2006 - What is the What (21 page)

Near the elephant were two men wearing uniforms, carrying guns. As the boys tore into the animal, I watched the men.

—Who are they? I asked Kur.

—That’s your army, he said.—That’s the hope of the Dinka.

I watched as Dut and Kur and one of the soldiers helped to cut into the elephant’s hide. They opened a long slice at the top of the elephant and then the boys, ten at a time, would peel the skin back, ripping it down, pulling it to the ground. Underneath, the elephant was as red as a burn. The boys leapt into the animal, biting and ripping flesh, and when each boy had a handful of meat, they ran off like hyenas to gnaw under trees.

Some boys began to eat immediately. Others did not know if they should wait to cook the meat. It was morning, and many boys were not sure how long they would stay here, with the elephant, and if they would be allowed to take meat with them.

The SPLA soldiers had started a large fire. Dut ordered five boys to gather wood in order to grow the flames. Kur started another fire on the other side of the elephant, and we who had not already eaten our meat roasted it on sticks.

The soldiers were pleased to see us eating and they talked to us in a friendly manner. I sat next to Deng, watching him eat. It felt so good to see Deng eating, though Deng ate without smiling, and did not enjoy the meat as the others did. His eyes were yellowed at the rims, his mouth cracked and spotted white. But he ate as much as he could. He ate until he could eat no more.

When the eating was done, we took full notice of the group of rebels sitting around a giant heglig tree. We gathered around the men and stared.

Dut quickly interfered.

—Give them room to breathe, boys! You’re like mosquitoes. We took a few steps back but then slowly closed in again. The men smiled, appreciating the attention.

—We had some trouble in Gok Arol Kachuol, Dut said.

—What sort of trouble? one of the rebels asked.

Dut brought one of the injured boys forward. His leg had been cut with a spear.

—Who did this? the rebel demanded.

The man was named Mawein, and he was suddenly standing, enraged. Dut explained what had happened, that we had walked peacefully to the village, had been refused food and then chased from the town by men throwing spears. He left out the part involving the theft of the nuts, and no boys thought it necessary to bring it up. We were filled with pride and anticipation, watching Mawein’s anger grow.

—They did this to Red Army boys? Boys with no weapons? Dut could taste the revenge and added to their sins.—They chased us for half a day. They wanted no rebels. They called us rebels and cursed the SPLA.

Mawein laughed.—This chief will see us soon. Was it the man with the pipe?

—Yes, Dut said.—Many of the men had pipes.

—We know this place. Tomorrow we’ll visit this village and discuss with them the treatment of the Red Army boys.

—Thank you, Mawein, Dut said. He had adopted a tone of great reverence. Mawein nodded to him.

—Now eat some more food, he said.—Eat while you can.

We ate while staring at the men. Each soldier had around him twenty boys who ate without taking their eyes from him. The men seemed huge, the biggest men we had seen in months. They were very healthy, their muscles carved and their faces confident. These were the men who could fight the murahaleen or the government army. The men embodied all of our rage and spoke to every hope we could conjure.

—Are you winning the war? I asked.

—Which war is that, jaysh al-ahmar?

I paused a moment.—What is that word you used?

—Jaysh al-ahmar.

—What does that mean?

—Dut, you don’t teach these boys anything?

—These boys are not yet jaysh al-ahmar, Mawein. They’re very young.

—Young? Look at some of these kids. They’re ready to fight! These are soldiers! Look at those three.

He pointed to three of the older boys, still cooking meat over the fire.

—They’re tall, yes, but very young. The same age as these here.

—We’ll see about that, Dut.

—Are you winning the war, Mawein? Deng tried.—The war against the murahaleen?

Mawein looked to Dut and then back at Deng.

—Yes, boy. We are winning that war. But the war is against the government of Sudan. You know this, don’t you?

As many times as Dut explained it to me, it still confused me. Our villages were being attacked by the murahaleen, but the rebels left the villages unattended to fight elsewhere, against the government army. It was baffling for me then, and was for many years to come.

—You want to hold it? Mawein said, indicating his gun. I did want to hold it, very much.

—Sit down. It’s very heavy for you.

I sat down and Mawein made some adjustments to the gun and then rested it on my lap. I worried that it might be very hot but when it rested on my bare legs it was very heavy but cool to the touch.

—Heavy, right? Try carrying that all day, jaysh al-ahmar.

—What does that mean, jaysh al-ahmar? I whispered. I knew that Dut didn’t want us to know the answer to this question.

—That’s you, boy. It means Red Army. You’re the Red Army.

Mawein smiled and I smiled. At that moment, I liked the idea of being part of an army, of being worthy of a warrior’s nickname. I ran my hands over the surface of the gun. It was a very strange shape, I thought. It looked like nothing I could think of, with its points everywhere, its arms going every direction. I had to look over it carefully to remember which side the bullets exited. I put my finger into the barrel.

—It’s so small, the opening, I said.

—The bullets are not wide. But they don’t need to be big. They’re very sharp and fly fast enough to cut through steel. You want to see a bullet?

I said I did. I had seen casings, but had never held an unfired bullet.

Mawein sifted through a pocket on the front of his shirt and retrieved a small gold object, holding it in his palm. It was the size of my thumb, flat on one end and pointed on the other.

—Can I hold it? I asked.

—Of course. You’re so polite! he marveled.—A soldier is never polite.

—Is it hot? I asked.

—Is the bullet hot? he laughed.—No. The gun makes it hot. Now it’s cold.

Mawein dropped the bullet onto my palm and my heart sped up. I trusted Mawein but was not certain the bullet wouldn’t go through my hand. Now it rested in my palm, lighter than I expected. It was not moving, was not cutting my skin. I held the bullet in my fingers and brought it close to my face. I smelled it first, to see if it had an odor of fire or death. It smelled only like metal.

—Let me smell it!

Deng grabbed at it and the bullet dropped to the ground.

—Careful, boys. These are valuable.

I slapped Deng’s chest and found the bullet, brushed the dirt from its surface and polished it with my shirt. I handed it to Mawein, ashamed.

—Thank you, Mawein said, taking the bullet back and replacing it in the pocket of his shirt.

—How many bullets did it take to kill the elephant? Deng asked.

—Three, Mawein said.

—How many does it take to kill a man?

—What kind of man?

—An Arab, Deng said.

—Just one, Mawein said.

—How many Arabs can that gun kill? Deng asked.

—As many as there are bullets, Mawein said.

Deng had as many questions as Mawein would answer.

—How many bullets do you have?

—We have a lot of bullets, but we’re trying to get more.

—Where do you get them?

—From Ethiopia.

—That’s where we’re going.

—I know. We’re all going to Ethiopia.

—Who is?

—You, me, everyone. Every boy from southern Sudan. Thousands are going now. You’re one group of many. Didn’t Dut tell you this? Dut! he yelled over to Dut, who was attempting to pack some of the elephant meat.—Do you educate these boys or not? Do you tell them anything?

Dut looked worriedly at Mawein. Deng had more questions.

—Is it easier for the Arabs to kill a Dinka, or for a Dinka to kill an Arab?

—With the same bullet both men will die. The bullet doesn’t care. This was disappointing to both me and Deng but he pressed on.

—Why don’t we have guns? Could we shoot this gun? Mawein threw back his head and laughed.

—See, Dut? These boys are ready! They want to fight now.

We asked questions until we had eaten all we could of the elephant and until Mawein tired of us. The sun dropped and night came. The soldiers slept in an empty hut nearby while we slept in a circle, all of us resting soundly, feeling safe near the rebels, our heads wild with thoughts of vengeance.

I slept next to Deng, and I knew that in the days to come we would find more food like this. I imagined that we had entered a territory where there were many rebels who hunted. Wherever there were hunters there would be elephants dead, waiting to be eaten, and the elephants were perfect to eat: they were big enough to provide meat for hundreds of boys and the meat was fortifying. I didn’t care anymore what my ancestors would think. We were the Red Army and needed to eat.

In the morning I rose quickly, feeling stronger than I had in many weeks. Deng was next to me and I let him sleep. I looked around the camp for the soldiers but saw none.

—They’ve already left, Dut said.—They’ve gone to visit the chief of Gok Arol Kachuol.

I laughed.—That’ll be a nice visit!

—I’d like to be there, Dut said.

Action! It was satisfying just to think about. My imagination was afire with guns, the power of the gun, of setting things straight with the village of Gok Arol Kachuol. For the first time in weeks, I was hungry for adventure again. I wanted to walk. I wanted to see what would be ahead of us that day on the path. I pictured the other groups of boys like ours, all on their way to Ethiopia. I gained strength from the thought of the rebel soldiers, their guns and their willingness to fight for us. It was the first time I felt we had any strength at all, that the Dinka could fight, too.

The sun was my friend again, and I was ready to see things and make progress and be alive. I looked around at the other boys, waking up and gathering their things. Deng was still asleep, and I was so happy to see him sleeping comfortably, without complaining, that I did not wake him.

I walked to the hut where the soldiers had slept. They were gone, but I could see the shadows of other boys inside, searching for food, for anything. There was nothing. When we left the hut, we found that most of the boys were sitting in their groups, ready to walk. I took my place with my group, and then remembered Deng.

—Dut, I said.—I think Deng is still asleep.

But Deng was not where I had seen him last. Some of the boys near me were acting strangely. They were avoiding my eyes.

—Come here, Achak, Dut said, his arm around my shoulder.

We walked for a short while and then he stopped and pointed. Off in the distance, I could see Deng sleeping, but now in this different place, and with the Arab’s white headdress on his face.

—He’s not asleep, Achak.

Dut rested his hand on my head for a moment.

—Don’t go to him, Achak. You don’t want to get sick like he did. Dut then turned and addressed a group of older boys.

—Go and gather leaves. Large leaves. We’ll need lots of them if we want to cover him properly.

Three boys were chosen to carry Deng’s body to the broadest and oldest tree in the area. They rested Deng’s body under the tree and leaves were placed upon him to appease the spirit of the dead. Prayers were spoken by Dut and then we began to walk again. Deng was not buried and I did not see his body.

When Deng died I decided to stop talking. I spoke to no one. Deng was the first to die but soon boys died frequently and there was no time to bury the dead. Boys died of malaria, they starved, they died of infections. Each time a boy died, Dut and Kur did their best to honor the dead, but we had to keep walking. Dut would take out his roster from his pocket, make a notation of who had died and where, and we would continue walking. If a boy became sick he walked alone; the others were afraid to catch what he had, and did not want to know him too well for he would surely die soon. We did not want his voice in our heads.

As the number of dead boys rose to ten, to twelve, Dut and Kur grew scared. They had to carry boys every day. Every morning a new boy would be too weak to walk, and Dut would carry this boy all day, hoping that we would come upon a doctor or a village that could take the boy. Sometimes this happened, usually it did not. I stopped looking at where Dut buried or hid the dead, for I know he became less careful as the journey continued. Everyone was weak, far too weak to think clearly when we needed to react to dangers. We were nearly naked, having traded our clothes for food in villages along the way, and most of us were barefoot.

Why would we be of interest to a high-altitude bomber?

When I saw it, all of the boys saw it. Three hundred heads turned upward at once. The sound was not at first different from the sound of a supply plane, or one of the small aircraft that occasionally moved through the sky. But the sound rumbled deeper in my skin, and the plane was bigger than any I could remember seeing so high.

The plane passed once over us and disappeared, and we continued to walk. When helicopter gunships would come our way, we were told to hide in trees, in the brush, but with the Antonovs the only stated rule was to remove or hide anything that might reflect the sun. Mirrors, glass, anything that could catch the light, all were banned. But those items were long gone, and few boys, of course, had had anything like that in the first place. So we walked, not imagining that we would be made a target. We were hundreds of near-naked boys, all unarmed and most under twelve years old. Why would this plane take interest in us?

But the plane returned a few minutes later, and soon after, there was a whistle. Dut screamed to us that we needed to run but did not tell us where. We ran in a hundred different directions and two boys chose the wrong direction. They ran for the shelter of a large tree and this is where the bomb struck.