Beneath the Darkening Sky Read online

  They think my village is their enemy. I didn’t know we were on a side.

  The Captain in his beret is yelling, ‘Revolution.’ The grown-up rebels shout the slogans over and over. They grab the kids’ arms and raise them up, making them repeat the slogans. The grown-ups smile at the older boys and shake their fists to encourage them more. Now the Captain just stands silently, hands on hips, and looks at his soldiers as they shout. Some stomp. Some whistle. Some hoot.

  All at once, they stop. A few of the youngest ones cover their mouths with their hands. The Captain has raised his arms, pistol pointing upward as if he wants to shoot the sky. The quiet is like another voice, louder than the shouting. Scarier than the screaming.

  ‘Revolution!’ the Captain yells, and they all shout again. The grown-ups move without orders. Two of them grab an old man and drag him into the centre of the circle. Another soldier appears holding a long, dirty rope. The man from my village has a short grey beard and is very thin. They push him, and he stumbles and falls into the dirt. I can see his mouth move, but the rebels are making too much noise for me to hear him.

  They wrap the rope around the old man’s feet, then his wrists. They pull him up to his knees so they can tie the knot better. The villagers watch through the wall of rebels. I climb up a little higher in the tree, careful not to make the branch shake. I watch too. I can’t remember the old man’s name, but he knows a lot of songs. He taught Akot one about being a strong warrior. I know it because Akot sings it so much.

  The Captain holds a machete over his head. It shines in the light of our burning homes. The others are all so dirty they don’t shine much.

  Shouting, stomping and chanting. The old man is tied up like a fat goat and the Captain walks around him. More soldiers join the circle, like spectators at a cock fight. The Captain steps away and points with his shining machete at one of the boys, an older one with scars on his cheek. The boy screams like he’s won something and runs forward, his own machete raised. What’s he doing?

  The boy swings the machete down, onto the old man’s neck.

  The old man’s head is not joined to his body. Both are lying on the ground, blood pumping out of the neck just like a goat killed for a feast. The rebels cry out in celebration. The killer boy grabs the head from the ground. The old man’s eyes are still open. Maybe he’s still alive. Maybe they can put the head back on.

  Blood drips from what used to be the old man and now looks like a tree trunk. The killer dances around, swinging the head by its thin hair and waving his dirty blade. The old man knew so many songs. One grown-up calmly unties the rope from the body.

  The killer boy throws the head as hard as he can. It tumbles past the villagers and lands in a burning hut. The killer boy howls and shakes his fists like he’s just made a goal in football. Grown-ups drag the old man’s body out of the ring and throw it to the side.

  Mouths gape. A flash of someone shooting his gun in the air. Feet stomp. But I can’t hear a thing. They are dragging another man into the ring.

  It’s Papa.

  His face is all hate.

  When he laughs, Papa’s mouth gets really big and his bright teeth shine, even in the dark. Then his Adam’s apple bobs up and down and his laugh is deep like thunder and happy like a rainbow.

  While the grown-ups tie a dirty rope around Papa’s wrists, some big boys run around, getting the young ones to jump and scream.

  The Captain stands outside the circle and whispers in one young boy’s ear.

  A boy younger than me. The Captain shows him how to hold a machete with both hands.

  Papa is pushed down on his knees and they tie his ankles together. Tight.

  ‘You’re all animals!’ Papa yells. I can hear him, louder than the rebels. ‘Animals that sniff through their own shit for food! You’re all dogs, eating your own vomit!’

  ‘Animals,’ one of the rebels shouts back, ‘live in the dirt.’ He kicks Papa to the ground. ‘Now you’re an animal too!’

  The Captain pushes the boy into the circle. He runs forward.

  I want to hold Papa in my arms and protect him but I can’t.

  Don’t do it!

  The boy jumps and swings his machete down with both —

  Papa!

  I close my eyes. For the briefest moment I think, When I open my eyes I will see Papa alive and well. When I open my eyes everything will be okay.

  I look back up and see the boy’s face covered with blood. The boy stumbles back, dropping his machete and rubbing the blood out of his eyes. A fresh shout breaks out in the circle. I can’t see Papa’s face. It’s real. I can’t believe Papa is gone. I can’t breathe.

  A grown-up goes to Papa and grabs his hair, but the blade didn’t go all the way through. He pulls and twists for a moment, and then hacks down with his machete, once, twice. I open my mouth to be sick, but nothing comes out. The rebel offers Papa’s head to the little boy, who is still wiping the blood off his face with his sleeve.

  They hand the little boy my papa’s head. His eyes are closed, but I can see his bright teeth shining. His mouth screams, but no sound comes out.

  God kill them all. And kill me too. Then I can be with Papa.

  Mama holds my youngest siblings close to her skirt and wails. Her eyes have vanished in wrinkles, tears run through them. Akot stands, watches, his whole body shaking, fists clenched.

  The rebels circle and sing songs. Another man is brought in, and another and another. They make the young ones kill first. Heads are tossed into the burning huts and bodies are thrown. Just like the butcher, only he never killed so many animals at once.

  I sob, but no one hears me because everyone’s sobbing. The women pull at their hair and wail at the sky. Children cry and cling to their mothers. Some look about, trying to make sense of what they see. Others just sit and bawl with their hands over their eyes. This isn’t happening, it can’t be.

  The rebels disperse. They behead men at random. Akot and Otim and Akidi are held back by some of the guards, but most of the grown-ups ignore the men and go to the women. I can see one of them grab my uncle’s wife. She screams and cries, tears soak her face and baby Nini holds onto her. My uncle’s wife is screaming and reaching out. The other women reach for her but the rebels hold them back, pushing and kicking, hitting them with their guns. Her dress is ripped off. Children are pushed and thrown and kicked. What happens to the women is nothing like what I’ve glimpsed in our village at night, or even seen with the animals in the fields – it is not from this world. They rip, and push, and cut.

  The fires rise higher and come closer, spitting red. They crack and spread, glowing orange. When the hut crashes, the yellow and red flames sparkle into the sky and then fall back down again, raining fire.

  I can barely see because I’m crying so hard. It’s the worst smell – burning flesh and fresh blood and shit. Mama whimpers like a little girl. Two of the rebels come and drag her out. Mama screams. One of the rebels spins and hits Mama in the face with his gun. I reach out.

  No!

  ‘Mama!’

  As if on cue, the beasts turn. All eyes on the mango tree.

  Taken

  Darkness stalks me in the tall grass on the far side of the field. I can almost hear it growl and see it quiver, as if it’s breathing. What does it look like? Does it have big teeth? Or tusks? As I crouch behind the smelly goat, catching glimpses of the shadow, the sour taste of fear fills my mouth.

  ‘Hey!’ Akot yells. ‘Quit daydreaming!’

  I turn. Akot whips the goats with his long stick. We’re supposed to be driving them home. Akot’s clothes are so clean and white. They always are after Mama washes them.

  ‘I’m not daydreaming,’ I say. Quietly, in case the dark thing gets spooked. ‘There’s something over there.’

  ‘It’s probably a jackal,’ Akot says. ‘If it gets too close, it’ll eat you.’

  ‘I want to see it.’

  ‘You’ve already seen jackals! Come on, let’s go home.
’

  ‘I want to see it up close.’

  ‘Why? Do you think they get cuter up close? The closer you get, the uglier it’ll get and then it’ll eat you. Come on!’ He walks up behind me and whacks my shins with his stick. ‘Come on.’

  ‘Ouch! Akot, that hurt.’

  ‘Then hurry back to Mama and tell on me. Just help me get these goats back first.’

  I give one of the goats a hard whack on the rear and scowl at Akot. He doesn’t care, he just wants to get home and eat. Back in our village, we put the goats in their pen. A man stands near the gate. He is wearing dark-green army clothes, almost black. He leans against the fence and chews on a stick, staring at me and Akot.

  I turn and look at the village. Every door is shut and the only people I see are more soldiers in their dark-green clothes. Akot is gone.

  ‘Akot?’ Now the soldiers are gone. ‘Mama?’ I run for Mama’s hut. She is waiting for me inside, with Papa and a soldier. My parents are wearing such beautifully clean clothes, pure white. Mama’s weeping. She runs to me and picks me up, holding me tightly. Over her shoulder, I can see my father trying to keep a brave face. He doesn’t smile and I feel he should hate the soldier, but he shows no hate either.

  ‘Mama,’ I whisper. ‘Why are there soldiers?’

  Mama cries.

  ‘We have come for you,’ the soldier says. ‘The revolution needs soldiers and you have been chosen to join the movement. You will share in the glory when the oppressive government is torn down and our glorious new world rises up.’

  ‘New world?’

  ‘Yes.’ The soldier smiles. ‘Everything will be reborn in the revolution, but first we must pull out the weeds so that the flowers can grow.’

  Then why is Mama crying?

  ‘He will come with us.’ I feel the soldier’s rough hands around my waist, pulling me from Mama. She cries more and won’t let go, but he walks up behind her and touches her arms. Then her arms relax and she lets me go. The soldier pulls me away and I watch my parents getting smaller and further away. Mama’s hands reach out for me.

  Chanting hums and rides the air from a distant chorus. Old spirit songs. Grandfather’s songs. The soldier grabs my arms, pulls me up and pushes me over into the big open circle where we dance in festivals and play at night. All the huts face the circle, so our mothers can watch us children play. My grandparents sit in the middle and I perch in front of them on a three-legged wooden stool. A special calabash is in front of them, filled with the red ash made from cow dung. It is magic ash, carefully prepared for talking to the gods.

  Grandfather chants with his eyes closed, calling out to the gods of the village. In the air a little cloud of white smoke floats by. It curls up and dances above us, I watch it swirl around and around. Growing bigger and bigger. Lights spark, flash inside the streak of white cloud, and shoot out. A dozen red yellow green lights spin and dance in the air around us. Grandfather’s song rings out.

  My grandmother gets up, holding the calabash and reaching into it. At first, her chant is quiet. I know the words because I’ve heard the song so many times. A little red ash spills from her hand onto my head. Her song gets louder, raising a call to the spirits, begging for my protection. More ash falls. As Grandmother sings louder, her hand shakes faster and more ash dusts me. Though my eyes are closed, I see flashes of colour twirl around me. I can feel their heat.

  My grandparents chant their songs, moving from soft, sweet sounds to harsh notes that grate on my ears. The lights spin faster, solid warmth wraps around me. They call on the gods of the village always to guide me home. They ask the higher spirits to give me courage. They say I am going to war and that bullets only kill those who fear them, so they banish fear from me.

  The song ends and I open my eyes. The lights swarm close to my skin.

  My grandfather stands. ‘Come, child,’ he says. ‘Pass through my legs and the blessing will be complete.’

  A new chant, low and fast, flies from his lips. I crawl between my grandfather’s legs. The closer I get, the faster the lights spin and encircle me. Like they are pushing me forward. Under my grandfather’s legs, their heat rises and fills my body, like a sun inside me. On the other side the lights raise me up, flying around and around and around. My feet leave the ground and the perfect blue sky becomes dark. A glorious night with so many stars, I can’t even see the ancient shapes in them. Red, blue, yellow, green, purple lights fly into my mouth, their warmth spreads through my body.

  I plummet back to earth.

  Pina

  I’m awake and it’s bright again. The truck’s engine shakes underneath me as it idles. More kids pile in with us and then the truck starts to move off slowly.

  Leaning against Akot, I see families huddled in what’s left of their doorways, watching us go. Watching their kids fade into the distance. Only a few men stand on those thresholds, all of them bandaged. Most of the women are bandaged too. I think about the doctor and I wonder if the rebels hurt him. It doesn’t make sense to hurt doctors, but the rebels do many things I don’t understand.

  In the truck the kids are piled together. The adults sit along the sides. I recognise a dozen kids here from my village, and we’ve joined boys I’ve never seen before, who must have been taken from other villages. Everyone looks really scared, except for Akot. He’s just staring out as the land passes by.

  It’s my first time in a truck, and Akot’s too. But I’ve seen them before. Trucks are always driving down the big road. You can see them from where we take the goats to feed. Who’s going to look after the goats?

  My first time on a truck should be fun. And I should be with all my family. I shouldn’t be a soldier. I feel tears in my eyes. I was crying before, until I fell asleep. Now I want to cry again. Anything, think about anything except last night. Anything, anything, anything.

  I think about my last sight of home. Mama and the younger ones clinging to her skirts. Her teeth were chattering. She wasn’t whimpering or crying, she was just trembling with her mouth half opened and her eyes staring into the emptiness of space, and then she turned and stared into my eyes. I looked down for a second, I felt weak when I saw her eyes like that. I felt like it was my responsibility to protect Papa and her but I didn’t do anything, I can’t do anything. I lifted my face and met her eyes for a second that seemed like forever. My eyes were dry. There was no hate in my system, no anything.

  ‘Hey, are you sleeping again?’

  I look up and a soldier is staring down at me. The sleeves have been cut off his jacket and it’s too big for him. He uses his gun for balance as he sits on the side of the truck. He’s smiling, but it isn’t a nice smile.

  ‘I’ve never seen a new recruit sleeping on the way to camp,’ the soldier says. ‘Most of them just cry until we beat them. They like the beatings, though. We beat all the tears out of them and they never cry again. No more crying! It’s like heaven!’ He laughs. ‘We are taking you to the Promised Land!’

  The rebels around him laugh. Most of them are kids but they’re already soldiers. Some of the new kids laugh too, not knowing what to do. Others just look confused, a couple aren’t listening. I can see they want to cry, but they don’t. It’s true. They can beat your tears out of you.

  ‘We are making the Promised Land,’ comes a powerful voice. Everyone falls quiet. Whoever is talking doesn’t like the joke. ‘We are making a free world, a better world. The revolution is the promise, and when the oppression of the government is overthrown and their flags are burned and the blasphemous idols they erect to their leaders and place in front of their temple-courts and synagogue-senates, when those have been torn down and the greedy leaders brought low, then yes, we will have brought them to the Promised Land.’

  ‘Yes, Captain!’ the soldiers shout.

  I don’t dare to look around at the Captain, but I know which one he is. Everyone is silent for a little.

  The one teasing me looks at his feet. He turns to me again and says, quieter, ‘You’ve got
strong legs. I bet you’re a real fast runner, aren’t you?’

  I’m the fastest, except sometimes Pina. But I’m not telling him that.

  ‘No one can outrun a bullet.’ He looks at the land flying by. ‘Try to run and you’ll end up like them.’

  I get up on my knees so I can see. Now there are fewer huts, and there are holes. Big square ones. Fresh graves. I know that much. People stand in the holes, digging, all in bandages, some still wearing bloody clothes. Other big empty graves surround them like hyena dens. Some are as big as elephant wallows. How many people are now dead?

  When another grandpa died last year, my grandfather called on the spirits for him and we had a big feast for the whole village. We had to wait for the grandpa’s family to come from other places. He’d had a lot of kids and most of them had left. They said one of his sons was a doctor and lived in America, so he couldn’t come. The body rested in a small hut at the edge of the village for weeks, where the family could visit him. My grandmother wove sacred plants into wreaths and placed them at the entrance and around the body. Grandfather said that the smell of the plants called to the good spirits, so that they would find the old man and carry him to heaven.

  It took weeks for all of the man’s children to arrive. Grandmother would go in before them to swat away the flies from the swollen body. She would have wanted to cover her nose with a mask but they say that can drive the gods crazy and kill more people. But still she went in. It was hard enough to see a loved one dead, she told me, flies just made it worse. Only when all his children, except the doctor in America, had come, did they bury him. The hut was burned as a signal to the spirits that it was okay to take his soul away.

  But when illness comes and many people die, it’s different. No funerals and no banquets and no saying goodbye. You have to dig the graves and put the bodies in the ground as quick as you can. One body smells a bit, but a lot of bodies smell a lot and then animals come for their own feast. Lions, even. The carrion feeders don’t usually come near the villages, because they know men will try to kill them, and even if they get away they won’t get any food. But with so much to eat, they can’t resist. You have to dig the graves deep, or the stink still escapes. And jackals will come and dig up the bodies. There’s nothing you can do about diseases, so people do what they have to.