Orange for the Sunsets

by Tina Athaide

  Mama stopped and held out her hand. “Give me the package.”

  Asha removed it from her pocket. She readied herself for the yelling to start, but Mama’s mouth was sewn as tight as a rice bag.

  As Mama and Asha stepped onto the verandah, the door flew open. Papa stood in the doorway. Mama thrust the package at him and then continued straight to the kitchen.

  “Where did you get this?” Papa asked.

  “Our daughter had it. She decided to help you by taking it to Edwin. When I think of what could have happened . . .” Mama’s words were strangled and she pulled Asha into a tight embrace. “My brave girl. My brave, reckless girl.”

  “What about Coach?” Asha asked.

  “I reached his parents,” said Papa. “They’re meeting him at the hospital.”

  Mama shook her head at Papa. “You promised our family would be safe,” she said. “That nobody would get hurt. Now look. Look what could have happened to Asha.”

  “No,” said Asha. Mama had it all wrong. “Papa had no idea I took the package.”

  Papa ran his hand over his tired face and looked out the window. “Your mother is right. I should never have brought those papers home. But Mira, you are the one who wanted to stay. And we stayed. Now you are blaming me for helping people, our friends. I can’t stand by and do nothing while Amin is arresting and killing people. If I can help, I must. You said you understood.” His voice was low and calm. He looked at Mama, his eyes pleading. “I love my family. I would never let anything happen to you.”

  Mama shook her head worriedly. She pulled Asha into the circle of her arms, pressing her close. Papa moved toward them, wrapping his arms around his family. Together like this, Asha felt as though nothing could hurt them. But she knew that wasn’t true.

  Mama’s lips trembled, but she tried to smile. “I don’t want anything to happen to you,” she said, looking into Papa’s eyes. Her hands clenched the front of her sari, wringing it between her fingers.

  Asha stepped back, and she saw the package lying in the middle of the table.

  “Papa, what’s inside the package?”

  Papa’s lips pressed together, then he sighed. “Passports,” he said. “They’re for a man who worked with Benedicto Kiwanuka.”

  Asha shifted uncomfortably. Benedicto Kiwanuka, the minister of justice, had been dragged out of his courtroom by Amin’s soldiers and taken to Makindye Prison. It was one of the last news articles Mr. Gupta had written. “Wasn’t he killed?”

  “Which is why I am helping this man get out of Uganda,” said Papa. “I was supposed to meet Coach at the house on Suna Road and give him the passports, but soldiers were parked outside the office. I couldn’t risk them following me, and I had no way to warn him.”

  “Now what?” asked Mama. “Will this man be all right?”

  Papa picked up the passports. “Not without these. I have to take them to him.”

  “Ashok.” Mama’s eyes filled with panic. “The soldiers are looking for you.”

  Papa slipped the passports into his pocket. “I made a promise.”

  “You made a promise to us too.”

  Asha thought of the solider ready to shoot, only stopping when he learned that Coach wasn’t Papa. “Don’t go. Please.”

  Papa slowly uncurled Asha’s fingers. He kissed her gently on the forehead and then turned to leave.

  “I love you, Papa,” Asha whispered, but he’d already gone.

  42

  Yesofu

  MAMMA STOOD NEXT to Yesofu at the bus stop, muttering. Gathering her words, ready to explode like a thundercloud.

  “We told you to stay away from Asha,” Mamma said as they waited for the bus. “The two of you get together, and there’s always trouble. Soldiers. Fights. When are you going to see that it isn’t safe? Entebbe has changed. The two of you can’t just roam around together. It’s not good for either of you!”

  Yesofu had never seen Mamma looking so frantic. Arms flying. Braids shaking. She had it all wrong. “We weren’t together. I saw her running and she—”

  Mamma put up her hand to silence him. “I don’t want to hear it.”

  It was probably better if he kept his mouth shut. Otherwise he’d also have to explain how he’d visited Asha the other day. In this mood, Mamma would never understand. Only when the bus arrived did she break her silence.

  “Get off at Lake Victoria. Baba is waiting for you.”

  Yesofu took a step forward and was pulled back as Mamma wrapped him into a tight hug. “Sawa sawa. Go now.”

  When Yesofu reached the lake, he saw Baba at the pier sitting in one of the small, wooden fishing boats. He waved and ran over.

  “Get in,” Baba said.

  Yesofu climbed inside, moving the fishing rods to sit. He pushed the boat away from the pier while Baba reached back and pulled the starter cord. Puffs of smoke rose from behind the engine as the smell of gasoline looped around them. Slowly they backed away and started moving out toward deeper waters. Yesofu wondered how much Mamma had told him.

  With the shore a distance away, Baba cut the motor. He pulled out a worm from a small tub and handed it to Yesofu to hook onto the fishing line. “Mamma couldn’t say much on the phone, but she said something happened to your coach.”

  The hair prickled on the back of Yesofu’s neck. He nodded.

  “You know what a conspirator is?” Baba asked.

  Yesofu dropped the worm. “No, sir.”

  “It’s someone who’s plotting against someone else by doing the opposite of what they want or interfering with what they want. Idi Amin is arresting anyone he thinks is conspiring against him. Indians. Africans. Makes no difference.” Papa cast his line. “Disagree with Amin and that’s enough for him to call in his army.”

  Yesofu shifted and the boat rocked. “Is that what happened to Coach?”

  Baba took Yesofu’s line, hooked on the worm, and handed it back to him. “I don’t know about Coach. But look what happened to that judge. He was dragged out of his courtroom for disagreeing with Amin and taken to Makindye.” Baba snapped his fingers. “Poof. He’s gone . . . disappeared.”

  Yesofu thought about Mr. Gomez. If word got out about whatever Asha’s dad was doing . . . if Akello told . . . would soldiers come for him like they’d come for the judge and Coach? “Asha told me Mr. Gomez is—”

  “He should have left when he had the chance,” Baba cut off Yesofu. “Instead he’s stayed and is risking his life to help other Indians. Africans too.” Baba raised his arms and sent the line out. “Dangerous business. Not only for him. His family too.”

  Yesofu looked at Baba, sorting out how to tell him about Akello. Baba would be able to stop him from going to the soldiers. “I saw Akello at Café Nile today and—”

  “Get the net!” Baba cried out. His line pulled tight.

  Yesofu reeled in his line and tossed his rod inside the boat. He grabbed the net, keeping his eye out for whatever was bending Baba’s line into a U. It had to be a big one . . . maybe a king fish. The more Baba tugged, the more his rod curved. As he reeled it in, the boat pulled toward the shoreline.

  “My line’s stuck.” In the muddy waters along the shore, something floated. Baba blinked. “I’m going to check it out. Stay here.”

  Yesofu watched Baba wade closer until he was a few feet from the shore. Something long was tangled in the weeds and elephant grasses along the shoreline. Even from where he sat in the boat, Yesofu could tell it wasn’t a fish. Baba stopped and leaned in. Then, in a rush, he started toward the boat, splashing and fighting his way through the shallow water.

  “What is it?” Yesofu asked.

  Baba climbed inside and started the boat. He pushed the lever to full speed. The engine sputtered and smoked as Baba steered them away. The boat rocked and Yesofu grabbed the sides. What didn’t Baba want him to see? He turned to look over the back. A body, all puffy and bloated, bobbed on the surface. A body in a suit and tie. Yesofu’s stomach clenched.

  Coach.<
br />
  Mr. Gomez.

  Asha.

  The names crashed in his head. He had to stop Akello.

  43

  Asha

  ASHA PLACED HER hand on the receiver, but didn’t pick up the ringing phone. The last time she’d answered, it had been Coach.

  It rang again, for the fifth time.

  Asha gripped the receiver tighter, but still she didn’t answer. Whoever was on the other end wasn’t giving up. Maybe it was Teelu? But what if it wasn’t? Maybe someone was calling because Papa had been arrested. Maybe it was Papa and he needed help?

  Asha lifted the phone and put it to her ear. “Hello?”

  “What took you so long . . . Are you okay?” It was Mama ringing from the hospital. She’d finally agreed to let Asha stay home while she went back to the hospital to check on her patients.

  “Sorry, Mama. Yes.”

  “Listen. A patient’s gone into labor, so I won’t be home for a while.” She paused and then asked, “Is Papa back?”

  “No.”

  There was silence at the other end of the line, but Asha could feel her fears as if she’d spoken them loudly. “Okay. I’ll be home as soon as I can.”

  Asha hung up and ran back up the stairs. She wanted to stay in her bedroom. It felt safe inside these four walls. Familiar. She emptied the carrom bag onto her bed and picked up the passports. The lie she’d told Papa when he asked her about them stuck in her throat like a thorn. It was time to tell the truth. She’d give them to Papa and tell him that she’d been wrong to make them stay.

  The clock ticked.

  Seconds. Minutes. Hours.

  Outside, the sun lowered and the sky changed colors, matching the beads in Asha’s bracelet. Papa still wasn’t home. Asha glanced at the clock on her night table. It had already been three hours since Mama’d telephoned. It was fine. Papa would be home soon.

  Click.

  Asha sat up. Someone was playing carrom. She climbed out of bed and tiptoed down the dimly lit corridor out the front door, onto the verandah. In her hand, she held the carrom bag with their passports. It was time to tell Papa the truth. Outside, ribbons of red and orange rippled across the sky.

  Click.

  The striker knocked a game piece into a corner pocket. The sound rang in Asha’s ears.

  Papa. He was home, sitting in the chair where he always sat when they played carrom, safe.

  “Want to play?” Papa asked. He reached for the container of boric powder and sprinkled a light dusting of it on the board—just enough to make sure the pieces slid smoothly.

  Without a word, Asha slipped into the chair opposite him. His cheeks crinkled as he smiled and reached across to brush the hair out of her eyes.

  “Coach Edwin’s going to be all right,” said Papa.

  A lump gathered in Asha’s throat, relief and sadness intertwined inside her.

  “You break,” said Papa, and he passed her his championship carrom striker.

  Asha set the disc on the baseline, positioned her fingers, and flicked the striker.

  Snap! The collection of tan-and-black discs scattered across the wooden game board.

  Two discs dropped into one of the four corner pockets. The remaining ones swirled across the board.

  “Well done,” said Papa. He leaned back and waited for Asha to take her next shot. “You did a brave thing today, taking the passports to Edwin.”

  Asha’s hand shook and she missed, sending her piece flying to the opposite side of the board. She handed Papa the striker and watched him in the dim light. She thought about his smile, the way his face lit up when he saw her. How his hugs felt sure and strong. Her heart pinched in her chest and she took a breath. She couldn’t imagine a day without him. “Before Simon left, he told me that President Amin has a list of enemies.” She glanced up at her father, then back down to the board. “Are you on it?”

  “It looks that way.” Papa reached across the board and took Asha’s hand. “But you’ll be all right. You’re my brave girl.”

  Asha glanced at the carrom bag. She’d taken the passports to help Mama, to help Papa see they didn’t have to leave. No, she’d hidden them to help herself. To make sure she didn’t have to leave her home. She looked at Papa. “I have to tell you something . . .”

  Papa nodded at the board. “Let’s finish our game.”

  Asha picked up the carrom bag. “But . . .”

  “Tomorrow,” said Papa. “It can wait.”

  Asha dropped the bag, relieved. She worried how Papa would react when she told him what she’d done. He’d be angry. No. Furious. She didn’t want to ruin this moment. Papa was home. He was safe.

  Click. Papa knocked another piece into a corner pocket. He smiled and placed the striker on her shooting line. Asha pushed down her worries. Tomorrow she’d give him the passports. It wasn’t like he could do anything with them right now. The offices were all shut. For tonight she just wanted to play carrom. In the still of the night, just the two of them, it felt like nothing had changed . . . that Coach hadn’t been beaten. That Teelu was still coming home. And that Papa wasn’t wanted by Amin’s soldiers. Asha wished she could hold on to this moment forever.

  They played until the corner pockets bulged from the weight of the discs and only the striker remained on the board. Asha’d won tonight, but she wondered if Papa’d gone easy on her. He always won.

  “I’m going to wait up for Mama,” Papa said. “You better get to bed.”

  Asha walked around and hugged Papa, breathing in the woodiness of his aftershave. “You are also very brave.”

  He held her close. “Remember, sweetie,” he said softly. “You have what everyone wants. You have love. Mama loves you. Teelu loves you. I love you. And as long as you have that, you have everything.”

  Asha lay in her room staring up at the ceiling. Tomorrow. First thing in the morning she’d tell Papa everything. She snuggled deeper under the covers. Teelu was stuck in London. School was closing because there weren’t enough teachers and students. She had no idea if she’d ever see Leela, Neela, and Simon again. And Yesofu. Asha picked up her bracelet off her nightstand. Her Entebbe had almost entirely disappeared. Eventually, Asha rolled over and fell asleep.

  Someone banged on a drum, the sound far away. With a start, Asha woke. She blinked, trying to see through the darkness. She raised herself up on her elbows. Everything looked the same, exactly where it should be. She listened, and slowly her shoulders relaxed. Asha pulled up the covers and lay back down.

  “Open up!” a gruff voice shouted, followed by a loud knock.

  A pale glint of light peeked through the crack in Asha’s curtains. The banging started again, louder.

  “Open up! Now!”

  Not again. Not here. The soldiers couldn’t come back for Papa. She wouldn’t let them.

  “Open up!” a brutal voice snarled, followed by more banging.

  Asha slipped out of bed, turned the doorknob, and peered into the corridor. She saw Mama’s dressing gown billowing behind her as she rushed down the stairs. Mama turned on the light at the bottom of the steps and glanced up.

  “Back inside!” Mama ordered, then hurried to the door.

  Asha couldn’t be alone. She ran to Teelu’s room, remembering at the last minute that her sister was in London. She shut the door and climbed onto the bed. She pulled up her sister’s bedspread, imagining Teelu was here, wrapping her arms around her tightly. Only it didn’t help. There was no way to block the soldiers’ shouts.

  “We’re here for Ashok Gomez.”

  “Find him.”

  “Check upstairs. Look everywhere.”

  The sound of heavy feet stormed and thundered inside the house. Asha gathered the covers to her chin, cringing at the crash of boots coming from downstairs. The house shuddered, as if the walls were being bashed in. The floorboards creaked and cracked under the stampeding soldiers. Asha pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs.

  Angry voices crashed thro
ugh the house.

  “He’s here somewhere.”

  “We’re going to get him.”

  Boots clomped closer and closer and then stopped. Asha listened, her body trembling. Papa was smart. He’d helped Mr. Gupta and Mr. Kapoor. He’d find a way to get out of this. He had to. The bedroom handle jiggled and the door swung open, flooding the room with light from the corridor. A soldier, frightening and huge, loomed in the doorway with his baton ready to strike. His eyes glided toward the bed. Asha’s breath caught in her throat.

  The soldier remained frozen in the doorway. He fixed his gaze on Asha, staring at her in silence. His hands loosened their grip on the baton.

  Asha remembered Papa’s words. You’re my brave girl. She met the soldier’s gaze.

  “Don’t hurt me.”

  “I’m not here for you.”

  She swallowed and leaned forward. “Please don’t take him.”

  “I have to,” he said.

  “P-p-please—” Asha stammered.

  The soldier’s fingers tightened and loosened around his baton, like he was unsure.

  “What will I do without him?”

  “Nasikitika. I’m sorry.”

  “Please,” Asha said, and then repeated herself, this time in Swahili. “Tafadhali.” The soldier’s face slipped, and Asha thought she saw something behind his eyes. Then he blinked, and it went away.

  44

  Yesofu

  YESOFU PULLED THE handle and water poured out of the spout into the metal bucket. He’d looked for Akello when he and Baba got home, but still couldn’t find him. As shadows grew out of the well, he couldn’t shake the feeling of dread, that he was too late. That Akello had done something that neither of them could undo. The image of the body floating in the lake was seared in his head.

  As Yesofu reached the bottom of the hill, he heard footsteps coming toward him. Salim and Yasid appeared.

  “Hurry! Come quick,” said Salim.

  Yasid was right behind him. “You’ve got to see this.”