When Elephants Fight Read online

  My father used to tell us over and over that we must never lose a goat. He was a big man, tall and strong with sharp, bright eyes that made me think he could see for miles. His legs and arms reminded me of an ancient tree. The war took him. He died on his knees so his family could live.

  The night it happened was dark. There was no moon and so no one stayed outside for stories, like we always did when the moon shone. But that didn’t stop Deng and me telling each other stories in bed. I was telling one about a fox and a jackal when he put a finger to his lips to hush me. Deng is older than me, so he always bossed me around. My father told me I had to listen to him because Deng was the firstborn.

  It was government soldiers who came that time. They ordered us all outside and told my father they knew he supported the rebels. They said that three days ago he had welcomed rebels with the meat of a whole goat, and other food.

  My father kept saying that he didn’t support either the rebels or the government soldiers, he was just a simple farmer. He explained that ten students had come to our hut that day. They were passing through the village and wanted to rest until the sun cooled down, then they would continue on to wherever they were going. My father had never met them before, and had only behaved as he would with any visitors. Visitors are respected in our culture. My father asked their names and chatted with them, and because he had killed a goat and was now roasting it, he shared it with them. After they’d eaten, the students left. Nobody had spoken about rebels, governments or the war.

  The soldiers refused to believe this. One of them told my father to kneel, and when he didn’t respond the man pointed his gun at the rest of us. I felt Mama’s fingers squeeze me even tighter and my father immediately knelt. The soldier put his gun to my father’s head and I looked away. Then came the gunshot.

  The soldiers turned and walked calmly off into the dark night.

  Mama howled and threw herself on my father’s limp body, sobbing and praying to God to bring him back to life. I kept waiting for him to move, but he never did. Deng just stood there motionless. He wasn’t crying. He was never the same after that night. None of us were.

  Now, as I head off in search of the goat, smoke from cooking fires drifts on the morning breeze. There’s no rain today and the ground is hard. No one is working in their garden. Women call to each other over their fences as they hang up laundry or sweep their yards. The tea-women are going to market dressed in rags and carrying straw baskets on their backs. Children shriek with laughter as they chase each other along the paths and dogs bark as they run after them. Men are off to the school to continue the reconstruction. The building is almost finished, and Grandpa says that when it’s finally done a great white bull, a symbol of health, will be killed in celebration, because this new school will be more than bricks and timber and iron sheets, it will be a beacon of light in the darkness.

  I come to where the road splits off like ribs and I take the path that leads into the forest. Yesterday Thon took the herd to the fields, but maybe the missing goat has wandered in among the trees. I follow a stream that leads to a waterfall. I can hear voices as I get closer and then I see that girls from the village are gathered at the pool. Thiko is with them. This is where they come to wash their clothes, and to swim.

  Without thinking I duck behind a tree. I don’t want to spy on the girls but I know they’ll shout at me if I walk in on them. A few are already in the pool, others are at the water’s edge, giggling as they undress. They splash in and swim to the end where the water is shallow and calm. The spray of the water catches the light and gleams.

  Thiko is gathering her braided hair and tying it back out of the way, and then she starts washing her clothes. I can see her breasts. I’ve never seen her breasts before. They are small and firm and round like sweet fruit. I swallow hard. How many times have we played together? Too many to count.

  I realise I’ve been holding my breath. As quietly as I can I retreat, and once I’m out of sight of the pool I straighten up and run. For a moment back there I forgot I was looking for a lost goat.

  I jog along with the sun warm on the top of my head, feeling lighter and somehow more alive than I have in days. It’s as though God is back in control, smiling down on me. He will not let anything bad happen to us again.

  I call out for the goat as I push through the undergrowth, but there’s no goat. I run for hours, still with no luck, and when my body starts to tire I slow my pace, resisting the desire to turn and head home. My lightness has gone and I worry that I will never find this goat.

  A heavy feeling settles over me when I think this, and I pick up my pace again, as if I can outrun the feeling. I stub my big toe on a rock and a hot pain washes through me. I stop to check it and see that I’ve nearly ripped the toenail off. I keep moving, panting now from pain and a feeling of dread. It’s my left foot that I’ve hurt again. The last time I stumbled it was on my left foot, and I got caught and whipped by a man whose garden had been destroyed by my goats. The left foot is bad luck. I hope that goat hasn’t damaged someone else’s garden. It’s time to head home.

  I’m not far from Pacong when I hear a loud crack, followed immediately by another, a hard, ugly sound that rings through my bones. It’s a sound I’ve heard before. Please, no, I think, not again.

  Maybe it’s nothing. But when I reach the edge of the village there’s a noise like a thunder roll, one loud clap after another. The sky is as clear as a plate of glass and there’s not a drop of rain in sight. And so I know. They’re back.

  I scramble up a rise to see what’s happening, squinting against the sun. A line of camouflaged jeeps, the sort used by government soldiers, pours from the bushes as though expelled by dark magic. Tanks follow. They swarm through the field to the village, spitting fire and throwing up dust. Soldiers jump from the jeeps and race through the huts. They’re soldiers of the Sudanese government, shouting to each other in Arabic.

  All I can think of is getting home to my family. I run so fast it feels as though my feet aren’t touching the ground. I forget the pain in my toe but I can feel the blood pound in my ears with every step.

  Near our house it is chaos. A blur of people screaming, crying and running in every direction. Homes are on fire.

  ‘Mama!’ I yell, willing my legs to move faster, even though the muscles burn and my lungs feel as if they’re about to explode.

  ‘Into the jungle!’ I hear someone shout. ‘That’s our only chance!’

  Should I turn around and run back out of the village with these people? The air is so thick with smoke I can’t see our hut. Where are Mama and Grandpa and Momo, my little brother and sister? I don’t know what to do. The flames leap from one thatched roof to the next, hideously bright. There’s more smoke than oxygen in the air now.

  ‘Get your spears!’ I hear a villager yell and men run to grab them, but who could hope to fight a gun with a spear?

  Two boys from my school bolt past me, straight across my path. Soldiers are shooting at random. I dive behind a tree, my eyes watering from the smoke. I hug my knees to my chest, telling myself I’m okay, I’m okay, I’m okay, trying to calm my breathing. The whole world seems to be spinning.

  Timing my move I get to my feet, and staying low I follow the path towards home, my eyes straining to see familiar forms. Again I think of running away with the others but I must find my family first. They’re fine, I repeat to myself over and over. I will find them and then we’ll run together. All of us.

  I reach Thiko’s hut and my head reels when I see that it’s engulfed in flames. Just then a new sound fills the air. It’s the chants and shouts of the men of Pacong. Twenty warriors charge up, whooping and whistling battle cries, spears brandished. They rush at the soldiers.

  I watch transfixed, wanting to believe that the warriors of my village can triumph, can put an end to this madness. One of them throws a spear and it hisses as it glides through the air, striking a soldier in the chest. The gun drops from his hand and he falls. His comrades b
arely glance at him, he is left there alone.

  The minutes that follow are unbelievable, with spears dominating rifles, the warriors overpowering the soldiers, felling them like trees. But then a jeep rolls in, more soldiers spill out, firing their rifles before their feet even hit the ground. It’s over in seconds.

  I turn my head and vomit. I want to make it out of Pacong alive but I don’t know how. God give me strength, I beg.

  Somehow I manage to find our hut and it is not on fire. But men are still shouting, and screaming women are being dragged away by soldiers. I see two of them pulling on the same woman, like a pair of hyenas fighting over a goat. Another woman is screaming as her clothes are ripped off her. There’s something familiar about her and I stop. It’s Momo!

  I drop to my knees and close my eyes for a second. But only a second. I know that if someone is to help Momo it will have to be me. Grandpa is nowhere in sight.

  But as when the school was bombed, I can’t move. My stomach is a knot of tangled snakes. Momo is screaming and scrabbling in the dirt. I must do something. Spying a stick not far off, I crawl over to grab it, wait until the soldier has his back to me, then I charge at him, brandishing my stick.

  ‘No!’ I scream. ‘Leave her alone!’ There’s no room in me for fear now.

  The soldier turns. An ugly smile forms on his face as he brings the butt of his rifle down on my shoulder. The pain causes my legs to collapse beneath me. I drop my stick and roll on the ground, unaware of anything but pain.

  ‘Thinks he’s a warrior, this one!’ laughs the soldier. He flips me roughly over onto my back and looms above me, smiling his broken-toothed sneer. All I can do is let my eyes close and hope it will be over soon.

  And then I hear my name being called and my eyes fly open in time to see Grandpa shove the soldier aside, flinging him into the dirt like he’s a straw doll. Then my ageing grandfather is fighting the soldier with his fists, his feet, until the soldier pulls a knife from his belt and stabs Grandpa in the thigh.

  ‘Grandpa!’ I wail as blood soaks through his pants.

  But the wound only seems to give him more strength. He knocks the knife out of the soldier’s hand and punches him in the face. The man falls and Grandpa falls with him, striking repeatedly, until the soldier lies motionless. Grandpa stays atop him a moment, head bowed, chest heaving. Then he takes a deep breath and gets up, wiping his bloody knuckles on his clothes.

  He checks to see that Momo is alright and then looks at me. How old he looks. He is ancient, as though thousands of years of sadness sit behind his eyes. But he has felled a man half his age. I can’t believe it.

  ‘Grandpa!’ I fall on my knees before him. The dark stain on his thigh is spreading. I blink back the tears. ‘Oh Grandpa.’

  Around us the screaming and mayhem and burning continue, but he kisses my forehead and the familiar smell of his warm brown skin overwhelms me. I sob in huge, shuddering breaths.

  ‘Juba,’ he says, tipping my head up, ‘open your eyes.’

  I do. And I see the look in his eyes has changed.

  ‘Juba, listen to me well,’ Grandpa says. ‘You must leave right now. No – do not argue with me. You must leave now. And do not turn back. No matter what you hear or see, you must keep going. Run as fast as you can. Go immediately.’

  ‘But what about —’

  ‘Now! You’re a good runner. Use that talent, you will need it. Run as fast as you can away from the village. Take the road over the hills. There’ll be others fleeing. Find them and go with them. They will lead you to a place for refugees.’

  I bite my lip and nod mutely.

  ‘Do you hear me?’ he says, giving me a shake, the way he does when I’ve been disobedient. The pain flares in my shoulder. ‘You must run. Your mother and brother and sister were at the well. God alone knows their fate.’

  ‘But I can fight!’ I plead. I don’t want to leave him and Momo here. He’s badly injured. ‘This is my village. I can fight, Grandpa!’

  ‘No you can’t, Juba. Do not confuse bravery with wisdom. You’re going to have to fight one day, but not now in Pacong. You’re going to run. You’re going to survive. Not by using your fists, but your heart and mind.’

  ‘But I don’t want to leave,’ I sob. ‘I want to stay with you and Momo.’

  As more shots ring out, Grandpa struggles to his feet and pulls me up after him, and he literally shoves me away. ‘I’m not asking you to go,’ he says. ‘I’m ordering. Go!’

  Two more soldiers have settled on Momo like carrion. Grandpa grabs the dead soldier’s knife and limps as fast as he can towards them while I stand swaying with dizziness. He manages to stab one soldier in the neck, and the other rolls off Momo, yanking up his pants, trying to retrieve his rifle.

  ‘Run now, Juba!’ Grandpa yells without turning around. ‘God will lead you! He will protect you!’

  But Momo is lying there unmoving, and I can see blood seeping from beneath her, turning the dust into dark red mud. This cannot be real. It cannot.

  Grandpa, with a mighty grunt, plunges the knife into the soldier’s stomach, but the soldier has already reached his gun and at the exact same moment he brings it up and fires. The two fall apart from each other, both gasping for breath.

  I scramble over to Grandpa as the blood bubbles from his mouth. He’s trying to speak but no sound comes out. The hole in his chest is smoking. His eyes already have a faraway look.

  ‘Grandpa, no, don’t go! Please don’t leave me . . .’ I touch his face and suddenly I know he is right. ‘Okay,’ I say, my mouth close to his ear. ‘I will do as you say. I will run and I won’t look back. I’m going, Grandpa.’

  His face seems almost contented. I know my words have reached him. His head lolls to one side, his cheek kissing the dust, like he’s merging into the soil beneath him.

  The wind holds still and silent while the violence rages around us. I am drowning and there is no hope of being saved. My heart is raw. I have no ribs, no skin. But somehow I can still feel the oxygen flooding into my lungs.

  I stand up and run.

  Dead bodies litter the village. I come to the fork in the road and see something familiar. My goats. Soldiers are leading them away. For a moment I want to charge at them but then I remember my promise to Grandpa. I bend over while I run, like I do when I want to surprise a gazelle during a hunt.

  I clear the eastern edge of the village and reach the jungle. Its deep green shadows welcome me. I must not let myself think of Grandpa and Momo, but other thoughts are swirling in my head. Where is Mama? What if she’s back in the village somewhere with Nyanbuot and Thon, waiting for me to come home? Or out looking for me? Breathing in the smoke while I’m running in the opposite direction?

  Or maybe they’ve managed to flee, and are safely waiting for me somewhere ahead.

  The idea that I might be running towards them spurs me on, although my shoulder and head throb and my lungs burn. I leap over branches that try to grab at me. They will not hold me back. And government soldiers will not kill me, because I am strong. I am a potential freedom fighter.

  In this crazy state I nearly run into a tank. I shin up a tree just in time, praying I haven’t been seen. There’s no way I can run now, the tank is too close. The weight of it makes the tree vibrate. I press my face into the trunk and close my eyes. I don’t want to see it coming at me. Twigs snap on the ground below as it rumbles past, without hitting my tree.

  It pushes on towards the village and I make my way down. At the last branch I let go and jump to the ground. As I do, my shorts snag on the branch and are all but ripped off me. I reach the ground to find half of them still in the tree. The half left hanging on me is useless, so I rip it off altogether and throw it into the bushes and start running again in just my shirt.

  I hate this running. It’s not like racing with my friends. I hope they’re safe. I haven’t seen anyone from the village since I set off.

  A new sound makes me look up. Helicopters. Two of them, hoveri
ng like giant locusts. I’ve never seen a helicopter this close before. Their terrifying blades slice the air in a metallic blur. I keep going.

  I lose track of the time. Deeper in the jungle everything is silent. After the chaos and noise of the village, the quiet is disconcerting. The trees are still, the grass doesn’t move. The only sound comes from inside my head, where my brain beats like a ticking clock, loud and insistent.

  Then a breeze moves around me, stirring the leaves and grass. It seems to carry a murmur and I turn, but no one is there. The treetops shiver. The hairs on the back of my neck are standing on end. All at once explosions are happening again and the silence is over. I glimpse rocket launchers mounted on truck beds as I race on. Trees ignite. Branches, dirt and debris fall from the sky. The force of an explosion nearby knocks me to the ground and I huddle there, hands covering my head, splintered wood pelting my body. When I look up I can see a raw crater in the earth. A tree has been completely split in half. The air is thick with dust and the angry whistling of bombs. From somewhere comes screaming.

  Then, as suddenly as they started, the bombs stop. I am unhurt.

  I sit up and look around. Now there are soldiers on the run. I get up and run again myself. I try to imagine myself in a man’s body so that I take bigger strides. Better yet, I’m so huge I can crush the soldiers and grind them up like bugs. Dust is still boiling around me and up ahead there’s a fresh jeep full of soldiers. I can make out two men from my village on its bed, bound hand and foot. I drop behind cover, my throat constricting, but the soldiers are hunting other prey. A woman about Mama’s age, with a child. The soldiers take aim and shoot her down and without thinking I scream.

  They whip around. Fool! Why didn’t I keep quiet? I dart out and sprint. The cracking of gunfire follows me. Tiny clouds spurt up at my feet. I pretend I’m hunting, with Thon-gool loping along at my side, tongue lolling joyfully out of his mouth. We are chasing a gazelle, swift and determined. A gazelle does not stop running until you kill it, or your dog grabs hold of its legs and brings it crashing to the ground. I will run like that gazelle but I will not be killed. I will find Mama, Nyanbuot and Thon. I will find Thiko and Chieng and Majok. I will tell them how I outran the soldiers.