed the pot on the fire and covered it with a lid.
“Have you been here for long?” he asked, returning to his seat by the fire.
“Almost four month. Shortly after Maisha was born.”
“And you have been here, all alone. No one to share your day with?”
“Maisha is my joy,” Fire said, patting her child tied to her back. “He keep me happy and busy.”
“But there is no one else here. You are not lonely?”
“No.”
“What about the Arrow Boy? Do you keep their company sometime?”
“No. Only when they are wanting to know thing. The weather, the mood of the spirit, a way of healing. But that is all.”
“There is no one else?”
“There are some who have chosen to stay here, including all the family of the Arrow Boy, while the rest have gone to the refugee camp. Their hut are scattered here and there. They feel they must stay to protect their land. Other have returned because they have seen the disease that grow in the camp, that take the old and the infant because they are too weak to fight. But no, I am not lonely. It is me and Maisha just. And it is better this way.”
She stirred the pot, took a sip from the spoon, and smacked her lips. “They come here, the women, the men, the Arrow Boy, to find out many thing: when the rain will come, when is the time to plant the seed. But most, they come for the medicine, for the healing.” She crushed a dried leaf, stirred it into the pot, and took another sip. “Hmm, that will do.”
“But the Arrow Boy—they fear you. Why?”
“Because they should. That is why.” Fire poured the green liquid from the pot into a cup. “Now stop asking question and drink this. It will soothe your throat.”
Charlie sniffed the steam that rose from the cup and wrinkled his nose. He took a slow sip of the hot tea and closed his eyes as he swallowed, allowing it to coat his throat. He gulped it down and set the cup on the ground.
The sound of footfalls came from the bush. Charlie and Fire glanced at each other and then looked toward the path. Three of the Arrow Boys appeared. Jonason led the way, while Naboth and Peter followed. Naboth glared at Charlie, his eyes still filled with hate and the desire for revenge. He held his fists tightly to his sides.
They stood over Charlie and Fire. Peter stepped beside Naboth, ready to intervene if necessary.
Jonason was the first to speak. “This war has brought out great evil in us. I am embarrassed to say that I cannot find forgiveness like my mother tell me to search for. It is hard hard for me. And it is much harder for Naboth. How can you forgive someone who has taken so much away from you?”
Charlie looked briefly at Fire, then stared at the ground.
“We formed our group to fight the LRA. Each of us has lost someone to this war. And each of us seek revenge. I am here to tell you that you need to go. Your life is not safe here. I have told all the boy to give you one day to leave. If you do not, more like Nikisisa will come, and I cannot promise you any protection.”
The boys turned and started to walk away. Charlie watched Naboth’s uneven gait as he limped toward the bush. He looked at the scars of mismatched flesh and the pockmarks on his legs.
Fire called out. “You told me your brother was taken when you were a younger boy. Is that right, Naboth?”
“Yes.” He stopped and faced Fire. “They took Samson when he was fifteen. I was young. They did not take me.”
“And is he still alive?”
“I do not know.”
“Do you want him to be alive?”
“Of course I do. What kind of question is that?”
“Then you would want Samson to do anything to keep himself alive, yes?”
“Yes.”
“But when you are under the LRA, it is always your life or someone else. You know that. We have seen it during the raid. We have heard the story from those who have escaped and then returned.”
Naboth limped toward Fire and stared down at her. “But I would hope that my brother never believed his life was more valuable than so many other.”
“Do you? Would you be able to make that choice? I hope you will never have to.”
Naboth spat on the ground at Charlie’s feet and walked away.
Chapter 6
Hold a true friend with both hands.
~ African proverb
The horizon gave up its last light as the sun hid itself in the trees. A troop of vervet monkeys, tired from scampering and leaping in the canopy, now sat quietly, nestled closely in pairs or small groups, grooming each other and nursing their young. A pair of grey plantain-eater birds called out to each other, their voice
s mimicking the laughter of old friends enjoying a well-worn joke.
Charlie finished his bowl of cassava and licked the remnants from his fingers.
“Apwoyo matek,” he said. The words of gratitude now became words of farewell. He walked toward the bush, stopped, turned around, looked at Fire, and smiled. “Your secret is safe with me, Fire. I will not tell anyone. But I am hoping one thing for you: that someday you will come to know who you are and where you belong. I can see it, and I am not that clever. I am surprised you cannot.”
She continued to stir a pot on the coals. She did not look up.
“I am sorry, Fire. I am. Perhaps someday you will find out who you can trust.” He paused. “Apwoyo matek,” he repeated. He turned and walked into the forest.
The bush enclosed Charlie, hiding him from Fire’s sight. He forced himself to walk forward, but it felt like he was being pulled back. He stopped, turned, and looked toward the hut. He smelled the smoke from the fire as it drifted through the bush toward him, its smoky fingers wrapping around him, as if trying to pull him back to the hut, to Fire. But he knew he had to press on. It was best for everyone. He returned his gaze to the jungle floor and walked.
A thick tree stood in his path. He jumped onto its trunk, grasped the sides with his hands and the edges of his shoes, then scrambled to its top. He took in his surroundings. The clearing near the school lay ahead of him, while behind him he could glimpse the small yard of Fire’s home. He would have to head toward the setting sun if he were to have any hope of staying away from people.
Charlie released his grip on the tree and carefully slid down the trunk. His ears became attuned to the sounds of the night. In the dense forest, even the best of eyes can’t always see what lies ahead.
Charlie stopped. He heard the faint snap of a branch, some footfalls, and the swish of a machete as it hacked at a branch. He scrambled back to the top of the tree and looked down. A group of Arrow Boys, perhaps twenty or more, were walking in single file through the bush toward Fire’s yard.