Peter and Chad said in unison. “Bullllshhhitt!”
The three laughed. They realized it had been months since they had relaxed together and been free enough to laugh with one another.
Chad lifted his cup of tea. As the three cups clanged together, he said, “Here’s to love – crazy, insane love.”
Simon held his cup for a second toast and said “Ja, here’s to commitment.”
Peter laughed and offered a third toast. “Here’s to bullshit ... and to two would-be lovers, afraid of commitment and risk.” Peter’s smile faded, and tears welled up as he added, “And here’s to the love I lost.”
***
Chad and Sarah were wrapped in a duvet in the back garden late in the night. “Just like old times,” Chad whispered.
Sarah stiffened. She pulled her head away from his and buried herself in the duvet. “Don’t say that. I can’t help it. God, it’s been too hard. I’m sorry, Chad. I’m sorry I haven’t been there for you. I know I haven’t.”
“I wanted to be here for you, Sarah. I want to be here for you, but I don’t know how. Tell me how, Sarah. Tell me what I am supposed to do.”
“But that’s just it. There is nothing you can do. You can’t do anything for me, and I can’t do anything for you.”
“What do you mean?”
Sarah entwined her fingers with his but then suddenly pulled her hand away. “I have nothing to give you, Chad. I can’t keep trying to make it work. I can’t keep things going with us – at least not right now anyway. I cannot love you as I should, and … and keep my family together. I have to keep them sane – keep them alive.”
“That’s not true. You know it’s not.”
“It is true, and you know it. Chad, I can’t change what happened, but I have to fix what I can.”
“You don’t have to fix anything. I’m sorry, but what happened, happened. It’s awful, but you have to live your own life, Sarah. That’s what your mom would want. You know that is what she would want the most. She’d want you to – ”
Sarah covered his mouth with her hand. “She would tell me to do whatever I can to keep this family together. Look at Lisa. She’s hardly spoken since Mom ... since Mom died. She’s acting like an eight-year-old, like she’s going backwards emotionally. And then there’s Dad. He hasn’t even gone been back to work yet. He’s dying to take a drink. He’s on the edge, one drink away from destroying his and our lives. If I weren’t here, Lisa would be picking him up off the curb. I know what my mother wants. Don’t try to tell me what my dead mother wants.”
Chad put both arms around her and said nothing more.
“Have you heard any more about your permit?” Sarah asked. “It ran out ages ago.”
“We’re still waiting to hear about our appeals, but just like before, they’ll just call us to Pretoria and tell us to leave.”
“What then? What then?”
“I’m not going to think about it.”
CHAPTER 38
Massacre
Peter had just finished helping Themba clean up after breakfast when Simon called. “Turn on the radio to the BBC World Service.” Simon’s voice was unusually emotional.
“Why? What’s going on?”
“Just do it. I’ll try to come home early.”
Themba responded to Peter’s puzzled expression. “What is this?”
“I don’t know. Where’s the radio?”
The archaic, lazy contraption could hardly pick up a signal. Peter walked around the entire house trying to find decent reception. He finally perched it on the windowsill in the kitchen, but even there, the signal continued to fade in and out. Peter and Themba leaned near the small radio, trying to decipher words behind the static.
“… Indications are that there are several fatalities. We have no details of who or how many at this time … At this …”
“My God! What’s this about?” Peter asked.
The signal crackled for a few seconds, and then they heard, “Early this … Orphanage near … that is in Northwestern … near the Moz … ”
Themba grimaced and spoke in a whisper, “This is terrible, Peter. But do not think … No, we know nothing more.”
Peter took a quick breath, then shot his words out. “Damn! Mozambique. Near the Mozambique border. It can’t be—”
“… Church officials are … a group of seven to nine terrorists entered the compound at five a.m. They apparently took … we will have continued updates as reports continue to come in from the …”
Peter felt nauseous; his stomach heaved and then constricted tightly. His breathing became painful, so he consciously slowed it, taking deep breaths, trying to force enough oxygen into his stiffened lungs. He called Chad, who was meeting with George at the church, and told them what he knew. He and Themba sat by the radio waiting for the next report. Peter cursed the old relic each time its signal cruelly faded into static.
“… up to fourteen fatalities are being reported … workers … no repor … evidently …been … adults and …. It is believed … We will have updated reports at …”
They waited for an hour before the next report came. The reluctant radio finally relayed further news. “It has been confirmed that at the Bethel Mission, fifteen kilometers north of Umtali Rhodesia … or twelve missionaries were rounded up at five a.m. We know that the attack … seven armed … Again, officials have confirmed that no staff or mission workers have survived this … attackers … There are no indications that any children were harmed. We will inform the public of further details … This is the BBC World …”
Peter’s heart raced, and he could not breathe. He disappeared into the bedroom.
Chad and Simon returned home late that afternoon and joined Themba, who continued to hover over the radio. Peter ignored several invitations to join them, declaring resolutely that he needed time alone. The three worked together, trying to decipher the garbled reports. By early evening, all known details had been being reported.
Seven terrorists had forced the twelve workers of the Bethel Mission Orphanage to the edge of the compound before the sun rose. While the children slept, the women were raped and the men were savagely beaten before each was systematically executed. The massacre ended just as the sun dawned on a new day.
The three listeners sat speechless. They did not want to believe the gory details could be true. They would not believe Cindy was one of the victims. Later reports continued to confirm the earlier reports.
“No adults at the Bethel Mission have survived.”
Peter entered the kitchen as the latest report finished. He looked at his friends and knew he did not want to hear what they now knew to be the facts. Nevertheless, they had to tell him everything they knew. Peter wiped tears away as he stated he would go and see Alice, Cindy’s mother, and her brother. He insisted he would walk.
***
Alice’s red, puffy face maintained a determined, defiant aura. “This can’t be true, dear Peter. I won’t believe it is true! I will not believe this. James, turn the radio off. We have heard far too much. We don’t need to hear any more.”
Peter approached Alice. He held her as both fought to hold back tears.
She said, “It’s good you came. I thought you would come. You are very special to her – more than you know.”
“I told her not to go.” Peter sat on the couch and stared at the floor as the words flowed out. He was completely detached from the emotion churning in his gut. “It is my fault she went. I know that. She wouldn’t have gone if I hadn’t been so … there’s nothing I can say. You must hate me.”
“Peter, I will not have that. I will not feel guilty, and I will not allow you to feel guilty. I will not! Do you understand? I will not hear such talk. It is nobody’s fault.” Alice paused and filled her lungs, and then she sobbed. “No, it is everybody’s fault. It is everybody’s fault.”
James stood behind his mother and placed his hands on her shoulders. “She’s not dead, Mum. We know tha
t. She’s not gone. She would never die like that.”
Evening came. With reluctance, Alice switched on the television.
“All earlier reports have been confirmed. Twelve mission workers have been brutally murdered by terrorists in the Bethel Mission Orphanage, fifteen kilometers southeast of Umtali and eight kilometers from the Mozambique border. Seven men and five women were lined up and shot one by one—”
James turned the television off.
A forbidding, cruel silence shrouded the house. The inevitable was accepted. Tears came, and then anger was unleashed. They cursed the terrorists and the army for allowing it. They cursed the mission administrators for refusing to allow staff any weapons. They cursed themselves for letting her go. Peter silently cursed himself for destroying her life – and his own.
At midnight, Peter left as Alice and James desperately tried, yet again, to convince themselves that it just was not true and their Cindy was coming home. He knew she wasn’t, even if they could not admit it.
Peter went home wishing he was dead, demanding that it was him and not Cindy. Dazed and numb, he walked home, praying he could have had a second chance. He arrived home certain that no one else would, or could, ever love him as purely and completely, as wonderfully as Cindy had loved him. He had lost his best friend, the best thing that had ever happened to him. He wrapped himself in a thick duvet and fell asleep under the stars of southern Africa.
***
After Peter had left to go to Cindy’s house, Chad borrowed the Cortina and drove to Sarah’s home. On the front step, he waited, assuming she would come home early from college. Her best friend had been murdered – another blow to her already dangerously fragile psyche. The unsustainable grief that was already devouring her mind, body, and soul would be multiplied. He feared this would destroy the last vestige of her sanity.
She came home an hour early. Her enchanting brown eyes were bloodshot, stinging from too many tears. As they embraced, a cold, frightful hell engulfed them. She whispered in his right ear, “Tell me it’s not true, Chad. Tell me it’s an evil deception, a lie, a horrible dream we will wake up from and shake off. Tell me Mum is inside waiting for me to come home and is going to remind me to straighten my bedroom. Tell me Cindy’s home getting ready to go to work at Jackson’s. Ask me to go with you and Peter to meet her there tonight and get some free pizza. Tell me the nightmares will end.”
Chad held her as close to his heart as he could.
CHAPTER 39
Resurrection
Peter’s entire body jolted when the phone rang at six thirty a.m. He pretended to be asleep and let Simon answer.
“Peter, phone!”
Peter ignored Simon’s summons.
He called out again, “Peter!”
Peter took the receiver and mumbled, “Yeah?” He listened without saying a word, then placed the receiver down and stared into space. After a few moments, with no emotion, he said, “Simon, can you take me to Cindy’s on your way to work?”
“Pleasure. What’s going on?”
“Don’t know. They just said I have to come. It can’t be good.”
When Peter came through the door, Alice burst into tears. He noticed a strange, if not off-putting grin as she came toward him. The grin turned into a wide smile, which gave way to boisterous laughter.
Cindy’s mother seemed to be displaying signs of a nervous breakdown. Peter wondered how he should respond and what he should do.
Before he could react, James rushed over and gave him an embrace. Working to control his laughter, James said, “It’s Cindy! She called. They are flying her in from Salisbury. She’ll be here at ten.”
“What? What did you say? They’re flying the body back today?”
Alice’s response began as a whisper and ended in a declaration. “No, Peter. She’s alive. She will be here at ten. She’s okay. She’s coming home! She is alive!”
Tears of disbelief, relief, and praise flooded the room as the sunrays broke through the front window and reflected off the large mirror over the fireplace, transforming the room into a humble cathedral of joy.
Alice composed herself and said, “Come with us to the airport. We want you to come.”
Peter shook his head. “Oh no, I couldn’t. Thank you, but she doesn’t want to see me, I’m sure. Y’all go. It’s your time, your special moment. I’d … I would spoil it for her.”
Alice insisted. “Nonsense! We want you to come.”
“I really don’t think I should.”
Alice demanded, “You will be there. You are very special to her, and you are going with us.”
They immediately left for Jan Smuts Airport – all three of them.
***
Reporters scrambled to their places, brandishing cameras and microphones. News had trickled down from church headquarters, and the sensation-seeking vultures were anxious to capture the moment the lone surviving adult from the Bethel Mission Orphanage massacre was reunited with her family.
The roar of jet engines shook the bodies of those watching from behind a flimsy wire fence. Passengers disembarked the modest plane and walked carefully down the narrow, steep, unsteady metal stairs leading to the tarmac. They followed a thick yellow line leading them to their reunions with loved ones. Cindy was the last one to get off.
Peter stood and watched a mother welcome her child back from the dead. A million words and pictures could not have captured such a moment. Peter hid tears as he thanked God that impossible prayers had been honored.
Oblivious to the world’s attention, Cindy embraced her family. Peter stepped back; he knew he should not be there.
After several moments, Alice held Cindy at arm’s length and examined her from head to toe, assuring herself that this was, indeed, her child and checking that no damage had been inflicted. She then nodded toward Peter. His stomach churned.
As she walked toward him, he prepared himself for her disdain, for a demand to know what the hell he was doing there. That was what he deserved. He did not deserve to share in such a joyous reunion, a moment of complete relief and tainted joy.
The roar of another plane landing dismissed the rest of the world as Cindy approached Peter. He saw a glint in her green eyes: a slight, wonderful, healing glimmer of hope. She embraced him.
Peter whispered in her ear, “I’m so dead without you.”
Cindy looked him in the eyes, nodded. “I know.” And then she kissed him on the lips.
The church officials who had accompanied Cindy protected her from the media’s demand for questions and insistence for indulgent photographs. They whisked the family away, allowing them to escape the world’s intrusion and share this miracle in private – a miracle that would forever be overshadowed by the horror of unbelievable inhumanity and the senseless loss of individuals she loved, respected, and desired to imitate.
***
Peter stayed with them that night. Alice and James, exhausted by the rampage of emotions, enjoyed their first night’s sleep in two days. Cindy and Peter cuddled on the couch. She wanted him to hold her tight, lest the demons come to tear her apart. She whispered in his ear all the night through, “In the quiet, I hear the sounds of death. I hear the dying scream, the devil rejoicing. I hear angels weep. Don’t leave. Hold me all night, Peter. Hold me forever.”
CHAPTER 40
Horror Spoken
Each day started and ended quicker than the one before; they knew their days in Africa would soon be over. With each successive day, Chad felt Sarah slipping further away. He kept trying, kept loving, kept being there. However, each day, her ability to receive and give love seemed to fade a bit more. This one he loved so madly and utterly, this one Destiny had given to him was drifting out of his reach.
One evening, Chad and Sarah sat on the couch after her father and sister had gone to bed. With both arms around her, Chad said, “The letter from Pretoria came today.”
She said nothing.
“Three weeks. We h
ave three weeks. We booked our tickets today.”
Sarah still made no response.
He spoke again, “I can’t bear it. I can’t leave you. I don’t know what we’re going to do.”
Sarah’s lips quivered slightly, and she turned her head away.
Chad pleaded, “Come with me, Sarah. Come to America. Just for a while. You need to get away from this. You need to start moving on. Come with me! Not forever ... just a few months. Then we could come back, maybe even come back married.”
“Stop! Don’t be stupid. That’s crazy. You are crazy,” Sarah said as she examined Chad’s eyes. “Are you serious?”
“I am. Your dad’s doing okay … he is. He can take care of your sister. I think you need to get away. We need to focus on us.” Chad knew he was not only fighting for her future, but for their future together. “Maybe it is a wild idea, but coming to South Africa was wild. Your dad, your mom, wants you to get on with your life, and I’m part of that. I believe it with all my heart. I know it’s been impossible the last few months. It has been hard … terrible. I know I can’t understand what you’ve been going through, but I know you will get through this, Sarah. I want to be with you to help you. We need to look forward and build on what we had … no, what we still have. Come to America.”
“You’re crazy! You are. I could never get a visa in three weeks anyway.”
“We could go and get married tomorrow. Then they would have to let you in the States, even if you’re South African.”
“Well, then you could stay here, couldn’t you? If we got married, then you can stay here.”
“Is that a yes?”
“No! Don’t push me, Chad. I love you, but not as much as I need to and desperately want to. I don’t love you enough – not right now. I’m sorry.”
“I don’t believe you. That’s bullshit. You love me plenty enough.”
“Please. I just don’t. I can’t. You just don’t want to believe that.” Without pausing, she slid away from him and in a different demeanor altogether asked, “What will you do when you go back to the States?”
Chad winced and felt his face begin to burn. She was withdrawing again. He reigned in his emotions and in a monotone responded, “Go back to uni, back to OU. I have to finish my degree.”
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