by Ruth Hartley
At the moment Adam’s letters to Tim are all about his new weekend companion Lucy, the elderly ex-guide dog that Sidney and Gwen have adopted. Lucy is a creature with a sweet nature who is more than happy to lie around the flat for the greater part of each weekend. Each night Lucy sleeps on Adam’s bed and Adam sleeps better for it. So does Lara. It is much more restful not to be woken at night with Adam kicking her in the back or clutching her tight around her neck. He’s a restless sleeper always moving around the bed, constantly throwing off the duvet and even sometimes ending up with his feet on the pillow. If Adam is spending time with his friends, Lara brings Lucy down to the studio where she is provided with a warm bed in front of the gas fire and lots of attention from the artists.
Part Thirteen
1997
Chapter One
Ransom
“I want to tell you what happened to me at the Tin Heart Mine.” Lara says at last to Brendan. “I think about it all the time in a confused way because I am always thinking of Tim and I have no idea what he is going through. All I am sure of is that what he is going through is much worse than what happened to me.”
Brendan’s raises both eyebrows, making such sharp creases on his forehead that Lara almost laughs aloud. She has become used to the multitude of ways that Brendan signals questions and comments with his eyebrows. This time he also speaks.
“Honestly!” he says, “I don’t know how it might be possible to categorise and rate such experiences but tell me about it and why you think like that.”
“Oh – I don’t want to make comparisons at all.” Lara’s own brow becomes lumpier, “I just need to get it out of the way and as much as I can – out of my head. I need to concentrate on Tim.”
Again Brendan indicates his acquiescence and Lara begins her story.
Chapter Two
Imprisoned
In the immediate and shocking moments after Enoch had been killed, time seemed to become elastic. Inonge had flung herself on top of Enoch’s body and Lara knelt, holding Enoch’s outflung hand, knowing there was nothing to be done but thinking that it must at least be attempted. The sound of the bullet, Inonge’s screaming, the shouting of the men, all of those noises seemed to continue for hours, yet within seconds Inonge and Lara were pulled upright and dragged into the mine manager’s house. The iron door clanged as it resisted the men’s attempts to close it. There was thick grass clumped around the frame and trapped by the hinges. Eventually the men used a machete to hack at the grass roots and the door once again shut solidly into its frame. That did not stop the men giving it several reverberating kicks. Lara heard the broken padlock clunk into place. It would hold the door shut against any force they might exert on it from the inside. The room they were in was hot and very stuffy and airless but a sensation of such icy coldness rose up from Lara’s belly to her heart that she was locked in position, frozen and immobile, her instinct only to wrap her arms around her body. For several moments she forgot to breathe. Inonge stood in the middle of the space rigid and silent. There was blood on her face, hands and down the front of her clothes. Outside Natan was giving orders. They could not hear Oscar at all. It gradually became clear to Lara and Inonge that the men were now lifting Enoch’s body and carrying it away. Inonge gave one terrible cry and fell to the floor. Lara found herself panicking. She was convinced that Inonge was also dead. That somehow she had also been shot and killed when Enoch was shot and killed. She knelt beside Inonge crying and pleading incoherently with her not to die, but to come back and not leave her alone, yet she also knew that Inonge was not dead, only deeply unconscious. Inonge’s mind had fled to a dark and quiet place away from any acceptance of the fact of Enoch’s death.
The sun would soon set and the mine manager’s house was already filled with a dull gloom. When daylight ended it would become pitch black inside. Lara turned Inonge onto her side in the recovery position and she began a frantic search of the house. There had been electric lights once but they no longer functioned. She found an old storm lantern with a slosh of paraffin in the fuel chamber but nowhere could she find matches. Water? The single tap above the sink made a hoarse wheeze then a sucking sound and a tiny dribble of water collected on a spot of lime scale. Lara grabbed at the nearest container which was an empty tin can and placed it under the droplet. There was a half an oil drum standing next to the toilet. It had water in it but Lara could see mosquito larvae floating it and dead flies. It looked green and she thought there was mud in the bottom of the drum. It was probably river water brought up to flush the toilet and unfit for drinking. There was not even any way she could boil it. Lara kicked the drum. She must come and scoop out the larva so they didn’t hatch out. There were enough mosquitoes around without any more. She was crying loudly now and panting and shaking. It was ill-judged of her, but at that moment she was more afraid of spending the night in the unrelenting dark than of anything else that might happen to her. Lara tried to force herself to stop being hysterical. She needed to decide what was the most important thing to do, but she did not know if there was any point in making any effort. Surely Natan and his men would come back and kill her and Inonge? Was it impossible that Oscar would come back and let them both go? She could not believe Oscar wanted her dead but she also believed him easily capable of killing her and Inonge. After all he had minutes ago allowed his best friend to be killed by his business associate. Nothing seemed likely or sensible but anything was possible. Her most pressing need was to find some form of lighting and whatever she did must be done immediately because once it was dark she would not see her hand in front of her face. She needed to care for Inonge. For that she needed water and light. Food was unimportant and maybe unnecessary if their lives were soon to be terminated. The bed had a couple of rough blankets flung over the top of a stained and cheap foam mattress with a torn cotton cover. Insects, snakes, vermin, fleas must be everywhere – the house was most probably infested. Lara pulled at the blankets, banged at the mattress. She must lift Inonge onto the bed somehow. Inonge was a dead weight. Lara spread the blanket on the floor beside Inonge and rolled her onto the blanket. Then she pulled Inonge’s inert body closer to the bed and lifted her onto the mattress, first raising her head and upper body and then her legs. She must pace herself. She might have lifted Inonge’s body on her own but then she might have hurt herself or even dropped her. She must stay focussed and practical. If she could she would find a way of cleaning the blood from Inonge. Right now the smell of Enoch’s blood was fresh and strong and intimate. It made Lara sob noisily again. She continued, however, as she cried, to look around for anything she could use to kill a snake or scorpion that might have taken up residence in the empty house. In the kitchen she found an old broomstick with a wobbly moth-eaten brush on it and she hurriedly pushed it around the room starting with the cobwebs on the ceiling and the spaces behind and under cupboards and furniture. That done she must see what she could find that they could use to drink out of and then once again try the taps in a hopeless attempt to get water. The ineffective broom disturbed wall-spiders, ants from under the sink, cockroaches from the empty cupboards, droppings from a rodent on the table, a couple of fortunate geckos that slid away into the outside world through the ill-fitting windows. There wasn’t much to worry about considering that the place had been empty for years. Or had it? A strong pervasive, familiar, and unfamiliar smell tickled Lara’s nostrils. A gradual awareness of it had been growing on her as she swept, then with a shock, she recognised what it was. It was the smell of the men who had been with Oscar and Natan. She had encountered similar odours in the crowded market in Chambeshi City and when she had travelled in the back of the pick-up with the labourers who had been digging the foundations for the camp kitchen. It was the smell of men. Familiar and not unpleasant in those earlier contexts, here it was oppressive. It was the smell of hot dry-skinned muscled workers overlaid with the acrid sourness of sweat and then again with the smoke of cheap tobacco roll
ed in newspaper. Here in this space it made Lara choke. The men who had been with Natan and Oscar must have been barracked inside this house. Inside the space that she and Inonge were now imprisoned. Lara bent over holding herself together with her arms. She couldn’t breathe, she was gasping for air, she was hyperventilating. What possible chance did she and Inonge have against these people?
They might not just be killed.
She must not allow herself to think of what else might happen.
Lara went over to Inonge. She was so quiet and still that Lara once again checked her pulse and listened for her breathing. She stroked her forehead and spoke to her gently. She was desperate for company but it would be cruel to wake Inonge if she slept. Did she sleep? Was she unconscious? Was she safe? A mosquito whined past Lara’s ear. There would be hundreds of mosquitoes once it was dark though ten would be enough to make their lives miserable. The insects, naturally attracted by sweating bodies, would also be attracted to the smell of blood on Inonge’s clothes. Though it was hot Lara drew the blanket up and over Inonge’s body. She lay down beside Inonge, her hand by Inonge’s head ready to wave away any flying creatures and realised that she was exhausted but so agitated that sleep would not be possible. For a moment she closed her eyes.
The door banged. There was a peremptory knock, then a second, and Lara heard the voice of Natan.
“Lie down on the bed both of you. Lara! Inonge! Lie down. I am going to open the door. If either of you stand up or come close to the door I will shoot you dead. Do you understand? Lara?”
Lara’s first attempt at a reply was a wordless croak then she managed to say yes twice. The second time loudly enough for Natan to hear and acknowledge.
The padlock clunked and banged and the door opened with a reverberation that shimmied in Lara’s ears. Lara could see the outline of a man in the doorway against the fading evening light. It was not Natan but one of his men. Lara saw the shape of a shoulder and the muzzle of a gun poking from behind the door. That must be Natan. The man who entered was loaded with some bags which he left inside the room. He returned once more, this time with a saucepan, a large bottle of water, and two lanterns. Again he backed out. The door shut again. Lara found her voice.
“Natan!” she yelled, “We must have our malaria prophylactics and the first aid box.” She heard a grunt from Natan. Perhaps it was laughter.
“Why?” he replied, “Do you think you’ll live long enough to benefit from it?”
“Yes!” Lara yelled. She could hear him moving away as the other man replaced the padlock. This time the hasp clicked into place. It was a new padlock. “Yes!” she yelled one last time and then she sobbed again. “Yes! Yes!” but now she was whispering. Still crying she got up to examine what had been delivered. There were two rucksacks; those that they had brought with them from Chambeshi City. Each had been opened and roughly examined before being brought to them. Lara remembered with gratitude that her pen knife was still in her trouser pocket. If it had been in her rucksack they would have removed it. The rucksacks contained only their clothes for the trip and their toilet bags but Lara’s had in it a small, but very useful, aerosol canister of anti-insect spray, a little torch, and, thank goodness, her malaria prophylactic pills. Her contraceptive pills were also there. God knows why she still continued to take them even after she knew that she would never ever want to go to bed with Oscar again. It was probably from a sort of superstition and fear that even months later, she might find herself made pregnant by him. Lara saw with sorrow that Inonge’s rucksack had Enoch’s belongings in it too. Perhaps it was as well that Inonge was still unconscious but even so Lara did not think it would help if she took Enoch’s clothes and hid them somewhere.
Most important was the large 5 litre bottle of water. How long was that supposed to last? There was also a small camping gas light, a paraffin lantern and matches. Their captors were obviously not worried that they would try and burn their way out of the house. In any case only the mattress and possibly the blankets were flammable and the fumes from the mattress would choke them before they began to blacken the concrete block walls. Lara tested the weight of the gas bottle in her hand. It seemed pretty heavy for its size and the paraffin lantern was full. Again she had no way of knowing exactly how long they would last though she could make a good guess. Neither did she know for how long she would need them. Lara lit the paraffin lantern. The gas light would be brighter and for that reason she would save it. Once again she did a circuit of the little house with the paraffin lantern and her small torch and this time she found some stubs of candles and a pyrethrum mosquito coil. The saucepan that had been brought along with the water bottle held some cold and unappealing maize meal. There was some greenish oil and a few shredded vegetables in the bottom of the saucepan. Lara sniffed it but could not think how to warm it up. Inonge would not eat and she was not hungry. She put the lid firmly down on the pan and hoped that no insect would find a way in.
She returned to Inonge’s side with the light and a tin dish into which she carefully decanted a little water. She would gently wash off as much blood as she could from Inonge’s face and hands and then ease her out of her stained shirt in order to replace it with a clean one from the rucksack. Though she wanted Inonge’s company very badly, she was careful not to disturb her. She didn’t know, but guessed that Inonge needed to be as far away in her mind from all that had happened for at least, the time being. There was nothing to do but lie down on the bed next to Inonge and try to rest. She was certain sleep would be impossible. Instead she concentrated on the sounds of the bush around the house trying to identify the creatures and locate far away or how close they might be. She heard hippos on the river, hyenas not far away, owls hooting and the strange cry of a bush baby. She was very tired. The night that seemed so endless had become a cold grey morning. She must have slept after all but with the dawn pain and fear swelled up inside her so that she thought she might burst open with the agony of it.
There was nothing to do.
Waiting and waiting for what? She tried to listen again to the sounds outside. To see if she could distinguish the sounds of human activity, she tried to remember stories she had read, to plan paintings that she might do one day, she tried not to think of the people she knew. She tried to keep her mind from inventing scenarios where Enoch Junior and Tim arrived with an army – or the police force – what army? – what police force? Was there still some kind of government in Chambeshi? No – it was better to try and remember the words of songs that she liked. She made herself take her anti-malaria drugs and her contraceptive pill and even the Omega 3 pill that she took to counter the effect that working outdoors all day had on her skin. She looked again at Inonge, used a little more water to clean her a little more and tried to see if she would drink a few sips of water even in her unconscious state but though Inonge murmured a little and then licked her mouth, she did not swallow enough to stop her becoming seriously dehydrated. Lara also worried that she felt too hot and dry and that she could not make her take her anti-malarial prophylactic. She sprayed some of her lightest shirts with the insect repellent and placed them around Inonge’s recumbent form. The smell made Lara sneeze and for a brief moment she felt awake and not drugged with worry. Her boredom was indescribable but her fear was worse. She was surprised and yet not surprised how soon she was overcome by hopelessness and lethargy.
The next evening once again there were the knocks on the door. This time it opened without any warning. Two Chambeshians stood there, one with a gun and one with more water and another saucepan of food. He made to take the first bottle of water away but allowed Lara to pour its contents into odd containers in the kitchen first and hand it back empty.
The man with the gun waved it around the room and in the direction of Inonge.
“Is she dead?” he asked terrified by Inonge’s catatonic state..
Lara shook her head.
“No. She
has gone to be with the spirit of her dead husband.” she said, “He is coming back to take his revenge.” She hoped that this would scare them without provoking them and it did. Inonge’s trance was dangerous for them. The spirits demand revenge for any unjust killing. She heard them talking excitedly as they walked away. Where they went she could not tell for sure. Back to the camp perhaps.
There was so much time and it was stretched out so thin. Nothing to do. Nothing but think. And remember. Remember the story that’s Fred’s wife Monika, his old trout, had insisted she listen to – such a long and slow and painful story about Hanne. About Hanne, Oscar’s sister – and about Oscar, and about Oscar’s mother. Lara hadn’t wanted to listen to the story when Monika recounted it. but she remembered every word.as it replayed again and again in her head.
“Listen, meine Liebe, such suffering, such a story. Hanne always lived with this trauma – it gave her cancer – so she died young. They travelled with all the refugees from Dresden; Hanne, her mother, Oscar – first by train – then walking – walking – the gunfire getting closer – louder – believing Berlin would be defended – or surrender – or be safe. The Russians behind them – coming closer – such an army – so ragged – so angry – full of revenge. Their mother took them to the grandfather’s farm. He was hiding in the cowherd’s hut – he left his big farmhouse empty for the armies.. There was no food, no fruit, no animals, it was early spring and it was very cold. They were hungry – always hungry – very hungry. The Russian soldiers marched – they stopped – they raped – they marched – they stopped – they raped all the women and the girls. Hanne was thirteen years – thin and small – her mother cut her hair off with a kitchen knife – rubbed dirt on her face – hid her under the bedding.” Monika mimed Hanne’s hair tugging against the knife: imitated the scratchy scrape of the knife blade with her raisin eyes squeezed shut. “One soldier came – he found them – he raped the mother. Another soldier came – and another – they were going to rape Hanne – to humiliate Oscar with his sister’s nakedness – he was a boy – nine years of age only – the mother was screaming at them – trying to stop them. The Russian soldiers shot her. They killed her in front of the children – left her bleeding on the floor in the dirt. That was the life of Hanne and Oscar as children. Gott bewahre!. God forbid!”