The Colours That Blind

by Rutendo Tavengerwei

  And without having gone far, I found myself face to face with the ground. My right cheek pressed on the tarmac and I remember wailing as the face of that raging dog came close to mine. I don’t remember it exactly, but I remember my screams as the dog’s teeth punched through the skin of my jaw, chewing at me like a piece of biltong. And my tears, I remember them too.

  One of the officers twisted my arms behind me and I winced at the click of the cuffs. And as I lay there on the ground, I thought mercy had smiled at me at the sight of Phillip exiting the restaurant with a frown on his face, trotting in our direction.

  ‘What’s happening here?’

  ‘Bas Phillip, please tell them I’m with you,’ I struggled to say, blood filling my mouth and pain thrashing on my jaw.

  ‘What’s happened? What has she done, officers?’

  One of the policemen whose knees were not in my ribs smiled as he saw Phillip, a smile that spoke of recognition and a possible friendship.

  ‘Phillip? I should have known you’d have a hand in it if trouble was around.’

  ‘George! I see they finally gave you handcuffs!’ Carefree laughter rippled from him, coated in confidence that things like this could never happen to him.

  ‘She belongs to you, Phillip?’

  ‘It depends. What did she do?’

  ‘Well, scared that poor lady there half to death threatening to bomb the place. Girlie here has no papers too, nothing. She says she’s with you. But you know, after those attacks last week, if we just let them walk around as they please, it’ll only create more problems.’

  Although I could not see very clearly, I could see that one of the officers was standing slightly away from the rest of them, trapped in a precarious uneasiness that drew my eyes to him. I watched as he tried his best to make sure that his eyes didn’t break any laws and mix with mine. At first, I thought my sight was simply offending to him, but something about his expression when he eventually looked at me urged pity within me. His eyes seemed to bear fear and beg forgiveness. As though he too was a little hare pinned into a corner, just like me.

  ‘Oh no, we certainly can’t have that happen again! What do you propose we do then, George?’

  ‘Unless you’re willing to come to the station with us so that we can get your support of her in the books, I’m afraid we’re going to have to lock her up until the real Mr Rogers comes to get her, if he wants her back.’

  ‘Oh, so old man Rogers is the real Mr Rogers, you mean?’ Phillip said, laughing.

  The other officer’s voice went quiet and he leaned in closer to Phillip as though he was afraid the others would hear.

  ‘Also … bringing in another potential terrorist will really go a long way towards that promotion they’ve been promising me. You know how it works.’

  Phillip cackled and I almost believed he would say it, that he would sell me to them.

  I heard Matthew before I saw him, hurrying down the street towards us.

  ‘Phillip? What is going on?’ he asked as soon as he reached us. ‘Why is Thandie in cuffs?’

  ‘Disturbing the peace, Matthew. Girlie here was apparently threatening to bomb that poor woman’s tea shop,’ Phillip said, waving a limp hand at the cafe. The other officers nodded in agreement.

  ‘What? That doesn’t sound –’

  ‘Can I talk to you for a minute, cousin?’ Phillip said, gently pulling Matthew aside. He placed his arm on Matthew’s shoulder, and for a while, as the officer held me there in cuffs, all I could see were the two men’s backs. After a few moments, they returned.

  ‘All right, George, we should head back to the farm before it gets late. The real Mr Rogers will come for the girl, won’t he, Matthew?’

  My eyes scoured Matthew’s, begging for him to say something. But his were a silent pool of fearful existence. The weight of blood over water had never been so clear to me. He looked down, and I almost believed that, although he chose it, it still tore him apart. You know, mzukuru, it can feel something like death, to be rejected in your own home.

  37

  Ambuya’s story

  When I was a little girl, probably only four or five, I would watch Baba water the gum trees that lined up along the bas’s driveway, creating a sort of avenue that led to the farmhouse. At least twice a week, Baba would carry a bucket back and forth from the tap at the back of the house and water the trees before returning to the fields. Each and every one of them he would shower with water until the thick muddy scent rose and danced around my nose.

  Now, behind the gum trees, a big Msasa tree drank the little trickle of water that the gum trees didn’t drink. Yet it still grew, its big long hands reaching out to shade the gum trees. And every time I watched Baba, I would wonder about that tree and why he never bothered with it.

  Then one day playing in the mud, I noticed the splinters that spread generously around its trunk and the several branches that lay on the ground. The big tree had gone, almost overnight. Only a thick stump remained. And in my horror I ran to Baba and asked him where the Msasa tree had gone.

  ‘Some trees are only for firewood, Thandiwe, my girl,’ he had said, sweat trickling from the sides of his face and a large pail in his hand.

  I cried that day, an agonised cry that left my poor father in shock, having to answer something he probably had never thought about. How could it be that some trees were allowed to grow only so that they could be burned? Who determined it?

  As I sat in the car the day I was released from the cell, I thought of those questions. I tried not to look at Teacher Edwards, because I had anger spilling out of me, the way water does from a full bottle. I know after two days in the cell, I must have been grateful that he had come to get me. I know it because it was the reasonable thing to be – grateful. But you see, mzukuru, I don’t remember it.

  ‘We’ll need to get that stitched up. It doesn’t look good at all.’

  I leaned my head on the window and watched the many gum trees outside.

  ‘Don’t worry. Nurse Edwards will clean it up for you and get you fixed up.’

  I could see him out of the corner of my eye, turning to see if I was still awake.

  ‘Then we’ll get some food in you. Definitely. And water.’

  I closed my eyes and their faces came to me. All of the faces that had watched as the dog mauled my jaw. All of them who had been in the car to the station, who had been in the investigating room, along the corridors to my cell.

  Teacher Edwards increased the volume of the car radio as the news started to play.

  This is the Rhodesia Broadcasting Corporation and the time is six o’clock … The security forces have issued a communique. Here is the text of the communique: security forces headquarters announced today that … ten terrorists and an African man running with a terrorist gang have been killed by security forces and quantities of war materials have been seized … Elsewhere, a European man who surprised a gang of terrorists in the act of destroying a tractor was fired at and sustained a foot wound. He has been evacuated to the hospital …

  My head jerked towards Teacher Edwards as the unexpected click from his tongue landed on my ears.

  ‘This is exactly the problem – they keep justifying these murders! How long shall we keep this up? Denying people their dignity and yet acting surprised when they stand up to get it back. I am so tired of this.’ He breathed out deeply and immediately switched off the radio. Seeing my shock, he lowered his voice.

  ‘I’m sorry, Thandiwe,’ he said, his eyes darting between me and the road.

  But as the shock wore off, laughter broke out of me. And as it unwound, it gradually rippled out of him as well. And although the skin on my cheeks stung and my swollen eye pulsated, I allowed it all to roll out. Long and hearty. Continuing until the laughter turned to deep sobs. I buried my face in my hands and tried to catch the tears that flowed from my eyes. Teacher Edwards reached for my shoulder and squeezed it.

  ‘I pray it’ll be all right. I pray God avenges this f
or you and makes this evil stop.’

  38

  Teacher Edwards brought the car to a halt in front of the clinic. An older nurse watched us before hurrying over.

  ‘Where’s Nurse Edwards? She’ll need to take a look at –’ Teacher Edwards said, stepping out of the truck before the nurse interrupted him.

  ‘You’ll need to leave immediately, Mr Edwards. You’ll need to follow her. Oh, it’s all so terrible, so very terrible. You must go at once!’

  ‘What’s happened? Slow down, Mary. Tell me what’s happened.’

  ‘It’s Tawana.’

  My heart stood still. In that same moment, I caught sight of the nurse’s face as the distraction of my injuries slammed her over the head.

  ‘Oh heavens, child! What’s happened to you? Have the comrades done this too?’ she asked, causing Teacher Edwards to look at me again as though the broken flesh was a new thing he was seeing.

  ‘What happened to Tawana? Please …’ I struggled to say.

  ‘It’s all so terrible. Some village boys found him left in a wheelbarrow in front of his house with a note nailed through his ear. I … I … I think it was the comrades. I don’t know, Mr Edwards.’

  ‘Where’s Nurse Edwards now?’

  ‘She left just a few minutes ago when the boys came. She took Nurse Brenda with her.’

  ‘Left for where? Tawana’s quarters?’

  ‘Yes, yes! Mr Edwards, you must follow them immediately so you can bring him with the truck. Nurse Edwards didn’t look too good either. She cannot wheel a grown man back, just her and Nurse Brenda, and I still have patients in the clinic.’

  By the time she finished speaking Teacher Edwards was already back in the car. I had instinctively rushed back in too.

  ‘Should she be going with you? Should I not take a look at that?’ the nurse said, her expression puzzled.

  Teacher Edwards looked at me, perhaps considering whether or not to instruct me to stay. I’m sure it was the look on my face that sent it all away. He revved the car madly as he reversed from where he had parked and turned quickly towards Tawana’s quarters.

  Tawana’s house was not far from the clinic, but as I flinched from the sight of his battered body I understood why the nurse had insisted Teacher Edwards go with the car. I looked down when I saw him, ashamed that my little tattered jaw and my swollen eye had moved me to such agony. There lay a man, every inch of his body painted with bruising and swelling so bad that I had to remind myself that indeed he was a man. A living one, we all hoped.

  As soon as we walked in, Nurse Edwards rushed to her husband and then stared at me in horror when she saw my face.

  ‘What have they done to her? Why won’t this war end, Patrick?’ She sobbed in his arms as though it were up to him. ‘It’s all so bad, Patrick. Really, really bad …’ she kept repeating before she pulled herself together and returned to Tawana’s side.

  ‘What happened to him?’ I think I must have whispered, because it seemed no one heard me.

  In that moment, watching Tawana as he lay there with only his chest slightly moving, what played most in my mind was how he had always hated to keep still. I remembered how he had caused Amai grief, so that she was always running after him and telling him to sit down when he was young and staying with us after his father died. But now he lay there bound by stillness, almost as though he were a corpse.

  Nurse Edwards sat at his side, stitching his arm. I watched it all, drinking in the horror of it. The piercing and looping of the needle as it went in and out of his skin, the constant and gentle dabs from another nurse whom I guessed must be Nurse Brenda, carefully tending to the other wrecked side of the man’s body. I winced, although I doubt he felt any of the stings of that needle. I imagine it was the kind of pain that the body is overwhelmed by and can’t process because it is everywhere.

  ‘What happened?’ I whispered again, louder this time.

  ‘We suspect that they sent for him last night.’ Nurse Edwards paused for a moment, pulling the needle towards her and gently securing the stitch on Tawana’s skin.

  ‘They must have told him they had a message for him to take to us at the mission. The note we found on him …’

  My eyes followed hers to Tawana’s ear, which had a dark hole punched in the middle.

  ‘… the note said the comrades needed to eat. They said disallowing the boys to take food from the storeroom was a bad idea,’ she said, handing a piece of paper to Teacher Edwards.

  ‘Patrick, what are we going to do? Surely you’re not still thinking of meeting them tomorrow? They’re going to kill you.’ She wiped her eyes with the hand that didn’t hold the needle.

  Teacher Edwards moved behind her and pressed her shoulder. ‘Nothing is going to happen, Emma. Don’t worry yourself.’

  We all looked at him, and although he tried to look firm and sure of what he had just said, he did not sound convinced.

  ‘You’re meeting the comrades?’ My voice was tiny, picturing the horror of what had happened to Tawana, picturing the pain I felt, whipped up and multiplied.

  Teacher Edwards was quiet for a while. ‘They’ve sent for me,’ he said softly, as though he was afraid anyone else might hear. ‘We’ve spent days thinking of it, wondering what they could want. I wasn’t afraid before, but now …’ He looked at Tawana, his brow twisting.

  ‘Anyway, I’m to meet with them tomorrow. I don’t know when exactly or where. All they did was leave a note for me at the clinic a few days ago.’

  ‘First it was the children, now Tawana? This war isn’t ending any time soon, and to be honest I’m not sure I want to see how it ends. I’ve seen enough!’ Nurse Brenda said, wringing bloody water from the rag she was using into a small dish. I realised I recognised her as the weary older woman I had seen briefly at the clinic the other day, and she wore the same look today. Tired, angry, bitter. ‘We have to leave this place. We can’t continue on like this.’

  ‘We can’t just leave, Brenda. How can you even suggest it?’ Nurse Edwards intervened.

  I stood in the middle of whatever windstorm was unfolding, watching them and somehow convinced that I was responsible for it all. How could I not be when my brother was there fighting with the comrades and I was carrying cauldrons at night to feed them?

  ‘Tell me though, Emma, what exactly are we still achieving here? You said it yourself – the comrades might kill Patrick if he goes to meet them. And will they not kill him – or worse, all of us – if he doesn’t?’

  Silence screamed.

  She went on. ‘I honestly think that at this point, all we’re doing is endangering lives, including our own. How can we help anyone if we’re dead? Look at Tawana lying there almost dead, and he’s one of theirs! What do you think they’ll do to us?’

  Nurse Edwards sighed, looked at her quiet husband, then back at Tawana. The needle between her fingers paused, and I could see the slight tremble of her hand as fear crept through her.

  ‘Besides, you cannot just think of yourself!’ Nurse Brenda’s voice rose a little higher as her finger pointed at Nurse Edwards’s bulging belly.

  ‘Remember when we came, Brenda? When they told us of this little village deep in Rhodesia where the Lord’s work had to be done?’ Nurse Edwards started, her voice calmer than her trembling hands, now resuming her stitching. ‘Remember the commitment we made when we left in England? We are still bound by that. We came here for the people, and I believe this with all my heart – that we have really become a part of them, and them a part of us. They still need a school. They still need a clinic and, God help us, but I think we must stay to continue providing those.’

  ‘A part of them? Have you lost your mind? We aren’t a part of them!’

  I looked down.

  ‘Open your eyes, Emma! We’re only here because they need us for medicine and books. We’re not a part of them!’

  ‘And so what if that’s the only reason? Heavens, have you already forgotten? Does the commitment we made to help every
one who needs help, regardless of who they are, not matter any more? I hate the killing too, I hate the death, Brenda, of course I do! God knows I hate it as much as you do, but we are here to heal, and we will do that as best we can even if that’s the only reason we’re here.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Emma, but we have done our part. I’ve done my part. More than what was required of us, if you ask me! If there’s still work to be done, then let someone else come and finish it!’

  ‘If this is how you feel, then Patrick can speak to headquarters in London and arrange for you to go back home, but we’re staying. Our work is not finished.’ She looked at Teacher Edwards, who stood there like I did, quiet, with his hand over his mouth and his brow slightly furrowed in thought.

  ‘With that kind of talk, you’re only inviting death, I tell you!’ she said, before wringing into a bucket nearby the bloody water from the rag she had been using to wipe Tawana.

  A quiet whistle from the wind floated in and brought a chill to her words. I thought of the day at the bas’s veranda and I looked at Teacher Edwards. If it came to it, did he believe enough to die for this? Did she?

  39

  As I stood there, I found myself immersed in confusion. There were wounds on my face that caused a boiling inside me because of how my kind were treated. But there were wounds on Tawana that slowly corroded my insides at how hate had sneaked up on men who thought they had a cause. The three missionaries fell silent, staring at Tawana.

  ‘Darling, we should move him into the car and get him to the clinic immediately. We’ve given him a sedative which has made him stable enough for us to do that now, but he needs treatment as quickly as possible. The doctor is due to come this evening, according to the schedule, and I must make sure he sees Tawana first.’

  Teacher Edwards stood there for a minute longer watching Tawana’s breathing, before stepping out of the room and heading to the truck.

  ‘We’re going to have to leave these rags to soak, otherwise they’ll stink out the whole room. Thandiwe, my dear, could you please fetch a bowl of water? I think he has a tap out at the back there,’ she said, pointing outside.