The Atlas of Forgotten Places

by Jenny D. Williams

  Sabine bit her lip. “We’re considering a detour.”

  “Into a war zone?” he said archly.

  Christoph straightened. “We know about the operation in Garamba. We weren’t planning to go so far north. Has the fighting spread?”

  “Kony’s men have attacked villages all around the park. Dungu, Tora, Faradje…”

  “We heard about Faradje,” Sabine said. “The Christmas massacre.”

  His eyes were intense and bright. “These men are monsters. It is not our war, and yet we are suffering.” He glanced at Rose then back at Sabine. “There is nothing for you in that place. It would be better if you went south.” The last sentence felt to Sabine like a veiled threat.

  Through the open door behind them, she heard a hearty laugh; she turned in time to see the group that had been arguing walk past cheerfully with the white man among them. In the half second they were visible, it looked like the white man was shaking the hand of the Congolese officer.

  “Are the western roads quite unsafe then?” Christoph said.

  The man removed his glasses. “How will you be traveling? You have no car. You have no driver. At least I assume she,” nodding to Rose, “is not the driver.” Rose seemed to shrink beneath his hard look.

  “There must be a bus,” Sabine said. “There are always buses.”

  He raised an eyebrow pointedly. “To Bunia, you mean?”

  She felt a kind of desperation coming over her. Any moment now this official would change his mind. He’d cite security reasons or improper documentation. He’d keep their money, of course: a special tax on foolishness.

  “We’re going to Lakwali,” she said.

  “Lakwali?” His surprise was clear. “You’re friends with them?”

  “Them?”

  He nodded toward the wall, in the direction of the border crossing. Sabine heard the sound of one engine starting, then another. Them. That group of men—they were from the gold mine? And the mzungu? As the engines revved, her thoughts raced.

  “Why didn’t they say anything, I wonder?” the officer mused. “They don’t seem to be waiting for you.”

  A shadow darkened the doorway and Sabine saw the other officer lean in. He spoke rapidly with the round-faced man at the desk, who responded with a flare of anger, then stood abruptly.

  “Stay here,” he said to Sabine.

  He followed his colleague out the door, where they turned away speaking in animated tones that quickly faded beneath the roar of engines. Sabine heard the distinctive mechanical hiss and groan of a truck shifting into gear. She craned her neck out the door and saw, through the driver’s-side window of the nearest truck, an African man at the steering wheel and—there!—the mzungu in the passenger seat, facing ahead, now wearing dark sunglasses. The truck began to roll slowly forward—into Congo. To the mine, she thought frantically. To Lily. The truck in front with the tarp was already twenty meters down the road. She looked the other way and watched the two Congolese officers disappear into one of the side buildings.

  “We’ve lost our chance,” Christoph said. “There’s no way he’s letting us through now.”

  Sabine glanced around the yard. Aside from the women traders, the buildings were deserted. Her decision was swift. She grabbed the three passports from the desk. “He already did.”

  She pushed Christoph’s passport against his chest and gave Rose hers. Rose took it and slid it neatly into her small purse.

  “Do what you have to do,” Sabine said as she stepped out of the room. “I’m getting on that truck.”

  Behind her she heard Christoph mutter, “Merde.”

  She gave the side building a final glance: no officers. Then she began to run. The second truck was a hundred meters down the road and gaining speed. Her senses focused; she could hear two sets of footsteps behind her—she turned her head briefly and saw Christoph and Rose following. If they didn’t make it to the mzungu, they were done; even if they did, there were no guarantees. Her legs beat harder. When was the last time she’d run at a flat-out sprint? Five years ago? Ten? She felt she had never run so fast in her life, even with the heft of her backpack bobbing behind her. It was exhilarating.

  She caught up with the truck just when it reached the speed of her gait.

  “Stop!” she shouted. “Hold up!”

  But the windows were up, and the driver couldn’t hear. The truck let out a tremendous rush of noise and accelerated. The back bumper began to pull away from her grasp. She dug deeper. Christoph and Rose fell farther behind.

  The bumper came into reach again, and in another second she was able to bang on the metal siding. “Stop!” she called out again. She wasn’t sure she could go on any longer. Finally she saw the mzungu’s reflection in the side mirror. His profile turned slightly, and the instant he saw her he shifted in his seat and said something urgently to the driver, who in turn put on the brake. Sabine slowed to a jog gratefully as the truck decelerated. She gulped air and tried to get her thoughts together. She came up to the passenger-side door just as the mzungu opened it a crack to get a better look at her. His feet came roughly to the level of her shoulders. She could see a small logo on the front pocket of his T-shirt. It read Gladstone.

  “Hi there,” the man said. “Can I help you?”

  He spoke with such politeness, such earnestness—and with such a strong American accent—that for a second she forgot where she was. It didn’t take long to remember.

  “My name is Sabine Hardt,” she said, breathing hard. “In a few minutes, those officers are going to come get me and my two friends and arrest us unless you help me. I’m looking for my niece. Lily Bennett. She crossed the border three weeks ago headed for Lakwali.” She nodded at him. “Your gold mine.”

  Christoph and Rose came up beside her. Rose bent over at the waist to catch her breath.

  The man took off his sunglasses, and Sabine realized how young he was: barely a boy. He couldn’t be more than twenty-five. His eyes were startlingly blue and wide. But he didn’t say a word.

  “I don’t know if she even made it there,” she continued. “She’s missing. She was supposed to fly home, but she never showed up for her flight.” After a second’s pause, she added, “She was traveling with someone. A Ugandan friend. His name was Ocen. Do you have any idea where they could be?”

  The mzungu swallowed; his mouth seemed to be working, but no sounds came out.

  Sabine closed her eyes. She could hear shouting distantly, from the direction of the immigration building. The officers would be here any minute.

  The boy’s eyes darted toward the border. Two running figures appeared in the road behind them. “They’re coming,” she said. She gripped the metal step of the cab. “Take us with you.”

  “You want to come to the mine?”

  She couldn’t tell if his look was of confusion or shock or unease; everything was happening too fast.

  “It’s the only clue we have,” Sabine said. “Our last hope.”

  “You!” the smallish officer called out. “You! Stop!”

  Sabine met the mzungu’s eyes. “Please.”

  At last the mzungu raised an arm and yelled out to the approaching officers, “It’s all right, they’re with us.”

  The officer slowed, uncertain. “They’re with you?”

  “Yup.” He put down a hand to pull Sabine up into the cab, whispering, “Don’t give them a chance to think about it too much.” She grabbed hold and stepped up. “Atta girl.” Sabine nodded to the driver and climbed between the seats to the long bench behind them. The boy pulled Rose up next, and she came to sit on Sabine’s right, so that her left—whole—arm rubbed against Sabine’s shoulder. The backseat held space for one more, and Christoph joined a moment later. It was snug, but everyone fit. Sabine’s view through the side windows was cut off—she could only see straight ahead—but she watched the mzungu wave brightly as the truck took off. “Sayonara, suckers,” he said through a smile. He turned back to the new passengers. “That was
awesome! I hope my boss doesn’t kill me.”

  “We don’t want to get you in trouble,” Christoph said.

  “Nah, I’m just pulling your leg. No biggie.” He stuck out his hand. “I’m Patrick, by the way. Patrick Flynn. Nice to meet y’all.” He put back on his sunglasses and grinned. “Welcome to Congo.”

  CHAPTER 16

  ROSE

  December 30

  Patrick Flynn. The words entered Rose’s consciousness like the small hand of a child, reaching out to tug her skirt. She only half-heard Sabine make introductions. Patrick Flynn Lakwali. Not three names: only two. The man; the place.

  “Sorry it took me a second to get it,” Patrick was saying. “When you said Lily Bennett I wasn’t sure who you were talking about—and then when you mentioned Ocen, I was like, oh, Lily. Except she told me her last name was Hardt.” He paused. “No wonder I couldn’t find her on Facebook.” When he looked back, his face was grave. “But that’s who you mean, right? Lily from Denver? I saw her just a few weeks ago. She and Ocen came out to the site.”

  Rose’s temples tingled.

  “They were there?” Sabine asked.

  “Right at the beginning of December. They only stayed one night, though. I wish it was longer.”

  “I don’t understand. What did they come for? Were they meeting someone?”

  “Me.”

  “You?”

  “I’m not enough?” he joked.

  Sabine’s tone was skeptical. “You were helping Lily with her research?”

  Patrick frowned. “Research? Nah. We just hung out.”

  Rose saw Sabine and Christoph exchange a look. She could almost read their thoughts: Unknowing informant? Romantic fling?

  “Was she asking questions about the mine?” Christoph said.

  The truck rumbled heavily over a series of potholes—bigger than the ones outside Kitgum, Rose thought; she put her hand on the back of the driver’s seat to keep her balance.

  “Actually, we didn’t talk much about the mine,” Patrick said. “Didn’t spark her interest. She was really curious about the community development project I’m working on, though. It was good to hear her thoughts, since she’d been volunteering over in Uganda.” He paused. “I guess you already knew that.”

  “So why was she there?” Sabine’s tone wavered between confusion and frustration, and Patrick in turn seemed baffled by her bafflement.

  “I invited her.”

  “Maybe you should start from the beginning,” Christoph said.

  Patrick sighed. “I keep a blog, right? About my day-to-day life in Congo, the project I’m working on, weird food in the canteen, etcetera, etcetera. WiFi is pretty good on site. The blog is mostly for my family and friends back in Texas, but I guess Lily found it. She e-mailed me around Thanksgiving and asked a bunch of questions about the area, like if I’d done any traveling outside the mine, if the roads were secure, that kind of thing. She seemed nice, you know.” A little sheepishly, he continued, “Look, I’ve been out here for nine months with no home leave and only a couple runs to Kampala. Do you know how many girls there are on site at Lakwali? Seven. None of whom, I might add, speak English, and my Lingala isn’t so hot, either. So when a cute American girl e-mails me out of the blue about traveling through this general vicinity, I’m gonna pull whatever strings necessary to have her make a detour.”

  “You did all this for a date?” Sabine said.

  “Hey now,” Patrick said. “I was a perfect gentleman. And she had this guy with her anyway. Even if they slept in separate rooms, I wasn’t gonna get in the middle or whatever.”

  Sabine fell silent. Rose sensed her trying to fit this new information into her understanding of Lily’s intentions. At once, Rose felt a surge of frustration well up inside her—it peaked in anger, curled over, and crashed. Why did everything have to hang on Lily? Why was the mono girl at the center? Lily’s investigation, Lily’s contacts, Lily’s disappearance. As if Ocen was a disposable element whose primary purpose was shuttling her here and there, taking her steadily toward some indefinable danger. As if he weren’t also putting his life, his heart, at risk. This was Lily’s doing, all of it. A rush of fury overwhelmed her. She wanted to shout at them, tell them that Ocen was a soft man who’d had a hard life; he was undereducated and over-true. She wished he’d never met the mono girl. She wished he’d stayed in Kitgum with his boda, and if she could take back the word coward and all the other things she’d said, she would, she would.

  On the other side of Sabine, Christoph finally asked the obvious: “If Lakwali was a detour, what was the original destination?”

  “She didn’t tell you?” Patrick said, puzzled. “Garamba.”

  The word hung there a second, shimmering, before Rose understood.

  Her heart felt pierced by a thousand bullets. Rat-a-tat-tat-tat-tat. She had a flash of Ocen slashing his way through the brush, a gun slung across his back and a rusty panga in his hand. But it wasn’t rust, it was blood, and it wasn’t Ocen, it was Opiyo. She shook the vision off as if it were a spider that had dropped from the ceiling. Next to her Sabine had brought a hand to her slightly open mouth.

  “Garamba,” Sabine echoed.

  “Sure,” Patrick continued. “Best national park this side of the Nile. The ultimate African safari. Real wilderness. Zero tourism.”

  “Ivory,” Christoph said heavily.

  “Huh?”

  “Lily was doing some research from Kitgum,” Christoph explained. “Extremely sensitive information.”

  “What was her research about?”

  “Connecting the LRA to the illegal ivory trade.”

  “Garamba?” Sabine repeated. There was a kind of desperation to her tone.

  Christoph shook his head. “She must have thought she could do research on the ground—interviewing eyewitnesses, collecting information on poaching incidents. She would have known she couldn’t tackle a full-on investigation in just a couple of weeks. But if she unearthed real evidence, she could pass it on to a professional journalist. Or maybe she planned to come back again.”

  “Why didn’t you stop her?” Sabine said to Patrick. “The UPDF is dropping bombs all over Garamba as we speak. How could you let her walk right onto a battlefield?”

  “It wasn’t a battlefield then,” he said defensively. “She traveled up December fourth. The UPDF didn’t launch Operation Lightning Thunder until the fourteenth. And it wasn’t like they were advertising their arrival. Surprise attack, remember? No one knew it was coming.”

  “The LRA has been in Garamba for years,” Sabine said. “It’s always been a war zone.”

  “Yeah, but the rebels were pretty quiet for most of that time. We don’t bother you, you don’t bother us. Last time I was in Bunia, I met a couple of Spanish aid workers who live in Goma—they spent a week in Garamba back in September. They had a blast. Granted, there was an attack in Dungu in November … but no one could confirm it was LRA, and in any case Dungu is still seventy-five miles or so from Garamba headquarters at Nagero. Seventy-five miles might not sound like much, but out here it’s a lot. There aren’t exactly any express lanes.” He spread his arm at the road ahead. “The road we’re on right now is only decent because Gladstone built it. And it’s still shit.”

  Sabine was exasperated. “So you just sent her merrily on her way?”

  “Nagero is well protected by Garamba’s armed rangers. That’s the park headquarters, where visitors stay. Like I said, the UPDF didn’t come in until afterward, and Lily told me she and Ocen were only gonna be there a few nights anyway. She seemed like a pretty adventurous girl—very capable. Of course I thought about them when Operation Lightning Thunder happened. But I figured they were long gone.” After a pause, he added, “If anything happened to her, I would have heard about it. Gladstone takes security very seriously. Anything in a two-hundred-mile radius involving a white person, they would have put me right on a plane. My boss wanted me out after the first UPDF strike, but I convinced him t
o let me stay. My project’s so close to being finished. Look, if I could have gotten the time off work, I would have gone with her to Garamba, no question.”

  “That’s supposed to make me feel better?” Sabine snapped.

  But Rose felt she understood Patrick’s cavalier attitude in some crucial way: when you spend enough time living at the periphery of anarchy, your perspective begins to shift. Normal becomes whatever surrounds you. You recognize that all life is risk, danger is relative, and death arrives equally by the swiftest machete or the tiniest mosquito. When the place itself is peril, there’s no use building walls—the menace is in the air you breathe, in the sunlight and rain that fall across your face when you turn it to the sky. She was surprised Sabine didn’t understand this, too; hadn’t she lived in Kitgum during the war? And all those other countries in Africa—didn’t she know what it was like to become accustomed to the knife-edge threat in every sudden shadow, every distant bark of a dog? Perhaps it was different imagining that her niece would feel the same, or perhaps Sabine had been too long away to remember.

  “Let’s look at the facts,” Christoph said. “Lily and Ocen made it to the mine on their own. That has to count for something. We know they were headed to Garamba. There must be a way we can contact someone at the park.”

  “I’m sure we can find out at Lakwali,” Patrick said. He held up his cell phone apologetically. “No service.”

  “So we must wait,” Rose said.

  The question—less a question than a statement—seemed to jolt the others. She’d said nothing since they’d gotten in the car. Her voice sounded strange even to her own ears.

  Patrick turned his face toward her, though his dark sunglasses hid his eyes. “Ocen was your friend?” She nodded. Patrick’s tone was earnest when he said, “I’m really sorry he’s missing.”

  She choked back a sudden sob. “Thank you,” she said, blinking as she looked away.

  “Lily, too,” Patrick said to Sabine.

  Rose noted a glistening around Sabine’s eyes. The woman swallowed and said, “How long until we’re there?”