Those Who Love Night (40 page)

And now Katy was crying in the cell. It seemed she would never stop.

He remembered the time when she said that now she knew everything, and he remembered also that everything had been too much for her. And he remembered finding her after she had fired the single shot, and what it had done to her face and head. Every moment of his life since then had been dominated by the memory of her dying.

The sound of crying subsided. Katy had not left the cell, but she was farther away, standing pressed against the far wall. He expected to hear her crying all his life and beyond this life, if that were possible.

She had been quiet that night until the soldiers left. Then the crying had started.

He remembered the bayonet at the end of the rifle barrel and how a light from the village had reflected from it. And he remembered what the soldier had done with it.

The next morning that man had come and taken them away.

And the story had not ended there. Now Krisj was dead, and the story had not yet ended. He knew how it had to end. He was as sure of it as if it had already taken place.

*   *   *

The others were all asleep. Tony rose from the mat and walked across the cell to stand below one of the two windows. He felt stronger than he had for some time. A few days before, he had not been able to walk at all. Through the opening he could see the stars. It had been raining, but the rain had stopped hours before and now the night was clear and cool. He loved such nights as these, when the heat of the day was gone, but there was no cold, only a richness of the air that made you feel part of the night itself.

They had brought all eight of them, the original seven plus one of the Makwati twins, to this place. At one point during the afternoon he had been taken from the cell and brought to Sergeant Mafuta's office. Since he was a boy he had known the sergeant, who was an old man now. The sergeant had told him about the court order for their release issued by Judge Tendai Mujuru. He also told him that very few government people even knew that the members of Tony's group were in custody.

He had told Tony that he expected that many government people would believe that the court hearing and everything that went with it had simply been part of a plot to discredit the country. It was the first time that Tony or any of the others had heard of the court order. The sergeant had also told Tony not to be too optimistic. He had orders to continue holding them. He was sorry, but there was nothing he could do about it.

The last thing he said was that he would try to contact Tony's father to see if he could help.

“My father is dead,” Tony had told him.

“You know who I'm talking about,” the sergeant said.

“My father died long ago. That man you are talking about is not my father.”

“But he is interested in you. I'll try to speak to him about your release. He has seen to it that you and your friends are well fed.” Tony had said nothing more. He knew the sergeant meant well, but he had no more to say about the man Sergeant Mafuta called his father. “I'm glad to see that you are well, Tony,” the sergeant had added. “I know you've been sick, and it's good to see that you are well.”

“Yes, I'm very well, thank you, Sergeant Mafuta.”

Tony knew that the sergeant had also lost relatives in the Gukurahundi raids and that he had refused promotion to Harare because he did not want more authority than that of a local station commander. Tony expected that he would hold them no longer than he had to, but as he had said, there was nothing he could do. Tony knew that he meant well, but also believed that the old sergeant was simply excusing himself. Like so many others, he had found that it served the chances of survival to keep your opinions to yourself and to obey orders from above.

Looking up at the stars, Tony felt that he was in control. He was confident now, sure in the knowledge that he was ready to meet what he knew lay ahead. As for the man the sergeant had referred to as his father, for the first time he knew he had the strength to deal with him too. It had not always been so, and he was still uncertain of what he had to do, but he was sure that he would know when the time came and that he would be able to do it.

The stars were lovely, the night was fine and gently warm, and he felt stronger than he ever remembered feeling, all his life.

52

The car jerked violently, but Yudel steadied it without much difficulty. It had been going at no more than eighty kilometers an hour when they hit the pothole. The road surface had been almost perfect until then. He brought it to a stop with two wheels on the tar and the other two on the gravel verge.

Unlike holes in dirt roads, those in the tar easily destroyed tires if you hit one wrong. Even if you were going slowly, the sharp edges of the tar around the pothole could tear right through a tire. And once you were using the spare you had to slow right down. Losing a second tire disabled you completely. Some farmers carried three or four spares on their Land Rovers.

The pothole had been filled with water, making it harder to spot in the headlights. Yudel had rarely allowed the speedometer to climb above ninety at any time, but had still hit it with more force than the tire could handle. It had been all but shredded. “Stay in the car,” he instructed the three women, as he got out.

Of them, only Rosa obeyed. “Do you know how to change a tire?” Helena was almost pushing him out of the way to get a better look. “Otherwise we should look for help.”

“I can do it,” Yudel said. It was a matter of manly pride.

The rain had all but stopped. Only a light drizzle remained of the storm. He found the jack and wheel spanner in the trunk where they were supposed to be. Where he had stopped the car, the damaged tire was just off the tar on a muddy verge. Yudel managed to position the jack so that it was anchored on the edge of the tar. The place where they had stopped was on a slight incline to the front. He packed small rocks in front of the tires to stop the car rolling forward. By his calculation, the incline was not steep enough to affect the working of the jack.

It was a good hydraulic jack. Soon the car was rising with relatively little effort from Yudel. “Good stuff,” Helena said. It took the car's weight and the tire was just lifting clear of the ground when the patch of tar on which the jack rested, undermined by the rain, broke free and slid away. The car came down hard, throwing Yudel onto his back. “Shit,” Helena said.

“We'll have to move it deeper onto the tar,” Yudel told her.

He removed the rocks that were steadying the wheels, got back in behind the wheel, restarted the engine and maneuvered the car another handsbreadth further onto the tar. Visibility was still poor, and he was afraid to go any deeper into the road. If there was any traffic from the rear, they might not be seen until it was too late.

This time the jack would not cooperate. The fall, with the car's weight descending on it at an angle, had bent its shaft. “This is not going to work,” Helena said. “I saw this happen to a jack once before.”

Abigail was looking down the road in the direction they had come from. On the right-hand side of the road, not far ahead, some white-painted walls were just visible. Another car came past slowly, without stopping. Its headlights revealed a sign that announced the presence of Halfway Motel. A glance at her watch told her that it was nearly midnight.

Yudel had the jack in his hands and was looking at it, as if willpower alone would repair it. He looked very tired. “I'll go to the motel,” he said. “They'll be able to help us.”

“Yes,” Helena said. “I'll also come.”

The rain had stopped being an issue. The gate of the motel was standing half open, as if someone had passed through it on foot and forgotten to close it. Even across the distance from the gate to the reception building, Yudel could see that some of the windowpanes were broken, and that there were no curtains. “Shit,” Helena said. “I hate it when it's like this. Is nothing left of my poor country? I don't suppose we'll find any tools.”

Yudel was peering in at a window. The room was empty. A few broken pieces of plaster were scattered around the floor. “They would have taken the tools when they left,” he said. “Let's go back.”

As they reached the gate, a heavy transport rig, pulling a trailer, lumbered up the incline from the front. Its headlights revealed Abigail, waving both hands in the light rain. The truck rumbled to a stop next to their car, blocking the road. They could see the driver climbing down, leaving the engine running. Abigail was talking to him and pointing toward the offending wheel.

Yudel was too far away to hear her saying, “I've seen you before, a few days ago, outside Chikurubi prison.”

“Yes, ma'am,” Bino D'Almeida said. “You told me I was late.”

“My name's Abigail.”

“Bino.” The drizzle was forming little globules on his mustache. They glistened in the light from the car. He was grinning at Abigail.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“I had to make a delivery in Bulawayo after dropping off the load at the prison.”

“It took you a long time.”

“Ma'am, deliveries sometimes do take a long time in this country.”

“I'll bet they do,” she said. “We have a problem, Mr. Bino.”

“Mr. D'Almeida,” he corrected her. “But I'd prefer it if you called me Bino. What's the problem?”

“We have a flat and a faulty jack.”

“Can I help?”

Abigail could not help returning his rain-wet grin. “Would you?”

Bino brought his rig round the car to park behind it on the Harare side. The hydraulic jack he fetched from his cab was big enough to lift wheels of the rig off the ground. It took him only a few seconds to have the side of the car where the problem existed lifted well clear of the ground, and not much longer to change the tire.

On his return from the deserted motel, Yudel watched Bino with the slight embarrassment of the amateur for the professional. Bino came up to him, still smiling, not as warmly as when he was talking to Abigail. “You were driving, sir?”

Yudel nodded. “I'm afraid so.”

“Did you see the pothole you hit?”

“No, I didn't see it.”

“The ones to watch out for are the ones that come sneaking across from the side of the road. They're harder to spot than the others. There are usually some of them after heavy rain.”

“Thanks. We really do appreciate what you've done.”

“The potholes are also harder to spot when they're full of water.”

“Thanks a lot.”

“That's okay.”

Abigail had come closer and was about to thank Bino again, when the first black double-cab came past. The light above its registration plate was working perfectly, and it was impossible to miss the
CAM
registration. Abigail stepped closer to the car, as if seeking shelter. The double-cab slowed sharply. She saw that Yudel too had seen it. The way Bino's rig was parked, they would not have seen the car as they approached. Now they would have to turn or look back before seeing it.

The double-cab came to a stop opposite the gate of the deserted motel. At almost the same moment, a second, identical vehicle came past, braking hard when the driver saw that the first one had stopped. The stop lasted no more than a few seconds, then both vehicles were moving again, their tail lights shrinking quickly into the distance.

Bino had noticed the reactions of the people around him. He spoke to Abigail. “Do you have problems with those people?”

Abigail looked into a concerned and innocent face. She asked herself if there was any reason to trust this man with even a small part of the matter that threatened to consume all of them. She spoke before she had received an answer. “Yes, we do.”

“That's the
CIO
, ma'am. You want to stay away from them.”

Abigail stepped forward and kissed him on one cheek. “Thanks, Bino. We'll do our best to stay out of trouble.”

“Please,” he said. “I'd hate to think of you getting into trouble with them. They're very strict. Good luck. I got to go now.”

“You also take care,” Abigail said.

They watched Bino's rig disappear in the direction of Harare. “Shall I drive for a while?” Abigail asked Yudel.

“Are you up to it?” He was looking at her through tired, blinking eyes.

“Yudel, I'm so strung out, I couldn't possibly fall asleep at the wheel. You and Rosa get in the back and sleep for a few hours.”

Rosa, who had been no more than an interested spectator, felt that this was at last her territory. “Yes, Yudel, you need to rest. Come on.”

“Jesus.” Helena's hands were facing the heavens in mock supplication. “I can't believe we're discussing seating arrangements. Did you people see who came past us? Our friend, Director Chunga, is in one of those. Aren't we interested in that?”

Abigail put an arm around her shoulders. She was beginning to feel warm toward this restless, combative woman. “Yes, we all saw it. And we all guessed that he may be in one of them and that they are most certainly going to the same place we are, and that they're traveling faster than we are. We also saw that they're looking for a place to spend the night. While they're sleeping, we'll keep traveling.”

Helena looked at Yudel, who was nodding in agreement with Abigail's assessment of their situation. “I hate it when you two communicate like this without saying anything. How's a person supposed to know?”

53

This new roadblock was no more than five kilometers outside Plumtree in the harsh bush country they had been traveling through for the last hour. Yudel was driving again, with Abigail in the front passenger seat. As far as she could see, it consisted of a single police van and six or seven policemen. None of the
CIO
double-cabs were in sight. It was seven o'clock, later than she had anticipated, but before most of the town would have risen.