The Colours That Blind

by Rutendo Tavengerwei

  I nodded and went outside. I watched the water slowly trickle into the bucket. I thought of everything they had said in there, and everything I had heard Baba say, everything I had experienced. My head felt swollen, full of emotion. As I looked up to the tap, my heart almost lurched out of my throat at the sight of Matthew standing there in front of me.

  ‘Where did you …?’

  ‘Thandie,’ he said, moving closer to me.

  ‘Matthew, what are you doing here?’ I breathed, stepping back a little.

  ‘I’m so glad to see you, to know you’re all right! I’ve been worried sick. I tried to get my uncle to come fetch you, but he wouldn’t hear of it. Thank God for Mr Edwards who insisted on going as soon as he heard. Your parents were so worried …’

  I blinked, staring at him, hearing the words but not taking them in.

  Remembering everything from that day: the men in uniform, the dog, Phillip.

  ‘You said … you said nothing while they took me away, Matthew.’

  ‘You shouldn’t try to speak; your jaw doesn’t look good.’ It was as though he couldn’t hear what I was saying. My gaze followed his right hand as it gently took mine, and the other reached out tenderly for my jaw. His eyes drooped, as though filled with sadness, and I could see them running up and down my face, searching.

  Gently, I pulled my hand away and stepped back again. ‘Why didn’t you say something, Matthew?’ It was fainter than a whisper, but I was determined to sound strong. It was an angry strong, I thought, one that showed I was still in control. Yet all I could hear in my voice was a thin and fragile thread that sounded like it was ready to break.

  ‘What did you want me to say? What could I have said that would have changed anything? I spoke to Phillip and he –’

  ‘I don’t know!’ I shouted, then swallowed, trying to muffle the volume of my voice. ‘You could have told them that you were my bas, Matthew! That I was with you. They would have heard you.’

  As he reached out again, this time trying to embrace me, I shook my head, quickly wiped the tears from my eyes and stepped further from him. A space existed between us, and we both stood there listening to the water overflow from the bucket.

  ‘Thandie …’

  ‘You could have said anything, Matthew.’ My words bumped into each other. ‘Anything at all. Even if it wouldn’t have changed their minds, even if it wouldn’t have changed anything, they would have known that someone who looked like them, one of them, they would have known you disapproved of what they were doing. They would have known that I wasn’t – am not! – a terrorist!’

  He looked away.

  ‘You’re looking away?’ I said, wiping my eyes again and moving close to him, searching his face.

  He avoided my eyes. ‘I don’t understand, you know. I don’t understand why you’re supporting the comrades, Thandie. Did you see what they did to Tawana in there, to those children at the mission? How can you support people like that? What cause is that?’

  ‘What about the people Phillip and the rest of the security forces are killing? Look at me, at this!’

  My voice trembled as I reached for my jaw. I wiped the tears again but with my arm this time.

  Matthew moved in and held my shoulders down. I looked at him, startled, feeling the slight tremble of his hands. But it was the tears forming in his eyes that assured me he would not hurt me. ‘You must know how much I hate what they did to you.’

  ‘But you stood there and watched. You! You stood there. And watched, Matthew! You just … stood there!’

  ‘I tried to help, Thandiwe. I tried.’ He paused and sighed, then his voice quietened down. ‘But those men were obeying the law! Doing their jobs and trying to make sure everyone was safe! You have to understand how –’

  ‘Safe against who? Against me, Matthew? You think I had a bomb there with me? You believe it?’

  ‘Of course not.’ He scratched his beard. ‘But, Thandiwe –’

  I raised my hand to stop him from speaking.

  ‘You should have never come here to our country, all of you. You should have stayed there, wherever it is the wind blew you from.’

  ‘That is not fair! You know very well that this is home for me as much as it is for you. I was born here!’

  ‘If that’s true, why am I the only one who has a swollen eye right now? From walking without permission in a part of this home you say is ours. There are two countries in Rhodesia. One where you walk free, and one where I dare not even imagine that I’m afforded the same right. That, Matthew, is our home.’

  His eyes narrowed and for a minute I thought he might cry.

  ‘You know, Matthew,’ I breathed, ‘you can defend them all you like, but hate, no matter what dress you put it in, will always stubbornly wiggle its tail and remain hate!’

  We stared at each other, allowing pride to cross its legs and scoff at us.

  ‘I guess the question now is, what does it make you then – when you watch and do nothing while they treat our dignity like something that is theirs to take?’

  I knew I’d hurt him. But I watched, letting the words crash on his head. We were already marked for different sides, and we had chosen them long ago. After all, blood was thicker than water, and in a war, people did choose sides.

  ‘Hey, you two, we’ve got Tawana in the truck. Thandiwe, we’ll need to get your jaw looked at immediately, so you should come with us. Matthew, you don’t mind staying behind and locking up, do you?’

  I’m sure we both heard Teacher Edwards, but all we did was stand there, drowning in our choices.

  40

  Tumi

  Ambuya has just told me what Mkoma told her on the phone. She didn’t want to, but I think after last time she decided she’d rather not have me drawing my own conclusions. Now everyone is looking at me.

  They’re all watching to find out what I’ll do. I feel as though I’m watching me too. I should have known that the day wouldn’t end as well as it started. It had been the first time in days that I’d slept till morning. I hadn’t let fear whisper in my ear the whole night. I had even laughed with Jabu about running earlier this morning. And now …

  Jabu.

  ‘What about Jabu?’ I ask quietly, staring at Ambuya as though it’s up to her. ‘Is he safe?’

  I try to unsee the worry that flashes on Ranga’s face.

  ‘Nothing is going to happen to anyone, mzukuru, least of all Jabu. Don’t worry.’

  Ambuya says that like she knows it for sure. I nod, perhaps only to console her that I am not worrying too much. But inside I’m freaking out.

  Mkoma is coming, so everything will be all right.

  ‘When will Mkoma get here?’

  Ambuya looks at me and sighs. Her eyes are soft and the same worry lines that I’m used to seeing on Mkoma’s forehead are there on hers, though hers are mixed with age.

  ‘Your brother said he’d just got off the phone with the prison. Something was wrong with the engine of the plane that he was flying, so they’ve had to make a stop in Ethiopia to get it serviced. He might only get here tomorrow night or the day after.’

  I nod.

  ‘Don’t worry, mzukuru. Nothing will happen.’ She’s said it too many times and it doesn’t sound true any more. ‘Nothing will happen. We’ll all be fine.’ She is speaking very softly the way you do when a child has just fallen asleep.

  Ranga is quiet, just observing. Noku is lying on the sofa, dozing in peaceful oblivion. I chew the inside of my cheek and think.

  How the hell did this happen?

  ‘Did the prison tell Mkoma where Bamkuru went after they released him?’

  Ambuya shakes her head, then shifts Noku on the sofa so her head won’t slide off the armrest. She looks at me again.

  ‘I won’t lie to you, mzukuru. I think we should be prepared in case he comes here. I’ve sent a message to one of the policemen at the station. He’s the son of a friend of mine. But I’ll need to go there in the morning to make a formal re
port. Tonight, perhaps Ranga should sleep in your room, so that you’re not alone. I’ll take Noku with me.’

  She pauses and attempts a smile. ‘But don’t worry, mzukuru, nothing will happen.’

  41

  It’s dawn now, and my eyes are heavy again because I have been tossing and turning the whole night. Waiting. Trying not to wait. I dread that he’ll appear out of nowhere and that this time he won’t leave till the job is done. I roll over and glance at my phone. Three days till the try-outs.

  Ranga mutters something in his sleep. It’s odd to see him sleeping there, but still somersaulting the same way Noku usually does. I wonder if there’s something about that bed that makes people feel as though they ought to be jumping through hoops in their sleep.

  I’m envious that he is snoring away like a kettle boiling. He’s meant to be here in case something happens, but I don’t even know if he’d wake up. I get up from my bed and head to the window. The fog is floating above the trees today, as though someone is hazing them with a smoke machine. The window is painted with dew and there is sadness in the clouds as though they are about to cry.

  I think of Jabu, something I didn’t imagine I would say. I pray he isn’t waiting for me out there, thinking I’ll join him for the morning run. With Bamkuru out of his cell, I’m not safe outside. Jabu isn’t safe either, but he doesn’t know it. Another worry waltzes in.

  If anything happens to him, it would be because of me, wouldn’t it?

  ‘Mfana, you all right?’ Ranga asks, stretching and sitting up in his bed. I nod, but we both know I’m not. He rubs his eyes and looks at me for a while, yawning. I look back outside, watching the fog cascade through the trees. Little droplets come from the sky and tap at the window.

  ‘You don’t look like you’ve slept at all.’

  I watch the drizzle in silence, hoping Jabu emerges so I can warn him. But I’m too chicken to go out and look for him. I bite my bottom lip, thinking, then turn back to Ranga.

  ‘Do you think we ought to warn Jabu?’

  ‘Don’t stress yourself, man. Nothing is going to happen.’

  I look back outside as the memories wash in like a wave. It’s easy for Ranga to say that. Because he wasn’t there when it happened. He didn’t breathe that choking smell of chloroform. He didn’t hear Maiguru’s crying and begging. He didn’t try to wriggle out of those men’s grip and free himself. He didn’t feel the screams, loud and disturbing, all the way down from within my belly. He wasn’t there, so he can’t know!

  ‘Nothing is going to happen,’ I repeat after him, rolling the words over in my mouth with my tongue and tasting them to see if I can find any truth there. Half praying that they can at least try to sound true.

  42

  Then it’s morning and the rain is still pouring and we’re sitting in the kitchen hut sharing folk tales, waiting for Ambuya to finish roasting the peanuts on the fire.

  ‘They taste better when they roast on the flame,’ she tells us. And when it comes to politics of the belly, I must give it to her: the old woman knows her trade.

  ‘Take some, but be careful not to burn,’ she says, looking at me and Jabu who is now here, sitting beside me, safe and laughing. Ranga reaches out to the pan first, scooping the hot nuts. Noku gets up from the other side, where she is petting the cat. By the way it is lying down on the mat and letting her stroke it, it seems to have surrendered.

  Ambuya stretches forward from where she is sitting, trying to peer outside where the skies are now darkening. The drizzle is still falling, but a little lighter now.

  ‘Maybe you boys should walk Jabu home – it’s getting dark and I don’t want his parents to worry.’

  Jabu reaches for his umbrella and stands up.

  ‘Ahh, Ambuya, I can go by myself. It’s raining outside.’

  ‘We can walk with you,’ I say, getting up before anyone decides it’s a bad idea. Ranga nods, shoving the handful of nuts into his mouth.

  ‘Can I go too, Ambuya?’ Noku asks, tucking the poor miaowing cat under her arm.

  ‘No, mzukuru, you’ll stay with me, helping me roast these peanuts, no?’

  Noku nods and goes over to Ambuya, while the boys and I head out, all crowded under one umbrella. The thunder roars and we all walk a little faster. The sky is closing up, darkening even more. Just as we reach the gate of Ambuya’s homestead, Ranga turns to me.

  ‘It’s getting late, Tumi. I don’t think it’s safe for you both to be outside so why don’t you head back home and I’ll take Jabu home.’

  I think on it for a while. The truth is I’m scared to be outside this late with Bamkuru being out and all, but I’m also worried about Jabu. ‘Nah, I’ll come with you guys.’

  ‘Mfana, don’t you think it’s wiser that you go back? Just think about it for a second. If your uncle comes through, your grandmother and niece will be all alone at home, exposed,’ Jabu says.

  We all know it’s a bunch of nonsense, but I nod and head back, walking as fast as I can and turning every chance I get, even though I’m a safe distance from the kitchen hut, just to make sure I’m not being followed.

  Everything is going to be all right, I remind myself. Tomorrow Mkoma will get here, and we’ll head to the tryouts in Bulawayo. I’ll win the race, get into the team and I’ll have my life back. And everything will be all right.

  43

  Ambuya’s story

  I can see in your eyes that you are still afraid, mzukuru, still rattled by what happened earlier. I know how it feels to have fear tail you like a dog, barking whenever you forget it.

  I had that feeling the week I came back home from the station. The war kept pushing through the trees and into our homes. Reports kept crawling through: more children without fathers, more girls raped, my brother Farai still not back home.

  The swelling around my eye had gone down. Only a dark ring was left there as testimony of what had happened. I gently ran my finger along my jaw, feeling the twine that had been used to stitch it at the mission clinic. The wound was healing, but the skin along my jaw was still drying from the tear. I caught Chido, one of the older children I had taken with me to the river to do some laundry, watching me, and I quickly looked away. I wondered what Matthew would think when he saw me. I wondered if he would want to see me, if I let my hair out and allowed the wind to sweep through my afro the way he likes it. As I thought it, it angered me. How could I care like that? Had I forgotten what he had done?

  Chido and I knelt on the granite that extended out of the river, me washing the heavier materials and her washing the blouses and shirts. My hands did the work, brushing against each other with the clothes between them, the foam from the soap seeping into the river. She hummed a song, something they had taught her from the service at the mission. The pile of clothes we had brought to the river continued to shrink as piece by piece we passed them through our hands and into the dish to be rinsed.

  The humming stopped abruptly and I lifted my head to see why. I immediately crawled in front of the child and knelt upright.

  ‘Comrades,’ I said, turning to see if anyone else was coming. It was only us at the river, as though the rest of the village had known that the comrades would come. I looked at Chido, whose eyes were wide with fear.

  ‘Did the white man do that to your face?’

  I thought of Matthew and suddenly I could not speak. Instead I watched them both. The older comrade, who had a razor mark on his cheek, was in camouflage, with a broken bit of shrub tucked into the top of his beret the way they did those days to hide among the trees, escaping the eye of the security forces. A bayonet hung from his shoulder and he stood with one leg slightly forward as if supporting the rest of his body. The other one was about my age. I remember the toothpick in his mouth, swirling back and forth while his eyes swung between me and the child. A leafy branch was also tucked behind the beret that he wore, and his boots were worn and muddy.

  ‘Come,’ the one with the razor mark ordered, beginning to move back i
nto the trees.

  ‘Comrades, we have done nothing wrong,’ I pleaded.

  He paused and looked at me.

  The other comrade chuckled, toothpick still swirling. ‘Are you refusing?’ he asked.

  I looked behind me at the child, shaking like field grass in November.

  ‘Comrades, I have a child with me,’ I pleaded.

  The one with the scarred cheek peered behind me.

  ‘Bullet wants to see you, nothing else. Now come,’ he said, turning and walking back into the trees. The other comrade stayed watching for a second, blinking lazily before bobbing his head towards his companion, making sure we would follow. I got up, hand clasped tightly around Chido’s little hand.

  ‘Thandie, what about the clothes?’ she whispered.

  ‘Leave them,’ I said, yanking her hand towards me and following behind the two men.

  There is a cave, mzukuru, close to the foot of the mountain just after the river. It is held hostage by monkeys now. But as we walked through the trees I could see a little smoke coming from the cave. I had never been there before, not even when I served the comrades. They always moved around, blending with the trees and hiding like chameleons. As we entered, I saw that a few of them were sitting close to the fire, roasting some meat, while the others congregated around a map, pointing and whispering.

  ‘Bullet, I have your girl,’ the comrade with the scar announced, making the rest of them turn and stare at us. I had not seen Bullet in weeks, yet when he stood and walked towards the fire and the entrance of the cave, I recognised the deadly look in his eyes. A tattoo now covered his left arm, and he had grown a little leaner since last I saw him.

  ‘And so, we meet again,’ he said, walking towards me.

  I gripped the child’s hand tighter.

  ‘What happened to your face? The white man?’

  I looked down, thinking of my reflection that I had seen in the water earlier. He reached out and slowly ran the back of his hand across my face. I feared everything. That VaGuhwa had said something to the comrades and they thought I was involved with Phillip’s activities at the farm. That they were simply displeased that I still worked there. That they’d heard something about me and Matthew. Or perhaps that they thought I had told the officers something about them when I had been taken to the investigation room.