Chanda's Wars

by Allan Stratton

  “For goodness’ sake, Chanda, “Mrs. Malunga declares, “there’s no need to fear for Soly and Iris. Nelson will take them in. He’s already promised.”

  “Even if he didn’t, we would,” Auntie Lizbet insists, pounding her cane on the ground.

  “No! No!” I’m standing now. Stomping my feet. “Mama gave me that land. She gave it to me in trust. If I sell it for dowry, I’ll have nothing. Soly and Iris and I—we’ll be dependent forever.”

  “Not dependent,” Granny says. “Supported by a loving husband.”

  “I don’t need a husband. I have my neighbor lady and my best friend.”

  “Your neighbor lady has her own problems,” Auntie Lizbet snaps. “As for that slut of a friend: Word has it she’s a beggar-whore, face slashed and scarred as a country road.”

  “Esther’s no whore!” I cry. “Even if she was—better a whore than a Malunga.”

  Runako and Samson leap to their feet. “What?”

  “She’s an ingrate,” Auntie Lizbet rages. “Selfish as her mama!”

  “Selfish?” I whirl on Auntie Lizbet. “You’d sell me to a family of brutes for indoor plumbing—and I’m selfish?”

  “‘A family of brutes’?” Samson raises his fists.

  “Beat me! Prove it!” The words fly from my mouth faster than I can stop them. “Mama was afraid of your papa.”

  “She was a crazy bitch.”

  “Was she? My friend is scarred, yes—but what about the scars in your own family? Mrs. Malunga—how did you lose your teeth? Was it your husband, Tuelo, or one of your big, strong sons?”

  “Take that back!” Runako yells.

  “No! I’ve seen you drink. I’ve heard the fights. I know about the broken bones. Pako’s bruises. The way he pounds your papa’s grave with a rock.”

  “He pounds Papa’s grave?”

  “Yes! So his spirit will stay in the ground! So it won’t rise up and beat him like your papa did when he was alive!”

  Samson’s eyes blaze red. “Pako?!?” he yells to his yard. “What have you been doing? What have you been saying?”

  “You shamed Papa,” Runako roars. “You shamed our family, you little sonovabitch!” He charges across the road, Samson at his heels.

  “Pako! Pako!” Mrs. Malunga cries.

  We leap to our feet. All of us screaming, “Run, Pako! Run!”

  18

  THE BROTHERS SWOOP down like eagles on a mouse. Their wives try to stop them. It’s no use. Runako knocks his backward with an elbow. Samson sends his flying with a fist.

  Pako has only one way to run. The cemetery. He races to the shortcut. It’s strewn with debris. He knows every root and pothole. As Runako pounces, Pako hops over a stump. Runako bangs his foot, stumbles into a rut, twists his ankle, and topples to the ground. Samson trips over him, banging his head on a rock. They’re back on their feet in no time, angrier than ever.

  “We’re going to kill you, Pako! You hear me? We’re going to kill you!”

  Pako reaches the edge of the cemetery, Samson right behind. Samson flings his arm forward to grab his brother. But Pako dives. He rolls under the barbed-wire fence.

  Samson’s too big. He’s running too fast. He drops too late. The teeth of the barbed wire rip into his face. Blood pours from his cheeks and forehead. He flails around on the dried streambed, howling like a stuck pig, as Pako disappears into the grasses outside the cemetery’s main gate.

  The rest of us catch up, except for Soly and Iris, who look on nervously at the edge of the Malungas’ compound.

  “Keep away from the blood!” I say. “It’s got virus. You’ll need plastic bags for your hands.”

  Samson’s wife shoots me a dirty look. She ignores the cut under her own eye from where Samson hit her, gets him to his feet, and helps him away. Runako gets attention too. His wife takes his weight, and he hobbles off yelping about his ankle.

  There are no words to describe the looks that pass between my family and Mrs. Malunga. “We’ll deal with this,” Uncle Chisulo says. Mrs. Malunga nods without expression.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

  Nobody says a word. They don’t even look at me. They just turn their backs. I don’t exist.

  I stand alone in the twilight, at the edge of the cemetery, as my family returns to their homes, slowly, silently, heads bowed. Soly and Iris stare. I open my arms. Instead of running to me, they back away, turn, and follow Auntie Lizbet. They know what’s happened without being told. I’ve shamed the family. I’ve shamed them.

  It’s the middle of the night. I’m by the firepit. The coals are dead, the lamps blown out. Everybody went to bed hours ago, except for me and Nelson. Nelson, because he’s off looking for Pako. Me, because, well, I’m afraid to go inside. Nobody’s told me I can’t. But I can’t.

  Dear god, let Pako be all right. If anything happens to him, it’ll be my fault.

  One thing’s for certain: We’re going back to Bonang tomorrow. After what’s happened, there’s no way we can stay.

  The night’s so still, I can hear the inside of my skin. I’m suddenly aware of a presence. I look up. I can’t see him, but I know he’s nearby. “Nelson?”

  “Not bad for a city girl,” he says quietly. His voice is coming from my right.

  “How long have you been here?”

  “A while.”

  “Have you found him?”

  “I haven’t gone looking yet.”

  “I thought…”

  “You never think.” He waits for me to argue. I don’t. “When things are like this, I disappear,” he says. “Don’t worry. It’s not the first time Pako’s run away. I’ll track him down at first light. I have an idea where he is.”

  “Will he be safe?”

  Nelson exhales slowly. “Who’s ever safe?…I can bring him food till my brothers calm down, if that’s what you mean.”

  There’s a long pause. “You knew about Granny’s plans before I got here, didn’t you?” I say. He doesn’t answer. “That’s the real reason you picked us up when we arrived, instead of my uncles. The families wanted you to get an eyeful.”

  He clears his throat. “It wasn’t my idea.”

  “You could have told me. You could have warned me.”

  “I’m sorry.” Another pause. His voice catches: “Just so you know, I’m not like them.”

  “I know that.”

  “No you don’t.”

  “I do.”

  Silence.

  “Nelson?…Nelson?”

  But he’s vanished.

  Granny comes out at dawn to set the fire for morning tea. Neither of us says anything. We both know I’ll be gone soon. I watch as she lays the kindling.

  Inside, Iris and Soly have just woken up. “Why are you packing our pillowcases, Auntie?” Iris asks.

  “Because your sister’s taking you back to Bonang.”

  “But I want more time with you,” Iris pleads. “Please, Auntie, please, it’s not fair.”

  “There’s lots about life that isn’t fair,” Auntie Lizbet says.

  Iris and Soly begin to cry.

  “There, there,” Auntie comforts. “Let’s kiss those tears away.” She’s crying too.

  Granny lights a scrap of thatching with her oil lamp and touches it to the dried grasses at the base of the kindling. “We thought you’d be happy,” she says at last. “We all did. We were so excited.”

  “I know.”

  “We thought you wanted us.”

  “I do. I…” My voice trails off.

  We sit in silence, watching the kindling catch fire. “Nelson’s a good boy,” Granny says softly. “We’d never have put you in danger.” She rubs her hands in the heat, then reaches over for the pot of water.

  “You tried to make Mama marry Tuelo,” I whisper.

  Granny freezes. “What do you mean?”

  “Tuelo Malunga, Granny. You know what I mean.”

  “In the bush, you don
’t see folks much; the posts are far apart,” Granny says evenly. “We thought Tuelo had high spirits, that’s all. We didn’t know.”

  “Mama knew.”

  Granny swallows hard. “Ah well.” She hangs the pot of water over the fire to boil and turns to go back inside.

  “Should I go to the Malungas?” I call after her. “Should I say something?”

  Granny looks me in the eye. “I think you’ve said enough. Don’t you?”

  19

  NOBODY EATS MUCH at breakfast. Granny fusses with Soly’s shirt collar. Auntie Lizbet strokes Iris’s hair. I sit apart. After the food is cleared, Aunties Ontibile and Agnes come over from their places to say goodbye to the kids, while my uncles lift our things into their cart.

  Iris and Soly ride into town, pressed against Granny and Auntie Lizbet. I walk behind. I tell myself that walking is best, there’s no room in the cart. But the truth is, nobody wants to sit beside me.

  The general dealer’s is still locked up when we arrive. Mr. Kamwendo sleeps on a cot in the back room. He’s usually open by now, in case anyone needs anything for the posts. Not today.

  Nelson’s squatting by the front door. “Sam must have turned his hearing aid off,” he says to Uncle Chisulo. “I’ve been banging for the past ten minutes.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing I guess,” Nelson says. “Still looking for Pako. I tracked him here, to around the gas pumps. I’m hoping he’s with Sam.”

  As if he’s heard his name, Mr. Kamwendo opens the screen door and steps outside. He stretches in the morning air.

  “Late night?” Uncle Enoch says.

  Mr. Kamwendo rubs his eyes. “Don’t ask. That damn flatbed didn’t roll in till close on midnight. Leak in the transmission. Must’ve been two by the time she left for the park.”

  “The children are going back to Bonang,” Granny says.

  “It’s Chanda’s fault!” Iris blurts.

  A look passes between my relatives and Mr. Kamwendo. “Well,” he says with an awkward cough, “I wouldn’t expect the flatbed today. I did a patch, but she needs proper fixing.”

  Frowns from my relatives. Delight from Iris and Soly.

  “Why don’t you all go back to the compound?” I say. “I’ll wait here for news.”

  The idea that I won’t be around seems to make everyone happy. Even Soly and Iris. I try to give them a quick hug, but they shy away. Uncle Chisulo turns the cart around. “Me and Enoch will be back in a half hour,” he says to Mr. Kamwendo. “Can you have a pound of nails, a dozen spikes, and a ball of twine ready? We’re mending the herd boys’ quarters.” Mr. Kamwendo nods and waves them off.

  “Soly. Iris. I’ll see you soon,” I call out. Soly peeks at me, his face a wall of hurt; it says, You told my secret, how could you? Iris gives him an elbow and he looks down. My insides dissolve as I watch them disappear down the road.

  Meanwhile, Nelson picks up a small stone. “Sam,” he says, tossing it casually from one hand to the other, “did you see Pako last night?”

  “Didn’t see much except the underbelly of that damn truck,” Mr. Kamwendo laughs. When Nelson doesn’t laugh back, his voice goes serious. “The kid’s off again?”

  Nelson nods. “His trail ends here. By the signs of it, he arrived around midnight. I’ve circled three times. He never left the service area. At least not by foot. Any cars through here in the early hours? Trucks, carts, bicycles?”

  Mr. Kamwendo shakes his head. “Just the flatbed bus. A lot of angry passengers, let me tell you.” He smiles. “Isn’t it always the way? Damn bus always waits for a full load to break down.”

  Nelson frowns. “Sam, if you don’t you mind…Could you call Mfuala Park? See if Pako stowed himself on board?”

  “You don’t suppose he’d run as far as the park, do you?”

  “He’s walked halfway before. And this time”—Nelson glances in my direction—“this time was bad. Besides, like I said, his tracks come here and they don’t leave. If that bus was the only way out, well…”

  “I’ll see what I can find out,” Mr. Kamwendo says. He goes inside to phone. Nelson and I wait in the yard. It’s as if we’re total strangers. I watch the carts and bicycles heading out to the highway for the posts. Nelson drops the stone from his hand, catches it with the edge of his right foot, flicks it up in the air, and keeps it there, bouncing it back and forth from toe to knee to foot and back again.

  Mr. Kamwendo returns in a few minutes, scratching the back of his neck.

  “What’s wrong?” Nelson asks.

  “The flatbed never arrived at Mfualatown.”

  “What happened to it?”

  Mr. Kamwendo shrugs. “Transmission likely conked out for good, I figure.”

  Nelson’s nose wrinkles up. “Why didn’t Mr. Palme call in for help?”

  “On what? Obi’s radio’s been broke for weeks, and he never charges his cell. Serves the damn fool right. I’ve warned him: ‘One of these days, you’ll be caught in the middle of nowhere, needing a tow.’ Sure enough, look what’s happened!” He slaps his thigh and laughs. “If Obi’s passengers were mad last night, I’d love to see ’em now!”

  Nelson and I aren’t in the mood for humor.

  “Cheer up,” Mr. Kamwendo says. “If Pako’s on the flatbed, Obi’ll take care of him. Right now, I expect home’s looking pretty good to the little fella.”

  “Let’s hope so,” Nelson says.

  I have a different worry. “If the truck needs a new transmission, how long could we be stuck here?”

  “Dunno,” Mr. Kamwendo squints. “A couple of weeks maybe.”

  “But we have to leave today.”

  Mr. Kamwendo pulls a plug of chewing tobacco from the pouch in his pants pocket. “Tell you what. I’ll keep an eye out for rides going south.” He pops the plug in his mouth. “Don’t fret. I’ll make sure it’s decent, with a woman in it. And I’ll make a big point of taking their license number. If you offer to pay what you’d have given the bus driver, you’ll hitch a ride no problem.”

  I start to breathe again. “Thanks.” Across the street, the health clinic’s opening. I see the doctor, the nurse, and the assistant who helped me get Mama home when I brought her out of the bush. “I’ll be across the street at the clinic. All right?”

  “It’s no never-mind to me,” Mr. Kamwendo smiles.

  I head over. The clinic staff all remember me. I thank them again for their kindness, and tell them how Mama passed in peace. They give me a hug. “Mr. Kamwendo’s trying to get me and my brother and sister back to Bonang,” I say. “Can I help out around here till a ride shows up?”

  “You’re manna from heaven,” the nurse rejoices. In no time, she has me mopping the floors, wiping the windows, disinfecting the folding chairs, and taking out the trash. I’m so busy I barely realize the morning’s passed without a word from Mr. Kamwendo. I wander over to see what’s happening.

  Mr. Kamwendo shakes his head. “Not a soul’s pulled in. I’ve never seen it so dead.” He offers me a bag of banana chips. “A going-away present,” he says. “You must be hungry.”

  I am. And restless. I gobble the chips and wander out to the highway. Aside from a few carts and bicycles, it’s completely empty. No cars. No trucks. Nothing. I wait ten minutes. Fifteen. Still nothing. It’s creepy.

  Suddenly, I hear a rumble. A huge cloud of dust whips up the road. In no time, six army trucks swing past me into Tiro. I race after them. They brake in front of the clinic. Dozens of soldiers leap into action. They heave piles of sandbags off the trucks to other soldiers on the ground. A wall of bags begins to build around the clinic.

  I run to Mr. Kamwendo. “What’s going on?”

  He shakes his head, openmouthed in wonder. Tobacco juice drips off his chin. He doesn’t notice.

  A crowd forms around us, nervous and curious: the men from under Mr. Kamwendo’s awning, the patients pushed out of the clinic, folks off the street—and anyone else who’s heard the commotion. />
  I see Nelson. He sidles up beside me.

  “Those soldiers,” I say. “Some of them are our age.”

  “Why the surprise?” Nelson mutters. “What else can you do if there’s no work? Not even room for you on your own post?”

  Is he thinking about him and Pako? Am I supposed to feel guilty?

  A lieutenant steps to the front, flanked by four sergeants, automatic rifles slung around their shoulders. The lieutenant is in his early twenties, too skinny for his uniform.

  “Attention!” he bellows into a bullhorn. “There’s been a situation to the north. An incident involving bandits. For your security, a squadron is being posted in each village from Rombala to Mfuala Park. Further, by order of the government, a dusk-to-dawn curfew has been imposed throughout the district. After sunset, anyone moving outside their town or cattle post will be considered a bandit, and shot on sight. To repeat, during curfew, a shoot-to-kill order will be in effect.”

  Furtive glances through the crowd. Men tug at their belt loops. Mamas touch their youngsters’ shoulders.

  “During the day,” the lieutenant continues, “travel between villages and posts will be permitted by foot, cart, and bicycle. However, the highway is hereby closed to motor vehicles.”

  “But I have to get to Bonang!” I yell. “How do I get to Bonang?”

  “And what about my gas station?” Mr. Kamwendo hollers.

  Now everyone’s shouting. They need to go to a birth in Shawshe. A wedding in Rombala. A funeral in Mfualatown. “What do you mean the highway’s closed?!” I’m pushed forward with the crowd. We’re shaking our fists. The sergeants swing their rifles. They fire into the air. We fall back.

  A new army truck roars up to the clinic. The lieutenant signals. The soldiers unload it. This time they’re not heaving sandbags. They’re handing off corpses. Corpses wrapped head to toe in bloody sheets. A hush falls over the crowd.

  “Last night, the Mfualatown bus crashed twenty miles north of here, after being attacked by rocket fire,” the lieutenant says. “These bodies were found in the area, along with looted bags and suitcases. There are no known survivors. We’d appreciate any help you can give with identification.”