Sometimes the Darkness

by Will Campbell

  It was still dark and the room where he woke was full of movement. In the darkness, he could just see other children sitting up on the hard floor, wide-eyed and shaky as he was. He had fallen asleep in the back room of the house with the girl. A man and woman he did not know, the same man and woman who took them from the shop, whispered to the others. He was hungry, but then he was always hungry. A scrape on his knee seeped a smelly liquid and hurt.

  The man returned, knelt beside him and whispered in his ear. “Stand up, child, and be silent. We are leaving. Make no noise whatsoever and you will be safe. If you speak or make a noise, everyone will suffer. Do you understand? Good.”

  All the children were now standing, the adults forming them into a line before the door. Scared, he still hoped his parents would come for him as he closed his eyes and waited to be told what to do. The door opened, the woman said, “Follow us,” and led them into the cold night. They all climbed into a van and the van drove away from the building. Now he was to take a trip with the others, but he did not know where. He wanted all of this to stop; he wanted everything to be as it once was. He wanted to go home.

  ***

  Instead of little sleep, Hanley had no sleep this night. Now, it was time to get ready and leave for the mission’s landing strip and the flight to Kosti. He was anxious, but no longer afraid. If all went well, they would be back by 9:00 a.m. Allowing for two hours’ flight time each way and one half hour on the ground, nine o’clock was a reasonable expectation. Going to the foot locker, Hanley opened the lid, slid his hand down along the right inner wall of the metal box and under some shirts, folded and resting on the bottom. There, he felt the hard metal case of a pocket watch Rocky had given him. Surrounding it with his fingers, he pulled the watch from the locker, examined it for a moment and put it into his pants pocket. Not interested in its marking of time, Hanley took it to have a part of Rocky with him on the flight. He considered taking her photo, but thought the watch to be more meaningful; he had not asked for the watch, it was a gift.

  Jumma would be waiting with the Land Cruiser near the edge of the mission, where, at three-fifteen, Hanley would meet the boy and the nun. The plane was ready, what supplies they assembled stowed onboard two days earlier. The weather would not pose a problem.

  For the hundredth time in the past week, he reassured himself this was a simple task. Fly the plane, land, load twelve children and depart. He figured the window for problems to develop was approximately twenty minutes at the most. It would be maybe five minutes before landing for anyone on the ground that might hear the plane’s approach to get to the landing strip by the time it touched down. Assuming there was no one at the strip to begin with. Five minutes out, ten minutes on the ground from touchdown to taxing, turning and to a full stop; fifteen minutes at most to load the children; another five to secure the plane and depart-maybe twenty to twenty-five minutes on the ground. Okay, twenty-five to thirty minutes total time, from hearing the plane approach to rotation and departure; a simple plan. Nothing was ever simple, not even in the best of circumstances. Sudan was not the best of circumstances and he knew it.

  Hanley sat on the edge of his cot, staring at the floor and his bare feet. He wished he’d slept, but knew that adrenaline would take over once he was flying. Bending over, he reached underneath the stand beside his cot and pulled a shallow white porcelain bowl to sit on the floor near his feet. In the bowl sat a damp cloth, white and rough, resting in a half inch of water. Squeezing the water from the cloth, he used it to wipe his face and neck, then his arms. This will have to do, he reminded himself again. Bathing was never a regular practice in Sudan as water had more essential uses. He should shave, but that was not possible either. When he returned to Kokomo, he would take a shower twice a day for the first week, he promised himself.

  Hanley passed through the door of his room into the dark hallway. His eyes had adjusted to the darkness, allowing him to find the doorknob and slip outside with just a few squeaking floor boards to announce his movements.

  The night was very still and cool, the buzz of insects the only noise he could hear. Smoke from the evening fires drifted away while the light from the still smoldering coals dotted the landscape, marking the spots where people were sleeping on the mission’s grounds. Taking a moment to orient himself, Hanley noted the location of the fires and the direction he needed to go to reach the Land Rover. Hoping to avoid stepping on someone and waking the whole complex, he headed toward his meeting with the nun and Jumma.

  ***

  Jumma knelt beside the vehicle and shivered as he waited. He was cold. Even though the morning was unusually chilly, he had worn khaki shorts and a white shirt, his usual uniform when he worked at the mission.

  The last two months had been the most stressful he had known for some time. His life at the mission settled into a routine and flow that suited him. He was working and being useful, caring for those less fortunate and assisting both the nun and the pilot. He liked both, though he would prefer they not argue as much as they did. For the past eight weeks or so, he had been working to contact the families of the children they hoped to rescue, telling them only that their child or relative had been located and he would provide additional information as it became available. Hoping to avoid any undue attention and contact from the relatives, he explained that he worked for a private organization that specialized in finding missing children from the Darfur and southern Sudanese regions. He provided no contact information only saying he would be in touch when he had more to tell them. Most of the families were so glad to have any information, they did not ask questions, but only thanked him for his efforts. Some did ask who he was and the name of his organization but he immediately asked them for the specifics of when and where the child had been taken. This always deflected their curiosity. The work had been difficult and exhausting at times. He shivered again and waited.

  ***

  Hanley was the first to arrive. He saw the form of the truck and steered toward it in the darkness. He did not see Jumma or the nun. As he approached, the form before him changed shape slightly at one corner and he realized that someone was now standing near one of the front fenders. His heart raced a bit until he realized it must be the young Sudanese. “Jumma?” Hanley’s whisper sounded like it came from a thirteen-year-old with a voice in transition.

  Jumma smiled and said, “It’s me, Mr Martin.”

  Hanley reached for the truck and followed the side with his hand as he approached the young man. “No Sister Marie Claire?” he asked.

  “No, she is not here,” Jumma answered in a low voice. The American remembered the nun’s repeated reminders to be as quiet as he could. She insisted he demonstrate his whisper for her, which she reviewed and suggested he modify. There was nothing she did not try to control, he thought.

  Leaning against the hood, Hanley tried to relax, but became more restless as the time crawled past. Once he was in the air, he would be all right. Noticing Jumma’s head turning, Hanley heard the sound of someone approaching. A woman’s voice hummed a melody softly as she walked toward them. When close, Sister Marie Claire said, “Hello, my heroes. Let us leave now before anyone wakens.”

  “Don’t say that. We’re not heroes,” Hanley snapped back at her.

  “Not yet, but I have faith,” she replied.

  “You’d better have enough for both of us,” he said.

  She opened the door of the Land Rover, flipped the front passenger seat forward and climbed into the back. Jumma started the truck and immediately drove off toward the airstrip. Having picked the spot where he parked the truck days before, Hanley made certain Jumma walked the route out of the compound several times, noting bushes, depressions in the ground and any large rocks to avoid. Now reasonably certain he knew what was ahead, Hanley strained to watch for problems as Jumma drove until they were away from the compound. After what Hanley estimated to be two hundred yards or so, Jumma turned on the headlights and increased the truck’s speed a bit. Hanley knew
they would be airborne before anyone else could follow them to the plane. He relaxed some, turned in his seat and said to the nun, “Well, now would be the right time to announce any surprises. You may as well, because if you wait until we’re in the air, I can easily turn around and land. You cannot stop me, so let’s get everything on the table right now. Okay?”

  Smiling, the nun said, “There are no surprises, at least not that I’m aware of. When we land, the children will be waiting. When my people hear the plane approach, they will bring the truck with the children to the end of the runway and we will take them on board and leave. I believe everything will work very well.”

  “My people? You sound like the Mafia,” Hanley said. The nun smiled again and began to hum the same melody she was humming when she approached the truck. As she hummed, she reached into a pocket of her dress and pulled out a rosary. Fingering the beads, she moved from one to another. Hanley watched for a moment and then turned to watch the road in the wash of the old headlights.

  The plane first appeared as a small reflection of the truck’s lights. A large amount of time was spent on the plane’s preparation and while he knew it hadn’t made much sense, Hanley still checked and double-checked everything on the Beech that could be a potential problem. He knew this airplane as well as anyone possibly could, but he didn’t take anything for granted. He was still worried, even after adjusting to his decision to assist the nun with her plan. If he was to make a mistake, it wouldn’t be with the plane.

  Jumma stopped the truck near the terminal shack and killed the engine. The truck creaked and popped as they stepped into the darkness. The sounds of the African night surrounded them as they made their way to the plane. Hanley unlocked and lowered the heavy door, warning the nun to step back. He paused to turn on the small flashlight he carried. When Jumma approached, Sister Marie Claire took him by the arm and said, “Jumma, before you get on the plane, I want you to know how much your help has meant to me. I know that I don’t say thank you enough for all that you do, but this is too important and I could not have done this without your help. You have always been special to us at the mission, but what you have done to make this happen is extraordinary. Thank you. I know God is pleased with you.”

  “And I am pleased with him,” Jumma said, then turned and entered the plane. This made Hanley smile.

  The nun busied herself with the task of making certain everything they put onboard for the trip was secured. Jumma also began an inspection of things in the cargo hold, but knew things were ready that afternoon. Hanley entered the cargo bay and told the nun and the young Sudanese he was going out to unlock the chain from the iron ring and the large flat stone and they would depart. He told them to buckle themselves in. Hanley turned on the interior lights of the plane. Outside, he unlocked the padlock and slid the chain through the wheel housing, slipped the lock through a chain link and snapped it shut. Even though the night had a bit of a chill to it, he was starting to sweat, his shirt clinging to the small of his back, cold and sticky. Pulling the rear door closed behind him, he locked it and turned to see Jumma sitting in the seat in the cargo hold. He doesn’t look nervous at all, Hanley noticed. As he passed, Hanley put his hand on Jumma’s shoulder and gently squeezed it, but said nothing.

  Once seated, Hanley began the startup procedure, checking his fuel and battery levels, his magneto, ignition and electric boost pumps. As always, he started the right engine first. He used a rich mixture, cracking the throttle, but with no pumping, primed for about eight seconds and, waited twenty seconds for the fuel to vaporize, turned a couple of revolutions and then hit the mags and ignition boost. The big Pratt and Whitney engine turned over as it always did. Hanley started the left engine, turned on the running lights and landing lights and began to taxi to the airstrip. As the Beech rolled to its left, Hanley saw two people standing in the wash of the plane’s lights. Two men in traditional Atuot dress stood near a bush next to the airstrip. The natives watched the plane as it moved into position. Hanley said to the nun, “Watch those men and tell me if they move toward the plane or the airstrip. If they move, tell me immediately.” When he reached the end of the airstrip, Hanley quickly looked for any cattle or wild animals standing in the path of the plane. When he was aligned with the center of the airstrip, he advanced the throttles and the Beech moved forward smoothly. Two days before, Hanley chained an old set of mattress springs to the Land Rover, weighted it down with cement blocks and pulled it over the airstrip, grading the strip’s remaining gravel to an acceptable smoothness. The plane rolled along, gathering speed until the tail rose and then the nose of the Beech rose as well. It was a smooth rotation, just like all the other times Hanley and the Beech departed. The landing gear came up and Hanley switched off the lights of the old plane as it gained altitude. He would climb to twenty-five hundred feet, which he would maintain until he was almost to Kosti, hoping to keep from appearing on any air traffic controller’s screen. Hanley also believed a quick descent to the airport would minimize his exposure to anything that might be used to prevent his landing, although he had no clue what that might be or what he would do if anyone tried to stop him. Having thought of a plan, no matter how ill-conceived it might be, made him feel better, more in control. Pretty childish, he now told himself.

  “I hope your people have only twelve children when we get there. We can perhaps take one or two more if they are small, but not more than that. Any more, if they are bigger, will be a problem. I do not want to turn away a child, period. That’s a memory I do not want to live with,” Hanley said through the headphones. He was tuned to the Khartoum air traffic control frequency, listening for any mention of his aircraft.

  Hanley looked over to see the nun still working her beads. Her head shook slightly from side to side. That was all the response he got from Sister Marie Claire.

  28

  The sky was beginning to lighten in the East, to the right of the plane. Hanley checked his watch; it was 5:36. He had been navigating by compass and time. Soon, he would begin his visual search for the White Nile River, which he would follow to Kosti and into the airport.

  After almost an hour in the air, a voice came over the radio, attempting to reach Hanley and his flight. “Flight A806D this is Mapuordit mission, do you hear me? Mr Martin, please respond.” It was Father Laslo. Hanley did not respond. The attempt was repeated several times and then stopped.

  Sister Marie Claire was asleep, her head resting against the side window, the headphone a pillow of sorts. When he noticed her sleeping, Hanley unplugged her headphones. He wondered if Jumma was awake. Now Hanley plugged her headphones in, keyed the mic and said, “Sister, it’s time to wake up.” She did not stir. Hanley pushed her shoulder with his finger.

  The nun swatted his hand away. “I’m not asleep. You should watch where we are going and leave me alone.”

  Hanley took his headset off and, shouting over the noise of the engines, asked, “Jumma, are you awake?”

  “Yes, Mr Martin, I am awake. When will we be there?”

  “In about one-half hour. I want you and Sister Marie Claire to be fully awake when we land. We all know what we are to do, so let’s be prepared. I want to land and depart in under twenty minutes if possible. Okay?”

  ***

  The desk top was hard, but it was better than sleeping on the floor. Assad lay curled up on his side so all of him fit on the desk. His head rested on his left arm and he was cold, or at least he was until he drifted off to sleep. Guarding the small group of storage buildings at the airport had been his job every night for over six months. He did not mind, he slept most of the night and, during the day, he helped his older brother. It was important when you are seventeen and a man going places. He had things to do. This was not his only job, as he was assisting his brother with his business, storing electronics and other items, such as watches here in Kosti for movement to Khartoum to be sold on the streets. Why they had to be stored here, he did not understand. His job was to drive his brother’s va
n to meet other vans on the edge to the city, bring the merchandise back to these storage units and then guard them through the night. It was a good job and he and his brother were doing well. Anyway, no one ever bothered him out here. If they did, he was ready for them, so let them try.

  Lying on the floor next to the desk was an AK-47, a fully automatic 7.62 mm rifle, one Assad knew was the most prolifically made and used weapons on earth. Assad thought himself a capable shot, but it did not matter if he or the gun were accurate; it was capable of spewing a large number of bullets effectively and reliably at close range. Assad fired the rifle once, destroying an old yellow oil drum, the noise ringing in his ears for the rest of that day. He was confident he could kill someone, if need be. Yes, he felt good about it.

  He turned slightly in his sleep, dreaming about driving down a dirt road backward in his brother’s van.

  ***

  Ten minutes after Hanley tried to wake the nun, he spotted the White Nile and followed it north. He estimated he was about twenty minutes from the airport at Kosti. The airport was just west of the river. Hanley would fly up the river and then turn east. The Kosti airstrip ran almost directly east-west. He wanted to land with the rising sun behind him and in the eyes of anyone watching the plane. There were several large buildings on the south side of the airstrip. There was also a terminal building to the left at that end of the strip, which he hoped would not be open when they landed. Hanley learned what little commercial traffic traveled in and out of Kosti did so at mid to late morning. The truck with the children would be parked to the west of the terminal behind a smaller storage building. He felt certain he could land and take off without incident, once the children were on board.