[2016] Rubbing Stones

by Nancy Burkey

  “Katura?”

  She took the bread from him. “Coming right up.”

  He put a bag of grain in the cupboard above the counter. “This should tide you over for a while.”

  She moved closer, grabbed a can of cooking oil and set it next to the grain. “Yeah, I’ll be fine.”

  He left the kitchen. She heard him walk down the hall and shut the bathroom door.

  She laid out two slices of bread, but once she heard the water running, she tiptoed down the hall. Within a minute came the familiar loud hissing of the pipes.

  “Changa?”

  No response. She heard the shower running.

  “What kind of sandwich?” She was yelling now.

  She opened the door to the bathroom very slowly—just enough to get her arm in. She felt around the floor until she could feel his pants and drag them toward her. She slipped the keys out of his pocket, holding them tightly bunched so they wouldn’t make any noise. She dashed out to the van. He’d said a quick shower.

  She wasn’t looking for anything in particular—just something that would give her some idea of what was going on or where Japera was. She opened the driver’s side of the van. Maps—maps of the surrounding area, maps of the national parks, maps of the whole of Zimbabwe. But there were no highlights, no pen marks, and no map noticeably more worn than the others. She came around the van and opened the back to see it stuffed full of bags of food. For a sick mother? Not likely.

  She closed up the back and opened the passenger side of the van. No sign of a struggle, upholstery intact, trash strewn on the floor, the usual papers stuffed in the glove compartment. She felt around the sides and under the seat. She pulled out a dark blue windbreaker, nothing else. She was just about to stick the jacket back under the seat when she stopped and took a good look at it. She felt inside the right pocket and sure enough, there they were—her rubbing stones. She stared at them in disbelief. In wonder.

  She looked down the empty residential street. She could run now—while Changa showered—but run where? She had no money and she couldn’t follow his truck on foot to her brother, if it went to her brother, which was a big if. She turned toward the house. She could still hear the water running, the pipes squealing.

  She quickly stuffed the jacket under the seat, unlocked the back of the van, and ran back into Thabani’s house. She got the keys into Changa’s pants just before the water turned off. When he emerged from the bathroom she stood just down the hall, her own towel flung over her shoulder.

  “My turn,” she said and walked past him into the bathroom. She shut the door and waited.

  “Hey!” he yelled from the kitchen. “Where’s my sandwich!”

  She ran down the hall, fully clothed but barefoot. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know what kind you wanted.” She grabbed the jar of mustard out of the refrigerator. “It’ll just take me a minute.”

  “Hurry up, it’s getting late.”

  “I asked, yelled really loud, but you couldn’t hear with those pipes—”

  She dropped the jar. The glass shattered, sending shards of glass everywhere—surrounding her feet and his heavy boots.

  “Sorry! I’ll get the broom.” She lifted her right foot and searched for a place to put it down.

  “Don’t move.” He grabbed her under her arms and lifted her out of the kitchen, then pushed her toward the hallway leading to the bathroom. “Just take care of yourself, I’ll be gone by the time you get out.”

  Katura turned on the water. As soon as the pipes started to screech, she grabbed her shoes and headed into the hall, locking the bathroom door behind her. She could hear glass crunch beneath Changa’s boots as she rounded the corner to the front door. She shut the door softly, ran down the driveway, and climbed into the back of the van.

  As she pulled the doors closed, she saw Changa on the front porch, locking the two deadbolts.

  CHAPTER 33

  “Just wait, something’s bound to shift,” Rick had told Michael. “When it does, you’ll know.”

  Much too vague. How would he know?

  He stood on the porch and looked out over the horizon. He knew the routine. Ten minutes after the low, distant engine noise, Changa’s truck would pull up next to the main lodge and he’d be expected to empty it. When Japera was on duty, he and Changa would help. But with Zuka in charge, it was all up to Michael. The two Africans would whisper off to the side with occasional outbursts of laughter that made him self-conscious.

  He glanced over at the central table and saw Zuka glaring at him, daring him to buck the system.

  When it does, you’ll know.

  Michael kicked the dust as he walked toward the loading dock. What if he misinterpreted things? What if he thought things had shifted when it was nothing? Or missed the perfect major opportunity? With his dad it would have been different. He’d have told Michael exactly what to do, when, how. He might not always be right, but he was always sure, always confident. He’d always resented his dad for that, but right now…

  Changa got out of the cab and went to Zuka. Michael unhitched the latch to start unloading. He pulled the doors open—

  And jumped back. He had to, he was in her way.

  The girl from the airport darted past him so fast he doubted she even saw him and headed straight for Zuka.

  “I locked her in the house!” Changa was looking at Zuka’s hand on his rifle. “I had no idea.”

  “That’s right, fool. You had no idea.” Zuka’s words were slurred, sweat poured down his face, but his right hand gripped his weapon. “Your only job was to get food here and keep her—”

  Katura slapped him across his face.

  Michael’s eyes widened. This girl’s nuts.

  “These people have nothing to do with my family’s troubles.” She stood tall, squarely in front of him. “What right do you have to drag them into this? You’re no better than the scum who’re holding Tafadzwa. Wrongfully. Shamefully!”

  Zuka pushed her away from him, but…nothing changed, she didn’t budge. Katura was young and strong—Michael was beginning to admire her tenacity.

  “My family has been afraid my brother would be tortured, maybe killed by this regime. So now you use our situation to show the world that Mugabe is right to use such force against his lawless people—people who take the innocent hostage, people who—”

  “That’s enough!” He shoved her harder this time and raised his rifle to his shoulder. He aimed toward the tall vegetation on the far side of Jane’s hut.

  Despite the glaring sun, Michael could just make out the two figures some fifty yards away.

  “No!” Katura screamed out.

  Paul grabbed Tommy’s hand and took two more steps.

  Zuka cocked the hammer. “You two stop right there.”

  Katura stepped in front of him. “No, Zuka, you have to stop this craziness.” She backed up slowly toward Paul and Tommy.

  Michael lunged, caught her arm, and pulled Katura out of the line of fire. She struggled against him but couldn’t break loose.

  “Katura,” he whispered. “You don’t get it—he’s already killed Thabani and Lorenzo. You know that’s not the end of it. You’re nothing to him, none of us are.”

  “But he can’t do this.” She started to cry. “That’s a little boy, he can’t shoot at a little boy…”

  He pulled her closer. Her body collapsed against him. He relaxed his hold ever so slightly, and suddenly she was gone.

  “I won’t let this happen.” She ran across the grounds and stood in front of Tommy and Paul.

  Michael turned to Zuka to find the rifle aimed squarely at his own chest. A smile spread slowly across Zuka’s face. He lowered his head to take aim.

  “You’ve been trouble from the start. Should have done this long ago.”

  Michael felt his heart throbbing in his throat when two shots echoed through the canyon.

  Jane’s eyes were squeezed shut and she fell to her knees.

  “Mom.” It was Michael
’s voice, strong and clear. “Mom!”

  She opened her eyes to see Zuka’s body slumped on the ground. Blood flowed from his right shoulder and chest.

  Japera stood on the porch of the far hut, his head down, his rifle held loosely at his side. A wisp of smoke emerged from the muzzle.

  “You did the right thing, Japera.” Katura ran up the steps to join him. “They’ll know how you turned this mess around. You’ll make them proud again.”

  Japera lifted his head, but it wasn’t Katura he faced. He looked up at Rick, who stood on the lodge landing. Thabani’s rifle in his right hand was also still smoking. It was now aimed at Japera.

  “Dad will understand, Japera. He’ll forgive you.”

  Japera walked down the steps past his sister and laid his rifle at Rick’s feet.

  Katura called after him, tears wetting her face. “You have to forgive yourself.”

  CHAPTER 34

  “Looking for these?” Michael held up the keys to the van.

  Changa had sneaked into the cab after the shots were fired and was frantically searching his pockets.

  “I think you’ll be riding in the back this time,” Rick said. He winked at Michael, then turned to Jane. “So, when’d you figure it out?”

  “I always knew. Of course, I knew.” She couldn’t look straight at him as she said it. Her eyes swelled with tears. “Anyway, I always hoped.”

  He put his arms around her and pulled her in. “You can’t believe how much I dreamed of being able to do this.”

  Paul walked up to them, his limp barely noticeable, his eyes scanning Rick.

  “Where the hell did you come from? And not a second too soon.” He reached out to shake his hand, hesitated for a moment, then pulled Rick in and hugged him. “Hey, don’t mind me. You save my life and I still have complaints. Ask your wife, it’s who I am.”

  Rick laughed. “Good to see you too, Paul.” He looked up at the sky. “We need to get on the road before dark. I don’t want to spend one more night out here.”

  Paul nodded. “I’ll ride in the back with Japera, Changa, and the girl.”

  “And kids in the middle. Jane up front with me.” Rick turned back to Paul. “Are you sure? It’ll be crowded in the back.”

  “Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that.” Jane put her arm around Rick’s waist and led him a few feet away from the others. “I want to leave Japera.”

  “Here?” Rick looked around camp. Zuka’s body was still lying near the picnic table.

  “If we take him back, they’ll kill him.”

  “But…” He looked into her eyes and let out a sigh. “You’re right.”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “Japera, come over here.” Rick leaned down and whispered in Jane’s ear. “I love you, you know.”

  “I know. Me too.”

  Japera stood facing Rick with his hands clasped behind his back.

  “Can you make it back to the river?” Rick asked.

  Japera’s face was a blank. “Of course.”

  “Cross the river into Zambia and head west. Don’t stop for at least three days before you drop back down into Botswana.”

  Japera nodded.

  Jane picked up Paul’s backpack weighted heavily with water bottles. “You’ll need this.”

  “Hey, that’s—”

  Jane threw Paul a look that stopped him cold. He waved his free hand at her.

  “Whatever.”

  Japera fastened on the backpack, then turned to face his sister. Katura hugged him tight.

  “Hey.” He pulled her away, forced her to look straight at him. “I’ll beat you home.”

  She smiled through her tears, then turned and headed for the van. Michael stuck his hand out to Japera.

  “We’ll make sure she gets back safe,” he said. “If her mother’s anything like mine, she’s probably going nuts.”

  “You’d be surprised.” Japera glanced at Jane. He took Michael’s hand, shook it once, then pulled him in for a hug.

  “And maybe I’ll see you over there,” Michael said.

  “What?” Jane broke away from Rick. “No, we’re going straight—”

  “Mom, the clinic isn’t far from where Katura’s family is, just two villages over.”

  “But we’re not still—”

  “Of course we are, Mom. There’s still work to do, and they’re expecting us. We’re only a few days late. We can take Katura back to her family, then go straight to the clinic. Maybe she could even help.”

  Jane looked up at the afternoon sky and shook her head. Michael’s determination had become so solid, so familiar.

  Rick turned to Japera. “Better get going. Those shots might attract some attention and you want to be long gone before anyone shows up here.”

  Japera nodded and turned toward the path from the river they had walked in on just ten days ago.

  “And by the way, I think I’ll make a stop at the embassy to see what’s going on with your brother. I may only be a state senator, but decades in politics have given me some negotiating skills and a few important connections. No promises, but I can be pretty tenacious.”

  “Clearly,” Jane said. She put her arm through his and they headed to the van.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  I’d like to thank The Editorial Department for working with me tirelessly over the many years this took to come to fruition—Ross Browne for his enthusiastic support, encouragement, and ever-present optimism in a difficult trade and Renni Browne for her careful attention to detail and her extraordinary ability to dissect difficulties while pushing for solutions. In fact, without Renni Browne’s wonderful book, Self-Editing for Fiction Writers, with its clear explanations and fabulous examples, which I read no fewer than five times, I could never have written this book.

  The help I received from Beth Jusino was thorough, detailed, and focused—exactly what someone new to this process needs and I thank her for her patience.

  And especially I thank Peter Gelfan, whose editorial skills are a wonder to behold, whom I thought quite possibly delusional in his faith in my potential, but mostly I felt honored to have him push me to be a better writer than I thought possible.

  I very much appreciate the detailed editing and commentary provided by my friend and step-son, David.

  Thanks also to my sons, Eric and Brett, whose early lives were templates for my characters (with lots of literary license). And importantly, they showed me a brilliance in youth that is often overlooked as they became men that I now admire.

  There are not words to describe the gratitude I feel to my husband, Mark, who pored over every chapter and revision with patience, care, and devotion. Again, no words to describe my appreciation.

  NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

  Dear Reader,

  Thank you for investing your heart and time with me and this story. I hope very much that you have enjoyed it. Your opinion and feedback is very important, not only to me, but also to future potential readers and I encourage you to go to Amazon or Goodreads, or wherever you like to browse for books, and write a review to share your thoughts.

  Are you in a book club or discussion group? Would you like to talk about Rubbing Stones with your friends and fellow readers? These characters, and the difficult decisions they must face, can lead to deep, challenging conversations. I’ve provided a list of discussion questions on my website, www.nancyburkey.com to help round out your meeting.

  And I’d love to join you! I am available to visit book clubs, either in person or via video chat, to talk about the book and the writing process. Please use the Contact form on my website to tell me about your group.

  Thank you,

  Nancy Burkey

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Nancy Burkey is a practicing psychiatrist who closed her private practice in Northern California and now travels the country for several months every year providing temporary services to clinics and hospitals from coast to coast. She turned to fiction as the perfect escape from spend
ing much of her time inside the minds of very real people, and she particularly likes the split between what people think and what they say out loud.

  Rubbing Stones is her first novel, and it evolved from an adventurous trip she took to Africa with her sons in 2004.

  To find out more, or to sign up for her newsletter, visit her at www.nancyburkey.com.