[2016] Rubbing Stones

by Nancy Burkey

  “So what’s next?” Shelly picked up the rope still on her cot and started untwisting it into three separate strings of twine.

  Jane watched a great flock of birds circle over the lodge roof and land in the large acacia on the other side. There were so many, they blackened the tree.

  “Zuka?” Shelly started braiding the twine.

  Jane shrugged. “His politics drive him, seem core to his being.”

  Shelly put down the braid and stared at Jane. Then she nodded. “That’s probably true. So?”

  Jane ran her fingers through her hair and looked out at the sky for a few seconds. She could feel Shelly’s eyes on her. She shook her head and turned away from the window.

  “What is it, Jane?”

  “It doesn’t matter. We’re not getting out of here.”

  “What do you mean? You can’t give up hope—what about the boys?”

  “That’s just it, Jake’s not going to make it. He’s getting worse and I don’t have enough antibiotics, especially for all of us.”

  “What’s he got? It’s contagious?”

  Jane just stared at her, unfocused.

  “Oh, God, this is terrible.” Shelly got up and started to pace. “But Jane, just tell Zuka what you need, he’ll send Changa. He doesn’t want anyone else to die, he needs us all as hostages.”

  “Too late. Changa was just here, he won’t be back for another day or two. So even if Zuka wanted to help, even if he ordered exactly what we need and Changa was able to get it, nothing would get here for several days.” She glanced out the window again. “I just stopped in to make sure you were okay. I’ve got to get back to Jake. His fever’s rising fast.”

  Shelly stopped pacing. “Maybe it’s just a simple virus, maybe it’ll pass on its own.”

  Jane sighed. “You know the problem with a medical degree, Shelly? It doesn’t allow you to enjoy naïve optimism. Without medication… I’ve got go. I’m glad you’re doing better, I really am.”

  “Wait, I—”

  “Sorry, Shelly, Jake needs me right now.” She turned to go.

  “Jane, I just remembered. What about Lorenzo’s emergency medical bag? He’s so anal, I’m sure he carries anything you need.” She dug through the closet, found the waterproof bag, and took out a dozen or so bottles of medicine.

  “Hurry, someone’s coming,” Jane said.

  “I don’t hear anything.”

  “Quick.” Jane peered through the opening. “Someone’s circling behind Paul’s hut, they’re headed this way. I’ve got to go now. Forget the medicine, chances are it wouldn’t help. I don’t have time to go through them.”

  Shelly threw all the bottles back into the bag. She turned her body sideways, but not fast enough that Jane didn’t catch her tucking the scalpel and packet of blades in her pants pocket. Jane hadn’t expected to get them, but it would have been a nice bonus.

  Shelly thrust the bag into Jane’s hand. “Take it—what you need could be in there. And Jane, good luck.” Shelly leaned down and kissed her on the cheek. “Give Jake a hug for me.”

  CHAPTER 31

  “You ought to ask Changa to check his sources for the food he’s bringing in.” It was the second night she’d stayed up to monitor Zuka’s symptoms. “I’m cleaning everything with boiled water. I don’t know what else I can do.”

  Zuka continued to take his shifts despite the vomiting, but he wasn’t making the perimeter rounds as often and when he stood, he’d grab the table for a few seconds before taking any steps. He’d entered her hut twice, rummaged through their things, and nearly found the morphine. He even picked up the container with the white powder but just pushed it aside—he seemed to be looking for something larger, then moved on to Paul’s hut.

  Jane watched him closely. As soon as he started to perk up, she’d add small amounts of the morphine to his food, careful not to give him too much. She’d need a lot of it to use the minute Jake was stronger.

  She looked at her watch. “Time for Japera’s shift, you letting him sleep late?”

  “I’m taking a couple extra hours.” He put a hand over his mouth.

  “Are you sure?” She watched him fighting the bout of nausea.

  He waved her away. She picked up the large aluminum bowl she’d found in the lodge kitchen and handed it to him.

  “Then you’re on your own.” She rose and headed for the huts. “I’m going to check on Paul, then I seriously need some sleep.” As she mounted the steps to Paul’s hut, she heard the last of Zuka’s dinner hit the bottom of the bowl.

  Jane sat on the edge of Paul’s bed, counting respirations—slowed but not labored. Was his skin yellowed? Hard to tell in this light. She held his wrist and felt for a pulse. Strong and regular.

  “Wake up. Time to eat.” Michael came through the door bearing a large portion of sadza with tomatoes on the side.

  She glanced up at him before taking the food. He nodded.

  Paul sat up slowly and leaned his back against the wall.

  As she started to hand him his meal, she saw his eyes. Pinpoint pupils, an unmistakable sign. She put her other hand up to her nose and sneezed into the food.

  “I’m so sorry—look what I’ve done. Michael, get Paul another serving. Be sure to clean this out well. I can’t believe I did that.”

  Michael stared at her. “But—”

  “I said, get him a clean bowlful. He’s not feeling well as it is, the last thing he needs is my germs.”

  Michael looked over at Paul for a moment, then nodded. “Back in a few.”

  Maybe it was the hepatitis. Maybe his liver wasn’t breaking down the morphine and it had built up to toxic levels. Whatever the cause, he was taking this much harder than Zuka. He let out a big yawn and stretched his arms. Then he reached under his shirt and scratched violently at his belly.

  “Paul, stop.” She pulled up his shirt and saw scratch marks at various stages of healing. She reached into the bag at the side of his bed and pulled out a tube of Cortisone cream. “May I?”

  He shrugged.

  She dabbed the cool cream onto his skin and began to rub it in. “Have you considered Interferon?” She felt his stomach muscles tighten.

  “No, and I don’t plan to.”

  She squeezed out another small amount on his chest. “I hear they’re getting better and better results—”

  “You tried that stuff yourself, Doctor Jane?” He moved her hand off his chest. “You’re not the first doc to try and push it on me. But I’ve talked to people in the waiting rooms who say they’ve felt like shit for a whole year when they felt just fine before they started taking it. Weak. Not able to work. Not able to play ball with their kid. Vomiting. Looking like they just got out of a concentration camp. No thanks.”

  He rubbed in the rest of the cream and pulled his shirt back down.

  “Anyway, we’ve all got to die sometime of something—car accident, heart attack, cancer, or two-bit terrorists waving rifles in some god-forsaken place in the jungles of Africa. We’ll all die sometime, Jane. I just want to get Tommy out of here.” He glanced out the window. “If something happens to me, I want you to get him out. As for me, I don’t really care much. This was supposed to be the trip of a lifetime for him to remember me by.” Paul let out a deep sigh. “To counter everything else he’ll figure out about me.”

  She stared at him for a few minutes. “There’s no good way to get it, is there?”

  “What?”

  “Hepatitis. There’s no good way to catch it. No way a dad wouldn’t feel humiliated when his kid looks it up on the internet or hears about it in school. You’d prefer to be shot out here and let your secret die with you than have to face Tommy’s questions.”

  “I couldn’t have predicted this.”

  “No, you couldn’t have.” She got up and started to pace around the room. “You had another plan. Probably for soon after you returned.”

  He looked away.

  “That’s what I thought. But now that these car
ds have been dealt, you might as well play them. To die a hero for your boy. It all makes sense now.”

  “Jane, Tommy doesn’t need to know any—”

  “Of course not.” She watched him slide back down onto the bed and pull the sheet over his shoulders. “You should eat all you can when Michael comes back with your food.”

  “Then leave a bag next to the bed.”

  She started to head for the door when he called out to her.

  “Jane, wait.”

  She moved closer, his voice sounded weak.

  “We need to get out as soon as possible. Let’s plan on tomorrow night.

  “You know, I was thinking, Paul. Zuka’s getting weak, and there might be another way. If—”

  “It doesn’t take much strength to pull a trigger, and they’re holding all the guns. If we’re going to get out, we can’t wait.”

  “What did you just say?”

  “I said if we’re going—“

  “That’s all right, I heard you.”

  Why hadn’t she thought of it before? All the guns? She leaned against the doorjamb. Her mind was racing. That must have been what Zuka was searching for in Shelly’s hut, then in theirs, not for medications—for Thabani’s rifle. Where was it? If it had been in Zuka’s hut, she’d have seen it. She’d searched the room several times. He never would have trusted Japera with it. Wherever he put it, it must have disappeared.

  “What?”

  No wonder he was taking extra shifts, staying up as much as possible.

  “Jane?”

  “You’re right, we’ll leave tomorrow night.” She opened the door, then stopped and turned back to him. “You know, Paul, I have more faith in your son than you do. I think he has the capacity to be proud of a dad who’s brave enough to face the darkest parts of his past and do whatever it takes to keep on being his father.”

  “Feeling better?” It was the first day in five that Jake had ventured out onto the porch. He sat in one of the chairs with his feet propped on a stool, reading science fiction.

  “A little. Japera said I should come out and get some sunlight.”

  “Did he tell you anything else?” She glanced over at the young African, who now sat on the central picnic table.

  “You know he’s actually read this book?” Jane glanced down at the paperback in her son’s hand. Ender’s Game.

  “Some coming-of-age stories transcend cultures, I guess. Third reading?” He nodded. She sat in the chair next to him and scanned the campsite. It was then that she noticed Zuka. He was slouched in the lounge chair on his porch. Asleep? She couldn’t tell from this angle. She moved her chair over a few feet to get a better view. There was a bowl sitting on the floor next to him. She smiled—Michael must have given him Paul’s first bowl.

  Just then Michael emerged from Paul’s hut with Tommy. As they descended the stairs, a soccer ball came bouncing through the air and landed at Michael’s feet. Japera was on his feet ready for the pass back. It was an odd sight, rifle slung over his shoulder as he alternated between Michael and Tommy. She watched for several minutes, until Zuka sat up and looked at them.

  Jane stood up. Something was wrong. Zuka wasn’t following the ball, he was staring at Michael. Zuka started to stand up, faltered, then regained his balance, all without taking his eyes off Michael. The ball took an odd bounce. Michael went after it, moved away from the other two and closer to Zuka’s hut. Zuka’s right hand reached down to his rifle.

  “Hey!” Jane yelled. She flew down the steps and stood facing Japera. “You stay away from my son.” She turned toward him. “Michael, get into our hut, right now.”

  “But Mom, what are you—”

  “Now!” She could see out of the corner of her eye that Zuka had sat back down. Michael stormed past her as she turned back to Japera.

  “I’m tired of you playing up to my boys. You think I haven’t noticed what you’re doing? Stay away from them.” Before Japera could respond, she turned and followed Michael back to her hut.

  “Mom, Shelly’s gone.” Michael sounded out of breath.

  “What?”

  “Yeah, Changa dragged her out kicking and screaming. It was awful.”

  Jake sat up. “Maybe they’re planning on separating us—taking us to different places.” He grabbed Jane’s arm. “Mom—”

  “No, not like that,” Michael said. “Changa acted like he knew her. Mom, I think she’s MDC.”

  “Shelly?” Jake swung his legs over the side and sat on his hands. “But she was so nice, such a good rafter—you can’t trust anybody. Maybe Paul’s in on this too.”

  Michael laughed. “Unfortunately, the idiot’s on our side. Anyway, Jake, not everybody in MDC is a bad guy, they actually have a point, you know. Mugabe’s been destroying—”

  “Michael, I need you to focus.” She’d ask him about the political rhetoric later. “What was said?”

  “I didn’t really get it all.”

  “How did you know Changa knew her?”

  “He was trying to calm her down. Trying to tell her she needed to be moved for the good of the operation, they’d keep her safe at the hideout.”

  “She didn’t buy it?”

  “How can you say the MDC isn’t bad?” Jake had stood and was glaring at his big brother. “They killed Rick and Baruti.”

  Michael stood speechless for a minute. “Zuka fired those shots, it’s not the MDC way to—”

  “Apparently it is now. ” He sat back down.

  “Michael, what did Shelly say to Zuka?”

  “It didn’t make sense. She was yelling at him, something about how he wasn’t listening, it was only antibiotics, she’d separated stuff.”

  “What’d he say?”

  “He’s a man of few words and didn’t waste any on her. All he said was, she’d acted on her own and they don’t tolerate that, and she started scratching at him. So he threw her in the back of the van and they were gone. Mom, what’s in that bag? Where’d you get it?” She hadn’t realized that she was staring at the bag Shelly had given her.

  “It’s Lorenzo’s medical kit.”

  “Antibiotics?”

  She smiled.

  “Not just antibiotics?”

  She nodded.

  Michael did a silent victory dance around the hut.

  “Michael, are you sure about what Shelly told Zuka?”

  He sat back down, put his head in his hands for several minutes. He looked up and smiled. “I remember exactly. She said she checked every bottle, they were just antibiotics. Why would she lie to him?”

  Jake laughed. “Why would she tell him she screwed up?”

  CHAPTER 32

  Odd. It seemed like there was actually less food than the last time she was in the kitchen, yet Changa had just gone to the market. It was going to be hard to throw something together. Katura looked at the clock—already late, and she was famished.

  She chopped up what vegetables she could find and put them on to simmer, heavily spiced to flavor all that water. Not much of a stew, but it would thicken some while she waited. She carved out the small areas of mold on the last loaf of bread, cut thick slices, and toasted them in the oven. She sat down at the table with a cup of tea and leafed through the newspaper, or what was left of it, after Changa had separated out the best parts for himself. She wanted to eat with him, see what information she might glean from casual conversation over a meal, but as the time ticked on, she couldn’t wait. Here she’d spent the morning trying to figure out how to lose this guy and now she was anxious for him to return. She paced around the small living room. Maybe he wasn’t coming back at all, maybe something had happened and she’d lost her one last connection with Japera. She ate her supper, such as it was, then flopped on the couch and closed her eyes.

  She had no idea how long she’d been asleep when she heard the front door unlock. She jumped up.

  “Where the hell have you been?” Her nerves were shot. She was tired of playing his game. It was time to get some an
swers. She glanced out the window and realized it was morning. “You’ve been gone all night.”

  “Nice to know you’re worried about me.” He walked into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. She followed him in.

  “Look, I don’t know who you really are or what you want with me, but you better start talking.”

  He poured himself a beer, skimmed the top off the cold stew into a bowl, and sat down at the table. He picked up the day-old newspaper that lay open in front of him.

  Katura put her head in her hands and began to cry. She didn’t mean to, but once it started, she couldn’t stop. “I can’t stand this,” she finally got out. “I don’t know what’s happened to my brother or my cousin. I don’t know why you’re here, or where you go, or if you’re coming back.” She was wailing now. “And that’s after you’ve been guarding me like I’m a prisoner. It doesn’t make sense.” She knew she was out of control but she had nothing to lose at this point.

  Changa sipped the stew and read the paper. Katura escalated to yelling. “And didn’t you notice that there was nothing to eat in this house? You’re eating cold stew, which is terminally weird, but did you realize there’s no meat in it? What if you hadn’t come back? I starve to death, no problem, I’m just a prisoner?”

  At that Changa set down his paper and got up unhurriedly. He reached into his front pocket, took out his keys, and walked out the door. Katura heard the click of the lock.

  Great, that went really well. She wiped the tears from her face. Now she was locked in, no food, and probably no Changa. Ever. But before she could get up she heard the door again. Changa walked in carrying two bags of groceries he must have had in his van.

  “I ran into your friends at the market.” He began unloading food into the refrigerator. “Seems there’s no game today.”

  “Oh? I guess I misunderstood—”

  “I’m going to take a quick shower.” He held up a fresh loaf of bread. “Mind making me a sandwich for the road?”

  She glanced over at the lock on the door—her mind was racing.