Arrows, Bones and Stones

by Donna White

  “And why was I not told this? I am second-in-command.”

  “But not always the second to know. Kony does not tell you everything. I suggested the plan to Kony. That is why I know. Now untie her.”

  In a moment of silence, Sam imagined the ropes being removed.

  “And where is the child, Eseza?” the deep voice asked. “Where is Kony son?”

  After a short pause she answered. “He is dead. The malaria got him. I buried him two month ago, shortly after I arrived at the village.”

  “That is bad bad.”

  “Yes, but it is the way of the bush. I do not worry. I will soon have another.”

  “Yes, it is better to think this way. There is no use in the tear, for it will not bring the child back. Some of the girl cry and cry over the loss of their child, but no matter how many tear fall the god will not breathe new life into the child.”

  Sam listened to the slap-slap sound of bare feet walking across the packed ground. Kokas continued. “Linda, we are hungry. Prepare the meal. And do it quick quick.”

  Sam heard footfalls approaching the door. She froze.

  Eseza spoke. “No. Let me prepare the meal for you, Kokas. It is my honor to.”

  “Eeh? Do not talk the foolishness, girl. Sit. And you will tell me what you learn. Linda, go. Prepare the meal.”

  “But I can prepare your favorite.”

  “No. Sit,” Kokas commanded. “Linda. Prepare the meal. Now.”

  The footfalls came closer and closer as Linda entered the hut and walked to where Sam was hidden among the bags under the blanket. Linda threw the blanket to the side.

  Sam stared wide-eyed at her. “Please. No,” she whispered.

  The girl screamed.

  Two-Victor rushed into the hut. He stopped and looked confused, then lowered his gun and pointed it. He smirked.

  Sam lifted her arms above her head. The fear that had never left her since she arrived in the hut was now magnified a hundred times.

  “Get up!” Two-Victor shouted.

  Sam rose.

  “Out.”

  She kept her hands above her head and walked out the door. The bright light from the sun blinded her, and she squeezed her eyes shut. She opened them and took in her surroundings: men, black men, wearing army uniforms, all pointed their guns at her. Trees, tall leafy trees and bush. The chatter of monkeys and the unfamiliar cry of a bird as it flew high above her head. Voices in the near distance, calling to one another in a language she had never heard before. A hut made of mud and a roof of grass. And a hot, hot sun.

  Africa?

  She glanced at the soldiers’ shirts, searching for any identification, any sign of what country they were from, but she was confused. They seemed to be from different countries. One man wore the blue, white, and red striped flag of France on his arm sleeve, while another had the white, blue, and red horizontal stripes of a Russian flag. Strange, Sam thought, they don’t look French or Russian. Others wore fatigues, much like the ones she was wearing, with no flags or embroidery above the chest pocket signifying what army they were from. The only thing they had in common was the blackness of their skin and the tight dreadlocks that clung to their sweat-covered heads.

  Two-Victor kicked the back of Sam’s knees. Her legs buckled and she fell to the ground. Her arms were wrenched behind her and a rope was wrapped tight around her wrists, then pulled until it cut into her skin.

  She winced. “How dare you! Get this off me, you assholes!”

  Two-Victor pushed his rifle barrel to her head.

  “No,” Kokas said. “Leave her. We make her talk first. Then we kill her.”

  Sam’s breath caught in her throat.

  Two-Victor yanked the rope and dragged her toward the edge of the bush. She had no choice but to stand as he wrenched the rope up and slammed her against a tree. He rammed the back of her head against the rough bark.

  She gasped. Bright stars flashed across her eyes. Two-Victor tied a rope around her shoulders and waist, and finally her knees. She couldn’t move. Kokas stood in front of her and smiled.

  Sam glared, clenching her teeth, balling her hands into tight fists.

  “A white woman,” he began. “Why would a white woman, a white soldier woman, be in our camp, boy?”

  The emphasis on the word “soldier” was not lost on Sam.

  Kokas turned his back and walked a couple of steps away. He spun on his heel and faced her again. “And a soldier who does not know the respect that is owed a commander.”

  He rammed the butt of his rifle into Sam’s stomach. She gasped.

  “You will address me as Commander Kokas or sir. I will accept either of those, but I will not accept ‘asshole.’”

  He swung the end of his rifle and hit Sam on the knees. She screamed.

  “Do you understand?”

  Sam gritted her teeth. “Yes, sir,” she said. Tears welled up in her eyes and fell down her cheeks.

  “Now, tell me, dear, what is your name and what army send you here?”

  Sam returned the commander’s glare. “My name is Samantha Wallace, but I’m not in any army. This isn’t a soldier’s uniform if that’s what you’re thinking . . . sir.”

  The commander studied her briefly. “Samantha. A pretty name for a pretty girl. It would cause me great sadness to change any part of you, Samantha, because you do not wish to tell me these little detail just. Tell me where you are from and I will not take the machet to your lip.”

  Kokas placed his hand on the long knife that hung from his belt.

  Sam thought quickly. London? London, Ontario? Would he know of such a place? If this is Africa, I doubt it.

  “Canada, sir. I’m from Canada.”

  The man rubbed his hand over the stubble on his chin. “The Peace Corps? Did you lose your little blue beret? I can find you one. We took several off all the Kaibil peacekeeper we strung up last month.” The commander smirked as he looked around at the rest of the soldiers. They laughed in response. “And how did you get here? In the middle of the LRA camp?”

  Her mind raced. LRA camp? What the hell is an LRA camp? Whatever it was, she was sure it wasn’t any Boy Scout camp.

  She replayed the last few moments in her mind: looking through her trunk, finding the box in her dad’s briefcase, and figuring out how to open it . . . the pouch of stones, then finding herself here. In Africa? In the middle of some war?

  Sam quickly decided that telling the truth wasn’t the best option. She doubted her explanation of suddenly appearing here would go over well. “I don’t know, sir. I must have gotten lost.”

  “Lost?” Kokas turned toward the bush. A group of men and boys were heading into the clearing. Sam stared, not at the men and the rifles, but at the boys that followed along with them. Young boys. Young boys carrying guns and looking quite comfortable with them hanging over their shoulders.

  “Eeh. You have returned soon soon,” Kokas said.

  A tall man, wearing a green bandanna wrapped around his head, pushed his way through the group while pulling a teenage boy by a rope that bound the boy’s wrists. The man pushed the teen to the ground. He lay still, his eyes closed and the rise and fall of his chest barely visible.

  “We found one of the Arrow Boy. He will not talk, but that will change. Now.”

  The teen’s legs were covered in dried blood, and what clothes he wore were ripped and clinging to his sweat-drenched body. His face was swollen, and the blood from a fresh gash on his forehead oozed down his face. A fly landed on his lip and another on his eyelid. He didn’t lift a hand to brush them away.

  Each of the soldiers smiled, then turned their gaze on their commander. Eseza circled the boy and bent down to examine his face. She stifled a gasp.

  “His name is Emau Naboth,” the soldier in the green bandanna said. “We found him near the same village we found the girl. Some of my boy took the liberty of interrogating him in the back of the jeep while we drove here. Hope that was okay with you, Commander.”

/>   Kokas nodded as he walked closer to the boy.

  “We could not get anything out of him. No other name, no plan, nothing. The only reason we know his name is that one of the boy recognize him as Samson brother. I sent a boy to get Samson. Maybe he can get him to talk.”

  Eseza grabbed the teen’s hair and pulled his head up to study his face. She released her grip, allowing his head to fall to the ground. “No. You are wrong. He is not an Arrow Boy. I know this one. He is a simple beggar boy. I have seen him on the street with both his hand out. He cannot work because his leg are filled with bullet. You will see when he walk. No, you are wrong. He is only a beggar boy.”

  Eseza stood and wiped her hands over her dress. “But,” she said, pausing, “he will be good in the kitchen. He can cook. If not, he will learn quickly. Bring him into the hut and tie him,” she ordered a boy standing guard near the door.

  The man who carried the rope stepped in front of Eseza. “I say he is an Arrow Boy, and he stay with me.”

  She smiled. “Until Kony come, he is with me. He is not an Arrow Boy. I know the people of that village, and I know this boy. Look.” Eseza wiped the blood from the back of the boy’s legs. “See the bullet mark. There are many. He is no threat to us. He cannot run. He cannot be a fighter. He cannot even work. He is a beggar boy. Take him into the hut now.”

  The boy obeyed and dragged the limp body inside.

  Eseza glanced at the soldier as he adjusted the bandanna on his head. “Next time you go out, find something of more use than a beggar boy.”

  She walked into the hut, allowing the cloth door to fall down behind her.

  Chapter 18

  Rain does not fall on one roof alone.

  ~ African proverb

  Sam stared into the darkness and shivered as a cool breeze passed over her bare arms. She swallowed, attempting to relieve her parched mouth, then raised her shoulders, trying to lessen the stiffness that had crept over her and made any movement painful or impossible. She drew in a deep breath, then another, trying to focus, trying to calm herself, but failing miserably in the attempt. Another wave of panic flooded over her. Her breaths came in short gasps and she shuddered as each one left. A creeping coldness settled in, and the tears came again. They fell freely down her face, onto her chin and along her neck.

  A fluttering of wings caught her attention, and she turned her head to follow the sound. A bat swooped down into the clearing and abruptly changed direction, then swooped again, repeating its haphazard flight. Soon more flew down until the area was filled with bats, swooping, arcing, going one way, then the other, all in a manic yet orchestrated dance.

  Then the bats ascended in unison and flew high into the sky. They covered the moon with their dark wings and soared into the jungle. It became eerily quiet. Too quiet. And Sam returned to trying to make sense of something that was beyond anything she could understand.

  She closed her eyes and opened them. The blackness, the ropes, the tree, the hut: they were still there, visible under the moonlight and very, very real. Try as she might, she couldn’t figure out how she ended up in this nightmare. The fear that had taken hold of her was intensified by the confusion that filled her mind. The simple questions, “Where am I?” and “How did I get here?” repeated themselves over and over again, but the question that terrified her the most was: Am I going to die?

  A young boy sat on the ground, leaning against the hut. Everything about the kid disturbed Sam. He watched her too intently, never taking his eyes off her. His fingers continually ran back and forth over his gun as if he needed constant reassurance of its presence. And after he drifted off to sleep, he startled awake and stared at her with an even greater intensity.

  Exhaustion took hold of her, and Sam fell into a fitful state of sleep that had one foot in reality and the other in a dream-like trance.

  A gentle touch on her cheek startled her, and she woke to see two brown eyes, surrounded by faded small white diamonds, staring at her. Sam glanced at the boy holding the gun. He was fast asleep.

  Eseza whispered into her ear. “Here. I can help you.” She unwrapped the rope from Sam’s shoulders, waist, and knees. “Sit,” she said.

  Sam’s body resisted. Pain shot through her legs, up her back, and into her head. She forced her legs to bend, then slid down the rough bark of the tree until her legs spread out in front of her, resting on the ground. Eseza retied the rope.

  She held a tin cup to Sam’s mouth. “Drink,” she said.

  Sam gulped the water down. Its lukewarm temperature did little to quench her thirst. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  Eseza crouched down and put her head near Sam’s. “I can help you,” she whispered. “But you need to tell me when your unit is planning to attack. Did the commander send you ahead to scout the area? Are there other with you?”

  Sam shook her head. “No. I’m not part of any army. I told you . . . I don’t even know how I got here. I don’t even know where ‘here’ is.”

  “You are in Kony camp, girl. North of Gulu, close to the border just.”

  Sam’s voice rose slightly above a whisper. “Where the hell is Gulu? And who the heck is Kony?”

  Eseza looked confused. “Gulu. Northern Uganda. Kony. The leader of the LRA. The Lord Resistance Army.”

  “What?”

  “You really do not know what I am talking about, do you?”

  “No.”

  “But how did you get here?”

  “I don’t know. It’s crazy. I was in my bedroom at home. Home in Canada. I’ve tried to think of the last thing I can remember before I got here, but it’s always the same. I was figuring out how to open this box, and when I finally did, a pouch of stones fell out. I picked up one of them and was just looking at it, and suddenly I’m . . . here . . . I don’t remember leaving my house or getting on a plane or anything that would tell me how I got here. All I remember is looking at this box and . . .” Sam thought for a moment. “Eseza, this is a dream, right? A very real dream, and I’m going to wake up in the morning and find myself safe in my bed, right?”

  Eseza scoffed. “A dream! No Samantha, this is not a dream. It is a nightmare. It is a nightmare because it is all real: Kony, the LRA, the evil . . .” She stopped. Shouting and yelling came from the bush.

  Eseza thrust her hand into her pocket and pulled out a handful of cooked rice. “Eat,” she said as she cupped her hand to Sam’s mouth. Sam chewed the rice and spat out a pebble and a couple of dried rice husks. “Eat. Quickly.” Eseza looked over her shoulder. “There is no time for pickiness. It is getting light and they will be here soon soon.”

  Sam took another bite and swallowed the food in one gulp, then quickly finished what little was left in Eseza’s palm.

  Eseza wiped her hand on her dress and ducked into the hut. The darkness in the night sky began to fade as the rising sun sent golden tendrils of light over a steel-blue horizon. Sam pulled her legs to her chest, placed her head on her knees, and closed her eyes. But she rested only for a moment.

  She heard footfalls, and Kokas walked into the clearing, wearing a red beret, slightly tilted to the side. A soldier followed him; his hair was in dreadlocks and he wore tall rubber boots.

  The young boy on guard jumped to attention as Kokas walked into the hut and dragged Naboth into the yard. Eseza followed. He kicked the boy in the ribs. Sam gasped.

  “Get up.” Kokas commanded.

  Naboth struggled to rise, but his bound hands made it very difficult. He stood for a moment, wavered, and collapsed on the ground. The gash on his forehead split open and fresh blood dripped into his eyes.

  “Get up!” Kokas kicked him again.

  The teenager stood, his legs apart, trying to steady himself. He stared at the ground.

  “I have a surprise for you, Emau Naboth. Your brother.”

  An older boy who Sam guessed to be in his early twenties, walked into the clearing and stood in front of Naboth.

  Naboth lifted his head and looked at the soldi
er for a second. His eyes widened for a moment until he blinked and dropped his head to his chest, returning his gaze to the ground.

  “Is this your brother, Samson?” Kokas asked.

  The soldier stood straighter and taller. “I have no brother except those who are loyal to the LRA, sir!”

  “Then get the boy to speak. I do not believe he is a simple beggar boy. He know of many thing and refuse to tell us.”

  Kokas threw the rope to Samson and stepped back. Samson yanked the rope and shoved Naboth against a tree, then tied his legs and chest tightly. With deliberate slowness, he lifted Naboth’s arms until they reached out directly in front of him. “Do not move,” he commanded. His voice was cold.

  He pulled a machete from his belt and lifted it high in the air.

  Naboth squeezed his eyes shut. He stifled a sob. “No.”

  The word came from his mouth in a tightened whisper. “No.”

  The word was louder. “No!”

  Naboth stared at Samson. He stared back, indifferent, unfeeling.

  “I will speak.”

  Kokas spat on the ground. “Such a ka-boy. A small, little ka-boy,” he said, laughing. “But you have wasted time.” He circled Naboth then untied the ropes and let them fall to the ground. He rammed the butt of his rifle into Naboth’s stomach and the boy doubled over, grasping his middle. He clouted Naboth on the shoulders, then kicked the back of his knees, forcing him to fall to the ground. The commander grabbed a stick from the bush and threw it to the boy who stood guard. “Teach the boy he should speak when he is spoken to.” He stepped back and crossed his arms over his chest.

  Sam squeezed her eyes shut.

  Whack! Whack! Whack!

  She brought her legs up to her chest and buried her head between her knees, pressing her ears against them, trying to shut out the sound. It was no use. The blows penetrated through her skin and shook her inner core.

  Whack! Whack! Whack!

  Again and again the young boy whipped Naboth. Again and again the noise carried through the forest until it stopped. Sam cautiously peered over her knees. The young boy dropped the stick and returned to his post. Naboth lay perfectly still. His shirt was soaked in blood.