by Ruth Hartley
They are horribly explicit. Gillian’s agonised and distorted face is pasted in each montage. In one her body is pressed into the shape of a Spanish ham in a metal cuff on a bar counter. A maniac butcher slices at her rump with a long knife while her distorted face screams in protest. In another there’s a butcher’s display of carcasses of meat and each piece carries Gillian’s face. In this image the man serving the meat is wearing a judge’s wig and the customers all have the faces of four young men taken from newspaper cuttings. The art works are deliberately made to seem crude and blurry but they are also beautifully produced and executed.
“I shall probably paint over the men’s faces in some way.” Gillian says, “I don’t want the exhibition to be closed down for reasons of slander or whatever. A friend of mine posed as the judge for me.”
“How do you like the one where I am being weighed on the scales with the judge’s hands on my breasts? I don’t know if I will use them all. I am talking to the gallery about how far we can go without being sued or visited by someone like Mary Whitehouse – though I wouldn’t mind the publicity of course. I don’t expect to sell these easily.”
Lara puts her hands over her eyes and rubs them.
“Am I upsetting you, Lara? Some people can’t bear to have rape mentioned. There are a lot of us women who it’s happened to – but we never talk about it, do we?”
Gillian is watching Lara.
“Hey girl! Take it easy. We needn’t look at these.”
Lara can see Gillian is concerned for her. She makes a great effort.
“No!” she says. “I want to see your work. It’s important – it has impact though.”
“I hope so – I want to counter that patriarchal crap about women asking for it.”
“Rape isn’t only physical, Lara.” Gillian continues, “I was also raped mentally and emotionally by the press – and the court – and the judge. It’s the way women are used and perceived. It isn’t over when the chap removes his dick – though he may think it is.”
“Oh Gillian! How have you survived?” Lara asks.
“Turned the experience into art of course – what else? If you don’t you just end up in a vicious spiral of self-hate.”
As they walk back from the studios Gillian tells Lara the rest of her story.
“I can laugh now – most of the time – at what happened afterwards. It really screwed my relationship with Poppy – my first girl friend – you remember her? She didn’t want to testify on my behalf. She was really frightened and left London very soon afterwards. The other women in the commune where we lived wanted me to make a stand as a feminist. To go to court dressed as I had always done – punk you, know. I think I had already started to want to move away from that commune and that group though. It had got very incestuous and controlling. I wanted to identify myself first of all as an artist and then as a woman. It was all very complicated and nasty. I survived because I got a good therapist and support – I eventually met Anne – she made a huge difference to me because she has a sense of humour.”
“Hey Lara – on the subject of sex – are you planning on taking a lover while Tim’s away?”
Lara laughs at Gillian’s directness.
“Not with Adam to look after –it would be too complicated!”
Gillian looks over at Lara questioningly.
“Well, then – I’ll take you to my sex shop in Hoxton if you like – there are other things a woman can do.”
Part Eleven
The Coup 1989
Chapter One
Riots
“I have to collect Tim from Chambeshi airport early tomorrow.” Lara said. “Do you think the riots are over now? Nothing has happened all afternoon in the city centre.”
Inonge’s mouth turned down at the corners. She shook her head.
“Who knows? Things are quiet in town but the students are holding meetings at the university right at this moment. Enoch Junior says that there are some very radical ideas being put forward. In any case the students haven’t been getting anything but maize meal to eat for weeks and not much of that! With the latest price hikes for maize meal they won’t eat at all.”
“I think I’ll go down-town to Tim’s flat and see that it’s ready for him and maybe do some painting while I am there.”
“No! Don’t.” Inonge said. “Until things are safe in the city you should bring Tim back here to Oscar’s ranch when he arrives!”
“Don’t think he’ll like the idea of any association with Oscar’s business or friends!” Lara muttered quietly to herself. It would be safer than Tim’s down-town flat of course, but Tim was returning to Chambeshi to report on the riots and the political troubles that had befallen President Chona. He would want to be where events were taking place in the town centre and outside the Parliament. In any case his antipathy and distrust of Oscar had increased over time. Lara blamed herself. He had been right about Oscar. She knew he was right, she had proof, but what could she say to him about it now?
“No news from Oscar?” Lara said by way of passing time and changing the object of the moment. She had come to see Inonge and Enoch with the half-formed intention of telling them about the smuggling of the gemstones. Perhaps they already were in on the deal? She didn’t think they could be but how did one know for sure? The trouble was that tension had been increasing on the streets of Chambeshi with the exorbitant price rises in the staple food. Now there were crowds of angry people in the streets. Riots had started and spread.
Was this the right moment? What should she do or say?
Enoch, hunched at his desk with piles of papers in front of him, shook his head slowly and for a long time. Finally he looked up at Lara.
“No news and I have still no idea what he is doing. All the US dollars have gone from the safe – there were several thousand I think – and he has flown off in his plane but made no flight plans and said nothing to me. I don’t like the look of these accounts either. A lot of money has been moved around and then vanished.”
Lara’s guts already felt hollow. Now she felt sick. She did not know who to tell about the last time she had seen Oscar and she still was not sure what to make of what had happened between them. There was a cold heavy lump behind her breastbone and a sense of desolation possessed her.
It was after she had seen the dead body of Njoka and before she had discovered the precious stones being smuggled out of Chambeshi in her paintings that Lara attempted to confront Oscar in his office. She stuttered out her question about Natan’s role at the Tin Heart Camp and how it was being financed. Oscar stood up, his face expressionless. He moved like an automaton, gripping her by her upper arms and pushing her back against his books. She felt each shelf like a ladder’s steps against her spine and the back of her head.
“What do you think is happening here? Can’t you see it’s over for President Chona? Chambeshi is falling apart. The region is on the point of collapse! I stay afloat as long as I stay on top. I will be the king-maker. I will finance the changeover. That’s how I will survive! That’s how you will survive! Do you understand? Do you see?”
Oscar gave her a last hard shove backwards. Then he released her. Her arms were circled with bruises for days later.
“Yes, I see.” she said submissively. She did not really understand him, though, or believe him. She thought he might be mad.
“Kingmaker! Could he really mean that? Had he delusions? I’ve left it all too late.” Lara said to herself. “Chambeshi is disintegrating fast. I’ve got my plane tickets for ten days time – if the planes are still flying that is! I must – must – tell Enoch and Inonge what I know – but I want to find out more – I want Oscar to tell me more. Did he ever love me at all – was I only convenient. Perhaps another opportunity will come when he may tell me a bit more of the truth – if I dare ask! I want to tell Tim – I must tell Tim about O
scar.”
Chapter Two
Under Fire
Later that afternoon, Inonge phoned a friend in a clinic in town to be told that the riots had started again. Crowds of people, men, women with babies on their backs and children had gone running up the main street. They were in a cheerful mood and laughing. People had started breaking into shops and looting goods. So many items had been amassed by individuals that they couldn’t possibly carry them all. They had to hide them away in order to collect them later. Men scrambled up scaffolding on building sites or hid their loot in doorways on side streets. The police had arrived finally and taken charge of the streets. Inonge’s friend said that there was some gunfire which had emptied the thoroughfares for a while. Then the rioters began to use the railway line to gain access to the city. Minibuses and cars had vanished from the roads. People were trapped at the markets and in their offices until dark when most of the rioters went home. There was no information to be had from the local radio and television. The President was rumoured to be on holiday somewhere. That evening Enoch’s radio picked up a very brief uninformative report on the BBC World Service news about some rioting in Chambeshi but nothing about the reasons or the political significance.
The next morning the sun rose in a clear sky. It was a beautiful day, warm and balmy. Early reports from the city said all was peaceful. It was certainly silent. There was no traffic and not even one minibus on the streets. Lara took Enoch’s Toyota to the airport. Enoch insisted that it was the most reliable car to travel in if anything untoward happened. All along the route people were waiting hopelessly for transport to get into work. The road was littered with rocks and broken concrete bricks as far as the outskirts of the city. Lara passed several burnt-out shells of vehicles but after she reached the dual carriageway to the airport there was nothing untoward to be seen.
At the airport people were gathered in quiet and serious knots reading the papers. The Chambeshian press had reported extensively on the riots. There were even photographs of damaged properties. The city shop looters may have been opportunists but politically directed attacks had been made on police stations and government offices in the townships. Buildings had been burnt down. There had been some deaths, one was a policeman, and there were many injured. Well organised activists had arrived from the northern mining towns. They, it was thought, had been responsible for the well-targeted attacks. Again Lara’s stomach hurt. Had Oscar had a part in organising transport for those men? She knew now for certain that he had seen the riots as a way to loosen President Chona’s hold on power and that he planned to install General Miyanda.
If only Tim’s bloody plane would land on time.
Once they got back to safety she would start to tell him what she had discovered.
The flight arrival was announced. At that moment a young Asian man accompanied by two armed policemen entered the hall in a state of high excitement.
“The riots have started again!” he declared with authority and an expression of pleasure.
Immediately the crowd stirred and began to move about quickly gathering up their possessions and glancing around to see what everyone else planned to do.
“We’ll be heading a convoy back to the city.” the young Asian said. “Follow my pick-up truck. I have more armed police with me. Collect all the passengers – all of them – as fast as you can and we’ll get moving.”
Lara had two options. One was to follow the convoy which was to go back to the city down the main road which had been targeted by rioters the day before. The other was to go home on her own via a long dirt road through farming country that went in a quarter-circle round the city. She had no idea what she would find on that road but it was unlikely that it would attract activists or rioters of any sort.
Unfortunately Tim was slow in clearing his baggage. It was the last item dumped on the slow carousel. When he finally walked through the customs door, Lara had no time for greetings or conversation. She grabbed his arm.
“Quick, Tim. We must leave now. The riots have started again.”
She could see he thought she was panicking unnecessarily. Riots did not usually start early in the morning but there was no time to explain. Her place in the car-park was close to the middle of the convoy behind the police pick-up truck, but two white men, one with a rifle, in a second truck, refused to allow her the space to join the queue. Lara reversed to make for another exit and head for the country route home. By a curious fluke however, the convoy leader saw her and signalled that she join the line of vehicles at a point immediately behind his vehicle. As soon as she joined the convoy she realised that she was committed to the more dangerous town route.
The convoy moved at a terrific speed with all the vehicles following close behind each other. Every now and then a car from a side road made a desperate and dangerous attempt to join them in the belief that this was the best way to get into the city. Lara did not look at her speedometer. It took all her concentration to maintain a steady distance behind the car in front of her. Tim said nothing; he looked once at the speedometer, once at Lara, stretched his legs out to brace himself and held onto the car door with one hand and the back of Lara’s seat with the other. The leading police vehicle signalled for the convoy to overtake it and continue on down the road. It then swung into the gates of the agriculture college checking on possible dangers from gathering mobs of students. Lara found herself temporarily leading the convoy. Minutes later the leading police vehicle once again overtook the convoy and Lara. It raced ahead as the convoy approached the main university down a long straight incline. As she passed the university entrance, Lara saw that it was crowded with students, their hands clutching rocks, bricks, stones and paving slabs. A group of them were busy dragging car tyres filled with burning grass into the middle of the road at the point where it dipped as it went through a vlei. Shots rang out from behind her. Presumably the white man armed with the rifle had started shooting or the students had thrown their missiles at the convoy. At the sound of gunfire the front police vehicle throttled back, screeched to a stop then and swung backwards around Lara’s car, and reversed down the road at top speed its engine shrieking in protest. In it, armed policemen fired over the top of the convoy at the students. As the bullets hummed over their car, Tim covered his head with his arms and ducked below the dashboard. Without slackening the car’s speed, Lara drove, her head level with her outstretched arms on the steering wheel. She could barely see the road or the car in front of her and yet somehow, she also saw, with the clarity of a dream, the students running away up the smooth green lawns towards the university buildings. In their bright coloured clothes, the boys with clean white shirts, the girls with pretty skirts, they seemed to dance and fall like flowers in a summer breeze.
It was all behind them in a moment. A taxi oblivious to the situation appeared in front of the convoy. Lara swung out and around it as if she was a practised getaway driver with a procession of vehicles on her tail. The police car was in front of her again. When it reached the main street traffic lights it slowed down almost to the speed limit and the convoy following it swiftly dispersed leaving the streets empty of traffic once more. The Toyota drifted on gently through the peaceful city suburbs till it reached the Njobvus’ home and an anxious Enoch and Inonge.
“We heard that the riots had started again.” Inonge said. “Was the plane delayed – you took so long?”
“Took so long!” Lara giggled still in shock. “Twenty minutes to get from the airport! Twenty minutes! It’s usually three-quarters of an hour!”
Tim was also grinning with relief.
“Lara was amazing! She should drive stunt cars in movies after that demonstration of skill! We had to join a police convoy that averaged over 100 mph all the way here.”
Tim and Lara looked at each other properly for the first time since they had met at the airport. They both realised how upset they were by what they had seen on the dr
ive.
Tim said, “You should have heard Lara swearing at the police – they were shooting at the university students. It was awful to see.”
“Did I swear?” Lara had not heard herself shouting.
“Tim!” Lara she said grabbing at his arm. “We have to talk! I have to tell you things. Now! Come with me!” She pulled him towards the veranda where they could be alone.”
“There’ll be coffee and breakfast in the kitchen when you are ready!” Inonge called after them.
Chapter Three
Confession
“I don’t think you’ll want to see me any more after I’ve told you what I have found out.” Lara said.
Now she had started she knew that she would be able to finish what she had to say. Those last few sweaty nights when she had lain awake uncertain and indecisive, dreading the outcome of this confession, were proving to have been a waste of time. There was only one thing to do and that was to tell Tim and then to tell Enoch and then to go to the airport and take the next plane to England, though that might prove difficult in the current political unrest.
“Okay – go ahead then.” Tim frowned. “You are going to marry Oscar and have a white wedding – is that it?”
Lara was taken aback by his bitter tone but she shook her head firmly.
“No! Listen! It is nothing like that. Yes I have been – was – Oscar’s – lover – but – .”
The words always sounded so crude stated in that way. Sleeping with someone never explained either the profundity or the shallowness of a relationship or how it worked.
“It’s over between Oscar and me. I don’t even know if it’s safe for me to see him again – and that man Natan – he’s the really dangerous one I think! Oscar is involved with the rebellion in the north in some way – because of Natan perhaps, though I’m not sure which of them is the actual instigator. I don’t think Enoch and Inonge have a clue about what Oscar is really up to – and I don’t know if they’ll believe me when I tell them – I’m going to do that next – after telling you I mean.”