Displaced (12 page)

“That’s okay, I’m happy here. I’m certainly
not unhappy,” Jonathan replied.

“I notice you don’t ask questions about other
people, is that because you don’t want them asking about you?”

Jonathan looked at his glass that he turned
in his hand and then narrowed his eyes, frowned and looked Father
Boniface in the face. The large amiable pie face smiled back at
him.

“You got me Father, you’re right, I can’t get
away with anything with you.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to
interrogate.”

“A new policy?”

“Ho ho,” Father Boniface laughed. “I’ll stop
asking questions so you can stop not answering them. You don’t fool
me though, I know your heart is not as hard as your shell,” he said
and paused. “I suppose I’m hardly one to talk, or to judge. I
wonder what the Church would say if it knew what I was doing.”

“You’ll never be a Bishop, Father,” Jonathan
said to him.

The Priest looked at him, “yes – well, I
suppose that’s true.”

“It’s a compliment, Father,” Jonathan assured
him. “Orwell said the highest praise one could pay to a member of
the clergy is to tell him, he’ll never be a Bishop.”

“Okay, well then thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Orwell, huh?”

“That’s right.”

“You’re quite the man of letters.”

“I can read and I can write.”

“That’s just your characteristic
modesty.”

The conversation turned, the bar filled
mostly with expatriates. Brightly lit, its light shone from the
inside and spilled out into the parking lot and the street beyond.
Any opportunity for contentiousness between them had passed, what
was unsaid would remain that way. Jonathan looked at the crowd and
then looked out into the dark at the shadowy figures of young boys
selling mangoes in the parking lot. He sipped his beer and listened
to the Priest sitting next to him reminisce about his home in the
Congo.

****

He awoke early the next morning before his
alarm clock. The dawn came suddenly near the equator, no
transition, just dark and then light. Debra wasn’t there when he
got up and he washed and ate quickly. He arrived early at the
access road leading to the airport and stopped his car outside the
gate and watched as a large Antonov picked up speed and lifted off
into the air.

When he arrived at his office, Mr. Singh was
already waiting for him. He sat pensively on a plastic chair in the
common area.

“Mr. Singh, how are you sir? What can I do
for you?” Jonathan was in a good mood.

“Yes Jonathan good to see you,” Mr. Singh
responded anxiously. And then curtly without the pretense of
courtesy, “I never heard back from you.”

Jonathan knew what he was talking about but
only half anticipated that Singh would follow up on the mattter.
“I’m sorry Mr. Singh, I just got in. You’re going to have to remind
me what we’re talking about.” He was facing away from the man
looking through the mail on the reception desk.

“The cement, I never heard – you never got
back to me about the cement,” he accused, standing now closely to
Jonathan.

“I said I’d see what I could do. I never
promised I could deliver,” he responded firmly.

“We had an arrangement people were
expecting…”

“I can find room from time to time, but there
is no agreement where I have to ship cargo. Fifty 100 pound bags of
cement, you’re asking for a lot. I suggest you make your own
arrangements.”

“We had an arrangement and you benefited as
much as anybody. Don’t act like you haven’t. You’re job could be
very difficult if you don’t help out.”

“I’m not acting,” Jonathan felt his face grow
warm but controlled his tone. “As for the rest, I don’t know what
you’re talking about, I work for the World Food Program, that’s my
job. I’m sorry for any misunderstanding.”

“Can you find room on your flight this
afternoon?”

“No I’m sorry, I can’t,” he said
definitively.

“You need to learn to be more flexible,
Jonathan, that’s the problem with people from the West, you’re too
rigid. If you want to keep your job here you’re going to have to be
more flexible. I can be your friend, but…” He didn’t finish the
sentence. But what? You have to share in our corruption? How else
can we trust you? “You know, you may need a friend sometime,” he
concluded. He turned and walked out of the room with his veiled
threat still hanging in the air. Ronald stepped out of the side
office, looked at Jonathan and shook his head.

****

Nicole sat outside her hut on the ground, she
finished eating her corn meal and set aside the empty cup. A breeze
blew full of humidity in anticipation of a storm, she thought. The
sun was set against a screen of palm trees that rippled in the
breeze. They would be leaving soon, just her and Philomene trying
to make the distance to the Ugandan border. She had conspired with
George in an attempt to have George and Floribert come with them,
but Philomene had said “no.” Her Uncle Mukadi had made plans for
transport for part of the distance, a driver he knew who
transported charcoal across the border. The arrangements were for
two and Philomene said that Nicole was her first responsibility.
She had assured her that George could look out for Floribert and
that they would make their own way. Nicole had made George promise
to take his cousin across the border into Uganda and George said he
would try to follow.

Philomene was encouraged that her niece was
showing interest in events and other people again. “I’m sorry about
George and Floribert, Nicole,” she said. “I’m sure they will be
okay.”

“It’s not your fault, I understand,” Nicole
smiled at her Aunt. “Are we leaving tomorrow?”

“No not tomorrow, the next day, but we’ll
leave early in the morning, I want to walk while it’s still dark.
Our ride will meet us near Aru. All the plans are arranged, why
don’t you see if Rose needs help putting the little ones to
sleep?”

When she went inside, David was already
asleep in his mother’s lap. She took Kenan by the hand and lead him
outside. They walked hand in hand in the dusk to the metal rain
catch, a metal barrel cut in half lengthwise and filled with water,
where he could rinse his head. After he poured water on his face,
they began walking back and Nicole steered him from the path on
which they’d arrived with a nudge of her hip.

“Hey this isn’t the way we came,” he
protested.

“This is a different way,” she said naturally
and they took an outside track walking around one end of the rows
of huts.

Floribert was sitting at his same spot on his
crate with an empty tin of what used to be beans at his feet. When
Nicole came into his line of sight, he picked up his eyes and
waived at her.

“Hi Floribert,” she said. “This is Kenan -
say hello to Mr. Floribert.”

“Hello Mr. Floribert.”

“Hello,” he responded. “Are you leaving
tomorrow?” he asked Nicole anxiously.

“No” she said, “the next day.”

“I’m sorry we can’t come with you.”

“So am I,” she said. Kenan looked up at her
questioningly, his hand still in hers, but he didn’t say
anything.

“George says that we can try and follow.”

“That would be good,” she said. “I’ll be
around tomorrow and we can talk about it then.” She stooped down
next to him and touched his hand. “There’s no point in worrying, I
know it will work out for the best,” she said reassuringly. “I’ll
see you tomorrow and I’ll give you all the contact information so
that we can see you in Kampala.”

“I’ve never been to Kampala,” he replied.

“It’s nice, you’ll see,” she said. “I have to
take the little one back and put him to bed. Good night
Floribert.”

“Good night Nicole.”

“See you tomorrow.”

“See you,” he said.

He watched her walk away until she and the
child turned a corner into one of the passage ways between huts and
disappeared.

That night, before falling asleep, Nicole lay
on her mat listening to the sounds of the camp settling in for the
evening. Rain had threatened but never materialized. She could hear
women calling children, and she heard the clattering of tin and the
dull thud of a plastic ten gallon container in the distance. The
camp seemed peaceful and at that moment she almost regretted having
to leave as she lay with one arm behind her head and then she
drifted off.

****

They didn’t break down the door in as much as
they simply pulled it off the frame. It was flimsy and never
offered any real protection from the outside. Nicole awoke at the
first shout, was it Rose or Helen, she couldn’t tell. Her first
reaction was to freeze. She didn’t know what was happening and
could only see beams of light that swung wildly cutting through the
dark without disclosing the persons behind them. There was a voice,
it sounded like Philomene, saying “no, no” followed by a “shutup”
from a man’s voice in response, followed in turn by a clattering of
pots and pans and exertion of effort. She could just make out
Philomene in the strobe of flashlights swinging a metal pan like a
dervish. They were all awake now and the children were crying and
the women screaming.

“You stupid woman,” one of the invaders said
as Philomene hit something square that absorbed the blow with a
thud. In a beam of light, black muscled legs countered Philomene’s
position and caught the pan in their hands. The sound of a slap and
Philomene crying “no” represented the end of her stand and she was
pushed hard to the ground. Nicole tried to crawl toward the corner
and maybe the door, but the intruders had gained control and
blocked any escape. They were talking amongst themselves, “this
one? No not that one.” And then the beams were upon her. “That’s
her,” one of them clearly said. She felt a hand on her and turned
to run, she ran into another body in the small space that grabbed
at her shirt. She swung wildly with a closed fist and hit the hard
surface of a cheekbone or temple.

“Stupid bitch.” She felt a hard pressure from
the inside of her head pushing out, as if all of her blood had
moved from her arteries to her capillaries, and her head was
concussed against the ball of a man’s palm. She remained conscious,
but dazed and lost her balance and hearing. She was pulled in
different directions for Philomene had regained her orientation and
was grasping and managing to hold Nicole’s arm. But the other hands
that had hold of her were stronger and there were more of them and
they held her more tightly, until one of the bodies stepped around
her and she felt Philomene let go as her Aunt was grabbed by the
wrist and slung into the wall of the hut. Hands were carrying her
now and she was being taken out of the hut. The noise was directly
behind her and she could still recognize the sound of Philomene
calling “no.”

Don’t come Philomene, she thought, they’re
too strong.

“Shut up,” someone said followed by the sound
of a body screaming as it was pushed to the ground. The light
changed and the night sky gave her bearing but no control as she
was carried through camp, lifted by individuals on each side of
her. A gun shot in the air broke the tension of the camp into overt
panic. Some remained huddled in their huts as if the darkness
provided its own protection. Others instinctively fled letting out
screams of fright and cries to loved ones as they ran from the
sound of the shot. Nicole’s feet were not even touching the ground
as she moved toward the edge of camp, the calamity receding behind
her giving way to the sound of her captors, breathing and
grunting.

She decided to protest, “please let me go,”
she said futilely, “please.” She screamed for her Aunt.
“Philomene,” she yelled, but got no response.

“Be quiet,” a voice responded, “you’re coming
with us, don’t make it more difficult for yourself. If you cause a
problem, we’ll cover your head.”

I don’t want to be raped, Nicole thought, not
again. She looked for an opportunity to run but the hands on either
side gripped her tightly. She resisted being led down a narrow path
into the bush. This is where they’re going to do it, she thought.
She tried to plant her feet in the earth and was punched hard in
the small of her back just above her buttocks, her feet gave way as
the pain radiated through her lower back. They did not stop moving
and traveled through the bush until coming to a clearing where the
sky was once again visible. In the partial moonlight the outline of
a 4 by 4 could be made out parked unevenly on sloped ground.

“Put her in the back,” one of them said.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“We’re taking you,” the voice responded.
“Someone wants to see you, if you cause any trouble we will shoot
you.”

The 4 by 4 had a door that opened out in the
back which was opened. The men on either side held her arms that
were then bound with rope at the wrist.

“Get in,” one man said and shone his light
onto the floor of the cargo space of the truck. She sat on the
bumper and rolled her body onto the floor. The doors were closed
behind her and locked from the outside.

“Let’s go,” one of them said followed by
closing doors as the passengers embarked and the truck started
forward. Nicole lay on the floor not daring to look over the back
seat at her captors. Now what? she thought, what new degradation?
She pulled her knees to her chest and tried to steady herself as
the truck lurched forward.

The truck drove slowly through the rutted
dirt track, the driver cursing at the gear box as the engine revved
then strained against the resistance of the roadway. The road
continued this way for some distance requiring the vehicle to pick
its way slowly through pockmarked terrain and over a steep ridge.
The road flattened out and the truck gained speed causing the
windows to vibrate noisily as the wheels shimmied through potholes
and over the loose surface of the roadway. Guided only by the beam
of light over the dirt road ahead, they traveled through the dark
countryside. They had been traveling, it felt like for hours when
the truck slowed and came to a stop. It was not dawn yet but the
sky had lightened. The doors opened with the squeaking noise of
rust and passengers got out, a key turned in the lock and the back
door opened.