Arrows, Bones and Stones

by Donna White

  Sam stared and wondered at the courage of this teen. Not once did he yell or scream or cry.

  Kokas stepped in closer. “Get up.”

  Naboth slowly lifted his head.

  “Get up!” Kokas kicked him in the ribs.

  He pushed himself up and staggered as he tried to stand. His head fell to his chest, and short, raspy breaths came from his mouth.

  “Now, tell me, ka-boy. We have sent out spy into your village, and we know you are planning to attack. And we know you have found some of our gun we have hidden. But I want to know the name of those who dare to go against us. Who are they?”

  Naboth lifted his head and stared at the commander. He spoke, but the words were mumbled and disjointed.

  “Speak up, ka-boy!” Kokas leaned in closer.

  Naboth spat on the commander’s face.

  Kokas glared as he wiped his cheek. He grabbed the stick from the ground and hit Naboth across the face. Naboth’s head twisted and fell to his shoulder. He lifted his head and stared at the commander.

  “Tell me!” Kokas yelled. “Tell me who dares to fight the LRA!”

  Naboth smiled. He spat into Kokas’s eyes.

  Kokas grabbed him by the neck and dragged him to a wooden bench that stood beside a fire pit. He flung Naboth’s arms over the bench and stomped on them with his steel-toed boot. He pulled his machete from his belt and held it above Naboth’s wrists.

  Eseza walked over to Kokas and stood by his side. “Do you think this is wise, Commander? To use the machet? A dead boy cannot speak.” She stared down at Naboth. “If you leave him, perhaps his stomach and his thirst will make him talk.”

  The commander paused for a moment and nodded. “Yes, that is what we will do.”

  “Tie him against the tree,” Eseza ordered the young boy. “The sun will do what we cannot.”

  Samson dragged him to the tree, and the young boy wrapped a rope around Naboth’s chest, tying it securely to the trunk.

  Kokas stared down at Naboth and spat on his head. “You will suffer, ka-boy. You will suffer.”

  Chapter 19

  Kindness is a language that the blind

  can see and the deaf can hear.

  ~ African proverb

  Eseza placed a cup in Kokas’s hands and hurried back to the fire. She filled another cup with a thick brown liquid and brought it to Samson, then backed away, keeping her gaze to the ground.

  Sam swallowed as she watched the two drink from their cups. The smell from the pot left cooking on the fire teased her stomach which grumbled in protest. She turned her head and looked at Naboth tied to the tree beside her. His breathing was barely visible as the flies gathered around the blood and cuts on his body and face.

  A new boy Sam guessed to be around ten or eleven years old had replaced the other guard on duty. She decided she didn’t like this one any better. He seemed a little too much on the strange side, holding his gun a little too tightly, turning at the slightest noise. Nothing on his body seemed to rest; he continually looked from Sam to Naboth and to the surrounding bush, and he had a nasty habit of twitching whenever he turned his head from side to side.

  “Squirrel,” Sam whispered.

  Eseza pulled a knife from a bag and swiped its blade back and forth over a flat rock. She grabbed a piece of meat and cut it into several pieces. The meat sizzled as she placed it into a pot that sat on the fire. Sam caught a whiff of the tantalizing smell. Her mouth moistened.

  “Great,” she murmured. “Just friggin’ great.”

  The boy holding the gun turned his attention from Sam and stared at the pot on the fire. He breathed in the aroma.

  “The boy there,” Samson said, tilting his head toward Naboth, “would make a good soldier.”

  Kokas snorted.

  “He has the gut. After all, he spat on you not just once but twice, sir.”

  “He will not be making it past the week, so do not start thinking of adding him to your group. As soon as we get all the name from him, we will be feeding him to the vulture.”

  “Shame. I do not think it would take long to break him.”

  “He is too old. I tell this to Kony all the time. Get the boy and girl when they are young. They learn to obey quick quick.” Kokas emptied the rest of his cup and put it on the ground. Eseza took the cup and filled it again, then placed it in his hands. “Yes, that is what I tell him,” Kokas continued. “This one would only try to slit your throat in the middle of the night. He is too filled with the idea of his village.”

  Samson walked to the fire and filled his cup and stared at Naboth. “But if we trained him, he could slit the throat of those in his village. It can be done.”

  Kokas looked at Naboth and grunted. “No. We get what we want, and then we kill him.”

  “What about the white girl? What are you going to do with a muzungu in Africa?”

  Kokas stared at Sam and rubbed his hand over his face. She raised her head and looked in his direction.

  His eyes met hers briefly and he smiled. “General Chadet has come through with our request for more gun. I think he should get more than his request for a hundred boy and girl. She would make a nice gift, do you think? No?”

  Sam’s breath stopped in her throat.

  “So you are sending her to Sudan?” asked Samson.

  “Yes, but not with the children. I will send her with Otti when he goes to secure the deal. I do not want to spoil the white meat.”

  Sam froze. The words “white meat” stung.

  Eseza took the cups from Kokas and Samson and brought them to a basin holding a little water. She washed them and placed them to dry on a wooden rack set near the hut.

  Kokas stood and looked into the pot on the fire. “That is smelling good good. But do not be putting any of the yam in with the meat. It spoil the flavor.” He sauntered over to Sam and crouched down. “Otti will be here soon. You will tell us everything then.” He walked toward a pathway leading away from the hut. “Come, Samson. Let us round up all the kid.”

  The pair followed the path until the surrounding bush hid them from view. Eseza sliced a yam into pieces and placed it into a pot filled with water. She stirred the goat meat, pausing to breathe in its enticing smell.

  She knelt beside Sam and pulled a banana from the scarf tied around her waist, peeled the bruised fruit, and brought it to Sam’s lips.

  Sam turned her head away from the fruit. Her eyes welled with tears. “They’re going to use me as a gift for some general. To thank him for the guns he’s supplying them with.” Her voice caught as she took in a breath. She shook.

  “Shh. Eat.” Eseza brought the banana to Sam’s lips again.

  Sam bit off a piece and forced it down. “He called me ‘white meat.’”

  “Yes, I heard. Eat.”

  Sam swallowed the last piece of the banana and leaned back into the tree trunk. “You have to let me go. Now. Please. Just untie me.”

  “And where will you go?”

  “I’ll run into the bush. I’ll find someone, somewhere. Just let me go.”

  “There is no one to run to here, my sister. And you would not last in the bush.”

  “I’d rather die in the bush than be used as a sex slave for some general. I’ve seen the movies—I know what happens to girls who are abducted and sent off to some foreign country. And that ain’t happening to me. Let me go. I’ll take my chances.”

  “If I let you go, they will kill me and the young boy you see over there. And not until we have endured hour and hour of torture on the goyo tree. No, I will not let you go.”

  Eseza poured some water into a cup and brought it to Sam’s lips. “Drink.”

  “But there’s got to be a way.”

  “No, there is not. If it was that simple, I would have escaped long ago. I did not choose to be a soldier. I did not choose to be a wife. No, Samantha, there is not.” She tipped the cup to Sam’s lips and the water spilled down her neck and onto her shirt. “Drink. You will need your strength no m
atter what is decided.”

  Sam took a long sip and swallowed.

  “Good, good.” She paused and whispered into Sam’s ear. “I am sorry for this, my dear Samantha.”

  Eseza set the cup beside the water jug and returned to the fire to stir the meat. “That is done,” she said, removing the pot from the fire. “Now I think I will go and shuck the peanut.” She arched her back and looked up into the sky. “It is going to be another hot day. Look at that sun, how it burn, and it is only morning.” She glanced at the boy. “I think I will shuck all the peanut inside the hut and stay out of the heat.” She pushed the sheet aside and walked in.

  Before the sheet had fallen back into place, the young boy rushed to the fire, grabbed a piece of meat, and threw it into his mouth. He took another piece and swallowed it whole. He did the same with a piece of yam, but this time he stopped to chew it once or twice before swallowing. Then, just as quickly, he returned to his post, sat under the shade of the roof, and held his gun.

  The boy licked his lips and rubbed his sleeve across his mouth. Sam smiled. Squirrel was a survivor.

  Seconds later Eseza returned from the hut and filled two cups with water. She passed one to the boy and then crouched down at Naboth’s side, lifting his head. She placed the cup to his lips and whispered, “Drink.”

  Naboth opened his eyes to half slits, then closed them.

  “Drink.” Eseza lifted the cup. The water dribbled down the sides of his mouth. The young boy with the gun walked to the pathway and stood with his legs spread, his gun held firmly in his hands.

  “Good boy, Squirrel,” Sam whispered. “You keep watch.”

  Eseza lifted the cup to Naboth’s lips again. “Come now, Naboth,” she said. Again the water trickled down his chin, landing on his shirt.

  Eseza sat back on her heels and sighed. “You have to drink, Naboth.”

  Naboth opened his eyes. He lifted his head and looked at Eseza. He gasped.

  “No. You do not know me,” she whispered sharply. “If you do, they will kill us for sure. Now drink.”

  She raised the cup to his mouth. This time the water did not spill.

  “Halt!” Squirrel yelled.

  Eseza placed the cup behind Naboth’s back and hurried to the fire.

  A young teen walked into the clearing. He wore the same camouflage fatigues and sported the same dreadlocks as many of the other soldiers. Like Samson, he wore a pair of rubber boots. “You do not tell me to halt, ka-boy!” he commanded. He smacked Squirrel on the side of his head and sent him flying to the ground.

  Eseza grabbed a cup from the rack, quickly filled it, and brought it to the bench. The teenager sat and swallowed the liquid in one long gulp, then passed the cup to Eseza. Again she filled the cup, and again he downed it within seconds.

  “So you are back,” he said.

  “Yes, Dominic. There is not much to report. The people are weak and very afraid. They do not even dare to mention Kony name.”

  “Eeh? That is what I thought. They think like the warthog and run like the kob.”

  Eseza stabbed a piece of meat with a fork and passed it to him. He held the fork under his nose and took a deep sniff. “Goat, eeh? I have not had meat for a long long time.”

  “Sudan is giving us more weapon, I hear,” Eseza said. She sat on a rock and faced Dominic.

  “Yes, and I am to lead the group again.” He put down his fork and sighed. “Do you know this is the third time I have taken the trip to get the arm? The first time I was a kid just. I know it like it was yesterday. Such a long trip. We left many on the path, dead. And I know that is what is going to happen on the trip again.” He reached into the pot and took another piece of meat. “I have told Omick I will be needing one hundred fifty children, at the least. That way, when we arrive there, I will have maybe one hundred to carry the gun. And even then, this is not good. You know many more will die on the way back, and that only make it worse because the children will have to carry a bigger load. Less will have to carry more.” He paused and shook his head. “No, no. It is not good.”

  Dominic stood and looked down into the pot. “Goat again for the commander belly, eeh?” he said, turning on his heel. “We must raid another village soon and take what belong to us. The food from the last raid is growing thin, and I am growing weary of spoiled rice and cassava.” He walked down the pathway, slapping Squirrel across the head as he passed. “Do not tell me to halt again.”

  Eseza watched the soldier disappear into the bush and then went to Naboth’s side, taking the cup from behind his back. She filled it with more water and gulped it down. She sighed. “I am sure this is going to end someday. God is not pleased when he look down on Uganda. No. I think he shake his head just and regret that he create us.”

  She walked into the hut and returned with another banana in her hand. She shook Naboth by the shoulder. “Eat,” she said, taking a morsel and pushing it into his mouth. The piece fell and landed on his shirt. She tried to force it between his lips. “Do not be stupid, Naboth. Eat or you will not live.”

  Naboth’s head fell to his chest. Eseza lifted his chin and pushed another piece of the overripe fruit into his mouth. “Eat and swallow. You need to live.” She crouched closer and spoke into his ear. “You would like to spit in the commander face again, yes?”

  He smiled for a second as he swallowed the food. Eseza brought another piece to his mouth. “Here, eat more.”

  Naboth’s head dropped and his eyes shut. His chest rose and fell in a gentle rhythm. Eseza popped the rest of the banana into her mouth, brushed the dirt from her dress, and sighed. She filled another pot with water and set it on the fire. “The general will be wanting tea with their lunch.” She placed a lid on the pot and sat beside the fire.

  Sam closed her eyes. It was time to think. As much as she wanted to believe it was a horrible dream, she couldn’t. It was all too real. Too real. But how did I get here? How come I don’t know anything? Amnesia? Did I come here on some trip? With who? Why? She shook her head, trying to clear her mind. It doesn’t matter how you got here, Sam. The point is, how do you get out? Waves of panic washed over her, squeezing her chest, leaving her breathless. Get a hold of yourself, Sam. Get a hold of yourself. One . . . two . . . three . . . She tried to clear her mind. Think, Sam, think. Look at the options. Weigh each one. You’ll end up dead if you let fear take control of you. Used, beaten, and dead. Think.

  She decided the option she had proposed wasn’t going to work: Eseza refused to let her go free. As much as she could tell that Eseza was on her side, Sam knew she was right. If she escaped, Eseza and Squirrel would be killed. She knew she couldn’t live with that. But . . . what if they were to escape with her? Now how could they do that?

  Sam looked into the surrounding trees. They would have to go into the bush; that went without saying. Would Eseza and Squirrel know enough to help her survive in there? And how far would they have to travel before they found a place or someone they could trust who would help them?

  Then there was the question of when they could escape. Nighttime should work best. She needed to talk to Eseza and convince her to escape with her. And then, when everything was quiet under the cover of darkness, they could run away. Simple, right?

  Sam drew in a long, unsteady breath.

  The plan was simple, and the simpler a plan was, the less chance there was of any foul-ups. But, she thought, if the plan is so simple, why hasn’t anyone ever tried it before? And then it became all too clear. ’Cause they’ll torture you, Sam. Beat you and beat you until you’re dead. Just like Eseza said. Sam took in another breath, this time steady, assured. No, I’ll find a way to escape. And if they catch me, they catch me. And if they beat me, they beat me until I’m dead. And I’d rather be dead than be used as a whore for some general. She closed her eyes. It was time to think.

  Chapter 20

  Only a fool tests the depth of a river

  with both feet. ~ African proverb

  Sam looked up whe
n she heard the sound of parting branches and heavy boots on the hard ground. A young teen, carrying his gun over his shoulder, walked into the clearing. Eseza filled a cup with water and brought it to him.

  “Pffttt!” The teen spat the water out and glared at Eseza. “This water is as warm as piss!” He grabbed a large yellow water jug and marched over to Squirrel. “Give me your gun!” Squirrel obeyed. The teen leaned the gun against the wall of the hut. “Now get fresh water or I will make you drink your own piss!” Squirrel grabbed the jug and ran down the pathway.

  The teen ambled over to Sam, looked down at her, and smiled. “So this is the muzungu girl. I have seen the muzungu pastor who lived near to our village. And one time I saw a muzungu woman. But never a girl.” He shifted his gun and ran his fingers over Sam’s hair. She flinched. “Hmm. It is soft.”

  He turned to Eseza. “The commander want you now. Otti is wanting the girl too.” He walked to the fire and looked into the pots. “And they are wanting the food.”

  Sam stiffened. Otti was here. He would be asking her questions she didn’t know the answers to. Then he would be taking her. She couldn’t wait for the cover of darkness to escape—she had to think fast.

  “Then you must wait for the water to boil for the commander tea,” Eseza replied. “He does not like it cold. And you must help me carry. I cannot do it all myself.” She placed the lids on the pots and passed the one containing the goat meat to the soldier.

  She untied the rope that held Sam to the tree. “Up!” she commanded, giving the rope a jerk. Sam jumped.

  “Now how am I expecting to do all this when you have sent the boy away? I cannot carry the yam and the tea,” Eseza said.

  “Give a pot to the muzungu. She can carry and make herself useful.”

  Eseza untied the ropes that held Sam’s wrists behind her back and pulled her arms in front. She retied it, leaving it looser so Sam could hold the pot.

  “I think the commander would be honored if he was served tea from a muzungu, eeh?” Eseza wrapped a cloth around the handles and placed the hot pot in Sam’s hands. The heat from the fire radiated through the cloth onto Sam’s bare skin.