by Jack Ford
Another cup was given to Papa Bemba, only this time he gave it to the child to drink. Immediately she began to cough and the cry of ‘Amen’ catapulted once more around the church.
‘Vomit up the devil. Vomir le diable.’
Maddie could hardly breathe as she continued to watch. She knew witchcraft was a system of belief, rooted in popular mentality from the uneducated right up to the high state officials. And she also knew traditional healing was nothing unusual where a medicine man, a Nganga, or a pastor helped and healed. But this form of belief in witchcraft, the deliverance, had been altered over the last decade. Twisting. Changing. Morphing into something dark. Something brutal where families and neighbors accused and cast out the children who were thought to be the possessed, and it had become common practice, and over the last few years the custom had grown.
Needing somebody to blame for a life of hardship and suffering and loss. Driven by Kinshasa and the rest of the country’s economy and infrastructure collapsing, as well as the result of government corruption and war, the number of children accused of witchcraft exploded.
Thousands of innocent, traumatized children lived on the streets of Kinshasa. And their faces, bewildered and unknowing, haunted her and she couldn’t help but think of Cora.
They were hunted down as witches by those who were supposed to protect them. Accused of using their supposed sorcery to bring harm to those around. Accused of causing illnesses. Loss of jobs. Loss of opportunity. Even the loss of items, sometimes as trivial as a mislaid ballpoint pen. Blamed for the difficulties of everyday life and powerless to defend themselves.
There’d always been the belief in spirits. She got it. Only too well. But what they were doing to the children was just plain wrong. And the rise of the revivalist church had exacerbated it, bringing about a rise in the business of witchcraft, making a business out of the deliverance of children – the suffering of children.
People were desperate for there to be a reason why pain and misery surrounded them, why the mouths they had to feed seemed as endless as the hunger pains. Human beings wanting answers, and believing all causation was spiritual.
So they turned to the church and the church pointed the blame at the young, promising to cleanse the child, driving out the evil spirit. But it didn’t come free. The promise of a new life came with a fee. Desperate families gave money, jewellery, land, even properties to rid themselves of their curse. But the people who paid the real price, the highest price, were the kids. For the lucky ones, the fortunate few, the practice of exorcism would only consist of starving the Kindoki out.
A week.
A fortnight.
A month.
Until eventually they’d be taken back into the fold of the family. The others? Maddie knew were beaten.
Tortured.
Burnt.
Thrown out on the streets to die or, more likely, killed. Suffering was everywhere. And she hated the smell of it. And how could she love her daddy’s country anymore – her country – when this was at the heart?
Maddie, her face strained, reflecting what Rosedale and Cooper were feeling, pushed Rosedale off.
‘I’ve seen enough. I’m getting out of here.’
Both men nodded in agreement. Relieved they could walk away. Guilty the children couldn’t.
Making their way out, none one of them looked back at the sound of the child screaming. They didn’t want to know what caused such anguish within her cry.
A few feet before the exit, Cooper felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned, thinking it would be Rosedale, but faced two men. One he recognized. The guy from the fire.
‘The Church of the New Revivalist turns no sinner away who wants to free his soul, but I fear that’s not the purpose of your visit. I think it best we talk outside.’ A moment later Cooper felt a gun in his side.
37
The exit took Cooper outside into an alleyway as long, and as mud-logged, as the one he’d been in last night. He could see Rosedale and Maddie standing by the wall with the men who’d escorted them out, but now a dozen more had joined them. Though these men were openly armed.
Cooper held Rosedale’s gaze, but there was nothing there. No suggestion of him having a plan. It was clear the only thing they could do was try to talk themselves out of it. Anything else just wasn’t an option. Basic rule of military training – know when you’re out-gunned.
Cooper turned to the man. ‘I didn’t know it was crime to go to church.’
‘Who said anything about it being a crime?’
Having been placed next to Rosedale and Maddie against the wall, Cooper stared directly into the man’s face, who stared directly back. Hostility dripping from him like sweat.
‘Then I’d appreciate it if you could let us leave now.’
‘You’ll leave. Make no mistake of that. But how you’ll leave is a different matter. Tell me, why were you looking for Emmanuel? And don’t bother denying it.’
Rosedale, sounding unlike the usual loud and booming Texan, said, ‘We’ve just got some business with him, that’s all, sir.’
The man turned to stare at Rosedale. Nodded his head. Then brought back his fist. Hit him hard in the stomach. Caused Rosedale to bend up double.
And he brought his fist to Cooper, who refused to drop his stare, up to and during the powerful punch in his stomach.
Then to Maddie. But instead of a punch. A slap. A hard, stinging slap. A steely stare and she said, ‘Go to hell.’
The man stepped in closer to her.
Cooper had been able to keep still till then. Hadn’t flinched. But now. Oh God, now was different.
‘No…! Leave it!’
The shout from Rosedale, telling him not to, was loud and cautionary. Telling him he had to keep it calm. To keep it down. Suck it up.
‘I want you to get your things from the hotel and go back home. Tomorrow, I want you and your friends gone… Forget you even heard the name Emmanuel.’
The door was flung open and all heads turned. And there, like a vision, looking like he’d been in a mix of a car crash and an out-of-control frat party. Covered in blood. Covered in vomit. Papa Bemba
Bemba’s frame was large and, although smaller than Cooper’s, he was a formidable presence. The man from the fire spoke and, as he did, Bemba’s mutilated face, which told a thousand stories, turned towards Cooper.
The man from the fire said, ‘These are the people I was telling you about. The ones looking for Emmanuel.’
‘Thank you, Lumumba.’
Papa Bemba felt his way along the wall, stopping as his hand brushed against Cooper. In his voice there was mockery, tied up with a bow of menace.
‘I hope my men are treating you well.’
His hand felt Cooper’s throat. Then his face. Pulling and feeling his lips. His touch to Cooper felt as if a million tiny creatures were crawling over him.
Without a word, Bemba shuffled along to Maddie who stood motionlessly as his large imposing hands touched. Moved. Stroked… Caressed her body.
Rosedale’s expression to Cooper served like a traffic stop. A warning not to do anything stupid.
And Maddie, although wanting to, refused to turn her head away as Papa Bemba seemed to stare at her. Moving closer, nearer. His lips almost touching her cheek as he said, ‘Only those related to the possessed shall seek the possessed. Be warned.’
Then pulling away and moving off as quickly as he’d come, Bemba, led by Lumumba, headed towards the large waiting cavalcade, followed by his other men.
Rosedale and Cooper ran to the end of the alleyway watching the cars drive off at speed, mud and dirt flying everywhere.
Seeing them disappear into the distance, Rosedale ran back to Maddie, who lay her head back against the brick wall. He looked at her. Put his arm around her shoulder. Moved her away from the church. ‘It’s okay, Miss Maddison.’
She pulled away. ‘You don’t understand do you? It’s not okay. You should’ve let me help those children when I had a
chance.’ She stared hard at him, spoke in a flat tone. ‘And I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forgive you for that.’
38
Cooper watched Maddie sleep. ‘You think she’s alright?’
Rosedale took a moment to answer as they drove out and away from Kinshasa. Driving into the night, hoping to find a lead. Anything which would give them some answers.
‘Maddison? I think she’s stronger than the both of us. She can handle herself. Relax Thomas, she’s fine.’
‘What about what we’re doing? Do you think that’s fine? Are we doing the right thing?’
Rosedale changed gear. Swerved around the potholes. ‘Probably not, but when have you ever worried about doing the right thing? There are four facts we got to keep in mind. Fact one, we’ve got nothing or as little as nothing to go on. Fact two, the little as we do have is that it’s clear this Emmanuel guy seems to have pissed off Papa Bemba in some way, or at least he’s involved in something which makes people want us to stop asking questions. Fact three, people wanting me to stop asking questions makes me want to ask them.’
‘I don’t know.’
Rosedale glanced at him sideward. ‘Well I do and besides, we haven’t got to my fact four yet. Fact four, as we saw when they sped away, the plates on the cars of Papa Bemba and his men are from the Buziba area of South Kivu, which, according to our hotelier is where the headquarters of the New Revivalist Church is. It’s also where Emmanuel’s aunt and uncle’s neighbor said Emmanuel and his family came from. Which means if we want anything more than Granger being on our backs, about us not being able to do the job properly, then we need to get to Buziba and ask questions. Which is exactly why we’re going there… Can I give you another fact?’
‘No.’
‘You know, you can be a real spoilsport, Thomas. Maybe if you lightened up a bit, you might have more luck with the ladies.’
Cooper stared at him with as much incredulity as he could muster. ‘I do want to ask what the hell you’re talking about, I really do, but you know something, Rosedale? I think I’m afraid of the answer.’
Rosedale laughed. Peered out from underneath his cowboy hat as the car headlights did an inadequate job of lighting up the road.
Cooper took a swig of water from the bottle in his bag.
‘You taking them pills again?’
Cooper’s tone was flat. ‘I’m drinking water.’
‘Don’t try to deny it, Thomas. We both know in your bag in the side pocket, where the zipper could be stronger, you keep some of your pills, which are conveniently loose for moments just like these. We also both know that when you went in your bag to get the water you quickly slipped a couple in your hand. You’ve done it a thousand times before. Expertly done and put in your mouth without anybody noticing. Anybody apart from me, that is.’
‘Leave me alone Rosedale, you’re talking bull again.’
‘Am I? Well how about this then? We both know when you swallow liquid your throat’s relaxed, with complex volitional and reflex interactions. Yet your cricopharyngeus muscle pulled up harder on your anterior cricoid cartilage. Which means the difference although subtle, but obvious to the trained eye, is that you, Thomas J. Cooper, have just swallowed something solid.’
Cooper didn’t deny it. But he didn’t admit it. Felt too much like a confessional. Instead he shook his head. ‘Things just don’t make sense anymore.’
‘Why the sudden rush of doubt, boy? Is all this spiritual stuff taking over? Do Maddison and I need to start worrying?’
‘No… it’s…’
‘It’s just you’ve been listening to the likes of Granger, and all that stuff about you calming your ass down. But you haven’t crossed any lines.’
‘It’s not that. It feels like something’s not right here. Like I should be doing more. I’ve got a real sense of unease, Rosedale.’
‘That’s what I don’t understand about you. Everything is always so personal. Like you’re on some kind of quest. You look into things too deeply, Thomas. This is just a job. The job we were told to do and the job we get well paid for. That’s it, honey. Nothing more. Track down Emmanuel and seize the plane. Fly it back to Nairobi. And that’s exactly what we’re trying to do. And if we don’t, well, Granger will be bitching our ass off for a while because his recovery rate stats will drop. But that’s all. It’s a job. Stop trying to make everything your own private mission. Don’t look beyond.’
Cooper stared out, unable to see anything in the pitch darkness. ‘Maybe so.’
‘I know so. It’s not the job, it’s you. Calm will never be inside of you, Thomas. Even if the accident never happened, I doubt you’d ever have peace. You’d always be looking for something which isn’t there.’
Cooper’s face twisted into a frown. His words followed suit. ‘Thanks a lot, Rosedale. You certainly know how to make a guy feel good.’
‘Like I say, Thomas, you need to lighten up. The American Indians used to talk about people like you. The people with restless souls who ran with the buffalo.’
Cooper tilted his head to one side, studying Rosedale. ‘Have you been watching Dances With Wolves again?’
‘So what if I have? There’s not a film that comes close and I’m telling you, Thomas, Kevin Costner was robbed. He should’ve won the Oscar.’
‘It won best picture, and he did get one for best director.’
Rosedale shook his head. ‘But not best actor. You seriously going to sit here and tell me Jeremy Irons deserved it over Costner?’
Closing his eyes, Cooper couldn’t help but smile. ‘I liked that film… What was it? Reversal of Fortune?’
‘Thomas, you know nothing, which is why you need to listen when I tell you to stop worrying. Stop medicating yourself before you get into real trouble again, like how it was before… By the way, did I ever tell you about the time I met Costner?’
39
Night turned inevitably into day, which turned into three more long days and nights on treacherous, unmarked roads, with no-one to keep Cooper sane in the heat apart from Rosedale which, on reflection was probably an unlikely source of sanity, and Maddie, who slept most of the time.
The vividly green countryside was abundant in its variety, and the beauty of the rainforests set against the mountains was breath-taking, with beautiful mud huts looking like dollhouses dotted in the distant picturesque villages.
But no matter how scenic the countryside was, it didn’t distract Cooper from the bites on his legs, which were enough to play dot to dot, and he knew if he had to listen to Rosedale trying to sing ‘The Trail of the Lonesome Pine’ backwards once more, he was going to lose his mind.
The trip had been trying and the question, what the hell was he thinking of, coming here? had crossed his mind on a repeat loop.
On the first day they’d had to reroute and take a hundred-mile detour, as the tiny battered river ferry they’d been intending to sail on was stuck on the river banks waiting for an engine part to be delivered, having already waited three weeks for it.
On the second day they’d had torrential rain, but hadn’t had the luxury of sitting in the car waiting for it to pass. Instead they’d suffered drenched clothing and blistered fingers whilst they’d dug the Toyota out from the rutted road, as muddy waters flooded into the car.
On the third day, with most bridges not inspiring the confidence to cross their contorted iron frames, they’d encountered four imprudent, unarmed men who’d blocked the road, bearing rocks in an attempt to get money. He’d allowed Rosedale the pleasure, and five minutes later they’d continued on their way.
And now, on the last day of the drive and nearing their destination of Buziba, he was in two minds whether or not to smash the passenger window. It was still stuck. Still driving him crazy, and once more the sun had risen, giving off its cruel, strangling heat, making the rays beating down through the window unbearable.
Maddie, whose window was able to open – something which Cooper and Rosedale looked on with envy
throughout the trip – pointed to a large billboard on the side of the grassy bank. ‘Look, guys. Over there.’
Peering across to where Maddie was pointing, Cooper could see a large advertisement for the New Revivalist Church, picturing Papa Bemba, minus his glasses, and with the words, The Saviour, blazoned across it.
Brown curls swaying in the breeze, which she was clearly enjoying, she said, ‘You think he’s talking about himself?’
Rosedale nodded. ‘Probably. The guy’s positively narcissistic.’
Cooper turned round to Maddie. ‘What do you think happened to his eyes?’
‘To me it looks like some sort of mutilation. Maiming. I don’t know, perhaps it was something to do with the Hutu-Tutsi conflict. There was a hell of a lot of butchery, and this area was one of the worst for it. We’re real close to the Rwandan border and not too far from the Ugandan one, so right here would’ve been the hub for a lot of it. The genocide was like a hurricane.’
‘Yeah and no-one was immune from the violence. Not even kids or babies.’
Cooper didn’t reply. His mind was on Papa Bemba. It was clear he carried a lot of power and probably wealth as well. And the combination of the two, especially in a place like this, could be dangerous.
One of the things he couldn’t stop thinking about was the young man he’d met the other night in the derelict building, and the words which he could still hear. Whatever the reason you think you are here, it won’t be the reason.
He didn’t know why he hadn’t told Rosedale or Maddie the full extent of the conversation. But the sense of keeping it to himself for now was strong.
It had also struck him that Emmanuel wasn’t the person he needed to find out about. Whether they found Emmanuel or not, the truth was, he couldn’t care less. So the guy hadn’t paid for a plane? Cooper didn’t give a damn about the plane, nor the money owed. It felt nothing compared to the feelings he had about Bemba. And even though Emmanuel had been their reason to come, where he was and who he was, wasn’t the point. For Cooper, the focus had changed to Papa Bemba, because whatever was happening here his instinct told him it was bigger. Much bigger than just a guy not having paid the loan back for his plane. Now all he had to do was look further.