What is the What

by Dave Eggers

  —I was concerned about what your mother would think of me. Now Agar and Agum were interested.

  —What do you mean?

  —I’m from the Dinka Malual Giernyang. I don’t speak your dialect. My customs are different. I wasn’t sure if your mother would accept me.

  —Oh! Agar said.

  —For a while, Agum said,—we thought you were brain-damaged. Agar and Agum and even Yar shared a giggle that offered ample evidence that the two of them had discussed me and my mental state at great length.

  —Don’t worry about being Dinka-Malual, Agum said.—She won’t care where you’re from. She’ll like you.

  Then Agar whispered something urgently into Agum’s ear. Agar corrected herself.—But just to be safe, maybe we won’t tell her you’re Dinka-Malual.

  There was another moment of whispering.

  —And we’ll tell her you’re from Block 2, not from the unaccompanied minors’ group.

  I stood quiet for a second.

  —Is that okay? Agar asked.

  I could not have cared less. I only cared that my gambit was working. I had played the victim a bit, pretending that as a Dinka-Malual, I felt inferior, unworthy of their company. And it had worked. They were able to feel generous in accepting me, and I appeared all the more honorable for having refused in the first place. I congratulated my brain for its success under pressure. Still, I could not seem overanxious. I had to remain cautious, aware of the risks involved.

  —That’s best, I said, nodding gravely.—What about your uncle?

  —He works late, they said.—He won’t be home until dinner. At that moment, the two older girls seemed suddenly to take notice anew of the youngest, Yar, and they looked upon her like a thorn stuck to their collective heel.

  —You won’t say anything, Yar.

  The little girl, her eyes narrowed, gave them a defiant stare.

  —Nothing, Yar. Or else you won’t sleep in peace again. We’ll move your bed into the river while you’re dreaming. You’ll wake up surrounded by crocodiles.

  Yar’s round little face was still defiant, though now fringed with fear. Agar stepped closer, throwing a crisp shadow over Yar’s tiny body. The smallest sister’s consent came out in a whimper.—I won’t.

  Agar turned her attention back to me.

  —We’ll meet you at the coordination center after school.

  I knew the place. It was where the kids who didn’t have to march loitered between classes and after school. At the coordination center, I would be among the kids with parents, those whose parents were in the camp—the wealthier children, the sons and daughters of teachers and soldiers and commanders.

  When classes ended, I ran home. Once there, I realized I had no reason to be home. I paused a moment in the shelter, wondering if there was anything I could do. I changed into my other, light-blue, shirt, and ran to the coordination center.

  —Why did you change? Agar said.—I like your other shirt better. I cursed myself.

  —I like this one better, Agum said.

  Already they were fighting over me! It was bliss.

  —You ready? Agum asked.

  —To eat lunch? I asked.

  —Yes, to eat lunch, she said.—You sure you’re okay?

  I nodded. I nodded vigorously, because I was indeed ready to eat. But first we had to walk through the camp, and this was—I knew it before it began and it fulfilled every expectation, every fear and dream I had concocted over three months of planning—the most extraordinary walk I have ever undertaken.

  So we walked. There were two Royal Nieces on my left, two on my right. I was between these highly regarded sisters, and we were walking to their home. Yes, the camp took notice. It is safe to say that everyone in my class died of envy and shock. With every step, as we passed through one block and then another, more boys and girls gaped at our procession, which was obviously, to them, some kind of date, something significant, far more than a casual stroll. It was a parade, a procession, a statement: The Royal Girls of Pinyudo were proud to have me with them, and this was fascinating to all. Who is that? the parade-watchers wondered. Who is that with the Royal Sisters of Pinyudo?

  It was me, Achak Deng. Successful with ladies.

  I glanced at Moses, whose eyes, William K would have been happy to know, burst from his face. I grinned and suppressed a laugh. I was loving it all, but at the same time I was a jumble, my body an assemblage of unfamiliar parts. I was forgetting how to walk. I almost tripped on a hose, and then found myself thinking too much about my feet and legs. I was lifting my legs slowly but higher than necessary, my knees almost hitting my stomach. Agum noticed.

  —What are you doing? she asked.—Are you making fun of the soldiers? I smiled shyly.

  —Achak! she said, clearly approving.—You shouldn’t do that.

  Hearing her laugh eased my legs and I walked again like a person in control of his limbs. But just as soon, my arms lost their connection to my nervous system. I was no longer moving my arms. They felt limp, heavy. I gave up.

  But I didn’t give a goddamn. I was with the Royal Nieces of Pinyudo! We passed Block 10, Block 9, Blocks 8, 7, 6, and 5, and the girls asked me questions I was hoping they would not ask.

  —Where are your parents? Agum asked. I told them I didn’t know.

  —When did you get separated from them? I told them a very brief version of my story.

  —When you will see them again? Yar asked, and for this received a punch on the shoulder from Agar.

  I was tired of this line of questioning. I told them I didn’t know when or how I would see my family again, hoping this, spoken to the ground, would encourage the nieces to seek other subject matter. It did and they did.

  The house was one of the most impressive at the camp. There was a stone wall around it, a path leading to the front door, and inside, four different rooms—a living room, a kitchen, two bedrooms. It was the biggest house I had seen since I had left home. It was not a hut like we lived in in Marial Bai and elsewhere in southern Sudan. This was a brick building, a sturdy-seeming structure, permanent.

  Standing at their door, my legs went limp and I found the wall in time to support myself. The door opened.

  —Hello girls, their aunt said. She stood over us, so beautiful, looking like all of her nieces but in woman form. She turned her attention to me.—Is this the boy you were talking about, the star student?

  —This is Achak, Agar said, walking past her aunt and into the house.

  —Hello, Achak. My husband says you are an exemplary young man.

  —Thank you, I said.

  I was invited inside, and given a chair. A chair! I had sat in a chair only one other time since arriving at Pinyudo. Soon there was food, a rich and spicy meat broth. There was fresh bread and milk. It surpassed my most fevered dreams. I was still finishing the last of my milk when Agar grabbed me by the hand and lifted me from my seat.

  —We’re going to study science, Agar said. And with that, she pulled me into the bedroom the four girls shared. The door was kicked closed, and Yar was left on the other side. She pounded it once and walked off.

  I was alone with the three older girls in their bedroom. They each had a bed; two were bunks. The walls were white, and decorated with pictures of oceans and cities. Agum and Akon sat down on the single bed, leaving me standing face to face with Agar. It took all of my power in order to keep myself from evacuating my bowels at that moment. And this was before any of the things that were about to happen happened.

  Agar took my right hand in hers and spoke. The eyes of Agum and Akon were upon us. They seemed both expectant and familiar with the script we would follow.

  —Now we’ll play hide and seek, Agar said.—First, you have to find something that I hid here.

  Agar pointed to her chest. I took in a quick breath. Even thinking of it now, I cannot believe it happened, that I was chosen for these experiments. But this happened, exactly as I say it did, and next she said the words that I still hear today,
when I close my eyes and lay my head to rest.

  —You have to look for it. With your hand.

  I glanced to the other girls for help. They nodded at me. They were all in on this! I felt as able to put my hand under her shirt as I might make fire from earwax. I stood, smiling dumbly. My nervous system had ceased functioning.

  —Here! Agar said, quickly taking my hand and putting it under her shirt.

  Can I feel, to this day, the heat of her skin? I can! Her skin was very warm, and taut as a drum, with the thinnest layer of perspiration upon it. I felt her hot skin and held my breath. Her skin surprised me. It didn’t feel different than my own, or that of the boys, but still I thought I might explode.

  —You have to look!

  I forced my hand to make cursory explorations around Agar’s torso. I didn’t know what was what.—Okay. That was a good try, she said.—I think you found it.

  —Now we have to find something on you, Agum said.

  —I think it’s in there, Agar said, pointing to my shorts.

  This was a very different step, and I could not watch. Yes, there were hands in my shorts. As they reached and prodded, I stared at the wall over Agar’s shoulder, unsure if God would strike me down at that moment or within the day.

  In seconds, all three girls had looked for the missing thing in my shorts, and, satisfied that they had found it, informed me that something was now lost under their dresses. I obliged, looking under Agar’s dress, then under Akon’s. Agum, for whatever reason, decided that nothing was hidden in her dress.

  At some point they decided that we would go swimming. The girls brought their towels to the door, one for me. I feigned delight at the idea, but was stricken as we walked. I worried about a certain something, and then found a solution, and put it out of my mind. The girls brought us to a secluded part of the river, at a bend and in the shade, and there, the girls quickly pulled their dresses over their heads and were naked. The three Royal Nieces were in their underwear and standing in the shallow water. My throat felt as dry as it had during our desert journey. This was all so uncommon. Never in Marial Bai, before the war, would such a thing happen, would a boy of my age—maybe eight, maybe nine or even ten—be invited to swim naked in the river accompanied by three girls such as these. But so much was different here, and my thoughts about my situation were deeply conflicted. Would I have suffered as I had suffered, would I have left my village and walked as I had walked, would I have watched boys die, stepped over the chalk-white bones of rebel soldiers, if I knew that this would be my reward? Would it have been worth it? Because the truth is, such a thing would not likely have happened in my village. The rules there were stricter, the eyes were everywhere. But in this camp, while we were in Ethiopia and our country was at war and we were divorced from so many customs, things like this, and the searchings in the bedroom of the Royal Girls, became possible and happened many times, the experiments varied and plentiful. My pleasure in this particular moment at the river, watching the girls play in the shallow water, was diminished, to a degree, by what happened next.

  —Take off your shorts, Achak, Agar said. I stood rigid in disbelief, in terror.

  —Achak, why are you standing there?

  —I’ll swim with them on, I stammered.

  —No you won’t. You’ll be wet all day. Take them off.

  —I’ll just watch you swim, I said.—I like it here, I said, pointing to a patch of sand, on which I promptly sat. I did my best to look thrilled with where I was and with the general state of things. I even covered my legs in sand, to further connect myself with the earth and imply that a foray into the water was unlikely.

  —Get in here, Achak! Agum demanded.

  This continued for some time. I insisted that the shorts should remain on, and the girls could not understand why. Why would I swim with my good shorts on? Their aunt looked at me curiously, too. My strategy was not working.

  I needed some chance to explain my predicament, but this was not the place. I am not like the boys you’re used to, I would say. You didn’t notice when you searched my shorts, I don’t think. My clan practiced circumcision on its males, and I knew that the Dinka from their district did not. I was sure that when the Royal Nieces of Pinyudo saw me, the anguala—a circumcised boy—they would flee the water squealing.

  Finally Agar ran out of the water and strode directly to me. She stood before me for a moment wearing a grin of sheer menace. Then she pulled my shorts down to my ankles. I did not resist. There was no time and they were too determined. And so I stood before them, my penis naked and unsheathed.

  The girls stared for a very long time. Then we all went back to normal, or pretended this was possible. The girls and I continued to play, though for the next hour, anytime they had the opportunity, they peeked between my legs, having no idea what had happened to my penis. They had never seen anything like it.

  —So this is what the Dinka-Malual look like? Agar muttered.

  Agum nodded. I heard the exchange but pretended I had not.

  We continued to play, but I knew everything had changed. Afterward, I went back to Group Twelve and the Royal Nieces of Pinyudo returned to Block 4. I assumed that I would never socialize with them again. I was asked to recount every detail to the Eleven, and decided I would not. For I knew that if I did, the story would make its way around the camp in hours, and the Royal Girls would no longer be considered Royal. They might be considered of easy virtue, and it is no exaggeration to say that out of the tens of thousands of people in that camp, there surely would be one man, perhaps more, willing to risk his life to despoil one of these girls. I told the Eleven only of having a delicious lunch with the Nieces, and of the fine decorating of their home. This was enough for the boys; even these details were sumptuous to them. That night, I lay in bed, not expecting to sleep, recounting every moment, committing all of it to memory, never expecting to speak to any of them again.

  But the next day, they asked me to lunch. I was shocked and overwhelmed and said yes without hesitation. Their invitation, and our friendship, was a victory over the petty prejudices between clans, between regions, and a defeat to the caste system of the Pinyudo refugee camp. So I returned to their house, to the meat stew, to the bedroom—even at this moment I can describe every object in that room, the location of every nick on their floor, every knot in the plywood of their bunks—so many times I returned to play hide and seek, at which, thankfully, our abilities never improved. I was very bad at looking for things, so I had to look and look! This was my life for many of the days that year in Ethiopia. It was not the worst of my years.

  CHAPTER 19

  ‘Let’s go, Valentine.’

  Julian is standing in front of me. He has returned.

  ‘MRI. Follow me.’

  I stand up and follow Julian out of the emergency room and down the hallway. The floor smells of human feces.

  ‘Homeless guy shat in here,’ Julian tells me, his walk surprisingly nimble. We reach the elevator bank and he pushes the button.

  ‘Sorry you got mugged, man,’ he says.

  We step into the elevator. It is 1:21 a.m.

  ‘Happened to me, too. A few months ago,’ he says. ‘Same kind of thing. Two kids, one of them had a gun. They followed me home from the store and got me in the stairwell. Stupid. They were about two hundred pounds, both of them put together.’

  I glance again at Julian. He’s powerfully built, not the sort of man one would expect to be targeted for a mugging. But if he were wearing his hospital uniform, perhaps they considered him a peaceful man.

  ‘What did they take?’ I ask.

  ‘Take? They took nothing, man. I’m a vet! I was back from Iraq five weeks when they tried that shit on me. The whole way home I knew they were following me. I had plenty of time to decide what to do, so I made a plan: I was gonna break one of their noses, then take that guy’s gun and shoot his friend with it. The one I didn’t kill I’d hold till the cops came. He’d spend the rest of his life scared str
aight. Hey, what’s your middle name, anyway—how do you say it?’

  ‘Achak,’ I say, skipping quickly over the first syllable. In Sudan, the ‘A’ is barely audible.

  ‘You heard of Chaka Khan?’ Julian asks.

  I tell him that I haven’t.

  ‘Forget it,’ he says. ‘Dumb reference.’

  This man makes me ashamed that I didn’t do more against my attackers. I, too, have been in a war, though I suppose I never was trained the way this man Julian was. I glance at his arms, which are carved and tattooed, at least three times the size of my own.

  The elevator opens and we arrive at the MRI unit. There is an Indian man waiting for us. He says nothing to either of us. We walk past him and into a large room with a circular tomb in the center. A flat bed extends from the hole in the center.

  ‘You ever done one of these?’ Julian asks me.

  ‘No,’ I say. ‘I’ve never seen a machine like this.’

  ‘Don’t worry. It doesn’t hurt. Just don’t think of cremation.’

  I lower myself onto the white bed. ‘Do I keep my eyes open or closed?’

  ‘Up to you, Valentine.’

  I decide to keep my eyes open. Julian leaves my side and I hear his footsteps, almost silent, as he leaves the room. I am alone as the bed glides into the chamber.

  The ring above me whirs and rotates around my skull and I think of Tonya and Powder and remember that they are free and will never be caught. By now they are selling my possessions to a pawn shop and have deposited Michael at whatever place he considers home. They believe they have taught me a lesson and they are correct.

  Above me, the smaller ring begins to turn inside the larger ring.

  I have high hopes for this test. I have heard of the MRI; its name was invoked many times, by Mary Williams and Phil and others who sought to discover why my headaches persisted. And now I will finally know what is wrong with me, I will receive the answer. At Pinyudo one day, under a striped white ceiling of clouds, Father Matong taught us about the Last Judgment. When boys such as myself made clear we were scared of being so judged, he allayed our fears. Judgment is relief, he said. Judgment is release. One walks through life unsure if he has done right or wrong, Father Matong said, but only judgment from God can provide certainty about the way one has lived. I have thought about his lesson many times since. I have been unsure about so many things, chief among them whether or not I have been a good child of God. I am inclined to think that I have done so much wrong, for otherwise I would not have been punished so many times, and He would not have seen fit to harm so many of those I love.