Thirty Girls

by Minot, Susan

  The rebels had been taught by Kony to be against anyone being special, except for Kony himself. Lagira was there, talking with some other officers.

  Sometimes they gave us sorghum in a bowl to share between us, but today they said, You do not eat today.

  A rebel wearing an oversized white tank top and a blue velour bowler hat drew a big heart beside the map of Uganda. Inside, he traced a grid with squares, as if for a game.

  They told us to stand in each square and remove our blouses. We did as we were told. This was life now. No prayers at breakfast, no weeding in the sisters’ garden, no being at our desks staring out the windows while swallows flew into the classroom.

  Lagira and the rebels drew white hearts on our chests with a paste made of egg and powder, and drew another heart on our backs. With shea oil they made crosses over our mouths and our foreheads.

  Lagira poured water one at a time on our heads. This will protect you, he said.

  I thought, Protect us? We are already abducted. What more can we fear? He told us he was doing as the Bible instructed him. If some girls believed this, I did not. I saw Agnes watching, uncertain.

  The rebels told us many things. They said they were trying to overthrow the government of Museveni, but we never once saw them make an attack on the army. If there was a battle it was because the army had come. The rebels ran if the army appeared. The rebels only attacked villages and people unable to fight back, such as old people and children. If a person was strong, they would gang up and kill him, but they were not fighting Museveni’s government.

  We stood in that yard the whole day. Then for two days after, we were made to go without a blouse. Three, they said, for the Holy Trinity. After the three days we were permitted to cover ourselves. I was given another shirt. This one had buttons, but it was not my own.

  At this camp were many officers. Their shirts had purple and yellow braid in their shoulder flaps. A fire was going through the day and the officers sat around it. The girls of Aboke were brought for them to see. They stood across from us or sat on stumps and looked.

  Then they started to pick out girls. An officer wearing a red baseball hat pointed to us, and a guard with his gun on his back came over to Lily, one of the prettiest girls, and took her arm and made her stand. He led her to the man in the baseball hat who led her away from the circle. A man with gray and white hair puffed around his head pointed to Louise. When she was pulled up she tried to take her arm back, but not too hard. She stood straight when the rebel pushed her. The man with the puffed hair shook his finger at her, smiling, and said to come with him. Then Janet was told to stand. She started crying. An old man came forward, limping, and took her. We were taken one at a time.

  An officer with round cheeks pointed to me. He was old, in his thirties. You, he said. Stand up.

  Now I was the one we watched. I got to my feet.

  What is your name?

  I told him Esther.

  You come with me.

  He turned, waving for me to follow, but did not move. Agnes’s face said, What will you do? I wanted to show that even if I went I did not have to be frightened. Her face said, Esther, you better go.

  The round-faced officer looked back and shouted to me. He waited with arms crossed. His eyes were hidden by the reflection of his glasses but his mouth showed that he was frowning. The guard nearby butted my shoulder. I moved a little. The other officers laughed and spoke to him in Lor. I did not know Lor so well at that time. I only knew Acholi. I felt their faces watching when the round-cheeked man turned, as if to say, Your fate is up to you. So I went, watching my feet moving over the light and dark earth. He stopped again and waited and made me to walk in front of him. Soon we were out of sight of other eyes. We came to a hut.

  After that the days were the same and I lost my sense of time.

  It is strange to be back. When I was with the rebels I stayed calm inside while there was much suffering around me. Now where it is safe here I am full of anger. Maybe I will nearly explode. I could even pick up a gun and kill someone, I think. I would not do it, but I still do not so much care if I am good anymore or not. In these times it feels good to hate.

  When we were out of sight of the others, the man with the fat cheeks pointed at a hut among the trees. Go here, he said, his voice deep at the back of his throat. He had me pass before him. I entered. Two cots were there, one with a purple and green kanga covering, the other with no cover. Sapling trees in mud striped the wall.

  The man entered after me. He closed the door but it would not shut so he kept tugging it till it was going to stay closed. There, he said. His chest looked puffed out, like someone about to fight. His shirt had a collar with gold embroidered patches on it in the shape of wheat. I noticed inside the hut his chest sank down. The voice also changed, trying to be gentle. His face was shiny. Come here and sit. He sat on the green and purple cot. I sat, but not close.

  You are not the prettiest one, he said.

  This I did not need to be told.

  But Lotti chose you.

  He stood and undid his pants and pulled them down. One foot got caught and he hopped around almost falling over. He sat back on the flat bed with his round white underpants showing in the gloom. Come, he said and grasped my arm. He pulled me over and I vacated my body.

  My body is not weak and has always taken me about well. My arms carry water buckets, my fingers pull stems off fruit. I like to eat and feel satisfied. I like to hold animals to my chest and feel their fur and nerves. My legs run me from place to place and my heart hits inside me when my feet hit the red earth running. But this body only carries me, it is not me. When that body is being hurt, I will go from it. My brother liked to whip us with a switch when we played. He was not so mean, just being a boy, but it would hurt, and I could not always fight him off. I learned to concentrate so it would not hurt so much. I made my body not belong to me.

  So now I watched from a hollow place apart when this man lifted my shirt off my head and pushed me onto the mattress. His hands would touch me there and there. I did not think of where he was touching. I thought of other things. Even so, his body was heavy. Maybe it was hard for me to breathe, but I had risen up close to the corner of the thatched roof where it slanted, and was turned away from what was happening below. I did not see the eyes of this man close to me and the pressure behind them as he looked downward making them swollen. I did not hear the mattress thumping against the cot or hear him tell me to put my finger in a certain place but kept myself tucked close to the straw. It occurred to me the girl under him was not pushing him off or laughing at how stupid he was but was only doing what she was told. I did not like this, so I let it go. It does no good to keep with thoughts that make you feel bad. I did not smell his breath or the smell which came off his body or from his arms.

  I did not watch, apart in the air. I did not think how I would not be suitable to marry now. I thought that later. I thought other things later, but now I stayed facing a small window with leaves and white spaces beyond. The window was edged with dry mud, not square or round, but in between. I did worry it might hurt. I closed my eyes.

  I thought of Philip, the boy I love. This helped and did not help. What would he have done if he saw this man on top of my body? Philip was strong enough to pull this man off, this loud-breathing body. For one second I forgot and saw the man’s glasses pressing my cheek, making a mark. I closed my eyes again to wait till it was over. It would be over. The breathing went on, what he did to me went on. I cannot think how long. Finally he made a strange cough in his throat and it was quiet. He lay there. The air kept shaking, though it was still. I was another person again, another new person.

  He cleared his throat and moved off me and I lay there and after a while floated back down into myself. I could feel then where I hurt. My face hurt and between my legs. Some of the pain was sharp, some was dull. I kept my eyes closed.

  Look at me, he said.

  I didn’t speak.

  Why don�
��t you look at me? he said. Don’t you like my face?

  For a moment I did not want to save myself. I opened my eyes, not looking at him. No, I said.

  He bent his elbow as if he would hit me, then dropped it. He laughed. No, it’s not a pretty face, he said. I don’t like my face either.

  His face came down near me, closer. You have a resemblance to my wife, he said.

  That made me look at him, but only for a second.

  She was called Flora, he said.

  I looked again. She’s dead. But in you I am seeing her again.

  I lay on my side while he dressed. I am Greg Lotti, he said. You will be mine now.

  So I was wife to that Greg Lotti. When we were alone he might call me Flora. I did not mind answering to it. It was like having another person there and being another person. At night his heavy body came onto me. I did not stay the night always with him and then could sleep with the girls in a smooth ditch or on leaves where I might find Agnes or Louise or Janet. Agnes said maybe Flora’s tipu would come to me. Maybe she would be mad. Maybe she would help me. I don’t believe so much in tipus helping or not.

  Greg Lotti was not as cruel as others. Agnes, however, she got a bad one. I am lucky I did not get that one of Agnes’s. Greg Lotti only beat me one time. Two boys had escaped, and the rebels looked for others to blame. They said the boy was carrying water with me and told Greg Lotti, You must punish this one. They watched so he would hit me with a stick. He did not hit my face, just the back of my head. When I fell he hit more on my shoulders. When you are beaten the world disappears and you become only pain.

  Afterward he told me he was sorry to do it. I will kiss your tears, he said. He says he loves me.

  This man Lotti, he was not the worst man. Even so I do not like to think of him. He carried his body with extra flesh sloshing around.

  In my first week back I have another visitor at Kiryandongo. Louise’s mother comes to look in my eyes.

  While we were gone, Grace Dollo became famous. The parents of the girls of St. Mary’s had formed a group called We Are Concerned and Grace advertised their cause to the world. She traveled to the United States, to New York City and another time to Washington, D.C. She met with famous and rich people who listened to her story. She shook hands with Hillary Clinton. She spoke at banquets and collected money which the group used for writing letters and making themselves known. We had been told of this in the bush, but you can never be certain if what you heard in the bush is true or not. We were also told that our parents did not want us anymore. We were told Sister Giulia had returned to Italy and forgotten us. I wait to believe something till I discover it myself.

  Grace Dollo sat with me near the hut of Nurse Nancy. She stroked my hand with her cool one, sitting with one hip on the ground beside me. Her loose curls blew around her cheeks.

  We are so glad you’ve come back, Esther. Her voice caught on the words and we waited till it was smooth again. If your mother could have seen you she would have been very happy. She told me my mother had gone to their meetings till she got sick.

  I feel she is still here, I said. I meant that I pictured her at home, but it did not come out that way.

  She is here, Grace said.

  We sat in silence. Then she said, You know who I want to hear about. She was looking at my face as if it were a map, trying to locate where X marked the treasure on it.

  Louise. I nodded. I have even seen her the day of my escape.

  Grace looked away, picturing this. Yes, I have heard it.

  How could she know it? News here travels on air. I told her I had asked Louise to come with me, but she did not believe we could make it.

  Grace nodded. How is her health? She looked deeper into the map of my face.

  Not bad. She is thinner. They do not feed us well.

  We spoke of this for a while, then Grace said, I have heard Louise is going to have a child.

  Yes. I could not know if she knew of the first child or only of this other on the way.

  It will come when?

  In many months.

  She frowned, watching her lap. I was relieved she was not crying, like some parents. Esther, the other child of Louise’s. It is a boy?

  He is George.

  She flinched when I said this. I would not tell her more than what she asked.

  George stays with her?

  No. The children are kept near the father.

  He is the same father of this child?

  Perhaps, I said. His name is Ongaria. Before that Louise was wife to one called Atubo, but Atubo had died, so why tell her this?

  Sometimes when I am talking I feel a blank wall come down in my head. With the rebels we were not permitted to talk, so now speaking I feel a robot person speaking in my place.

  Tell me about the other girls, Grace said. The other children. Before she left she said, Thank you, Esther. The closest thing to seeing her is seeing you.

  IV

  To the North

  8 / On Location

  THEY STOPPED AT Karuma Falls where the White Nile separates the north from the south. A flat bridge spanned the river with a low concrete wall striped black and white and a steel railing burst into a tangle halfway across. They all stood in the sunlight, looking down at the rushing white water where Idi Amin had had people thrown in to be eaten by crocodiles.

  Pierre nudged Jane. In the shade of a nearby rock two soldiers sat unmoving in successful camouflage uniforms. Then out of nowhere an army vehicle appeared, tires stirring up dust, and two soldiers got out.

  You must move from here, one soldier said, shooing them off with an arm. The other soldier held a gun at his chest, expressionless.

  Don immediately pulled Lana toward the car, having respect for authority. Pierre and Jane stepped back from the railing, hesitating. Harry, however, did not move, and continued to gaze at the frothy water, hands deep in his pockets, pretending he didn’t hear. Having kayaked, he was probably assessing the white water.

  The soldier with the gun frowned at Pierre. No pictures, he said. Pierre held his hands away from the camera hanging from around his neck, as if he’d never had any intention of using it.

  Away from there, the soldier called to Harry, who turned with a blank look.

  For God’s sakes, Don called. Come on.

  Everyone, including the soldiers, regarded Don with surprise.

  Harry turned slowly and sauntered back to the truck. Jane watched the way he walked. Don’t like being told what to do, he said, starting the truck.

  Don said, When a guy has a gun—

  Haya. Twende, Lana said, shutting him up. Pierre rested his camera on the window and started clicking pictures as they drove away.

  They crossed the bridge into the north.

  Immediately the road deteriorated. The land got hilly. The bush seemed to lose its green density and become pale. An occasional acacia tree appeared, umbrellalike, out of the ruffled trees.

  Slowly was not how Harry was driving. The truck slammed deep in the potholes, the passengers flew up and landed. Don asked him to cool it and Harry mildly responded that they’d make shit-time if he did. Techno music pulsed from the dusty dashboard.

  The side of the road crumbled like pie crust, and on either side on the smooth red paths people traveled, women with huge bushels of sticks on their heads and babies on their backs. Only men, it seemed, rode bicycles, sometimes with a passenger side saddle on the bar in front of the seat or balancing a mattress across the handlebars. Faces turned in slow motion to watch the truck go by. Goats pulled at leashes or ran free. Small children held the hands of even smaller ones. A screen of haze infused the air with a silver light. No other cars appeared.

  Can you turn this the fuck down? Don said in the front seat. My eardrums are being destroyed. He reached for the dial and Harry stopped him, grinning.

  Don’t you want the driver to be happy? he said.

  I’ll drive, Don said, if we can listen to something decent.

  The
light is strange, Pierre said, head tipped at the window. No shadows.

  It’s the smoke, Jane said. Puffs rose out of the trees like dialogue bubbles from villages hidden from sight.

  They’re burning down the forest so they can cook their food, Harry said.

  Please, Don said, and reached for the dial.

  But this is the good part. Harry shifted gears climbing a hill. He turned up the volume.

  It’s all exactly the same, Don shouted, covering his eyes.

  Poor Don. Lana ruffled his hair. Missing so much, she said. He looked at her; they held a gaze.

  Jane watched out the window. A woman in a fancy green dress with bare feet looked to be in a sort of trance, walking with empty hands. For a moment Jane felt the aura of her world then they were gone, leaving her behind.

  They drove on; the streams of people thinned. Lana fell asleep, unfazed by bumps or noise. Her head was flung back, chin raised, against Pierre’s shoulder. Her dark hair swirled around her face like an anemone. Don kept looking back at her, uncertain. The music changed, becoming slow and melodic. Jane recognized the music, but couldn’t have named whether it was Beethoven or Mozart.

  Don appeared relieved, then found something else to worry about. Should we still be here on this road? he said.

  The paths were empty of people.

  We’re where we should be, Harry said.

  Jane looked at the back of his head in front of her, driving. He had on his hat with the zebra band, his dark hair blowing around at the brim. She could see his hand on the steering wheel and past it the road in front, red-rimmed, making a triangle up the hill ahead.

  His head turned to the side, and she saw his profile from behind, his dark sunglasses hiding his eyes and his flat cheek below and the swell of his mouth and something leapt up inside, startling her.

  She stared. The humid wind blew, the red path blurred by. A shocked feeling moved liquidly through her arms. Harry, she thought, Harry. Silver leaves flickered in the bush, the world out there seemed to go on forever.