I did try to work as hard as I could, for the sake of my loved ones. I did as Mary told me in the unending heat, but I excused myself to bed early that day. I slept and dreamt of my mother for the first time in months.
I was broken out of a deep sleep by the claw of desperation. Even in the dim light before sunrise, I could see Robert’s and Agnes’s cracked lips and their little eyes surrounded by red rings. All I could do was stare at them. All of this over something as simple as water, something I had never thought to be grateful for. Perhaps if I could make my way back to the coast, they could use my water for the children. Despite Mary’s angry reaction to my offer last night, I still could not help but feel a burden to this family. A portion of their water was being used by a guest. If anyone kept water from these little ones, I felt sure I would turn violent. The sink in my gut told me that it was me who kept water from them.
Despite my determination, I knew that any attempt to return myself to the coast would kill me. So many from the village had tried to reach the city, but only had to turn back around when they knew their water supply would not last. And these natives had much more experience surviving in the heat than I did. There was no possibility of surviving the trip.
There must be another option! I stood upon my cracked heels and dressed in near silence.
Stepping out of my small home, I thought the crisp air of the morning would revive my senses and give my mind clarity enough to find water. However, stepping out into the dark morning gave me no pleasure. The air was so lacking in moisture it instantly made my head ache and my chest to burn. The breathing in of air gave the sensation of inhaling hot sand again and again.
Still, the thought of Robert waking up to no water urged me forward. I wasn’t sure I could survive another one of his miserable fits.
I put one foot in front of the other and headed toward the hills behind the house. As I walked, I realized I had not seen any animals in several days. The thought occurred to me that they must be looking for water as well. The idea pushed me toward the short climb to the top. From there I could see a small cluster of trees below. Though they looked fairly dry and worn, there must be some moisture to keep them standing.
I pushed a large branch aside to enter the small forest this bunch of trees created. They were so close together they created, at least the sensation, of shade. My parched eyes opened and beheld the captain.
Somehow he was well hydrated and standing erect. His eyes were clear, his lips unchapped, his hair swept to the side. Had he always been this handsome? No mark of water deprivation tarnished him.
“How are you here?” I asked in a raspy voice. No thoughts could make sense in my mind. I could not fathom how he had come to be standing before me.
He did not smile, but came to me and put his wide calloused hands on either side of my face. I drew in a surprised breath as he brought his face just inches from mine. Slowly, he moved his thumb across the cracked and bleeding lines of my lips. He let out a long sigh and held his forehead to mine.
“You are stronger than you know,” he said. He pulled back and his piercing blue eyes willed me to believe what he said.
I blinked. He was gone.
I stood still for quite some time. It must have been a hallucination. My thirst was affecting my mind, making it weak. That much I knew. The question I could not answer was why I had dreamt of the captain. If given the choice, with a sound mind, I would have instantly chosen to see my father.
Wouldn’t I?
Unable to find water, and afraid of the illusions my own mind could conjure up, I began my return home without water.
Having milked the goat, prepared and cleaned breakfast, kneaded some bread dough to put in our makeshift oven after school, administered to Mary, and left the children with their beloved Abeo, I began my trek to the schoolroom. I could not help feeling a little excitement. I had prepared a special lesson for the day, in the form of a story.
Soon, I sat down on the children’s level and began the tale. Motsatsi was right there with me, translating where I left off. It was a story of a king who enjoyed his bath so much he refused to be evacuated from it. His subjects came in groups with unique strategies on how to coax his corpulence out of the tub, but none were successful. Their amusing anecdotes so entertained the children that I believe I heard a few unsuppressed giggles. In the end, a simple servant girl pulls the plug and lets the water drain away—proving, once again, that children are often more clever than adults.
I looked up in the children’s faces expecting to see more smiles and giggles, but instead their faces were horror-stricken. I was struck back from my happiness.
“Children, what happened?” I pleaded. Motsatsi spoke for them.
“What happened to the water?” Motsatsi asked simply.
I paused. Then stuttered, “I-I don’t know. It is the palace of a king.” I attempted a stale explanation. I thought the story of an abundance of water would be comforting.
“So the water is used to clean the servants?” Motsatsi tried to root out the answer from me.
“Well,” I tried again. Their faces were so desperately hurt at the thought of water running, barely used, down dark pipes. I could not swallow for the knot in my throat.
“Children,” I began, trying to explain, “there are a lot of places in the world that do not need water as desperately as we do.” I waited as Motsatsi translated. “In those places, water is sometimes used only once and then discarded.”
“Ah! I see!” Motsatsi acted as if he understood. “The water must go to their gardens of corn!”
All eyes instantly shifted from him to me.
He rendered me speechless. How could I tell these poor darlings that some people were so rich they did not have to grow their own food? How could I break it to them that some were so wealthy they sometimes let water pour out without even using it once? I decided it was not for me to tell.
“Yes,” I lied, “that is how it works in a rich king’s mansion. The water from the tubs go straight to his fields of corn.”
The tension in the room instantly vanished. The hurt on their faces immediately lessened and we could all breathe again.
Several children spoke at once and I looked to Motsatsi for translation.
“They say they like the story,” he told me, “especially how fat the king is. He must be a very good chief indeed. He must grow lots of food.”
I laughed. “Yes, he must indeed. And how lovely to think of having such a long glorious bath like that. I find that thought alone refreshing.”
Motsatsi laughed at what I said. I looked at him, wondering, as he translated, but as soon as the other children heard my words through his tongue, they all laughed as well.
I cocked my head at Motsatsi. “Good sir, what is it that amuses you? Should you not like a long glorious bath?”
“We would not have a bath like that,” Motsatsi explained, smiling. “That is only for white men.”
Shock filled me from the chest up. “Only for white men?” I asked incredulous. “What can you possibly mean?”
He rolled his eyes at me as if I were missing something obvious, then he explained it to me very slowly, like one would speak to an infant.
“God made black men first, and did not love us as he did the white men. He made you beautiful, and gave you clothing, guns, horses, and wagons and many other things about which we know nothing. But toward us He has no heart. He gave us nothing except the assegai spears and cattle and rain making and he did not give us hearts like yours. God has given us one little thing which you know nothing of. He has given us the knowledge of certain medicines by which we can make rain. We do not despise those things which you possess, though we are ignorant of them. We don’t understand your book, yet we don’t despise it. You ought not to despise our little knowledge, though you are ignorant of it.”
It was the most tragic speech I had ever heard. And it appeared I was the only one in the room who was not in agreement with it. They all felt this
way. It hurt me.
I struggled to compose myself. When I did, I tried to continue on with the class as if I hadn’t heard the most truly sad thing that had ever been subjected to my ears.
Finishing my lessons early, I decided we could all use some fresh air. I conducted a miniature nature class only a minute away from our school hill. I did not want to wander far. I had the children follow me in a single file line through the sparse brush to a large anthill. I showed them how the ants worked through the heat and still managed to carry such loads as were astonished in comparison to their size. I had brought a corner of Mary’s bread in my pocket, and keeping the children’s attention, I placed the square on the ground. The ants quickly worked together to lift the manna that was extremely heavy to them. We speculated on their resilience and what we could learn from them.
I stepped slightly away from them and sat on a large rock in the shade. The children stood a short distance from me, observing the ants, as I took a moment to relax and ponder. How could Motsatsi think of God in this way? I agree that my knowledge of deity was scarce. The only exposure I had to an organized religion was the one Mother had forced me to. A natural side of me wanted to turn away from any God my mother had worshiped. Her forcing me to Sunday meetings had instilled in me only one thing: contempt for polite society. But since my experiences here, I knew a God who was much more personal and loving than the one she claimed to know. This God I felt in my heart would not abandon Motsatsi. Why else would people like David, Mary, and Sechele exist, if not to bless and gift those around them? There had to be a God, and He had to love Motsatsi! Because Motsatsi was so selfless and wonderful, surely it was because there was some godliness in him. And yet, how to convince him of it?
David would be proud of me, I thought, I just had my first missionary desire. Perhaps I would tell him of it.
I was watching Motsatsi, considering the eternities, when he and I heard a strange sound. For some reason that is still unknown to me, I continued to watch Motsatsi instead of turning my face to the noise. I wanted to see his reaction. Perhaps it was my carnal instincts, determined to protect my children. I watched Motsatsi as he saw what was coming. He heard the sound and looked confused. He turned his face to better hear, and the sun lit up the side of his little features. He squinted as he tried to discern the commotion. As soon as he understood, his eyes widened, his brows lifted, and he was absolutely still.
Thus far, he and I were the only ones to hear the sound. The other children soon noticed, however, that Motsatsi was not his usual riotous self. They all turned to observe him, then mirrored his expressions as they squinted to see, then froze.
I stood and turned, squinting my eyes as well. The first thing I saw was the men of our village. They were sprinting toward us, hollering and waving their spears. They were somewhat far away, too far to understand their words, but close enough to see desperation filled their features, and several appeared to be close to tears. Hopelessness. Grief. Loss. I had seen that look many times before. But had someone already died? Was someone hurt?
I knew the answer immediately.
No, but we were about to be.
Because between me and the men of my tribe, a majestic lion loped directly toward me. The beast had several assegai protruding out from his sides. It appeared their hunt had begun early, without the consent of their chief or missionary. Despite the wounds, the beast still had strength to run at an amazing speed. I could see spittle dripping from his large teeth. He was tired, but not too tired to hurt someone before he fell. I am happy to say my instincts came alive.
“Motsatsi!” I called in a loud voice. “You will hide now! Take them all with you!”
He nodded in such an energetic way, in any other situation I would have smiled at his youthful enthusiasm. He rounded up the other children as their capable leader, and they ran away from me. Seeing them run away made me realize the true danger. And for a moment, I became desperately sad. I almost wanted to call to the children and hug them close to me as I died, protecting them physically with my body. To die knowing they were safe could be enough for me, but I also wanted their company as I went from this life to the next. I was desperate for my loved ones.
The moment passed, and suddenly, I was back to facing a king. I positioned myself firmly between him and my children. He was obviously just looking for an escape from the hunters, but we were directly in his way. I considered my options. I could run with the children, but that might only lead the lion closer to their defenseless little bodies. I doubted, in his distressed state, he would differentiate between adult and child. For the same reason, I could not run to either side of where I stood in this precise moment. I had to stand in front of the threat, in case he did want to take someone before he died. It would have to be me. I had no weapon. No assegai. So in my options of where to run or what to do, in an infinitesimal amount of time I realized my only course of acceptable action.
I smiled, in spite of the lion, and ran directly for him.
In desperation, I lunged to the ground and grabbed a handful of earth seconds before the lion reached me. I threw the dirt in its face. This halted him only half a second, where I got to observe that he was by far the largest lion I had ever seen. I knew this to be true, despite my shock. If both of us stood erect, his eyes would be level with mine. Large gashes covered his sides, and I could see inside of him, his lungs working hard to stay alive. The lion would die. The pack would leave our animals alone, but this one would live for a few moments more.
I realized I was screaming. The volumes I produced hurt my ears—the fear of death made me loud. I flapped my arms and bore my teeth in the most menacing fashion I could.
His eyes quickly recovered from my toss of dirt, and his attention locked on me.
His eyes were yellow, coordinating with his tawny fur. His snout scrunched in his growling, creating layers upon layers of skin above his nose. He had two miniature rows of small teeth in front, with two horribly long teeth at the sides. These peculiar details ran through my mind as the lion crouched and jumped at me to sink his mouth onto my shoulder, my collarbone resting on his long teeth.
A sort of odd feeling consumed me as I saw my feet reach eye level, then drop to the ground as the lion threw my body to the dry floor like a rag doll. I could feel nothing. Even the impact of my head to the ground made no noise or pain. My mind was clear, my heart strong. I felt no pain for long peaceful moments. This state of dreaminess left me free to dwell on my happy memories.
Though I had not allowed myself before, now in the face of certain death, I could allow myself to think about her. The little girl. The one I first saw swaddled in her mother’s arms inside a dank forest cabin. Her name was Anna.
As she grew, I remembered playing simple games with her as Father and her mother, Maria, looked on. Infinitesimal snatches of time were stolen away from the heartless world as we sat content in that small cottage. It was there I came to realize, I didn’t need any material thing. I looked around us at only the bare needs of life and found myself happy! With only the bare necessities I was the happiest I had ever been. Mother had been wrong. Joy was not where she found it. When I sat very still, I could find gladness in a moment, without anything in my hands.
It was the little girl’s name I took as my own as I started out on this adventure. I wanted her to live so badly, I felt in this way she could live again in some small way. Anna was exactly the type of strong, yet sweet, being I wanted to become. I was Catherine no longer. Catherine was my mother’s daughter. So I took on the name of the lost. The name of a starved child: Anna. My Anna.
The lion released me, my mangled shoulder dropping to the ground in a sickening thud. The numbness continued to fill my body and leave me in my happy, dreary state. I turned my head in an effort to check on the children. I could see no sign of them. They were so good at hiding, and for this I was supremely glad. I felt they would be safe. I had saved them. They could grow strong and tall. I wished for a long, cool bath for each
and every one of them. The lion placed his paw on my chest in an authoritative way, his claws digging through my dress and into my skin.
I knew he was standing over me. I knew soon he would bite me again. The tribesmen were getting closer, but not close enough.
The lion lifted his giant paw and set it down on me again, only to rake it down my front. He stopped at my abdomen, then sank his teeth into my shoulder again and pulled with all the strength he had left. He was trying to take a bite out of me. I felt several pieces inside me snap and tear. Yet still, I continued to feel no pain, the shock to my body and my adrenaline keeping me, for now, safe from those feelings. Now, I was able to act more as a spectator to the hunt than an actual participant.
Yet in some recessed corner of my mind, I knew the pain would come eventually, and panic began to set in. I started to hyperventilate, looking at this giant animal directly on top of me. I began to claw at his fur.
Through the haze of the heat, I saw a figure standing stationary, the only being holding still in this sudden world of movement and chaos. He was tall, strong, capable. While the world crashed with uncertainty around him, he stood still and immovable.
I stopped thrashing about. I couldn’t make out his features, I couldn’t discern by logic who the man was, but in my heart I knew for certain.
Father.
I stared at his figure as the tribesmen rushed toward me still. I hoped they would pass me by and search for the children to make sure they were safe. I hoped they would allow the lion to consume me, if it would save the children. As they rushed, I would not take my eyes off of the man who stood still.
I heard a shot and felt the lion jerk and shift.
All of my sensory feelings came back to me like a flash of lightning. Instantly I could feel searing pain through the entire left side of my body. Jolts of panic thrashed through me as I strained under the paw. I felt bones cracking under the strain.
My eyes were still set on Father, willing him to take me away from all of this, begging him in my mind to take me away to heaven. Was that not why he was here?
In Spite of Lions Page 20
