Bumi

by Linda Ihle

  “Yes,” she smiled ruefully. “Long story - I just had to use them to get an elephant off my arse. I will tell all once I have had a chance to talk to the DC here and to the PATU section officer. Who is that, by the way?”

  “Rob ‘Jongwe’ Paterson,” Geordie responded.

  “No way!”

  “Ja, way.”

  “Is he here?”

  “No, he was out on patrol early this morning and should be pulling back in now now.”

  “The same Jongwe that played fly half for Ukunkwe High School?”

  He nodded and she shook her head. “Unreal.”

  O’Connor broke in. “Before you go, Miss Gray, we would really smaak[42] to know where you got those AKs….”

  “Mine from a soldier that I think might have been a Scout; and Angela’s from a terr.”

  “Wow! How’s that?”

  “I promise I will tell you once I have been debriefed, OK?”

  He nodded. “OK, I s’pose. Just so bloody chuffed to see you safe. Both of you.” He smiled at Angela. “Boy, your folks are going to be so happy!”

  “Thank you,” she murmured, bashful at this sudden focus upon her. “I have been so worried about how they would have reacted to the news.”

  “Alright, blokes, let’s get these two to the showers and, Evelyn, maybe some clean clothes and then some grub?” Roger said.

  “Of course, dear. Come on ladies. I don’t know what’s happened to Doctor Oosthuizen.”

  “I’m here, I’m here!” A burly, handsome man in his mid fifties, trotted panting into their path. “Oh, my goodness! Devin Gray! Oh, gosh. Are you well, dear?”

  “Yes, Doctor Oosthuizen. Thank you. I’ve just been walking around the bush for nearly five…five? I can’t remember how many days now.” She grinned at him, her favourite doctor - he had delivered her, performed the first of her breast surgeries, treated her bilharzia, then removed her tonsils when she was 19 years old.

  “I don’t understand?”

  “I will tell you all about it,” she promised, “but first, we have a baby here,” she pointed to the infant, “who started to come out when his mother was murdered. He had crowned by the time she probably died, I think, and Angela here did a Caesar on her body and pulled this little guy out. I think she’s reluctant to give him up.” She smiled gently at Angela and put her arm around her. “It’s going to be OK, Angela,” she soothed. “Remember?”

  Angela nodded as tears coursed down her cheeks. She pulled the sling from her shoulder, kissed the child on the forehead, and handed him over to the doctor.

  “Are you a midwife?” he asked incredulously.

  She shook her head. “The woman was raped and partially disemboweled and thrown off a hill,” she told him. “I just finished the cut and Devin helped me. We had detected a pulse in his fontanel and we had to get him all the way out. Will you be able to find an adoptive or foster mother for him? I think he should be called Miracle. Is there an African word for ‘miracle’?”

  “The Sindebele word for miracle is Isimangaliso,” Devin interjected. “I don’t know what the Shona word for it is. I think Isimangaliso is a bit of a mouthful for this piccanin. Shame, Doctor Oosthuizen, I’m hoping there are no ill effects due to the long fall his mother took?”

  “He looks like a sturdy little fellow. Eyes as bright as a button. Has he been vocal?”

  “Not too much, after Angela first got him to howl though; just a little niggling here and there, some gurgling.”

  “Has he moved his bowels?”

  “Ja, twice now - he’s a little less than a day old. Oh, and he is quite a profuse urinator.”

  “OK, good.” He looked with kind concern at Angela who was suppressing sobs now. “Don’t cry, hey. He will be in very good hands. There is a woman in the PV back down the road who just suffered a very late spontaneous abortion and I will send for her tomorrow. If she is not interested, then we will keep the little guy here with us until I can talk to the Chief about a possible foster family for him.”

  “Goodbye, little Miracle,” Angela sobbed as Doctor Oosthuizen made his way back to the clinic.

  Devin put her arm through Angela’s as Evelyn led them up the path to the DC’s office and then through the building to the house near the back of the heavily fenced compound. Angela noted the bars and chicken wire on the windows, the rumble of generators coming to life in the sheds behind the DC’s house, the fence between his camp and that of the PATU force, with an ablution block at each end of the barracks, and thought, “We may be ‘home’, but we’re still in the bush.”

  “That is quite remarkable what you did, Angela,” Evelyn told her. “Quite remarkable. Well done, I say!”

  “Thank you.”

  “I was wondering, as there is only one bath in our house, if you would rather use the showers in the PATU barracks?” she pointed over to the barracks.

  “So long as we don’t have company, right Angela!” Devin quipped.

  The woman smiled ruefully. “That’s for sure. Yes, please, I would rather shower than bath.”

  “Well, let me get you ladies some towels and feminine soap and shampoo - my goodness, Devin, I don’t know if you’ll ever get a brush through your hair again.”

  “No, sis, man, I don’t look half as good with short hair,” Devin complained with a giggle. “Let me try a bit of Olivine in there after the shampoo, see what happens.”

  39.

  The women emerged from the showers refreshed and disbelieving at the quantity of muck they had accumulated in the past four days. Evelyn had left clean clothing for Angela and Devin and taken their filthy garments back for the maid to wash. They might be dry by the morning, but that was unlikely. The air was still humid from the storm that had passed through in the early morning hours, although cooling quickly now.

  “Oh, damn, I have to wear a bloody dress!” Devin complained out loud as she checked what Evelyn had left for her - freshly laundered underpants, a bra and a green and white granny print mini dress. All were too big and the dress very short, but she donned them anyway. A pair of Gunston-orange slops[43] fit perfectly. “Hell, I’m never gonna be able to find corks like my old ones again! Dammnit anyway!”

  “You talking to yourself again, Devin?” Angela asked as she made her way back from the other end of the barracks. She was stunning in a bright yellow dress and matching slops, but they looked a little tiny on her feet. She grinned. “I do believe that this is the first time I’ve ever seen you fully dressed. You look good!” She shook her head and some of the water droplets glistening there flew off. “I wish I had a pick for my hair,” she said. I’ll just have to wait until we get to a store, I guess?”

  “A pick?”

  “Yes, it’s like a broad-toothed comb. Did you get all your knots and dreads out with the oil?”

  “Yeah, most of them,” Devin replied. “I’ll work on it some more when it dries. And now, Angela, it’s showtime. We’re gonna have to go and chat with Jongwe Paterson, the PATU section leader, and Kevin O’Connor. I don’t know if the DC will sit in on the debriefing.”

  “What does PATU stand for?”

  “Police Anti-Terrorist Unit.”

  Angela followed her out and into the mess hall. Standing at the door to an office off to the right of the massive imbuia dining table was Jongwe Paterson, accompanied by Sergeant Kevin O’Connor, and Roger Cotswold, DC. Jongwe, a tall, muscular man with brown hair cut to within a quarter-inch of its life, and sparkling deep blue eyes, darted across the mess hall and grabbed Devin, lifting her in a swirling, twirling bear hug.

  “Jislaaik! Miss Gray! I am sooooooo chuffed to see you. Jeez, when I heard it was you I nearly sha….pooped myself, hey.”

  “Put me down, you silly bugger!”

  He complied and then leaned in to plant a light kiss on her cheek, blushing as he did so. He held her at arm’s length, gazing into her eyes, and shaking his head. “Man,” he crowed, “this is unbloodybelievable! What a trip! Come, let’s go
get you debriefed and then you can phone whoever you want to let them know.” Her eyes darkened. He frowned. “Still hassles there?” he asked quietly.

  She nodded. Shook it off. “Listen, Rob, this is my friend Angela Brown. Angela, Rob Paterson.”

  He extended his hand and she took it and shook it. “How do you do? I am also very chuffed to see you as well, Miss Brown,” he pronounced, the courteous address not lost on Devin. He had been one of her most open-minded, accepting, and intelligent pupils, even though a raging bull on the rugby field. “Come on, ladies, let’s get this done.”

  They entered the section leader’s office and closed the door. Heavy curtains had been drawn across the windows, shutting out the night. O’Connor put his arm across Devin’s shoulders and squeezed. “Sit anywhere you ladies want,” he said. “Jongwe has to sit by the desk because he’s the poor sod who has to write the report.” He grinned at Paterson who cuffed him lightly on the shoulder. Devin and Angela sat next to each other on a small settee across from the windows, O’Connor took a seat at the desk and Roger leaned casually against the wall, close to a framed photograph of Ian Douglas Smith, and two AK-47s, also leaning against the wall. The clips had been removed.

  “Those ours?” she asked nodding toward the weapons.

  “Ja. You can have them back when we get the convoy out in the morning, but you will have to keep them unloaded, OK?”

  She nodded. “Maybe someone could show me how to do that,” she remarked with a grin, her teeth startling white in her sunburned face.

  “Alright, let’s start at the beginning.” Paterson pulled a foolscap pad toward him, grabbed a black Biro from the desk drawer and held it suspended above the page. “You go first, Miss Gray.”

  Devin talked quietly, starting with her escape from the elephant and the strange encounter with the black soldier who had seemed to know her.

  “Ja, we’re familiar with him,” Paterson interjected.

  “Wow! Cool! Who is he?” Devin asked.

  “Sorry, Miss Gray, that’s classified. He’s the one who let us know through the grapevine that you were on the run through the shateen[44]. He never mentioned giving you a weapon though.”

  “Is he a Selous Scout?”

  “Ja, and that’s all we can say right now. He’s done bloody well in his job, I’ll tell you that.”

  She nodded, still puzzling over his identity, and continued with the tale, slowing in the narration as she got to the toilet-rock terrorist she had killed. Angela took her hand as she recited the event down to the last detail of the crocodile dragging the corpse into the water. All three men stared at her in admiration.

  “That’s bloody good shooting, Devin!” Roger exclaimed. “Must’ve inherited that from your father.”

  “I suppose I did,” she acknowledged as relief flooded through her. “Angela has the wallet he was carrying - it belonged to an old German man who was on the plane. The terrs slaughtered him.”

  “She saved my life,” Angela said quietly. “He had that knife right against my ribs….” She shuddered. “The wallet was in my shorts’ pocket, but someone took them while I was in the shower.”

  “That would have been Evelyn,” Roger said. “She took the contents from the pockets and gave them to me.” He reached into his pocket and placed the wallet on the desk in front of Paterson. “Your clothes will be washed and, we hope, will be dry by the time you leave in the morning.” He smiled gently at her and she nodded in response.

  “Thank you.”

  “Our pleasure. Now, let’s get back to the trek through the bush.”

  Devin continued, hesitating again when she got to the part about shooting Kobus in the backside, but again her actions seemed to be found not only justifiable but hilarious. They laughed as O’Connor broke in and related how Kobus had described her. She finished at the point of the helicopter guiding them onward to Gokwe. And then it was Angela’s turn.

  “What she saw freaked her out,” Devin told them. “So, hamba gahle, hey.”

  Paterson nodded. He looked at Angela. “Go ahead. Take your time.”

  She recited what she had seen and began to cry when she told of the child’s body being tossed into the fire. Roger took a clean hanky from his pocket and handed it to her. She settled, sniffed and wiped her face, before continuing. They stopped her once she got to the point of meeting Devin.

  “You bloody lucky you headed in the same direction as her!” O’Connor exclaimed. “Hell, if she hadn’t found you, even if it was by accident, you might still be out there.”

  “I know. I am beyond grateful for her. I have thanked God every day for that.”

  “Amen!” O’Connor said. “Are we finished now here, Jongwe? These ladies are probably thirsty and hungry and I know Miss Gray could probably use a smoke. Oh, by the way, we also found this grass in Miss Brown’s pockets.” He reached across the desk and picked up the small twist of newspaper holding the dagga.

  “Yes, that was also in the terr’s pockets,” Devin interjected. “I thought we’d keep it.” She grinned at Jongwe. “I don’t smoke that stuff. You can keep it as a souvenir.”

  He laughed. “No, we will add it to the other stuff. Too bad you didn’t keep the fingers, but, hell. I understand that! Alright, Roger, Kevin, ladies, shall we adjourn to the bar?”

  “Oh, wait,” Roger exclaimed. “We need to get hold of CIO - I think Major Konradie is at Cranborne tonight - and give him the news. Do you want to do the honours, Jongwe?”

  “No, I think Miss Gray should.”

  Devin grinned at him. He remembered how much she liked surprising people.

  He lifted the black bakelite receiver and dialed nought for exchange. They heard the woman’s voice on the other end. “Hello, Mrs. Gordon? Get me Major Konradie at Cranborne Barracks, please.”

  It took about five minutes to get Konradie on the line. Paterson immediately handed the phone to Devin who had risen to stand next to him.

  “Konradie here.”

  “Hello, Major. This is Devin Gray.”

  “Jesus Christ! Sorry, ma’am. Jesus! This better not be someone buggering around.”

  “No, sir, it is I, Devin Gray. I’m at the Gokwe PATU. The DC and the Sarge here said we should let you know. We’re here and we’re OK.”

  “This is bloody fantastic. The Negro woman is with you?”

  “Ja.”

  “OK, good. I will put a call through to her folks and then in the morning I will talk to the press. You have been debriefed I take it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Have you called your parents yet?”

  “No. I will do it after I have had a drink.”

  “OK. I will give it about an hour then before I get hold of her parents. I am so bloody chuffed. Well done! Well done! I can’t wait to read the brief. Oh, by the way, when we found out it was you who escaped, we had a little chat with your boss at The Herald. He agreed to keep it all under his hat until I said he could release the info.”

  “Thanks.” She didn’t ask how he knew where she worked. He potentially had something to do with some of her stories not passing muster with the CIO and the Minister of (dis)Information. “Well, OK, then, cheers.”

  “Wait. Give the phone to…is it Paterson, please?”

  “Yes.” She handed the phone to Jongwe. “He wants to talk to you.”

  Roger took her arm. “Come on, love, let’s leave Jongwe to it, get a drink, relax a bit, and then you can phone whoever you want to.” He had not missed the exchange between her and Jongwe.

  He led the way out of the office, with Angela flip-flopping along behind, struggling to keep the slops on her feet, leaving O’Connor and Paterson to synopsize the debriefing. They crossed the large mess hall to the back where the ubiquitous Rhodesian bar had been constructed. Lounging against the ornately carved, highly polished wooden bar were the bulk of the helicopter crew and a couple of other BSAP officers and troopies, each with a beer in hand. They made way for the DC and the women. ‘No Way Jo
se’ Jimmy Gosford, the chopper pilot, and Mike Belson gave up their stools for the two women. The men stopped their idle chatter, leaving a leaden cloak of awkward silence. They tried hard not to stare at Angela. This was the first time a black woman had ever come into their bar for a drink.

  Roger deftly sliced through the discomfiture with a grin. “What’ll you have, Angela?” he asked.

  “Oh, um, just a Coke, please.”

  “Devin, love, you?”

  “I would kill for a vodka, lime and lemonade, Uncle Roger. Thanks.” She smiled broadly at the barkeeper. “Make it a double.” She stared around at the men, most still boys really, in their late teens, and raised her glass to them. “Cheers, okes! Thanks again, especially you, Gosford, and the rest of that chopper crew. By the way, were you involved in extracting the stick from an ambush…was it yesterday or the day before yesterday?”