The Cinnamon Tree (12 page)

‘Yes, you will stay in the staff house.'

‘But Isabella, will it be all right for me to stay there? They are all …'

‘White?' prompted Isabella.

‘Yes, I suppose so.'

‘Do them good!'

‘Oh Isabella, I don't want pay, I really don't.'

‘Oh yes you do. Hans insists. You see, if he pays you, he says that he can sack you if you don't do what he says, or if you are lazy. Now that he's the boss up there the power is going to his head, I'm afraid. I'll need you to help me bring him down a peg.'

‘Oh my God, Isabella. Where do I sign?'

The Landcruiser pulled up at the self-same spot where Hans had waited for Yola and her mother that early morning, months ago.

‘Are you sure you are all right to walk?' asked Isabella as she helped her down. They were both stiff after the exhausting drive, but it was so wonderful to be back in Nopani! Yola stretched out her arms wide … wide. Isabella laughed. ‘Are you planning to fly?'

Yola closed her arms about the older woman. ‘Oh Isabella … it's home, that's all.'

‘The walk won't be too much?'

‘Oh no, I can walk for miles and miles,' lied Yola happily.
Then she added, ‘I'm so glad you are both up here now.'

She picked up her flight bag and started up the hill for home. She had done some careful re-packing that morning so that she had only her essentials with her. Isabella was taking her
suitcase
down to the camp and the adjutant's house.

She reached the entrance of the compound and rested for a moment. A contented hush met her as she struggled up the steep slope to the compound. It was hot. A thread of smoke rose from a dormant cooking fire. Hens were fluffed out like powder puffs in their scratched hollows and a yellow dog looked up at her, assessed her astutely, and lowered his head on to his paws. She approached her mother's hut. The door was open to catch any passing breeze. Yola stepped inside; she could hear her mother's breathing. There was a domed basket upturned on the floor; slender cheepings told her that Mother had a clutch of chicks. That was nice.

She sat down on the edge of the bed – their bed.

‘Mother,' she said in a low voice, ‘it's me, Yola! Mother, I see you.'

She felt a hand groping for hers. It was rough and hard to the touch. ‘Yola, my daughter, you have come. I see you. Eeeh.' And Yola remembered Brigid all those miles away; the last time Yola had seen her, she was sitting up in a chair smiling and talking to a nurse.

Yola did her rounds: Senior Mother, Sindu, the aunts. Her new leg was a source of wonder and she had to show them all the things she could do now. Father came to see her when he came in. She told him about NPA and her job, but he knew all about it. She got the impression that there was very little he did not know. Before he left, he took her face between his hands. They were strong but soft, not like Mother's work-worn hands. He seemed pleased with her.

‘You have come home quietly child, that is good,' he said.

When the opportunity arose, Yola slipped into her secret place behind the granary. As she had half expected, there were signs of occupation. Her tin-box was still there; there was something in it. When she left it had been empty. She thought to open it, but decided to put it back. This was Gabbin's private place now. She sat down on the log that he had got for her all that time ago and settled down to wait.

He appeared silently. She had heard the cattle go by shortly before. She just looked up and he was there.

‘I haven't touched anything,' she said.

He'd grown, or perhaps just changed. He hadn't brought his spear, clearly he too liked to slip in here unseen.

‘Come in, sit down.' She patted the log beside her. He came and sat; nothing said, no smile. He smelled pleasantly of cattle. Then he put out his hand and placed it on her new leg, feeling its solidity beneath her jeans. He turned and looked up at her, the old impish smile spreading across his face. She put an arm over his shoulders and gave him a squeeze.

They talked about his cattle, Managu was lame, and about school – he was going to senior school next year. Then Yola told him about her adventures. He wanted to know all about how her leg was made and what it looked like. She said she would show him when she wasn't wearing jeans.

After the long Irish twilight, darkness came with
unexpected
speed. Gabbin and she slipped out unseen and parted near Yola's hut.

‘Where are you sleeping?' she asked on impulse, as Gabbin left.

‘Uncle Banda's – he's back,' said Gabbin.

‘Was he away?'

Gabbin shrugged and avoided her eyes.

Yola watched him go and wondered why that news made her uneasy.

Yola waited for the Landcruiser to collect her at what she now thought of as Hans's corner. It was early on Monday and she didn't expect Hans to come in person, but he did.

‘I just had to come to see that new leg of yours. Come on, show me how you can walk.'

She handed him her crutch and did a small walk-about.

‘Is it comfortable?'

‘Yes, but it gets a bit hot and slippery – that wasn't a problem in Ireland. I keep on thinking it will fall off, or twist around.'

‘But it doesn't?'

‘Not yet,' she smiled. They climbed into the jeep.

‘You've heard we have the dogs up here now?'

‘Yes, but I'm not sure what they do.'

‘They are amazing! They are able to smell the tiniest tinge of explosive. So if there is a mine or bomb under the ground, they can smell it right away.'

‘But don't they set them off?'

‘No. They are too light, also they are trained to sink down and point with their noses. No digging or scrabbling allowed. We'll show you.'

‘I think I'm frightened of dogs. Do they bite?'

‘Not usually. There's only one that bites. You'll recognise him, he's black and white, the only collie we have. All the others are huge German Shepherds, but they are quiet as lambs. If you are bold, we will send you to sleep in the kennels! But if you are good, you will be sharing a room with Judit, my assistant in the office. She's Dutch and lovely, you'll like her. The only trouble is the room is at the top of the house. Will you manage?'

‘To be good?'

‘Of course, but I mean to climb the stairs?'

‘Try me!'

Yola was in seventh heaven.

‘Learn about it,' Hans had said. ‘Learn about the office, about demining and mines awareness. We will teach you First Aid, and about how we train dogs if you like. But I will pay you so little that you will feel you can walk away at any time.' It was a typical Hans arrangement.

On the first Friday, Judit called Yola in to the office. She said she had arranged a lift home for her for the weekend. Yola thanked her and turned to go.

‘Oh, and this is yours Yola.' The Dutch girl handed her a small, square envelope. Yola looked at it.

‘Count it if you like!' Judit said, one eyebrow raised.

Then Yola realised – money! – she'd actually been paid. She couldn't believe it. She blundered into the door.

‘Thank you, Judit! Thank you.'

‘Don't thank me, you've earned it.'

Yola stopped on the way up the hill from Hans's corner and looked to left and right. She slipped off the road and took out the envelope. It peeled open and she slipped out a small wad of notes and some coins. She gazed at it, knowing – just knowing – that no little wad of money would ever mean as much to her again. She counted it carefully and then divided it into three equal folds. She didn't bother about the coins; they'd do her for next week.

When she got to her hut she dropped her flight bag. It was important to act now, while she still had the determination. She walked down to Sindu's hut. Sindu, who had been sleeping, came to the door. Making sure that the girl could see that there were three equal folds of notes, Yola gave one of them to her.

‘My duty to you, Mother,' she murmured, and stepped back. Sindu quickly counted the notes. Then she shrugged her
shoulders
and said, ‘So little.'

Yola turned, biting her lip. Next she went down to Senior Mother, who gave her a particularly hooded look and the
merest
shadow of a smile, but she took the money. Mother took hers too, but then gave half of it back to Yola as pocket money.

On Monday, she was back at work. She soon learned that what Hans really wanted her to do was to give mines awareness classes. As this involved learning as much as she could about every aspect of landmines and demining, she settled down to hard study, making herself useful when she could.

L
ong before the first white men came up the Ruri river in search of slaves, Sister Martha's baobab tree had stood high above its banks. In those days young elephants worked up their muscles trying to push it down, now it took at least ten children holding hands, as they did every term, to encircle its huge, old trunk. The children were on holidays now, so it stood alone and solitary in the middle of the school yard. When Yola was asked where she would like to give her trial class, she said she would like to give it here. It seemed less frightening to have it in her old school; perhaps Sister Martha would be there too. The class, however, would be for the local children and their parents, not for her school friends. Bill, her supervisor, would not take part this time, just take notes on how she was doing. If she passed this test she could then be employed as a junior instructor teaching mines awareness in the villages about the region.

Yola was up at dawn. She viewed the compound. She forced her fingers through her hair. She'd been letting it grow longer because she wanted to straighten it and tie it back, European style, like Isabella's. She had to find Gabbin, she wanted him to help her. She saw a thread of smoke rising from Sindu's hut. If any one knew, Sindu would. Leaving her mother to wake in
her own time, she walked down and tapped on Sindu's door.

The door opened and the two girls eyed each other. Sindu's eyes flicked down to Yola's hands – no, this wasn't pay-day – what then?

‘I'm looking for Gabbin. He's not with the cousins.' Yola said this more abruptly than she had intended. Sindu would spot her nervousness like a snake locating a mouse.

‘What do you want Gabbin for?' the older girl asked. ‘
Checking
up on the behaviour of your future husband? Not before time I may add.'

‘I'm not checking up on anyone,' snapped Yola. ‘I'm giving my first mines awareness class today and I want Gabbin to help!'

‘Oh, so we're turning teacher now. Aren't we good enough for you?'

‘Come on Sindu,
you
could give a mines awareness class!'

‘Even someone as thick as me, you mean?'

Yola bit her lip. How did Sindu always manage to put her in the wrong? She opened her mouth to try to put things right, but Sindu had a fatter morsel to deliver.

‘Gabbin,' she said reflectively, ‘your little Gabbin … he's been in bad company, you know.'

Yola wanted to know, but she was damned if she'd have Sindu criticising Gabbin. ‘Oh forget it, Sindu.' She turned on her heel. ‘I'll try Senior Mother.'

‘But I know where he is.' Sindu had her then; she turned back.

‘Please Sindu, I really do need to know now!'

‘Well don't forget your manners again. He's with Uncle Banda but …' Sindu's sense of timing was perfect, stopping Yola in mid-turn. ‘But …Uncle … Banda … is … not … at … home!'

Despite her wish to strangle Sindu, a little chill ran down
Yola's spine. Uncle Banda was all right. He had fought with the KLA rebels, but so had many. The war was over now. It was the way that Sindu had said it that was sinister.

‘Where is Gabbin then?'

Sindu's gaze slipped past Yola and a thin smile crossed her face. ‘There he is now!'

Yola turned. The compound was empty. She heard Sindu close the door behind her. What was going on? She scanned the ground between Uncle Banda's hut and the compound
entrance
. In the distance she heard the discrete beep of a car horn; that was Bill, her instructor, reminding her not to keep them waiting. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw a
movement
. A small figure darted across the space between two huts.

‘Gabbin!' she yelled, ‘I need you!'

If anyone had been still asleep in the compound, they were awake now. She'd had enough of mystery. She eyed her small cousin as he approached. He was dressed in army trousers
several
sizes too large for him and a camouflage jacket.

‘What are you wearing that stuff for?' she demanded.

The boy shrugged, avoiding her eyes but glancing towards Senior Mother's hut. A second toot on the horn; they would have to go, enquiries could wait.

‘I need you, Gabbin. I'm giving my first class today and I want your help. Will you come?' He nodded, but his eyes were shifting uneasily. ‘Well, go and change out of that awful
camouflage
thing. Put on the T-shirt I got you in Ireland and meet me at the car outside.'

Yola walked towards the compound entrance. Then she stopped. She was being watched. She turned. Senior Mother was standing in the door of her hut. The woman raised her head in a slow, beckoning gesture. Yola went over.

‘That boy needs an interest, something to occupy his mind.'
It was on the tip of Yola's tongue to ask why – but one did not question Senior Mother.

Yola only had a minute to wait in the car before Gabbin came trotting down the road, looking like her own Gabbin. He clambered in beside her and let her give him a quick kiss.

‘Listen, Gabbin, this is the game I have in mind. It all
depends
on you.'

‘I'm a landmine … I'm a landmine …' chanted Gabbin
advancing
on the children.

Yola's throat was dry from talking. She realised that this game was a risk, but all during her training she had been
worried
that just by talking about mines, showing pictures, telling stories, she might make the children curious. Would her
warnings
put them on their guard or merely encourage them to play with mines? How could she get across that they were
dangerous
? Every year the rains washed mines out of the ground. Some looked like toys, little plastic butterflies that had been scattered from the air. Others looked like tins of food. When she took off her leg to show them how terrible it was to be lame, they just wanted to see how the leg worked. She wanted to get across the message that they must never ever play with mines. When Sister Martha had come up to see how she was getting on, she decided that she would try her game. She explained the rules of the game to them all: Gabbin was a landmine and he would tempt them to play with him, but they must not touch him. She signalled to Gabbin that he could start.

‘I'm a landmine … I'm a landmine …' chanted Gabbin as the children moved back, parting when he approached them, wary but amused. ‘Come on, play with me,' he taunted.

‘Oh no!' chanted the smaller ones. ‘Landmines are
dangerous
, we never play with landmines.'

Yola watched Gabbin apprehensively. What if he could not tempt them to touch him? Then the game would fall flat. Go on! she urged silently, don't let me down Gabbin, please. His circling was changing; he was tempting them, but he was
acting
too, and the children were responding. This was her old Gabbin! She nearly cheered. While he had been taunting the little ones, he had his back to a group of the older girls – all they could see were the jeering faces of the children in front of him; they couldn't see Gabbin's face. Then he turned, and as he did so, he changed. The naughty urchin disappeared and the
bigger
girls were presented with a poor, tormented little boy who no one would play with. He ran towards the biggest and
softest
of the girls. Yola watched her melt and reach out.

‘Go on, touch him!' roared the kids in delight. They were supposed to shout ‘Don't touch!', but they were getting carried away. The girl jumped back in a lather of embarrassment, while Gabbin, grinning from ear to ear, danced off to find his next victim.

This time he settled on a surly lad with a bashed-about face – the victor of many a fight, Yola guessed.

‘Melon face,' jeered Gabbin, doing a monkey act under the boy's nose.

‘Go to hell!' the boy muttered.

‘What's the matter! Over-ripe?'

The boy snarled and turned away, but Gabbin was in front of him, raising his small backside and chanting, ‘Kiss, kiss!'

It was too tempting; the boy drew back his foot.

‘Kick him. Kiss, kiss!' roared the kids and the boy skulked off with a face like thunder.

Now Gabbin was offering them his T-shirt. ‘Touch me and it's yours.'

Still none of the children had touched him. Perhaps the
game was backfiring, becoming a game of dare? Perhaps Yola should call it off. It was at that moment she noticed Gabbin wince. It was only for a second, a flicker of pain that crossed his face and was gone. She was mystified: surely the big boy hadn't touched him? She glanced across at Sister Martha, who was also looking anxiously at Gabbin; she was frowning and had taken a step forward. Yola decided that it was definitely time to call a halt. She'd wait till Gabbin had passed Sister Martha on his circuit, then she'd … But then it happened! Gabbin faltered and his hands rose, gripping at that sudden pain in his tummy. His knees gave way and he collapsed onto the ground. A
horrified
hush fell over the gathering. Yola lurched towards him, but it was Sister Martha who got there first, dropping to his side and lifting his crumpled shoulder.

‘BANG!' Gabbin shouted and leapt to his feet.

Yola would remember that frozen scene forever. It should have been, perhaps it was, perfect, better than her wildest dreams. Sister Martha had known the rules, but like Yola – like all of them – she'd been fooled. Gabbin had done exactly what he had been asked to do. The party atmosphere disappeared in a shocked tremor. The class was over. The stunned youngsters trickled away.

But there were other images of that day that Yola would not forget. One was of little Sister Martha reeling back, her hand over her heart, her kind, concerned face drained white with shock. The second was a fleeting look of nasty triumph on Gabbin's face as he leapt to his feet.

The following day, Gabbin disappeared. They said he was
visiting
Uncle Banda's relations in the next province. Weeks passed, then a month, but no news came back from him. Yola was told not to repeat that game in future classes.