His name was… is Kabir. We never knew it when he lived.
The bombs have brought the stone wall of another building down. Out of it come the white folk. They take one look about the place, then run out, straight towards the jeep.
They get into it and drive away. All except Alberto who has seen us and walks towards us, waving to the others to go on without him.
By now some other people have come out of the buildings or the caves, but no one does anything to stop the white folk nor says anything to us.
Matt goes into the stone room, picks up the boxes one by one, brings them out and lets the snakes go. He thanks them for saving his life, and saving my life, and saving the life of the two men who came with us.
Five
Golam’s Cow
Alberto and Hena and Matt and I walk back to the village. I don’t know how we find the way back, but we do. It takes a long time on account we don’t walk too fast and we wander a bit.
By the time we get back the shadows are long again and getting longer.
The white folk are already there and waiting for Alberto. Another white man has come from Gonta in the van to take the white folk back. He knows nothing of what has happened and is listening with great interest. We listen too.
It seems the guerrillas wanted to hold the white folk hostages – whatever that means – to make the Government of the white folk speak to the guerrillas about giving them some help instead of helping our Government, which is a bad Government.
I don’t think I understand all of it, but I understand quite a lot.
But all that is past now.
At least for the time being.
The white folk think other guerrillas here and elsewhere might try even harder now to hit at the Government and its friends on account some of their friends are dead, and so is one of their leaders. A good leader, from what we hear. Even the white folk know of Kabir and are sorry that he is dead. They think it’ll only make matters worse.
All our people have heard the planes and the bombs and are crowding round us for information. We tell our story to one and then have to start all over again for another. Sometimes even if he – or she – has heard it already.
While we are in this confusion Golam’s Mam comes over, all anxious, and asks where Golam is and where we have hidden Kato. Kato is their cow.
Now we have no idea where Golam is, much less Kato. In actual fact we were thinking of going over to Golam’s Mam to ask her where Golam is. For usually when we are out somewhere and Golam is not with us, he sits and waits for us by our little tree by our little hill. And today we don’t see him there.
If it wasn’t for the mad rush of white folk coming from the guerrillas and white folk coming from Gonta and all wanting to know what’s been going on and we in the middle of it all, we’d have been looking for Golam ourselves by now.
When we tell this to Golam’s Mam she at first looks at us like she don’t believe us. Then she looks at us like she believes us. Then she falls in a faint on the sand.
Alberto says it is hunger, but my Dada says it must be worry for he took her a bowl of grain only this morning. Grandma Toughtits asks if he saw her eat it as she saves every bit she can for Golam and the cow and don’t eat herself.
We’re still not sure what it’s all about when Leku explains.
‘Mino,’ he says – Mino is the name of Golam’s Mam – ‘Mino agreed to sell Kato to Fakeer for a bag of grain. It is not a good bargain for the cow is worth more but she agreed as it will save her feeding Kato. She don’t like it but she feels she has no choice. When Golam hears of it his heart breaks.’
You can imagine that for Golam loves Kato like his own sister.
Leku carries on: ‘He nearly dies when he finds out Fakeer plans to kill the cow and sell it as meat in Gonta. He is doubly angry that Fakeer should take advantage of his Mam when he too is a Muslim like them and should be kinder. At least offer more grain and look after the cow rather than buy it for less and kill it for meat.
‘So Golam has a big row with his Mam and also shouts at Fakeer.
‘His Mam leaves him to cool off. When she looks for him later she cannot find him. Nor can she find the cow. So she comes looking for Matt and you and me. I tell her you’re not in the village. This calms her down for she trusts Matt, and even you, and thinks you will stop Golam from doing anything silly.
‘Naturally when she hears you’re back she comes running round to get news of Golam and Kato. She thinks you have gone to hide Kato somewhere safe.
‘She’s decided not to sell Kato after all and has been telling me and other children in the village so they pass the message on to Golam and you lot so Golam comes back and brings Kato with him.’
Now we’re as worried as Mino. Perhaps not as much as Mino, but very worried and no doubt about it.
The white folk say they’ll take us in their jeep to look for Golam, which is very kind of them, while Grandma and Mam take care of Mino.
Matt thinks Golam must have gone towards the woods, for that’s where he can hide Kato as well as have some grass and shrubs to feed her with.
It don’t take us long to get to the woods on the jeep, but once there we have to be on foot. The jeep can’t go any further even though the woods have thinned out a lot, what with no rain and the people cutting more wood than ever before. The trees nearby are not heavy with branches in the dry season anyway, but these days are worse than usual on account they’ve been cut right down.
Once in the woods it’s not easy finding anyone.
We don’t tell the white folk that there may be guerrillas hiding in the woods as well. I don’t think they’ll like being taken again – though our worry for the moment is about Golam and our sorrow for Kabir and his friends. We’re not thinking much of the white folk even if we are happy for their help.
We look as deep into the woods as we can but no sign of Golam. Both Matt and me keep shouting for Golam, but no sound from him.
As the light goes we decide it’ll be useless to carry on.
Too worried to think properly we come out of the woods and start driving round and round in the open plains.
It is beginning to get bright again as the moon’s come up, but we see nothing of Golam.
The white folk think it’s time we went back. They think maybe Golan’s come back home by now.
Matt says maybe he didn’t come this way at all but went towards the mountains thinking we went there looking for the white folk. We all say that’s what must’ve happened. It seems obvious now but didn’t even cross our minds at first. I am really angry at myself for not having thought of it before and Matt feels the same. We were only thinking of the woods being the best place to hide the cow. We didn’t think of Golam wanting our help. That’s the first thing we ought to have thought of!
We’re driving fast now to get to the village, find out if Golam’s back, and if not to try the other side.
We’re really thankful to the white folk for agreeing to take all this trouble.
We’re in such a hurry to get back that we’re not even looking for Golam when we see in front of us what looks like any other bush.
Only it moves. We turn towards it and stop. It’s Golam.
He’s hurt so bad he can hardly move or speak.
As he was taking Kato to the woods this morning he was attacked by some people – he don’t know who they are. They take Kato away from him. When he tries to get her back they beat him up and leave, taking Kato with them.
Golam don’t want to go back home. He just wants to lie down and die.
The white folk make some pictures of him with their magic light on the cameras. Then they put him on the jeep and we start back.
Matt holds Golam in his arms.
We thank the Spirits of the Night for the dark that hides the shame and sorrow of our faces.
We pray the white folk don’t make pictures of us.
When we get home the white folk make some more pictures. Matt and I try to hi
de our faces but they are too quick for us.
As it turns out Golam is not badly hurt at all.
A few days later Alberto comes to see us. He brings with him some of the pictures they made the other day.
In the pictures of Golam made where we found him he has deep cuts and wounds, while in those made a short while later in the village there are just small cuts and bruises.
Part III
HENA THE WHORE
(one year later)
One
The Last Dance
The missionary bloke packed up and left soon after the air attack on the guerrillas and the taking away of Golam’s cow, without ever showing us his balls or even so much as mentioning them in passing.
He’s taken his miserable wife with him which is good for us but may not be so good for him. It’s best for her though. Matt says she must’ve hated it here, poor thing, though she never said it. There was no one she could really talk to and nothing she could do that she wanted.
But that’s in the past. Maybe a year ago.
Many things have changed since then, but I reckon you’ll find them out as we go along.
Our little tree by our little hill is now a little black stump; but I don’t think that bit of information is of much use to anyone.
Some of the villagers are happy today and some are sad. I think it’s the same ones who get happy who get sad. The others don’t seem to feel much these days, one way or another.
Except perhaps today, when I’ve seen a look in some eyes where I hadn’t seen a look for a long time.
A look which shows they know what’s going on. A look which shows they may even care what’s going on.
Grandma Toughtits is dancing her last dance today.
She has been poorly for the last many months. She don’t eat hardly at all these days. She says she isn’t hungry but I think she don’t eat so big sister and I can eat a bit more. She’s been like that since little brother went.
She is so poorly she can hardly walk, but she is dancing tonight.
Dancing for the Spirits and hoping they will take her away while she’s dancing.
Grandma says it’s because we’ve stopped singing and dancing for the Spirits that our troubles have started.
I reckon she’s right.
We don’t talk much to the Spirits since Matt turned to Jesus.
Leku never believed in them and Golam’s not supposed to.
Hena don’t talk much unless she is spoken to, Spirits or no Spirits.
Ever since her Dada died, after his fields turned to dust and his things sold or gone, Hena don’t talk much at all.
She’s still proud and would rather go bare-headed and cold than put on a torn shawl, but it don’t help her any when it comes to food. She’s got to eat, like the rest of us; and when she hasn’t got any to eat, like the rest of us, she feels hunger, like the rest of us – pride or no pride.
She still don’t talk much to the Spirits. Neither do many other villagers who have already left the Spirits for Jesus or Mohammed – and that’s what’s brought on the troubles, says Grandma Toughtits. So she’s dancing tonight and laying down her body for the Spirits to take away in return for some rain for the people.
Grandma Toughtits looks beautiful as the winter night. The beads in her hair shine as the stars.
She wears this black silk scarf round her hips. The black silk scarf that was a present from Grandpa Biglumps. A present she’s guarded all these years in his memory.
He was swallowed by a crocodile ten days after their marriage when he fell off a tree into the river. At the time he was quietly watching the young girls bathe by the bank, doing no harm to anyone. Least of all the crocodiles. But what’s to be is to be.
There is hardly any water in the river now, no crocodiles and no trees.
*
The wrinkles in the fine silk are pretty, but not half as pretty as the wrinkles in Grandma’s skin. They are the finest of lines drawn through to her very bones, as there’s no flesh in between. Lines drawn by the Great Spirit of Time, the truest picture-maker of all picture-makers.
Her large eyes are larger than ever, her magic hands are more magical than ever. She puts on her head this wonderful hat that Joti brought her and throws away her shawl.
The fresh oil shines on her body like the light of love in a cow’s eyes when she’s just given birth.
She starts to dance and we wonder in silence and sorrow and pride how she can dance now when she could hardly walk last night.
All the village is out but no one is dancing. They are not even moving much. Just gathered round in silence watching Grandma Pearl dance.
The school Master’s father, who’s as old as Grandma Pearl herself, sits cross-legged on the sand and stares at Grandma Pearl without so much as blinking.
He has the best voice in the village but he hasn’t sung since his son left for Bader taking his wife and children with him.
The old man left all on his own sits cross-legged on the sand and stares at Grandma Pearl. He’s loved her all his life, but she won’t have him for she’s living with the Spirit of Grandpa in her heart. The old man sits cross-legged on the sand and stares at Grandma Pearl without so much as blinking.
His eyes are as glazed cooking pots that’ve stood without food or fare since they were made, stood in the shop without a buyer. But his body is the cooking pot that has been stepped upon by an angry horse.
He starts to sing.
His voice is still the voice of a young lover. But his singing has the sorrow of many deaths and many births.
Between him and Grandma Pearl they’ve seen enough children born to fill many villages; and enough children die to fill many villages. And grown-ups too. But the hurt of those who stop loving you is worse than the hurt of those who leave you – in death or in life. The hurt of those who never love you is the worst of all.
The old man sings of all these things in his songs. I understand some of it. I don’t understand some of it. But I like all of it.
No one plays the drums. No one plays the flute. No one dances. Everyone watches and listens as Grandma Pearl dances and the old man sings.
The old man everyone calls the old man for he’s been like an old man since Grandma Pearl married Grandpa all those seasons ago. All those seasons ago when the inside of the river was full of water and crocodiles; and its outside covered with trees and young girls bathing. Young girls who lived and died as young girls; or grew up to be old and beautiful, like Grandma Pearl.
The sun hides its face in the shawl of the evening, but Grandma Pearl still dances and the old man still sings.
The evening takes the sun with her to sleep with for the night, but Grandma Pearl still dances and the old man still sings.
Morning, the first born sister of the evening, brings the sun back out with her to dance with the day, but Grandma Pearl continues with her own dance while the old man sings.
Grandma Pearl stops dancing and the old man stops singing at the same time. Their bodies lie in the centre of the village.
Grandma Pearl wishes to lie there till the rains come. She wishes her last bath to be a rain bath.
No one knows what the old man wants but they let him lie next to Grandma.
There is always someone nearby to keep the animals and the birds away.
Two
The First Rain
All day there are groups of people making a circle round Grandma Pearl and the old man. They are letting out their grief in weeping or singing or dancing, or just by talking.
The people keep changing but the groups remain.
It is the third day since Grandma Pearl and the old man lay down in the centre of the village, tired of dancing and singing and living.
Everyone is sure their Spirits are now ready to be with the Spirits of their old and young gone before them.
It is decided that all will go to their homes and find a little gift to bring and lay down by their side, so the Spirits of the gifts go along with th
em. For them as well as for those they go to meet.
It don’t matter if the things are old or broken. When their Spirits rise they will be whole and new again with the love of the givers, and make truly wonderful gifts.
Some bring their shawls. Mam brings Grandma Pearl’s own bread plate and puts a pearl of grain on it. Others bring little toys of clay, beads, scarves, even an old shoe.
Matt leaves his big round clock that Hena gave him and which he never parts with. Hena gives her battery radio. It don’t work but it’s still a battery radio.
I draw my best picture of a tree on my school slate and leave it next to Grandma Pearl on account she’s the Spirit of a tree, like all our family.
But the best gift is of the old man for he’s laid himself down by her side.
Everyone takes care to bring something special for him.
We make sure that his son’s picture which the white folk made is there beside him, under his grain bowl.
It’s mine and Matt’s turn to stay by Grandma and the old man.
When we get there we find Hena and Leku parked on a big stone they’ve dragged from the nearby rocks.
Hena don’t say, ‘You took your time coming, didn’t you?’
It used to get on my nerves so, but now she don’t say it I wish she did.
Leku is telling her his family has been asked by some folks they never knew or heard of to go and live with them in the country to the south of us. A rich country full of green fields and big cities. He says those people will make all the arrangements to get them there. We all feel very jealous of him but we all tell them we are very happy for him which is not a lie either.
He says they are doing so on account they share the same faith.
Matt says that’s how it should be. Hena nods her head and I agree with them though the reason don’t mean much to me.
But the talk of faith makes me remember the missionary bloke. I wonder if he is right that the Spirit of Grandma will be lost in ‘eternal darkness’, or go to ‘hell’, or worst of all, to Pasadena, California, USA. That’s where the missionary bloke had run out from, and where he said was ‘rife with carnal sin and mortal evil’. Whatever that means, I don’t like the sound of it at all. Especially the way the missionary bloke spoke of it made me truly scared. My heart is heavy and my eyes are heavy and I can hardly see Grandma lying there so helpless.
My Friend Matt and Hena The Whore Page 11
