by Jane Shemilt
Footsteps sounded in the sitting room, then the door to the corridor shut quietly. If it was Elisabeth, she might have overheard my glib words about giving children away but, hurrying to look, it was only Teko, carrying a pile of clean bedding. Even if she’d heard me, she wouldn’t have understood. Alice was by her side, staggering under an equal load.
‘You’re up early, Ally. Let me help you.’ I reached to take the sheets.
‘No!’ Alice shouted, as she twisted away, clutching the linen. They walked together down the corridor, Teko leaning towards Alice so their heads were almost touching. I watched them as the little shock settled, listening to the rising sounds of insect and birds coming into the house through the open windows. Alice was asserting her independence, that’s all. Sam began to cry. I turned away; another hot day was beginning. Later, from the garage, I heard Simon’s car arrive and waved from the open doors as his lanky frame unfolded from the driver’s seat. His face split in a wide grin as he looked towards me, returning the wave. Simon was Kabo’s friend, a maths graduate, as intent on teaching the girls as if he were their university tutor. Even Zoë was learning more than she would have done back in Reception; she could count to a hundred already and was beginning to grasp simple addition. Simon bent over Elisabeth while they exchanged the rolling African greetings; Alice’s excited tones and Zoë’s high voice sounded in the background. Then the front door slammed and it was quiet again, apart from the endless shrilling of the cicadas and the quiet hum of the electricity generator.
Delayed cord clamping … increased blood volume … decreased anaemia. I looked up from the paper in front of me through the open doors to the brown lawn and the hills in the distance. The outcomes of this research could be useful here: special-care baby units must be few and far between. It seemed a simple way to help a newborn baby thrive. I spent an hour processing the outline proposal for another trial, attached it to an email for Francesca and sent it. Nothing happened. I tried once more. There was a little clang as sending failed again. The Internet had gone down. I’d lost count of the times this had happened.
By now the heat was reaching inside the stone walls of the garage. I walked outside and up to the window of the house. Standing on tiptoe, I could see Simon and Alice through the window, sitting close together at the table. Alice was writing, Simon pointing to the page, talking and smiling. Zoë was lying on the floor, absorbed in stacking bricks into little piles. Sam lay on his rug next to her, watching her closely. Teko was nearby, ironing, her head tilted towards the girls. They didn’t need me. I stepped back, not quite sure what to do. I walked quickly round the house, pulled a hat from the cupboard and hurried down the drive to the gate.
Once outside the grounds, the sense of distance vanished into a close world of grey and green, the smell of dust and animals was pungent. The silence dissolved into the humming of insects and the bleating of goats. I walked down the rutted track, relishing the air against my skin. Wire glinted behind some scrubby bushes, and, beyond that, a group of thatched huts framed by green, like a picture-book version of a medieval English country village in spring. I walked nearer, my feet crunching on grass. Close up, there were holes in the thatch and a pile of broken machinery; goats were bleating from a makeshift pen. A woman was sweeping the ground, her muscled arms were roped with veins; a boy leant against the door playing with a puppy on a string. The peace in the small yard seemed to beat in time with the rhythm of the broom.
The heat was fierce now. I turned back on the track and in a moment the huts vanished from view.
When I got home, Simon’s car had gone. Across the lawn, the children were with Teko under the trees, Sam’s seat pushed into the shade. Josiah was digging, and Zoë crouched next to his feet, a shoebox by her side. Alice and Teko were sitting on the rug; from here it looked as though they were laughing. I walked quickly towards them.
Zoë ran over to meet me. ‘Me and Josiah found a frog and a baby lizard,’ she said. ‘Come and see.’
Teko scrambled to her feet as I neared. ‘It’s fine, Teko, don’t go,’ I said, but she slipped past me. Alice got up, took Teko’s hand and together they walked towards the house. Sam woke and began to cry. Before I could reach him, Josiah had hurried over and, dropping stiffly to his knees, began crooning at Sam in a quavering voice. Sam stopped crying, staring into the old face near his. As I approached, Josiah pushed himself up and touched his hat. I smiled my thanks and, holding Sam, let Zoë lead me to the box. Tense with excitement she lifted the lid. Inside a small green frog palpitated under a handful of grass. The lizard was in a corner halfway up the side, limbs splayed, motionless. I congratulated Zoë, though my mind was on Alice. She had seemed so close to Teko but it was as if I was watching at a distance, from the other side of a fence.
When Kabo dropped Adam off that evening, I told him about the problems I’d had with the Internet.
‘I’ll get an engineer to call out, but it could take weeks,’ he warned.
‘I can’t wait weeks.’ I passed him a cup of tea. ‘I’ll go crazy.’
Through the window, Zoe was with Josiah and Adam under the gum trees, surrounded by a roll of chicken wire and pieces of wood. The sound of hammering came across the garden. Alice stood with Teko, who was cradling Sam.
‘You were quite right about Teko. She’s been a godsend,’ I told Kabo. ‘But I have more free time than I’d thought; there must be something useful I could do for a few hours a day. I’d like to help.’
‘There’s the health centre in Kubung.’ Kabo sipped his tea thoughtfully. ‘It’s not grand, but they’re often short-staffed. I’ll ask.’
By the time I walked with him to his car, the sun had left the garden and the children had gone inside. Thin red clouds lay across the darkening sky but Kabo was gazing into the shadows under the trees. ‘What about those dogs?’ he asked, opening his car door. ‘You said you’d consider it …’
‘We’ve got one – didn’t I tell you?’ I gestured towards the back of the house. ‘He belongs to Josiah.’ I didn’t tell him Josiah’s dog was old and spent his days sleeping. He’d be able to bark if anyone came, and Elisabeth and Josiah were always around.
At bedtime, Zoë was drowsy. I moved aside Megan’s hippo to kiss her face.
Alice was propped on an elbow, reading a wildlife encyclopedia, the page open at a picture of a rhino. ‘Teko says they’re really dangerous,’ she burst out. ‘She says she’d be glad if they all died.’
Teko couldn’t possibly have said that. I smiled, although my heart sank. An image of the broken dolls came into my mind, and the box with the stolen items. Why did Alice still need to lie? ‘They’re only dangerous if they’re frightened, Ally.’ I kissed her. ‘Like everyone, I suppose.’
‘Why would Alice say Teko spoke to her?’ We were in the sitting room later; the paraffin lights were lit but the room was full of shadows. ‘I didn’t want to confront her tonight but it was clearly untrue.’
‘Maybe they talk in Setswana.’ Adam was looking out of the window. The darkness was more intense than usual; clouds had been gathering for days. Everyone hoped for rain. ‘Does it matter? At least they’re communicating and she’s found a friend.’
‘She should understand we can recognize when she’s lying.’ I sat down on the sofa. ‘How else will she know when to stop?’
‘She’s a clever girl.’ He glanced at me. ‘She’ll work it out for herself.’ He turned back to the window. ‘Remember that orange glow from traffic and streetlights at home? I love the pure emptiness of the dark here, knowing there’s no one else for miles and miles.’
He bent forwards, peering intently through the glass. I didn’t tell him I missed the orange glow. I missed people and streets; I even missed cars. When I woke to feed Sam at night, the darkness didn’t feel empty to me but full of unnamed menace. In the mornings when the sun rose, flooding the world with light and warmth, my thoughts seemed childish even to me.
The next day, the Internet was still down. I scrol
led through my phone contacts, looking for Francesca’s number, and came across Claire Stukker’s. She’d been friendly. She’d told me to keep in touch. Perhaps she was lonely sometimes. I could drive over and we would have lunch. She might even know about jobs.
Hi, hope you are well. We’re settling in. My fingers hesitated. I’m looking for a job! Maybe you could advise? Would be good to meet up, Emma.
Her message came back in seconds: Will keep my ear to the ground. Good luck!
I read it several times, trying to make it say more than it did; at least she’d replied. I put the phone down and walked to the door, looking up at the sky. She must be run off her feet with so many children. The clouds were larger than usual, grey-streaked and heavy. Perhaps I was simply missing Megan. We’d emailed and texted but it wasn’t the same. I walked back to the table, pulled out my box of papers and sat down to read, glad now I’d printed them out.
The next day Kabo phoned. They were short-handed in the clinic at Kubung: a nurse had gone on maternity leave. Did I have the right documents?
I found the certificate I needed jammed in with other papers in a box under the table in the garage. As I smoothed it out, I had the feeling that if I turned quickly enough I might catch my father standing in the shadows, smiling at me.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Botswana, February 2014
The garage doors were wide open. From here I could see Josiah as he worked near the pram, singing in his growly voice. The dog lay close, greying muzzle settled on his paws. From time to time Josiah put the hoe down and pushed the pram a few times backwards and forwards, nodding. I could hear the answering coos from several metres away.
Alice lay on her stomach on a rug, surrounded by books. She pushed her homework into Simon’s hands every day as he arrived, flushing with pleasure when he congratulated her. I’d noticed how close she sat to him; and how she followed him to his car. If she had a little crush on Simon, it was harmless, part of growing up.
Zoë was running about with jam jars, catching cicadas for the reptiles in her zoo. My eyes flicked automatically to the girls’ feet: I hadn’t forgotten Claire’s warning about snakes, but we’d seen none so far.
The rains had finally arrived, and the garden was glistening, the scent of grass reminding me of England, though there would be a different sort of rain at home: a cold drizzle might be falling from a dark sky; there would be muddy lawns and bare branches.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Hello
The Internet is working. Finally!
How is Andrew, and work? More difficult or easier without my husband?
Things have improved here. I’m working. Clever Megan, you knew. I’m doing a nurse maternity locum, in Kubung, part time. The full-time nurse, Esther, tells me what to do and I comply. Most of the cases are straightforward: kids with diarrhoea or chest infections …
Should I tell her about Baruti? Would she be able to put Esther’s story into some kind of perspective? Baruti had come to the clinic with a chest infection. His mother had brought his twin, Ibo, as well; they were six years old and had hacking coughs. I’d advised antibiotics and review, but she’d brought only Ibo back and refused to discuss Baruti. Later I’d gone to find Esther, who was tidying the box of bandages in her lunch break. ‘Mrs Munthe didn’t bring Baruti back with Ibo. She wouldn’t talk about him.’
‘That’s because she doesn’t know where he is,’ Esther had whispered, glancing around. ‘A neighbour asked him to help search for some donkeys two weeks ago and he never came back.’
A young child missing for two weeks in England would have caused uproar, but I’d heard nothing. ‘What do the police say?’
‘No point asking them. It’s election time.’
‘What have elections got to do with a missing child?’
‘They get taken from the bush,’ she murmured, eyes darting to the door. ‘You know … for medicine.’
‘What on earth are you talking about?’
She put down her bandages, got up and closed the door, then pulled the window shut. ‘Power,’ she said quietly, sitting down again. ‘Politicians and business-men buy medicine for power. The police do nothing. They’re frightened of the boloi. Everyone is.’
‘Boloi?’
‘Witch doctors, the worst kind.’ She pulled her chair closer to mine and her voice sank to a whisper: ‘They make medicine from parts of a child – eyelids or hands or testes. Arms and legs.’ The words poured out in a compressed rush, water through a broken dam. ‘The screams make the medicine stronger. They take the child out in the bush before they start the cutting. It has to be an open place, or the magic doesn’t work so well. Then –’
I stood so quickly my chair fell backwards. Esther’s hand went to her mouth: she hadn’t meant to tell me this; it couldn’t be true. Barbarism happened in wars, not deliberately, for money. This must be a fairy tale like ‘Little Red Riding Hood’ or ‘The Babes in the Wood’. The content of fairy tales was irrelevant. Everyone knew that. The real story here was about the importance of children or, perhaps, the power of belief.
Esther left the room. I picked up the chair, the clinic started again and we didn’t talk about it any more. I wouldn’t involve Megan – there seemed little point. It might stir up the dark sediment from her own past.
The children are fine. Sam is putting on weight. You’d hardly recognize him now. He smiles constantly …
His face seemed to melt when he saw me. I’d think about that smile all day and hurry through the house to find him, making up for lost time. I didn’t like the mark, but it didn’t get in the way any more. When I looked at Sam now, I could see him properly.
The girls live outside. Zoë is in her element. She loves everything. Alice
Teko had come out since I’d been typing, and was lying on the rug next to Alice. She had brought a little bag of dried pods with her and they were threading them on a string to make a necklace.
Alice is happier.
Was that true? She followed Teko everyhere and lived for her sessions with Simon. She helped Zoë with the zoo. I watched her smiling at Teko as she held up the growing necklace. I tapped quickly:
Much happier, picking up Setswana …
She was shy of trying it out in front of us, but she talked to Teko, in whispers so we couldn’t hear.
You wouldn’t recognize Adam. He’s almost normal. His desk is a mess!
Just then Kabo’s jeep came up the drive. The best part of the day was about to begin.
All in all this is turning out to be a very good gap year.
Love to Andrew, lots to you from all of us,
Emma x
Adam and Kabo came into the garden. The evening ritual began; covering his eyes, Adam started counting down from ten loudly and slowly. Zoë squealed and ran to hide under the mass of red bougainvillaea around our window. Alice slipped behind a tree.
‘… three … two … one. Ready or not, here I come.’ Adam threw his jacket onto the grass, took Sam from Teko and, holding him tightly against his chest, strode theatrically around the garden, bending low to look under every bush.
Elisabeth came out of the house, balancing bottles of beer on a tray. ‘Join us, Elisabeth.’ I took the tray from her. ‘Have a beer.’
She shook her head and hurried back into the house. A warm smell of curried chicken drifted into the garden. Kabo drained his bottle and joined in the hunt on his knees, growling loudly as he approached each tree.
The children were flushed out of their hiding places and rushed, shrieking, across the lawn. I took Sam from Adam and went inside to run water into the basin in our bathroom. He was almost too big to fit and laughed his chuckling laugh as I nuzzled his tummy while his soapy fingers clung in my hair. He fell asleep quickly after his feed but I walked about the room for a while, holding him against me.
Kabo stayed for supper; his wife had taken her mother to the doctor; they would have a long wait and w
ould return later.
‘Where’s the surgery?’ There seemed so few in Botswana.
He shifted in his seat. ‘No surgery, just a small hut. He’s a traditional doctor, herbs and roots and so on. Most people go to them for help.’ He pushed his glasses up his nose. ‘If I get a stomach ache, I go along too – it always works. My wife went last week for a charm. She’s worried that the neighbours could be jealous because I have a good job and wanted to keep us safe.’
Kabo, an educated scientist, believing in charms? He nodded at me as if he could read my thoughts and was agreeing with the paradox.
‘How do witch doctors fit in?’ I kept my voice quiet but the children had already moved to the sofa and were listening to Adam describing owls; he was demonstrating their swooping flight with Alice’s knitted one.
‘There’s a whole spectrum of doctors here,’ Kabo replied. ‘Ngaka ya setso, the good healers at one end. At the other, the boloi.’ His voice lowered. ‘They are the ones who make terrible spells …’
Zoë’s head turned at the familiar word.
‘Kabo’s been telling me a fairy story.’ I stood up. ‘So, babies, how are we going to find some owls for Daddy?’
Later we played Monopoly on the veranda; the swallows shot past us, skimming so low that Alice ducked and Adam laughed. Kabo smiled as he gathered up his winnings; he was getting very good at this game. It was hard to remember the weighty texture of life in London now, the rushed evenings and the exhaustion at the end of the day. Finally we were living the life I had imagined.
Gradually the shadows crept across the lawn and the mosquitoes began to bite. We stacked away the game, picked up our glasses and, shepherding the girls ahead of us, went inside and shut the door.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Botswana, March 2014
Adam had got up early and was folding clothes into a case for the AIDS conference in Gaborone. He would be away for a couple of days.