“Yes, I orchestrated it. You can’t have people observing the movements in and out of a prison. You have to ask yourself what the purpose is.”
“Did you know about the conditions in Chikurubi prison?”
“Yes.”
“But you did nothing?”
“I am not all-powerful, Abigail. Ordinary working people have little to eat. The country is starving. I know the prisoners get too little, but a World Food Program delivery has just reached Chikurubi. The prisoners ate better today. They will in the weeks ahead.”
“Do you know who killed Krisj Patel? Tell me again.”
“No. The arrest we made was clearly a mistake. Our agents are not as skilled as I would like them to be. They are all desperately underpaid. We are still searching for the killer.”
“Have you ever personally killed anyone?”
“Yes. Twice I’ve killed criminals in self-defense.”
“The Gukurahundi killings, of which my aunt was a victim—were you involved in them?” This question was a surprise to her. It had arisen from somewhere within her, unplanned and perhaps unwanted.
“I was just a boy of twenty when they started. I had only left school the year before. I was already a police officer, but I was a victim of the Gukurahundi, not one of the perpetrators. I was beaten and left for dead by members of Five Brigade. I saw what happened in Bizana. I was there right after the massacre. The people who died were my people. After that, I decided that it was impossible to resist the government. Since then I’ve worked from the inside to stop even worse things from happening. At Plumtree, where I grew up, I was the youngest station commander in the history of our police. It was there that I was recruited by the CIO.”
“Why did you leave us at the prison? Why didn’t you stay?”
“I’ve seen it before. I couldn’t bear to see it again.”
“So you left?”
“Yes.”
“Someone had been trying to kill Tony earlier. Was that the CIO?”
“First of all, we have no real evidence that anyone was trying to kill him. His friends say that someone was, and they blame us. In any event, Abigail, have you any idea how many enemies those people have made?”
“And what about the CIO? Everywhere, in the world press, from activists, Western politicians and others, the stories are the same … and the CIO is at the center of it. How can I believe that you have no part in it? Or at least that you don’t know about these things?”
“Look at me.” He had spread his arms wide, a defenseless posture. “Do I look like a killer? What you have seen of me so far, does that look like a killer? Do I behave like a killer?”
“No, you don’t behave like a killer.” It was true. At that moment, looking at the man before her, she could not believe that he was part of murders and assassinations. But then, how do killers behave while they’re not killing? she asked herself.
“Good God, woman, you were in my arms a few evenings ago. Did I feel like a killer then?”
Abigail’s next question was for herself. Why am I here? I knew the answers before I came. I knew what he would say before he spoke. She turned, as if to leave, uncertain of her next step, knowing that she had learned nothing.
Afterward, Abigail was never sure when Chunga had first moved, or how she came to be lying in his arms on the grass of the fairway, or at which point her own passion had ignited. She felt his hands in the small of her back, pressing her against him. Breathing was difficult, and yet the racing of her breath and his merged so that all other sound was eliminated. Her hands were clutching the fabric of his jacket. She heard his voice, barely audible through the sound of their breathing. “Why did you ask me to come? Not to answer those damned questions. I don’t believe that.”
“Jonas,” she heard herself gasp his name. “Jonas, please, Jonas.”
“Please what? What are you asking of me?”
“Jonas, please.” Her voice was no more than a whimper. She hated the weakness she heard in it. “Jonas.”
Then she was lost in the whirling vortex of her passion. She was unaware that there was still enough light for them to be seen, if not from the clubhouse, certainly from a hundred paces down the fairway. She was not aware of exactly what he was doing, he seemed to be everywhere. “Jonas.” Again the whimper, the pleading, “Jonas, please.”
“What do you want from me, woman?”
“I don’t know. What do you want from me?”
“I want everything. I want your soul. I want every moment of your life. I want your body now, this moment.”
She had lost her jacket. She saw it on the grass, beyond her reach. Her brassiere had been pushed up. She lifted an arm to try to cover her breasts. They were not very big and perhaps he would not like them, seeing them as too small. God, what am I thinking? she asked herself.
The arms that she had tried to use as protection had been swept aside and she felt his lips on her nipples, first one, then the other. “Jonas, please.” Surely I can find something else to say, she thought.
Then suddenly he was holding her at arm’s length. “My God, you’re beautiful.” He was looking at the very naked breasts she had been ashamed of just a moment before. “What is it, Abigail? You know what I want of you; what do you want from me? Why did you bring me here tonight?”
“Jonas, please.” How many times had she said that since she had been in his arms? Her voice sounded as weak as it had before.
“Do you know how easy it would be for me to take you now?”
“Yes, I do.”
The passion between them stopped as if a valve had been shut, cutting off the torrent that a moment before had been consuming her. He rolled away, rose and helped her to her feet. While she covered herself, he picked up her jacket and handed it to her. He was still no more than an arm’s length from her. His chest was still rising and falling with the force of everything that had just passed between them.
“Please tell me this,” Abigail was saying. “You were married once. What happened to her?”
“No, not married. I loved a woman once, but she died long ago.”
“Have there been many women since then?”
“Yes, there have been many women; some of them very attractive women. There have been black women who I knew were paying homage to power. They would have done anything to be close to the people who give the orders in our country. And there were white women hoping for protection, feeling vulnerable, one of them trying to avoid losing a farm. And there have been overseas visitors, mostly from Western countries, looking for an exotic experience. There were even a few I took by force, out of desperation, while I was looking everywhere for you.”
But you didn’t know that I existed, she was thinking.
“I’m telling you all this because you want to know the truth. The real truth is that I have only once before felt this way about any woman. That was the one you asked about. Twenty-seven years have passed, and no one since has had this effect on me. Until I saw you for the first time in Krisj Patel’s rat hole, I had thought no woman would ever affect me that way again. I can’t bear the thought of any other man having you. At least I knew that wouldn’t happen with Patel.”
“Jonas…” God, Abigail thought, let me try to say something that makes sense.
“Then there was you, and why did you have to come to my country under these circumstances?” He was again standing against the last brightness of the evening sky and she could not see his face. “Couldn’t you have come some other way? Did it have to be as defending counsel for these unruly kids? Couldn’t you just have come as a tourist? Or for any other reason?”
Then Abigail remembered the other question she had wanted the answer to. “That explosion at party headquarters, Jonas, did you know who was responsible?”
For the first time she heard anger in his voice. “I don’t want to answer any more of your questions, Abigail. I could hardly breathe as I watched you walking the length of the fairway. And I’ve been answering your d
amned questions since you arrived here. I’ve had enough of them.”
“Please tell me if you knew.”
“Yes, I knew.”
“Then why did you do nothing?”
“I don’t know. Because I’m a fool who always hopes that people will change.”
For the first time Abigail knew that he was lying. Some of the other things he had said may also have been lies, but she knew beyond any doubt that this one was.
“I have to go,” she whispered.
“Why did you come? Why did you ask me to come?” The tone of his voice was somewhere between a demand and a plea.
“I had to know the truth.” She was backing away in the direction of the clubhouse.
“What truth did you have to know?”
“I just had to be sure about you.” She had turned to go.
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“And what have you learned?”
“I don’t know that either.”
“And what happens now that you know some of the truth?” She was backing away and he had raised his voice to reach her.
But I don’t, she thought. I don’t yet know the truth. “When you brought me to this club, everyone seemed to be bowing to you. You were charged nothing. Why were you charged nothing?” She was far enough from him that projecting her voice to him took effort.
“Did you consider that they may have put it on my account?”
“Did they?”
“No. The way I’m treated here is simply a sign of respect for a senior person. It’s the African way.”
Not in my Africa, Abigail thought. She had started to run for the car.
39
The hotel passage was in darkness. In order to save power, all the globes had been removed from their sockets. Abigail saw the familiar figure sitting at the far end. He was no more than a faint outline in an uncertain glimmer of light from somewhere outside, but she recognized him immediately. “Hello, Yudel,” she said.
“Hello, Abigail.” He waited for her to come closer before he rose. “You and I need to talk about Mr. Chunga.”
“I know, but not now, Yudel. I can’t do it now.”
“It must be now. There is no time. You know that we don’t have time.”
She opened the door of her room and switched on the light. For the first time, she could see him. He was looking at her with the sort of concerned expression she had rarely before seen on his face. Its effect was so much greater, because she could see that his concern was for her. “Do we have to do it now?”
“I believe so,” Yudel said.
“In my room?”
“No. We need to get out of the hotel.”
“In the car?”
“Yes.”
“Can’t we just stay in my room?”
He drew her close. His voice was barely above a whisper. “The rooms may be bugged.”
Oh, Jonas, she thought. “Please don’t tell me this,” she said to Yudel.
“We can’t be sure, but I think we should go.”
Yudel knew that there was always the chance that Mpofu would be outside in one of the CIO double-cabs, ready to give chase and stop them, but there was no alternative. The car bumped out of the driveway and into the street. He saw the startled face of the policeman whose job it was to protect them and thought he heard a shout of protest. In a moment they had swept past him. Yudel turned the car at the first intersection. “Where are we going?” Abigail asked.
“I don’t know. Somewhere we can be alone.”
“He’ll be on the phone to Agent Mpofu.”
“I know. We need to get off the road.”
Three corners and a few hundred meters down the road, Yudel saw what looked like the answer. The gate to a sports field stood open. He swung the car through the gate, onto a gravelled track and stopped behind a wooden hut.
They had just got out when the door of the hut opened. An old man wearing a pair of shorts much too big for him and a gray vest that had once been white, shuffled out. He was carrying an electric torch that he shone into Yudel’s face. “Good evening, sir.” Then the torch flashed onto Abigail’s features and he chuckled softly.
“Oh, Christ,” she muttered.
He shuffled across to Yudel in his old felt slippers, taking hold of a piece of Yudel’s shirt and drawing him away from Abigail. “The girl is damn good-looking,” he said. “This is worth ten dollars, easy.”
“It’s not like that,” Yudel said, passing him ten dollars American at the same time.
“Sure,” he chuckled again, digging an elbow into Yudel’s ribs. “There’s nice flat benches up the top of the first pavilion. They should be all right. Enjoy yourself, my friend.”
“It’s not…” Yudel started, but gave it up. What the hell, he thought.
The caretaker had not yet let go of Yudel’s shirt. He brought his mouth right up to Yudel’s ear. “I’m going to be right here in my hut. Stay as long as you like. The wife will never think of looking for you here.” As an afterthought, he added, “Tell your friends. Ten bucks is not much.”
Abigail glanced back at the caretaker once and he waved to her. “Yudel, you make the most interesting friends. I don’t want to know how you discovered this one. This is the first time I find myself in this sort of situation and it’s not even for the purpose he thinks it is.”
“It’s not possible to control what other people think.”
“What a wonderful piece of wisdom,” Abigail said.
Yudel led her on a climb that took her to the top row of seats in the pavilion and into its deepest shadow. Clouds parted and a night that had been almost completely dark was brightened by a half-moon. The gray-black of the playing field became green and the white lines took on a luminous quality. Abigail could see Yudel now. She knew how strongly he supported her. She also knew the look on his face that said he would wait if necessary, but that now he needed to learn everything. “Where do we begin?” she asked.
“Have you had sexual intercourse with this man?” It was said altogether dispassionately. He may have been a scientist inquiring about the behavior of a species of insect.
“No.” Yudel waited for her to expand. “No, I have not. But only because he did not push very hard. When I left him tonight, part of me was crying out to turn and go back.”
“I’m glad you didn’t.”
“Why?”
“I’ll tell you later. For now, know that it would have been a terrible mistake. What happened with you and Robert? It had nothing to do with that nonsense at the Sheraton, I trust.”
“That was just a symptom. The problem lies with a pretty blond temp.”
“I see.”
“Not pretty, Yudel. She’s beautiful and fifteen years younger than me.”
“Is it over?”
“Robert says so.”
“Then it’s over. If Robert says so, then it is over.”
“He also says it never really started. Oh Jesus, Yudel. It brought out all the worst in me. I found myself thinking, little white slut, and other things like that. I’ve never seen myself that way. I hated having those thoughts.”
“It’s all right. Robert’s not perfect and neither are you. He’s a good man, though, and you need to forgive him. Jonas Chunga is not a good man, and you need to be rid of him.”
Abigail was a proud woman who did not easily accept the advice of anyone unless she asked for it. But this was different. At times in the past she had seen the intensity of the hunter in Yudel’s eyes, and she had seen the distraction of deep thought there, too. Now she saw something else in this strange man who cared deeply for her in a way that most people would not understand. “As soon as this is over,” she said. “I will only see him until this is over.”
“If we have to see him, let me do it.”
“That may not be possible.” She was crying. Whether for her relationship with Robert, or because of what there had almost been with Chunga, or because of what Yudel was giving her, s
he could not tell. “We’ll discuss it next time, if there is a next time.”
“I think there might have to be. There are still answers that he is going to give us.” She felt his eyes on her as he spoke again. “The thing between yourself and Chunga—did it happen because of the problem with Robert?”
“Only partly, Yudel. There seem to be no barriers between us. This is prim, monogamous Abigail speaking. A moment ago you said I may have to meet him again, and immediately I was excited. Oh God, Yudel, it will be best if I never see him again, not even for a moment. He told me tonight that there were women he took by force. Why does a man use that sort of terminology?”
“You mean why didn’t he say he raped them?”
“Yes, why didn’t he say that?”
“He chose that way to tell you because he’s hiding from himself that he raped them. It suits him to pretend that forcing them is not the same as raping them.”
“Oh God, Yudel. What have I got myself into?” She paused and seemed to shake herself free of Chunga’s confession. “But this isn’t why you brought me here.”
“No, it’s not. We each need to know what the other knows about Jonas Chunga. You go first and tell me everything, no matter how small. We can take as long as we like.” He allowed himself a faint smile. “You heard the caretaker. Afterward, I’ll tell you what Freek found.”
The crying stopped and Abigail spoke slowly at first, trying to do as Yudel had said and remember everything. Gradually the flow of words took on a life of its own, much like the force that seemed to grip her when making an opening or closing address in court. The restless energy within her could not be contained in their grandstand seats, though. The clouds again closed, plunging the field into darkness, and they walked the perimeter of the field while she spoke. And she did tell him everything. Every piece of information she could remember, both desperate passages in Chunga’s arms, her thoughts at the time, what she thought that Chunga had told her and was true, and what she believed was not: all of it passed into the recesses of Yudel’s near-perfect memory. When she finished, her forehead was wet with sweat and she was breathing unevenly.
Then it was Yudel’s turn to talk. He first told her that Helena had called to say that Paul Robinson had seen a prison truck leave Chikurubi on the night before the hearing. He had not been able to see if anyone was inside. It had returned nearly fourteen hours later, meaning that, if her clients were in it, they may have been taken far away. After that he told her what Freek had passed on from his notes. When he came to the killings, Abigail stopped walking. They stood on the edge of the field and Yudel told her what he knew as gently as he could.
Those Who Love Night Page 23
