Beneath the Lion's Gaze

by Maaza Mengiste

  “They’re looking specifically for Mekonnen,” Solomon said, pointing to Dawit. He turned to the monk. “Is there somewhere else he can go if we need to separate?”

  “We are many here,” the monk said, nodding. “They don’t know we exist, we’re forgotten.”

  Dawit stood behind Solomon and stared into the gaping mouth of the bright valley as a raw, sharp wind howled past them. A small, freshly dug grave rose under the wide shadows of a tree far below, surrounded by wilted meskel flowers.

  “A child is buried there. The mother comes every day and sleeps next to the grave before curfew,” the monk said. He looked at Dawit. “He promised us no more floods, but I pray every day for a deluge to wash this all away.”

  Dawit looked at the man, bent and dignified, and recognized a soft-spoken rage and unshakable loyalty. He dropped to his knees and wrapped his arms around the old monk’s legs. “I have done so much,” he said. Longing for his home and his family, for his old life and his old friends surged through him.

  “Mekonnen.” The monk laid a hand on his head. “Don’t we serve the God of the warrior King Dawit, that killer of beasts and giants, that appointed slayer of husbands and fathers and the virile sons of weeping mothers? Did our Father not make this Dawit his most beloved, the seed for his own Son? Did he not add strength to his swinging sword? Didn’t he put a murderer’s rage into his beloved’s heart himself?” He made the sign of the cross on Dawit’s crown. His voice was tinged with the resolve of the faithful. “My child, Ethiopia, stand up and fight against this new beast that has descended on our country. I will pray for you nothing but blessings, for eyes that see in the night and legs that carry you far and fast, for a life long and peaceful, for children who will not rest until our country is free again.”

  HAILU WOKE, PULLED out of sleep by the startling light of the sun. It was in the quick jerk of his legs that he understood his body had begun to heal itself, that all this time, while he swayed in dulled intellect and sharpened fear, it had been knitting and patching nerves and muscles. His body was adjusting to an existence without pain. I have swallowed my own teeth, have had nowhere to spew my own refuse, and nearly starved with a stomach full of only guilt and fear. Hailu stared at his legs, at the slight tremor he could not control in his hands, and in the mirror he traced the side of his mouth that would never be fully un-numbed. But the body heals in due course, he thought, and one day soon, I will sleep free of these dreams and uncontrollable spasms I have witnessed in the dying who long to give up. I will live free of all this, far from those days of stench and electricity and probing hands. I will live. The girl. What have I done? Hailu stared once more at his healing legs, his strengthening hands, the mending body of an old man, and he began to weep.

  YONAS WATCHED FROM the window of the prayer room, forced his eyes to distinguish the figure that crouched, then sprang inside Melaku’s kiosk in one lithe leap. He tried to mold his gaze to the contours of the dim light that flickered, then shut off inside the kiosk, but there was no moonlight. He turned and began to pray.

  He heard a familiar sound. It was a soft knock followed by rocks thrown against glass. Yonas was taken back to boyhood days when he and his brother hid from each other, from Mickey, from their parents, from a disgruntled Bizu. It had been his little brother’s game more than his, but one he joined in with grudging enjoyment. The rocks came again, a splatter of taps against the window.

  Yonas moved swiftly and quietly down the stairs to the small side door. He unlatched the lock and flung his arms wide and let his brother fall into him and he held him firmly, Dawit’s soft weeping the only sound separating the tall men who clung so desperately to each other they were nearly indistinguishable in the dark.

  “You’re home,” Yonas said. “You’re home.”

  “I’m in danger,” Dawit said. “There’s nowhere else to go.”

  Yonas nodded. “You’ll be safe here. I won’t let them find you,” he said under the shelter of their father’s house.

  DAWIT GASPED AT the sight of his father. “Abbaye,” he said, trying to break through the fog in his father’s mind and find the man. “Hailu.” He held his father’s hand. “I’m here.”

  Hailu brought Dawit’s hand to his mouth to kiss it, then turned away.

  “He’s usually more alert and much stronger,” Sara said. She touched the pillow next to Hailu’s head. “He’s been crying.” She raised his head and felt underneath. “It’s soaked. Let me change this. Abbaye, what’s wrong?”

  “Let’s change the pillow and let him rest,” Yonas said, his arm around his brother again, drawing himself closer. “You have to go back upstairs and hide before Tizzie wakes from her nap,” he said to Dawit. “She shouldn’t know you’re here, she might say something.”

  Dawit stood. “She’s grown so much,” he said. “How long have I been gone?”

  Sara touched his arm, drew her hand back and took Yonas’s arm. “Too long.”

  “Does Shiferaw give you trouble?” he asked as they walked out of his old room and up the stairs.

  Yonas shook his head. “He’s away at meetings. These kebeles are going to get more strict.”

  Dawit paused over Tizzie’s sleeping figure. “She looks like you,” he said, smiling at Yonas.

  Sara stood by the prayer room. “We’ll bring food soon.” She walked in, smoothed the velvet draping the table. “Once Melaku finds some place, we’ll take you there.”

  Dawit went to the prayer room. “I remember when I never felt bad for anything I did …” He trailed off.

  “We all have regrets,” Yonas said.

  66.

  A LARGE CLEAR moon sat in the bend of the sky. A breeze graced the tops of trees and fluttered curtains that grazed Sara’s face. She held Tizita on her lap in Hailu’s room, rocking her gently. They stared out the window and watched a stray dog wander aimlessly on the road.

  “Sometimes when people leave us, they don’t die, they just fly away,” Sara said. The whisper was so soft it fell from her lips like a breath, then died in the breeze.

  Tizita gazed out the window, leaned into her mother, and listened.

  “Sofia and Robel are packing because they’re moving, not because they have to go to jail,” Sara said. She put her finger on Tizita’s right cheek, watched a dimple form as the little girl started to smile, and smiled herself.

  “When are they going on the plane?” Tizita asked. “Can I go?”

  “You’re staying with me.” Sara smoothed her daughter’s braids. “They’ll be here for a while longer. Then they go to America and a church will take care of them.”

  “Rahel’s mommy said if we leave they’ll put Abbaye in jail again.” Tizita stopped, serious. “He can come, too, can’t he? He just sleeps.” She looked up.

  “We’re not leaving.” Sara smiled. “He’s been getting better. Didn’t he pray with you up here yesterday?”

  A distant purr outside the window grew louder, then the crunch of thick tires. A door slammed. Shouts ricocheted. Gunshots punctured the night. Another search.

  “It’s late,” Sara said. She sat next to Tizita on the bed. “Go to your room and I’ll come back and pray with you.”

  “Is it the soldiers?” Tizita asked. She clung to Sara and ran her fingers over her mother’s short curls. Sara had cut her hair in mourning for Berhane. Her scar rose like a tree root from the top of her head.

  “It’s just a government car,” Sara said. She let out a deep breath as the rumble went by.

  “Sometimes bullets sound like the rain,” Tizita said, pointing to the ceiling and talking nervously. “It comes down on the roof.” She gripped her mother’s hand and looked out the window in fear. “Are they coming?”

  The car crawled back in front of their house and stopped.

  “I will be back,” Sara said. She raced down the stairs where Hailu sat in his armchair next to his red radio, now permanently off.

  Tizita stood on her grandfather’s bed on tiptoes to get a bett
er view of the car. She could hear solid steps entering the compound. Two soldiers marched to the door, their rifles in front of them. The shorter one rammed the butt of his rifle into the door three times. He turned around to say something, then the door flew open.

  “What is it?” she heard her mother say. Tizita imagined her planted firmly in their path.

  “Get Yonas,” one soldier replied. “We need to talk to him.”

  “About what?”

  “Where is he? It’s after curfew,” the other soldier said. Both of them took a step into the house but Sara stepped outside and shut the door.

  “You can talk to me. He’s sleeping,” her mother said.

  Tizita didn’t hear her father behind her until she felt the sharp slap he gave her bottom. Her grandfather was with him, his tired eyes now wide.

  “I have to go downstairs,” her father said. “You should be asleep.” Yonas gripped Tizita’s shoulders so hard that she shrank from the pain. “Abbaye, lay down,” he added. He turned back to her. “Go to your room,” he said. “Hurry.”

  They heard the heavy-soled footsteps at the same time.

  “They’re inside!” Tizita cried. She threw herself into his arms. The thin gold crucifix around his neck cut into her cheek.

  “Don’t get scared,” Yonas said. “If you’re not brave, you’ll get everyone in trouble.” He settled on the prayer room. “Go to your room and close the door.”

  Loud voices came from the living room and Yonas ran. Tizita found herself alone with her grandfather, cornered in a room grown eerie with nighttime shadows and hyenas’ snorting. She wanted to hug him but he was kneeling, lost in something on the ground.

  She went inside the prayer room to ask for help. The tiny square room was painted a light blue. The statue of Saint Mary and her baby was at the center of a long table draped in red. Tizita made the sign of the crucifix, and as she’d done every night for a long time, she asked the angels to watch over Berhane, then started praying for her family.

  Tizita prayed with open eyes in case her mother needed her. “Please don’t let them take my daddy or Abbaye. Help my mommy not be scared.”

  The loud thud of falling furniture came from downstairs. Sara’s splintered voice rose above the din. “You’re wasting your time!”

  Tizita knew her mother was looking into the soldier’s eyes when she said this, the same way she looked into her father’s when they were fighting. She continued praying, hoping her words would let angels know that they needed help right now, even if it was late at night. She struggled against the urge to go downstairs.

  Feet pounded up the steps. They were coming towards the prayer room.

  “Tell me where he is! Mekonnen is here!”

  Her father: “You’ve been here before. There’s nobody here but us.”

  Tizita closed the door to the room. From the other side, she heard a sickening thud and her father’s groan. She pulled back the velvet cloth to crawl under the table and hide, but twisted in that cramped space was her uncle.

  Her world started to unravel in that brief second between horror and recognition.

  “Dawit?” Their eyes met. She’d never seen her uncle shaking like this. He put a finger on her mouth to be quiet and Tizita saw he’d bitten one side of his lip bloody.

  “Bastard. Only a coward needs his gun to hit an unarmed man,” her mother said.

  “You’re in the wrong house.” That was her father. “There’s no Mekonnen here.”

  She looked down at her uncle, waited for him to tell her what to do. His shaking was traveling into her body; her knees were quivering. He motioned and she leaned in.

  “They’re going to look in here,” Dawit whispered. “When they open the door, pretend I’m not here.” He looked for her agreement and she nodded.

  On the other side of the door, she heard her mother. “Has this dirty Russian uniform made you forget you are habesha?” Sara spat. “You foolish boy.”

  Tizita jerked, alarmed, when she heard the piercing slap that forced her mother to cry out and her father to roar in fury. Bodies thudded to the ground. Tizita cried out in fear, then scrambled to push Dawit back under the table and yank the velvet cover in place. She turned just in time to see the flinty determination in the tall soldier’s eyes as he strode into the room. Her mother was at his shoulder, pushing to get past him. Her father was outside the door, holding the soldier back.

  The soldier raised his rifle and all of them froze, eyes riveted on the barrel.

  “I heard you speaking.” The soldier reached for Tizita, catlike, until her mother moved past him to pull her close.

  Tizita wrapped her arms around Sara’s waist. She couldn’t take her eyes off the gun. “Don’t shoot us,” she said. “I was just praying.”

  The soldier leaned close to her, the smell of rotten teeth on his breath. His eyes raked over the sparsely furnished room as he jabbed each corner with his rifle.

  “Enough. You’ve done enough for your government tonight,” her mother said. Her mother kept her eyes glued to the rifle, her nails dug into Tizita’s arms.

  The soldier lifted the barrel of his rifle to scratch his chin and he spat, aiming for Sara’s foot. He paused to stare at the spit that settled on the edge of her slippers. Then his mouth stretched and his stained teeth jutted out in a triumphant smile.

  “Move,” he said. “Mesfin! Come here!” he shouted for his partner.

  The soldier thrust his rifle into Sara, flinging her aside. Sara’s head slammed against the wall. He stared down, pleased, as Tizita sank to the ground to help her.

  The soldier was already spinning from the punch before anyone knew what was happening. Yonas’s next blow sent the soldier careening on top of Tizita and Sara and his weight pushed her further into her mother. Sara wrapped an arm around his neck and Tizita grasped the back of his shirt. They struggled to maintain their hold on the straining body.

  “Daddy, I’m holding him for you!” Tizita cried between clenched teeth.

  Yonas knew what he needed to do. He grabbed the weapon, grim and determined, and smashed the butt of the gun into the soldier’s cheek, then again when the soldier tried to rise, then again. Then the soldier lay still and everything slowed and his daughter and wife slid out from underneath that uniformed mass, and Yonas aimed the rifle at the soldier’s heart.

  “My son. No.” It was his father, standing behind the second soldier, who was looking at his fallen comrade with fear.

  Hailu and the soldier walked into the room, and it was only when Yonas looked again that he saw his father had a pistol he’d never known existed, aimed at the soldier’s head.

  “Abbaye? Where did you get that gun?” Sara asked.

  Dawit listened from underneath the table. He squeezed his eyes and bit his tongue. That bulletless gun had come into this house in the fleshy hands of a coward. Had traveled from a killing field to his room and then landed in his father’s possession. That gun that had transformed his friend into an enemy and a murderer was now in his father’s grip, a cursed weapon that could offer no defense tonight if tested. Dawit started to crawl from under the table to take the weapon from him and offer himself to these soldiers. But then he heard his father speak.

  “I’m a doctor. I’m not afraid to watch you die,” he said. “I was arrested by the Colonel and kept in his jail for months.” He paused, then continued, his voice shaking. “No one can do worse to me. I’ll shoot you if you don’t leave us alone.”

  Dawit heard one of the soldiers whisper, “The Colonel,” then saw his brother take a step towards the soldier who was groaning on the ground.

  “Get out of our house,” Yonas said. “Leave my family alone.” Dawit saw the edge of the gun barrel press under the soldier’s chin and lift his gaze up, away from what sat under the table. The soldier stood.

  Tizita was crying. Her legs shook so badly she could barely stand. The soldiers were quiet, still, boys frightened and confused. Then they turned and left, with Sara and Yonas f
ollowing them. Soon, the house quieted. Only the family remained.

  “Dawit,” his father said. “My Dawit.” The pistol dropped to the ground, his father fell to his knees, and strong arms wrapped around Dawit and helped him stand.

  Outside, as house after house was forced open in search for Mekonnen, Emama Seble murmured a prayer that held the power of a hundred. Melaku opened his shutters and sang of resistance and courage, his cries soaring into the night. And Hailu sat on the edge of his bed holding Dawit’s hand, refusing to let it go.

  Dawit held his father and listened as he began to count. As he counted, his eyes closed, Hailu saw a flash of brilliant blue, as wide and open as the noon sky, and a wild bird on the strong back of a fierce lion racing home.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  THIS BOOK IS based on the Ethiopian revolution that began in 1974, but I have taken many liberties for the purposes of fiction. My intent has been to convey the essence of the early years of the revolution through my imagination. Though the characters of Emperor Haile Selassie and Prime Minister Aklilu Habtewold are based on actual people, their portrayals are fictitious. The characters of Kifle and Colonel Mehari, who are included among the sixty officials executed by the Derg soon after the emperor’s arrest, are fictitious. Major Guddu was inspired by Mengistu Haile Mariam, but he remains a fictional character. The chronology of events has at times been compressed and altered. I have included a condensed list of books that helped my research, and I thank the authors immensely. Specifically, Kiflu Tadesse’s The Generation, Part II was central in helping to create a sketch of underground resistance groups in Addis Ababa; the late Taffara Deguefé’s A Tripping Stone was instrumental in conveying the life of prisoners; Nega Mezlekia’s Notes from the Hyena’s Belly and the late Prime Minister Aklilu Habtewold’s Aklilu Remembers: Historical Recollections from a Prison Cell were significant to my understanding of the political and personal costs of the revolution. I humbly express my gratitude to these writers for sharing their stories so the rest of us may know.