“Are you there?” asked Immaculée.
“Is that you? Immaculée, what will you do with me?”
“Now’s not the time to explain. Listen to me. There’s a wraparound for you on the bed, put it on. You’re going to hide at Nyamirongi’s, the rainmaker. I’ve arranged everything. I sent Kagabo to ask her. According to Kagabo, the rainmaker accepted without a fuss. Nobody will come looking for you there. I’ll send Kagabo when there’s a car to take us, I’ll take you in the trunk if I have to. Hurry up. Kagabo’s waiting, you’ve nothing to fear from him, I’ve given him enough money, and anyway, witches don’t like having anything to do with the authorities. I’ll go ahead to warn you of any danger.”
“At the market,” Immaculée had said. “He’s waiting for you at the market.” By that time of the afternoon, the market had long finished. A few scrawny dogs were squabbling with crows and vultures over small piles of refuse. From behind a barricade of old, rusty metal drums, she heard a quiet: “Yewe, this way.” She found Kagabo crouching by a bundle of dry wood. He looked her up and down somewhat derisively.
“Your wraparound’s much too new to pass for a poor farmer, give me that.”
He stood up, took the wraparound, roughly scrunched it up, and rubbed it about in the dust, and in the delta of fetid rivulets that streaked the ground.
“All right, that’ll do, take off your shoes and come over here.”
He took Virginia’s face between his hands, reddened with earth, rubbed her cheeks, and gave her a piece of filthy cloth to cover her hair.
“So, now you look like a poor farmer. Take this bundle of sticks, put it on your head, and walk slowly, very slowly, like a real farm woman. There’s nothing to be scared of, everyone’s afraid, they don’t understand what’s going on, they don’t dare go out, the traders have all closed shop. And remember, I’m here to protect you – it’s not wise to approach a poisoner.”
When Virginia entered the smoky hut, she saw only the shifting play of shadow and light caused by the leaping flames in the hearth. From the dark interior, by the foot of the woven-straw vault that the fire didn’t reach, came a feeble voice:
“You’re here, Mutamuriza, I’ve been waiting for you, come closer.”
Virginia walked toward the back of the hut until she eventually discerned the silhouette of an old woman, wrapped and hooded in a brown blanket, from which emerged a wrinkled, lined face that brought to mind the monkeys who used to plunder her mother’s maize field.
“Come closer, don’t be scared, I knew you’d be coming, don’t think it was Kagabo who told me you were on your way; I knew well before he did, and even before that girl who sent him to ask me to take you in. I know who’s sending you to me, and it’s for Her that I agreed to harbor you.”
“How can I thank you, Nyamirongi? You’ve saved my life and I have nothing to give you in return. I left all I had at the lycée. But no doubt Kagabo gave you what my friend wanted to give you on my behalf.”
“He brought it for me. But I didn’t want it. I’m not doing this for your friend, so there’s no reason for her to pay me. If I’m harboring the favorite of She who dwells on the side of Shadow, it’s because She will grant me her favors too – that I know.”
“Can you see into my dreams?”
“I saw a white heifer and She who gave it to you, but I didn’t see them in a dream, I saw them when the spirits carried me to the other side of Shadow. You’re the favorite of the Shadows, so be welcome at Nyamirongi’s.”
Virginia settled in with Nyamirongi. Each day she prepared her sorghum gruel. Nyamirongi seemed appreciative. Virginia noted that the granary behind the hut was well stocked. Nyamirongi must have no shortage of “clients.” When night fell, she crouched by the fire, stretched out her right arm, pointed her forefinger with the very long nail to the four compass points, then withdrew it beneath her blanket, and simply nodded, muttering some words that Virginia wasn’t able to grasp. A week passed. Virginia grew increasingly worried. What had happened at the lycée? What had become of Veronica? And all the other girls? Had any of them succeeded in escaping? She forced herself to believe they had. Had Immaculée forgotten about her, had someone informed on her? Hiding behind a rock, Virginia spent her days watching the slope that ran down to the lycée.
But one evening, Nyamirongi’s arm, forefinger, and long nail began to shake and she had to use her left arm to pull it back. She looked at Virginia, eyes bright:
“The rain tells me she’s leaving, making way for the dusty season, as she should. She also tells me that down there, in Rwanda, the season of men has changed. But she tells me, too, not to trust it: those who believe in quiet times, the lightning will catch them. They’ll be struck, and they’ll perish. You’ll be leaving me soon. Tomorrow, I’ll tell your fortune for you.”
Nyamirongi woke Virginia before dawn, and threw a small log on the embers to revive the fire.
“Come, we must tell your fortune before daybreak. The spirits stop answering once the sun is up.”
She reached for a large basket and plucked nine knucklebone jacks from a little bag made of fig tree bark.
“The sheep gave us his bones so we may divine destiny. You must never eat sheep.”
She closed her eyes and tossed nine jacks into the basket. Opening her eyes, she contemplated the constellation formed by the jacks for a long time, without uttering a word.
“What do you see?” asked Virginia, a little worried.
“You’ll leave Rwanda, and go very far away. You’ll learn the whites’ secrets. And you will have a son. You’ll call him Ngaruka, ‘I shall return.’ ”
“Look,” said Kagabo, “your friend’s waiting for you there, in the car.”
The rear door of the Land Rover opened, and Virginia saw Immaculée, who motioned her to get in: “Hurry up. We’re heading back. No need to hide, but still, don’t attract too much attention to yourself.”
“I don’t understand,” said Virginia. “Tell me what’s going on.”
“Nyamirongi talks to the clouds but she doesn’t have a radio. There’s been a coup d’état. The army’s taken over. The former President is under house arrest. As soon as they heard the news, the militants piled into their minibuses and sped off. It was Sister Gertrude, who always listens to the radio, who told us the news. Nobody knows where Gloriosa’s dad is, perhaps he fled, or else he’s in prison. Everyone turned against Gloriosa, and started cursing at her. She’s the one who plotted everything: the troubles, the violence … Because of her, the Humanities diploma was in danger of not being certified. The whole school year would be lost. And all the fault of that ambitious girl whose father might now be in prison. Goretti made a long speech. She forced Gloriosa to listen to it: now it was the real Hutu who’d seized power to save the country, those who’d resisted all the colonizers, be it the Tutsi, the Germans, or the Belgians. Those who’d been contaminated by Tutsi ways would do well to start speaking real Kinyarwanda, the kind still used in the foothills of the volcanoes. Everyone was now able to understand Goretti without any difficulty, and some girls even tried to imitate the way she speaks. An army car came to fetch Gloriosa, nobody knows what’s become of her. But I’m not too worried about her, with an ambition like hers, Gloriosa, Nyiramasuka! She’s still got a future in politics! We’ll be seeing her again. She’ll make her way. Then Mother Superior announced that the long vacation would start eight days early – the embassies had recalled their teachers to the capital, the lycée had to close, she had told parents to come get their daughters, and had hired minibuses for those who couldn’t be picked up. Father Herménégilde said the enthronement of Our New Lady of the Nile was postponed to the start of the next school year, and that we’d use the occasion to celebrate national unity. Me, I managed to tell my dad, and he sent his driver. Hey, let’s get going.”
“And the other girls, at the lycée, what became of them? Did they escape? No! They killed them?”
“I don’t think so. Not all of them,
anyway. You know, apart from Gloriosa, there weren’t that many who really felt like killing their classmates. Chasing them from the lycée, yes, they agreed with the idea there was no room for Tutsi girls. When I returned to the yard, Father Herménégilde was telling the militants things like this: ‘Hound these Tutsi from the lycée, but there’s no need to get your hands dirty. Catch a few, whack them a few times, that’ll make them lose their taste for studying. They’ll perish in the mountains, of hunger and cold, or be devoured by feral dogs and wild beasts. Those who survive and manage to cross the border will be forced to sell those bodies of theirs that they’re so proud of, for the price of a tomato at the market. Shame is much worse than death. Let us leave them at God’s mercy, for his judgment.’ I figure many were able to escape, and find refuge in the missions, with some of those old white missionaries still nostalgic for the time when the Tutsi were their favorite followers; or else they were able to meet up with Tutsi priests driven from the parishes that had protected them: perhaps they succeeded in crossing the border together. Even the farmers, not all of them are prepared to kill young, educated women because of some school business that doesn’t concern them. Now they’re in Bujumbura, Bukavu, or elsewhere. I haven’t heard of any deaths. If any of the lycée girls had been killed, Gloriosa wouldn’t have missed the chance to brag about it. But Gloriosa really wanted to kill you and Veronica, she couldn’t bear the thought of seeing you standing alongside her to receive your diplomas on the solemn graduation day.”
“And Veronica, where’s Veronica? What happened to Veronica?”
“I don’t know. Don’t ask me.”
“Yes you do, tell me.”
“I don’t want to tell you.”
“You have to. You owe me that.”
“I’m ashamed to tell you, it scares me, now everyone scares me. I realize all human beings hide something terrifying within. Even my boyfriend, I don’t want to see him anymore: he wrote to me saying how proud he was to have acted like a real militant, of having beat up some Tutsi in his college, he’s not sure if he killed any, but he hopes that some will become invalids, with all the blows he gave them. I don’t want to see him anymore. Do you still want to know what they did to Veronica? Well, I’ll tell you, but don’t cry in front of me, you are Mutamuriza, the one who we mustn’t make weep. If you cry, it’ll bring me bad luck.
“So, when the JMR were done with expelling the Tutsi, Gloriosa told them, ‘There’s two missing: I know where one is, but the other must be hiding in the lycée. She must be found, and I want you to do a proper job on her. I want to see her weep every tear in her body. Mutamuriza! They must take us students seriously!’ The militants looked everywhere, they ransacked the entire lycée. You were far away by then, of course. Gloriosa was furious. She flung herself at Modesta, who as usual was following her like she was her dog. She started cursing at her: ‘Dirty bitch, it’s you who warned Virginia, telling her to run away. She was your friend, your true friend, you spied on me for her, I’m going to punish you like the parasite you are. You’ve stuck to me too long to be able to trick me. You clearly are your mother’s daughter. You’ve only handed over half the Inyenzi. Well, I’m going to make sure you’re cleansed of that Tutsi half of yours that betrayed me.’ She called three militants. The men dragged Modesta into a classroom. We heard weeping, pleading, cries, and whimpering. It lasted a long time. Then we saw Modesta dragging herself to chapel, trying to cover up her bloodied body with her tattered uniform. Gloriosa was calling out to all the militants, saying to them: ‘There’s another Inyenzi, a real one, even more dangerous, thinks she’s queen of the Tutsi! I know where she’s taken refuge. Not that far away. At an old white guy’s place. We really can’t let her get away. The white guy’s in cahoots with the Inyenzi. He’s made his coffee plantation their hideout, a base to attack the majority people, he’s recruited young Tutsi, training them like commandos. Meanwhile, he invokes the devil, while his Tutsi Veronica he’s turned into his she-devil, and together they commit abominable acts, just like Queen Kanjogera, who, according to my father, killed four Hutu every morning to work up an appetite. She dances for the devil. We must be rid of these demons. Do it, quickly’.
“Twenty militants left in one of the minibuses, with a Nyaminombe militant acting as their guide. They returned at nightfall. They were really riled up, shouting, ‘We got them! We got them!’ Then they threw themselves upon the bottles of Primus. Gloriosa asked the leader to recount his exploits. He didn’t need to be asked twice. He said that first they overran the villa. There was no one around. They smashed all the furniture. Then they went into the garden – that’s when they saw the devil’s chapel. They entered. Painted on the wall was a whole procession of stark naked Tutsi girls worshipping the great she-devil on the back wall – a real Tutsi wearing a hat with demon’s horns. At her feet was a sort of throne, and on the throne the she-devil’s horned hat. They heard some noise behind the chapel. They ran. The white guy and the Tutsi were trying to hide in the little bamboo wood. The white guy had a rifle but didn’t have time to use it. They all pounced on him and knocked him out. They grabbed Veronica. They took her to the chapel. The leader of the militants said she looked exactly like the she-devil painted on the wall. They undressed her, and forced her with blows from their sticks to dance stark naked before the idol that resembled her, then they tied her to the throne. They put the hat on her head. They spread her legs. I won’t tell you what they did with their sticks, nor how they finished her off. Then they went and set fire to the enclosure that crazy white guy had had built on his estate. They didn’t find the Inyenzi that Fontenaille had recruited, they’d long since fled, but they did slaughter the cows, and burn them too. The leader of the militants brandished the hat with the horns. He was still mad with rage. ‘Here,’ he shrieked, ‘the Inyenzi queen’s crown, the devil’s hat, but it’s all over for her now, she got the punishment she deserved, which will continue in Hell. I regret we didn’t kill all the other girls, but I hope we’ll track them down one day.’
“The following morning, the mayor went with his police officers and the militants to arrest Fontenaille and serve him his expulsion order. They found him hanged in his chapel. They claimed he killed himself. If it was the JMR who killed him, they didn’t brag about it. Killing a white is always a delicate matter for the government. The girls who had listened to the leader of the militants were trembling, some were crying, yet still they had to applaud. ‘You see,’ said Gloriosa, ‘the Tutsi god is Satan!’ Personally, I don’t believe all this devilry business, it’s just more of Gloriosa’s lies. It was horrible what they did to Veronica. Now I’m certain there’s a monster lurking inside every human being: I don’t know who awoke him in Rwanda. But tell me, what was Veronica doing at this Fontenaille’s place? Were they shooting a movie? She’d always loved the movies so much … You must know, Virginia, you were her best friend, everyone knows she hid nothing from you.”
“I don’t know. Don’t say another word, and don’t ask me anything if you don’t want me to cry.”
They remained silent a long time. The track wound endlessly through narrow valleys, climbed hillsides covered with thick banana groves, followed ridges scattered with patches of eucalyptus, plunged back down into more valleys, ascended more slopes … Virginia struggled to squeeze back her tears and blot out the horrific images that assailed her, again and again.
“Immaculée, I owe you my life, but I still don’t understand why you did all that for me. I’m a Tutsi, I wasn’t really a friend of yours …”
“Well, I like a challenge. I think I was more attached to that motorbike which terrorized the streets of Kigali than to my boyfriend; I went to see the gorillas because I loathed Gloriosa; I wanted to save you both, you and Veronica, because the others wanted to kill you, and now I’m going to defy everyone, I’m off to be with the gorillas.”
“You’re going to live with the gorillas!”
“I found out that the white woman who wants to save
the gorillas will be recruiting Rwandans to train them as assistants. I have all the qualifications: I’m Rwandan, an intellectual, I think I’m quite good-looking, and my father’s a well-known businessman. I’ll be good publicity for her: she’ll be obliged to take me. But what do you intend to do? You’re not going to abandon your diploma, are you? You know that the army declared that they took power to reestablish order. They want to calm down the same ones they stirred up. In any case, those folk got want they wanted: the Tutsi’s positions. I’ll ask my dad to intervene, if necessary. I understand why he so kindly drove me to Goretti’s at Ruhengeri: it was to inform army headquarters they could count on his money. They can’t refuse him a thing, and when it comes to his daughter, he refuses her nothing.”
“I’m done with that diploma. I’m going home to my parents to bid them goodbye. And I’ll leave for Burundi, Zaire, or Uganda, anywhere, wherever I can cross the border … I no longer want to stay in this country. Rwanda is the land of Death. You remember what they used to tell us in catechism: God roams the world, all day long, but every evening He returns home to Rwanda. Well, while God was traveling, Death took his place, and when He returned, She slammed the door in his face. Death established her reign over our poor Rwanda. She has a plan: she’s determined to see it through to the end. I’ll return when the sunshine of life beams over our Rwanda once more. I hope I’ll see you there again.”
“Of course we’ll see each other again. Rendezvous at the gorillas’.”
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