Then She Was Born

by Cristiano Gentili

  “Really? Oh, what a relief!” Charles said.

  When Jackob hung up, he stared at the telephone. The lie was already weighing on him. The stakes were too high, and he could not afford to make a mistake, nor could he allow Mr. Fielding to be overcome by emotions and lose sight of his interests.

  50.

  “I’m tired of staying inside,” whined Shida.

  “I told you, Martha and Roman want to protect us,” Adimu replied. “Do you want me to read you a story from our book?” She opened the volume, turning the pages to find a new one.

  “No.” Shida sighed as she lay down on the mattress where her friend was sitting.

  Before the sun set, the moon had become visible, pale, as though it were a distant cloud, full and round like a giant egg. That night, the lock on the dormitory door clicked, and it swung open with a squeak. Adimu had been waiting for them to come for her, watching as the moon, each night, grew a little more swollen. Shida had fallen asleep in her arms, and she awoke when that human contact ceased.

  “Shida, dear, we need Adimu’s help,” cooed Martha. “She will be back before you know it.”

  The sky had darkened, and the moon was hidden behind the mountains. The room was scarcely lit and seemed haunted. Shida whimpered. Then she began to cry in earnest. She gripped her friend’s arms and dug in her heels to keep them from taking Adimu. The guard pushed her, and she hit her head against the wall.

  A cloudburst of tears ran down Shida’s face; her body froze in fear. When Shida heard the lock turn, only then did she take action. She climbed onto the windowsill and out into the night. Shida ran as fast as she could across the courtyard. She tripped, fell, and got back up. There were footsteps nearby, and she saw the arc of light from a flashlight. Her friend’s blond hair glowed in the dimness. Shida rushed to her and clung as tight as she could, yelling and crying as she never before had.

  “Please, don’t go! I want to stay with you!” she sputtered through her tears.

  The guard lost patience. He grabbed Shida’s arm and, as he dragged her into the office, she heard Adimu repeat, “I’ll be back soon, I’ll be back soon.” The guard opened a metal cupboard. He tied Shida’s wrists with a rope and brought the guard dog near. There was a dish with leftovers from dinner on the floor, and he pushed Shida’s hands into the mush. She turned her head, and squeezed her eyes shut. The food was damp and slimy, and he wouldn’t let her pull away. The animal’s tongue began to lick her fingers.

  “See how much the dog likes you?” the guard sneered. “Do you see? Answer me!”

  Shida barely nodded, looking at the door. She imagined her grandfather barging into the room to free her. The guard pushed her into the cupboard and locked it.

  “If you try to escape from the cabinet, the dog will be waiting for you,” he hissed before stomping from the room.

  Outside, the adults and Adimu started past the gate and toward the forest, guided by the beam of the flashlight and the full moon that had emerged from behind the trees. Adimu’s mind was cluttered with thoughts of Shida, of Nkamba, of Charles and Sarah. She begged Martha, Roman, and the guard not to hurt Shida.

  Roman told Adimu that she and Shida would be unharmed. Adimu wanted to believe him. She remembered that any creature touched by God could live or die. Jesus was the one who decided, that was what Father Andrew said during Mass. Well, if He decided that either her new sister or she would die, then He was a killer, she thought.

  Adimu would have known they were entering the forest even if she had been blindfolded. The damp, penetrating scent of the dense vegetation reminded her of secret hiding places, muffled sounds, putrefaction, birth, and death. A violent rustling alarmed the adults. The guard gripped his machete. “It’s probably an animal.”

  “Where do you think you’re going?” said a voice in the dark.

  Roman, Martha, and the guard looked around. From the thick of the forest, where the moonbeams were weak, they saw five young men, three of them brandishing machetes.

  Ramadani, who was at the rear, recognized Adimu. The initial surprise gave way to euphoria.

  “Who are you?” asked the white man.

  Ramadani understood that the foreigner was not afraid.

  “Who are you to ask questions, mzungu?” replied Thomas.

  “Let us pass,” said Roman, without betraying the slightest emotion.

  The five headhunters surrounded the three adults and child. Amani drummed his fingers on the blade of his machete.

  “Which of you is the leader?” asked Roman, facing Aki. “You?” he tried, offering a cigarette from the pack he’d pulled out of his shirt pocket.

  Aki gave a knowing glance to Thomas. Roman followed his eyes and offered Thomas the pack. “I think you are.”

  Thomas looked at him with disdain. “This is no place for you, mzungu. You think you can come here and order us around?” His feet were solidly planted on the bare dirt.

  “I’ll pay you if you let us pass.”

  Ramadani stepped forward. “The typical white man. He talks to us like he’s in a film. He comes to Africa to take what he wants…You think poor banana-eating black men will accept your leftovers,” he said in one breath, hoping to win Thomas’s approval. He was fearful that the stranger’s offer might be accepted.

  Adimu lifted her head. She recognized the voice.

  Ramadani scowled at Adimu so she wouldn’t let on that she recognized him.

  She fixed her eyes at her captor’s feet.

  “As I said, we’re ready to pay. Just name your price,” gambled Roman. He felt trickles of sweat along his hairline and lifted his hand slowly to rub them off.

  Thomas examined Roman, looking him up and down, and in his white face he saw the faces of the mercenaries who he had once considered divine. His memory of when he’d seen a mzungu up-close for the first time visited him. On that day in the forest, the commander was kneeling, wrists tied, head bowed to the ground.

  He hadn’t been able to pull the trigger. Thomas’s commander had been violent, sadistic, but he’d also been like a parent. Thomas had let the gun fall from his hand and lowered his head. The mzungu had kicked the side of the boy’s face and picked the weapon up off the ground. Slumped forward, swallowing the blood that poured from his lips and gums, Thomas had watched as the man shot three bullets into his commander. He continued to swallow blood and then vomited.

  Roman smiled at Thomas, invited him to the compound where he keeps his zeru zerus, suggested they might share a meal of fish, that they would come to an agreement since both men had business in those parts.

  Thomas, lost in his thoughts, looked at the white man. “What part of a fish stinks?” growled Thomas.

  Roman continued to offer the young man incentives as he reached for his wallet.

  Thomas’s index finger stung. All those years ago, his right hand had been held down on the tree stump and, after the quick chop of the machete, not a sound had escaped from the boy’s gaping mouth, nor did a tear slip from his bulging eyes. He had balled his hand into a fist and forced himself to hold in every emotion and sound that was fighting to pour out with his blood. His commander would have been proud of him, if he had been alive. He was proud of himself for not having given into the mzungu’s intimidation.

  “From now on you’ll have a good reason not to pull the trigger,” the white man had cackled.

  “Did you hear what I said?” insisted Roman. “We’ll pay you well for our passage through your territory.”

  The man’s voice seemed to have traveled from far away. Thomas stared at him. For an instant, Thomas saw another pair of irises, pale blue. Ice.

  “Take the embulamaro,” Thomas said to Ramadani, ignoring Roman’s words. “Do whatever you have to with it before we give it to the boss. We’ll handle these three.” He flexed his fingers around the butt of his gun and stepped closer to the white man. “The zeru zeru is from our land and belongs to our people. Not to whites, not even to black traitors,” he concluded, eyein
g Martha and the guard.

  Ramadani took Adimu by the arm and pulled her toward him.

  “Here in front of everybody, I can’t. I’m going over there,” he said, pointing into the vegetation.

  Thomas watched as his comrade tugged at the zeru zeru. He noticed she moved in an odd way, as if her legs were imprisoned in blocks of dried mud. She tripped, trying to keep up with Ramadani.

  “What are you going to do?” screamed Martha at Thomas.

  “Did I give you permission to speak?” he hissed. “I think we’ll have some fun with you while we’re waiting.”

  The guard tried to run, taking advantage of the moment’s distraction, but Amani caught him before he got away. “What do you want me to do with this one?” he asked Thomas with a tilt of his head.

  “He can start by digging a hole.”

  The revenge that Thomas had hoped for—and had fantasized about often—occurred. The white man fell to his knees and begged for mercy. The group leader had not a single drop of pity in his heart. Pleased, but at the same time irritated, he grabbed Roman and pulled him toward a large tree, pointing the gun in his face. He cocked it. Roman flinched. Thomas thought he saw the pale blue irises in the dark and shoved his gun into his belt. He had more interesting plans in mind. “Roll up your sleeve.”

  The white man’s hands were shaking.

  Thomas took his machete in his right hand and put his black arm next to Roman’s white one. “This is the difference between me and you.” Then Thomas lifted Roman’s chin with his left hand. “Look at me, mzungu.” In one effortless jerk, Roman crumpled to the ground, his jugular sliced clean. Thomas watched with satisfaction as the man contorted in agony, his hands on his neck. “Return the blood you have stolen,” he said, and he cleaned the blade of the machete on the white man’s shirt as he looked at his comrades.

  “Bury the black traitor, alive. And cut up the mzungu. Hide his head in a tree so the police can’t find it. And bury the other pieces so we can claim them later. We’ll pass them off as zeru zeru. Let’s first have some fun with this slut.”

  Ramadani brought Adimu to a small clearing that was isolated from view by thick vegetation.

  The girl looked at him passively. When she had first recognized his voice, she thought she and Shida were safe. Kondo’s son was there in the forest to take her back to the village and marry her. Now she believed she had misunderstood. He’d come to kill her.

  Before speaking, Ramadani listened to the far-off voices to be certain the others were busy. “Look at me, Adimu.” Ramadani said it a second time because her eyes were tightly shut. When she finally opened them, she saw Ramadani’s friendly expression.

  “Listen to me carefully,” he whispered. “I know it’s not true. I’ll die of AIDS.”

  Adimu’s eyebrows lifted high onto her forehead.

  “Run. Run as fast as you can in that direction,” he said, pointing. “Don’t look back, don’t stop for any reason. Run as far as you can.”

  She did not move. She looked at the face of the man who was to be her husband. What cruelty is he planning? she wondered. Ramadani grasped her shoulders and pulled her close. Adimu held her breath, terrified he would force himself on her.

  Then he hugged her. “Run away, Adimu, escape,” he whispered with his arms wrapped around her narrow shoulders.

  The light fabric of her dress was damp where Ramadani had leaned his face against her. Maybe it isn’t a trick, maybe he really is letting me get away. She sighed. She knew they’d find her sooner or later, if not those men, others. What difference does it make? I’ll die at their hand or someone else’s.

  She began to sob. “Where should I go? How can I get away? I’m not normal. I’m sick, a zeru zeru, an embulamaro. When I die, I’ll disappear like a ghost. I might as well get it over with. I’m tired of always running.” She paused. “I ran away from you, from our marriage,” she added softly, certain that her confession would make him angry.

  Ramadani squeezed her shoulders. “I’m condemned to death too. I have an incurable disease. Zuberi says that I have to have relations with a nobody in order to get better. That’s why I’m here with these thugs. The stories our people tell about zeru zerus are myths. You have a different skin color, that’s all. I learned about it at school in Mwanza.”

  Adimu looked at the ground. It’s just another trap, a voice inside her said.

  “Please Adimu, you have to believe me!” Ramadani shook her. “I would have helped any albino escape. Not just you.” Ramadani thought of Josephat. “I obeyed my father and joined the headhunters so I could save whoever they were after. I would never hurt an animal so how could I hurt a person?”

  Adimu shifted her eyes from his feet to his chest.

  “What about the numbers 5-7-1-1-5-3?”

  How does he know the first four numbers of the telephone number—and the ones that got erased? she asked herself. She blinked several times.

  “I was the one who slipped the paper with the telephone number through the peephole of your hut. To help you get to Tanga, to a real community. There’s nothing wrong with you, Adimu, you’re albino!”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re black, but you have white skin.”

  “Why?”

  “I only know you’re not a phantom like people say. So now, please, run away. Go on or they’ll kill me too! We’ll meet again on Ukerewe, as friends, not as husband and wife. Now go! There’s a village in that direction.” He pushed her.

  “I have to go back…what about my friend?” Her doubts about who and what she was had vanished. Not even Nkamba had told her she was normal. Nkamba’s love for her had never succeeded in transmitting the confidence Ramadani had given her in just a few minutes. I can be a person like everyone else, she told herself.

  “Don’t worry about your friend, save yourself!” he insisted, handing her his flashlight.

  Adimu turned off the flashlight and snuck into the dark forest. She hid among a mass of branches and roots that reached into the soft, fragrant earth. She covered her arms and face with dirt to hide her color. Then she ran, looking straight ahead, in the direction Ramadani had indicated. She wouldn’t, though, run away without Shida.

  Ramadani remained in the spot where he spoke with Adimu, letting as much time pass as possible. He undid his pants and let them slide down his thighs. He put the handcuffs he’d brought with him from Ukerewe around his wrists.

  “Ramadani? Have you done it?” shouted Thomas from a distance.

  He didn’t respond.

  “Hey, if you still want more, we’ve got this bitch here,” continued Thomas, laughing.

  Still no response.

  Thomas and Aki found Ramadani in the clearing. He looked confused, his gaze soft, his pants like a pool of water around his ankles.

  “What happened? Where’s the zeru zeru?” asked Thomas, looking at the young man’s wrists.

  “I dropped my pants and she vanished,” he mumbled. “I tried to shout, but she took my voice, and my hands…She went that way.” He gestured with his cuffed wrists, opposite from where Adimu had really gone.

  “If she vanished, how do you know she went that way?”

  “She started to run and then disappeared into thin air,” said Ramadani with a sustained blank look on his face.

  “Damn!” said Thomas. It’s useless getting upset, he thought after a moment. Next time we’ll do better. At least I got my revenge on the mzungu. “Now we know, for sure, a zeru zeru can vanish. The next one we find, we’ll lock up!”

  51.

  Adimu waited until she was sure the hunters were long gone before she ran back to the compound.

  As she approached it, the guard dog was growling and baying. The iron gate was closed, though not latched. When she opened it, the dog took off and was swallowed up by the forest.

  Adimu rushed to the dormitory to fetch her best friend. “Shida! Shida!” she called out as she searched frantically under the beds and in the bathrooms. N
o one was there.

  When Adimu reached Roman’s office, she forced open the door, crying out her friend’s name. Shida’s muffled reply came from inside the metal cupboard.

  “Shida, I’ve come back!” Adimu scanned the room for a heavy object to break the cupboard lock. She saw a large terracotta vase sitting on a table. She picked it up. It was heavier than she would have thought, but what she saw underneath it surprised her even more than its weight. She didn’t allow herself to be distracted by the unlikely discovery. She threw the vase at the lock with all her strength. The fired clay broke into pieces that scattered over the floor, and the lock gave way as well. Adimu helped Shida out of the cupboard, and they embraced. Words were unnecessary.

  Before they escaped, Adimu needed to get a better look at the book under the vase. It was the first volume of the encyclopedia, the same one she’d received from Charles. The book was stained yellow and warped from moisture. She opened it quickly, looking for the pages that were missing from her own copy. She tore them out and stuffed them in her left pocket. Her right pocket held her glasses and her photo with the Fieldings. The small sum of money she had inherited from her grandmother was still hidden in her underwear. I have everything we need, she thought.

  * * *

  The girls walked hand in hand through the forest, hidden in the darkness, a flood of moonlight amid the teardrops of stars. All night, the girls walked in the cool, damp air.

  It was shortly before dawn when they found an asphalt road.

  “I’m tired,” were the first words Shida said.

  “I know, Shida, so am I. But the hunters are looking for us. We can’t stop yet. It can’t be too much farther to the village.”

  They walked close to the vegetation, close to one another. By the time the sun climbed into the sky, they reached an intersection in which two road signs were posted: one pointed to Mwanza, the other to Dar es Salaam.

  They girls looked quizzically at their choices.

  “Where do you want to go?” asked Adimu.