Diamond Boy

by Michael Williams

  “I’ve got him now,” shouted Lennox. “Patson, hold on to the pole!”

  I went under, and swallowed a mouthful of cold river that took my breath away. My hands groped for the slippery pole just as Boubacar pulled me back from the force of the water. Somehow I gripped his belt, coughing and spluttering, when my foot found solid ground in the shallower water. Unexpectedly, the river had released us. Together we scrambled up the bank, wet and exhausted. We had made it across the Limpopo; we were in South Africa.

  “Hurry! No rest now,” shouted Lennox. “The Ghuma-ghuma will come. The danger is not over.”

  Lennox ran up the riverbank, carrying our bamboo pole with my crutches toward the nearest bushes.

  “Wait!” shouted Boubacar, pointing to my crutches. “My son needs them.” He caught up to Lennox and struggled to untie the wet knots, leaving me collapsed on the riverbank. The two men who had crossed the river with us ran after Lennox, leaving me behind, and Mai Maria’s other helper waded into the river back to Zimbabwe.

  “In my Bix-box,” Innocent shouted to Boubacar. “In my Bix-box.”

  Innocent stumbled over the rocks with Boubacar and handed him a pocketknife. Boubacar quickly cut my crutches free, and I somehow managed to get myself upright. Then with my crutches and peg leg sinking into the sand, and with the help of Boubacar and Innocent, I hopped my way to where Deo and the others were waiting in the bushes. Most of the groups that had crossed ahead of us had disappeared into the bush. The first group, however, rested beside the river, the men smoking cigarettes, the women wringing out their clothes as if they were having a picnic.

  Then, with no warning, eight men broke through the bush dressed in thick coats and woolen hats, carrying heavy sticks and machetes. One was carrying a rifle.

  “Ghuma-ghuma,” whispered Lennox. “Hurry! They must not find us here. Big trouble. Come!”

  “What do they want?”

  “Everything you have,” he replied.

  “Come on, Patson,” urged Boubacar, grabbing me from the other side and dragging me into a nearby thicket.

  We scrambled through the bushes and ducked out of sight. Behind me I heard a woman scream. I bellied my way back to where Lennox and Boubacar lay, to see one man desperately trying to run away only to be caught and beaten. The others cowered on the ground as the two women stood shivering in their bras and panties, wailing and pleading for mercy.

  “Who are they?”

  “Robbers. They steal everything they can from border jumpers or anyone stupid enough to be found sitting on the riverbank,” muttered Boubacar.

  “Lie still! Not a word. Keep quiet or they will find us,” hissed Lennox, pulling Boubacar deeper into the bushes. “And you,” Lennox said, pointing at Innocent. “Shut up or I will cut off your balls.”

  A few of the Ghuma-ghuma were still searching the ground near where we had stood only a few moments ago. Behind them strolled the man holding the rifle, wearing the all-too-familiar pair of mirrored, silver sunglasses.

  Commander Jesus studied our footprints in the sand. He stood up slowly, scanning the bushes that ran the length of the riverbank. He was so close I could see the hard line of his mouth twitch with displeasure. He wore jeans and a T-shirt with a pair of binoculars around his neck; only his army boots and rifle marked him as a soldier and not a robber.

  The trembling began in my arms and quickly spread. As much as I wanted to blot him out of my memory, I couldn’t keep my eyes off him. He tilted his head at an angle, as if listening for my heartbeat. His mirrored glasses mesmerized me, and I had to fight an urge to crawl out of the bush and kneel before him.

  Then one of his men spotted the final group of border jumpers struggling ashore. Commander Jesus hitched his rifle onto his shoulder, raised the binoculars, and carefully studied the line of people as they made their way through the shallow waters onto the South African side. He glanced back in my direction, and, with only a slight hesitation, headed toward the Ghuma-ghuma’s latest prey.

  “Now!” whispered Lennox. “Let’s go.”

  But I couldn’t move, frozen by the sight of Commander Jesus.

  “Patson! Come on.” Boubacar grabbed my good leg and pulled me.

  “It was him,” I said. “Didn’t you see him? He’s here.”

  “Calm down, Patson.”

  “You said I would be safe in South Africa,” I stammered, gasping for air, strangled by my panic. Boubacar squatted and I clambered onto his back, but my trembling grew worse. Those mirrored glasses… His hands on my shoulders… His snakelike smile… “You are free to go, boy. Run!” And then the explosion that followed.

  “Patson, hold tight,” Boubacar said, trying desperately to catch up with Lennox, who had headed toward a high fence laced with barbed wire.

  I gulped for air.

  He saw me. He’s behind me. He’s coming for me.

  “He’s following us, Boubacar.”

  “We’re almost there. It’s okay,” he said, panting as we joined the others and I slipped off his back. Ahead of us was the empty veldt; behind us was Commander Jesus.

  “This is the first park,” Lennox said. “There is great danger beyond this fence. We must run now for two hours.”

  “A game reserve,” said Boubacar. “It’s a place with wild animals?”

  “Or you can stay if you want to,” replied Lennox, “and deal with them.” He jerked his thumb back toward the river.

  “No, we can’t stay. Not here,” I said, but nobody paid me any attention.

  “Follow me.” Lennox took off his shirt, rolled it up tightly, and stuffed it down the front of his trousers. Then, hand-over-knee, knee-over-hand, he worked his way through an opening that had been cut and concealed in the tangle of barbed wire. One by one we all took off our shirts and followed him. Once through, Lennox put his shirt back on.

  “Now we run,” he said. “There are animals here. Hyenas, wild dogs, buffalo, elephants, but the worst of all are the lions. We will run in a line. We must hold hands where we can. You might see some bad things. But you do not stop. If you stop running, I will leave you behind.” Lennox’s tone of voice made it clear that this was a dangerous part of our journey.

  “What about Patson?” asked Innocent. “He can’t run.”

  “I will carry him,” replied Boubacar.

  I saw the tension on Lennox’s face and felt the others’ fear, but none of them realized that the real danger was following us.

  We ran through the park joined together, moving steadily away from the Limpopo River. Lennox led from the front, followed by Boubacar with me on his back and Innocent holding on to the crutch I carried, while Deo held his other hand and my other crutch. Behind him came the other two men; all of us jogging along, past a herd of impalas that leapt away from this strange thirteen-legged creature.

  We ran, not fast but steadily, until Lennox raised his hand, signaling us to fall to the ground. We crouched in the long grass, happy to be off our feet, not too far from an unconcerned herd of grazing black buffalo.

  “I’m tired, Deo,” said Innocent.

  “We’re almost there,” Deo answered. I remembered saying the same thing to Grace when I used to carry her on my back. But I was a lot heavier than Grace, and Boubacar was panting heavily in an exhausted heap beside me.

  “Hyena!” shouted one of the men.

  Behind us a hyena loped sideways, lifting his nose in the air, sniffing, and then dropping his head down. Lennox moved quickly to the back of the line as the hyena stopped and eyed the last man, who had raised the warning. His shirt was drenched with fresh blood.

  “The hyena has smelled your blood,” cursed Lennox. “Why didn’t you tell me you were bleeding?”

  Lennox ripped off the shirt and wrapped it tightly around the man’s chest, his eyes never leaving the hyena, which bounded forward.

  “Everyone lift your bags up in the air!” shouted Lennox. “Follow me.” He ran directly at the oncoming hyena. “Come on!” he shouted. “It’
s the only way. Hyenas are scared of things higher than them.”

  Deo grabbed one of my crutches and turned to his brother. “Innocent, Operation Look After Patson, Operation Don’t Move. Okay?”

  “I’ll look after Patson,” he said, calmly nodding.

  Deo raced after Lennox, waving my crutch in the air, shouting at the hyena. The other two men, momentarily stunned by Deo’s bravery, followed with their bags high over their heads.

  Then Lennox stumbled, and fell headfirst into the long grass. The two men stopped. The hyena growled, snapping its jaws at Deo, now in the lead.

  Innocent sprang to his feet. “Operation Save Deo,” he said to me, pulling a whistle from his Bix-box and starting to run toward the hyena. At the screeching sound of the referee’s whistle the buffalo scattered and the hyena bolted away with its tail between its legs. From a distance, I watched Lennox tie the man’s shirt to a thorn tree, before returning to Boubacar and me. “That will keep the other hyenas busy for a while. Now we must run. We still have far to go.”

  Once again I climbed onto Boubacar’s back and we headed across the plain, this time past a herd of elephants feeding on the leaves of thorn trees shading a small pool.

  “Hippos,” said Boubacar, panting. But only their noses, eyes, and funny small ears showed above the water. The two men fell to their knees on the bank of the river and drank greedily.

  “Not too fast,” warned Lennox. “It will be painful to carry so much water inside you. We are not through the park yet.”

  I hopped off Boubacar’s back and splashed my face, drinking only a little of the water, even though I was thirsty. Stumpy stabbed me spitefully and I flinched with pain, but there was nothing I could do for him now. Deo pointed out a stack of bones and a skull lying on the opposite bank. He walked through the shallow water to study them up close.

  “What do you think it is?” I called.

  “I don’t know,” he replied.

  “Probably a baboon, or even a monkey,” Lennox said quickly.

  Boubacar shot me a glance that suggested that the bones were not those of a baboon or a monkey.

  “Leave them alone,” Lennox said. “We cannot stop here.”

  The mud-tasting water gave us new energy, and the bones were a grim reminder that we were in a game reserve with wild animals. The sun moved steadily across the sky; the morning grew hotter, and soon we were running through the scorching midday heat. The men who had drunk so greedily had slowed down and one of them pleaded with Lennox to stop. But he paused only long enough to pick up a tiny pebble.

  “Put this under your tongue, suck on it. It will help,” he said.

  Boubacar was moving slower too. He was obviously struggling under my weight, stumbling forward, trying to keep up with the others.

  “Enough, Boubacar,” I said. “This is useless.” I slid to the ground and collapsed on my knees.

  The men argued angrily with Lennox. “Why should we be in danger because of them?”

  “We should leave them here,” said the other.

  “We stay together.” Lennox was adamant. “Would you want me to leave you alone in the park?”

  “Get up, Patson,” commanded Boubacar. And then more gently: “We can’t give up now.”

  All I could do was breathe in and out and nod to Boubacar as Stumpy fired missiles through my body. I was dizzy with pain. How stupid I had been to think I could get this useless body into South Africa. I drove into a tree, Baba. You were right. I lost control of my life, just like that man who found the first diamonds in Marange. You said that people would kill for a girazi. And you were right, Baba. There’s no use now in my arguing with you. I remembered turning my back on my father when he called out my name in the darkness of the shed on the night before he died. I felt so ashamed at the memory. Forgive me, Baba, forgive me.

  Now is the time for you to be strong, son.

  “Come on, Patson. I’ll help you.” Innocent’s gentle voice reached through the pain and haze of my confusion.

  I felt hands lifting me onto Boubacar’s back and the rhythm of his running return. Deo and Innocent ran on either side of Boubacar, helping him, holding me on his back. I wept at their kindness, at the strength of Boubacar’s will to keep on running, and the voice of my father urging me on.

  Be strong, son.

  “Leave me, Daddy, leave me,” I whispered.

  Boubacar ran on, gripping me more tightly.

  “The end of the park,” shouted Lennox.

  I lifted my head off Boubacar’s shoulder. We had reached the top of a slight rise, and in the distance, the welcome sight of a fence. Boubacar sank to his knees, and I slid from his back. Was it possible that we had made it?

  “Lennox! Look!” Deo exclaimed.

  “Don’t look!” shouted Lennox.

  But it was too late. We had all seen what made Deo shout. Lying in the shade were the scattered parts of a human body.

  Then we heard the low rumbling sound.

  “Lion!” Lennox whispered, looking wildly about him, trying to locate where the sound came from. “Listen. Listen carefully. Nobody must run. If you run away, it is over.” His voice was firm. The rumble was followed by a deep growl.

  “They’re feeding. Close by,” Boubacar whispered to me, and when he gripped my shoulder, I felt his hand tremble.

  “We must hold hands.” Lennox’s voice was tight with fear. “Walk slowly away. Toward the fence.”

  It was possible that the lions, who were busily gorging themselves, were unaware of us, but if we panicked and ran, they would be upon us. We reached for one another’s hands and moved slowly and ever so silently away from the sound of the lions feeding.

  I clung to Boubacar’s back until all I heard was the wind in the grass and his heavy breathing. Then Lennox picked up the pace, allowing us to run freely. He threw Deo his bag, lifted me from Boubacar’s back, and tossed me over his shoulder, running toward the metal fence. Boubacar ran alongside us, but the two other men in our party sprinted ahead, reached the fence, and hastily started climbing.

  “No!” shouted Lennox, but his warning was too late. The wire fizzled, crackled, and the men fell to the ground shrieking in pain. “Not there—I’ll show you.”

  He led us alongside the electrified fence until he pointed to a section that at first appeared no different from the rest, but here the wire had been carefully handwoven to only look as if it were whole and untouched. In a few minutes, we were all out of the park, exhausted, but standing safely beside a deserted dusty road.

  “You can wait here,” said Lennox. “It is safe here. Someone will come and pick you up. You just have to wait.”

  Boubacar and I fell to the ground in unspoken relief beside Innocent and Deo. They looked as bad as I felt. The other two men had recovered from their electrical shock and stayed on their feet, peering up and down the road that seemed to go nowhere in both directions. With only a whisper between them, and no word of thanks to Lennox, they began jogging down the road.

  “Let them go,” mumbled Lennox. “They’re too stupid to know that the direction they are running won’t take them anywhere they want to be. You wait here. You will be okay.”

  “Thank you, Monsieur Lennox,” said Boubacar. “We would never have made it through the park without you. If you say we must wait here, that’s what we will do.”

  “And you?” Deo asked Lennox.

  He pointed back to the park where we had come from. “I go back.”

  For a moment Deo looked confused. “Thank you. Thank you for getting us to South Africa.”

  Lennox shook his head and walked over to Innocent. “Thank you for chasing the hyena away.” Then, with a wave over his shoulder, he trotted back the way we had come, disappearing through the fence and into the grasslands beyond.

  In the mottled shade of the only thorn tree in the middle of nowhere, Deo and Innocent quickly fell asleep, and I had no choice but to settle up with Stumpy. Boubacar walked a little way down the road, his eyes
scanning the game reserve. When he returned, something about the tension in his body startled me.

  “He won’t give up, will he, Boubacar?”

  “He wouldn’t risk going through the game reserve, but he will be in Musina waiting for us. All the border jumpers have to go through the taxi ranks at Musina to get to Johannesburg,” replied Boubacar. “We will have to find another way.” He pulled out his cell phone. “I have some Congolese friends in Musina. They will help us.”

  As he made his call, my own cell phone buzzed in my kitbag. I checked the screen. Three bars. Two messages downloaded despite the battery light blinking red.

  Mon 4/14/08 2.16pm

  In taxi now to Joburg. Maka gone. Come to Joburg. Looking for a way to escape. R you close? What do I do?! xxx

  Once Boubacar had finished his conversation I showed him her message.

  “This Determine fellow is not who you thought he was.”

  That part I got on my own. “And he’s not taking Grace to a Girl Guide jamboree in Cape Town, is he, Boubacar?”

  “No, he’s not. Tell her we are in South Africa now and that she must let us know when she gets to Johannesburg.”

  I texted her:

  We r in SA now. Send address when you get Jhb. We’ll find you xxx

  My message got through just as the battery died.

  “I’m going to have to charge my phone, Boubacar.”

  “We’ll do that later. Rest now. You deserve it.”

  Stumpy was still crying out for attention, so I massaged him with extra ointment, changed his dressings, and carefully wrapped him up again. The bamboo peg leg was falling apart and needed major repairs. While Boubacar tried to fix it, I lay down, looked up at the sky, and clutched my phone to my chest. I had made it across the Limpopo River and was in another country, but the South African sky looked no different from the one in Zimbabwe. For the first time in a long time, I remembered how blue the sky could actually be. A headache buzzed in the base of my neck, and it was hard to keep my eyes open. Slowly Stumpy dozed off and the painful throbbing receded. I closed my eyes, giving over to a memory of Grace playing in the sunshine outside the tobacco shed.