He stopped dead in the centre of the road and then he bowed, courteously, from the waist, to those watching him, the world’s press, the national military.
‘Put your gun down on the ground now.’ There was a terse command from behind an army jeep.
With a casual flourish the Leader placed his rifle down in front of him in the road. He then stood and clicked his heels and smiled beatifically, handsomely, like he was still so sure of himself. Like Breeze, this was a man not surrendering. He had put down his gun for now. He was calm and he was graceful. The Leader was attractive, even glamorous – and only halfway through his life.
Ashes saw then that the Leader had lots more to do on the earth. He had more plans and his three wives and children to get back to, his foster sons, his work, the compound. He was still proud, unrepentant, and he was a thorn in the side of the government, any government to come in future years. How would they punish him? How could they punish them all? Ashes looked at Breeze and caught a troubled expression in his face; Breeze wasn’t having the same thoughts at all. Breeze was gazing at the Leader with a look of considered dislike in his face. The young brother called Breeze, he could see, had come to hate his father.
*
They were driven from the television station back through the deserted city, to where the city met the sea, and then the bus veered right, along the highway on the foreshore, out towards the old American army base in the west. Ashes looked out of the window to see the world again, the city where he was born – yet it was nothing like it used to be. Everything looked familiar and yet also it felt like there was a great distance between his hometown and himself. Everything appeared smaller, the buildings and office blocks along the shoreline were all minute and far away. They had shrunk and condensed, or maybe they had walked away. He didn’t like this feeling at all, this distance. It was already like a punishment, like it was all removed from him now.
It was mid-afternoon, around four, he guessed. The Leader was at the front of the bus, his hands on his head. Two armed soldiers were with them. They were being led and followed by several army vehicles. Again he had that feeling that they had made the country mute. They had silenced the place. His world had been made smaller and quieter. To the left there was the sea, flat and placid and pewter blue, and soon they came to the abandoned bauxite mine which always felt haunted to him, a giant gawky spider of fading steel, words barely visible painted on the side, another era. Then the road narrowed to one lane which snaked along the coast and they passed tiny rocky beaches. No one was out bathing in the shallow sea. He would come here sometimes, with his family; none of them knew how to swim well and so it was safe to come for a sea bath.
Ashes noticed every man on the bus was gazing out towards the sea. Sans Amen was an island, of course; they were looking out towards a sea which had held them captive since birth. None of the brothers had ever been sailors, he imagined. All of them were men from the city or from the hills. He had always felt respect for the ocean, but now he felt dull and shy seeing so much water. It felt hard to witness, or maybe the sea was bearing witness to them. He felt unable to look at anything. The bus began to slow and Ashes realised they’d arrived at the American army base which had been abandoned after the Second World War.
The bus turned a sharp right and this was unexpected. He’d imagined they were to be taken to the barracks or to the army base beyond. But no, the bus swerved right and then they were on a thin strip of broken up tarmac road. Then they were travelling in a silent green place, past gargantuan samaan trees with their beards dripping to the ground, past clumps of towering shafts of emerald bamboo and concrete benches where families or lovers might like to meet. They travelled along this road for quite some time; everything was very green and peaceful and he felt almost like he could relax; and then he felt a cold terror curdle in his gut. This wasn’t right. This was the wrong way to go.
The army vehicle ahead of them stopped and turned abruptly. To the right there was a small side road leading into what looked like a tunnel of green bamboo. It was the road to the derelict tracking station up on the hill. There was an iron barrier gate across this road and more army vehicles stationed there, waiting for them. Their bus stood with the motor running as soldiers shouted orders to each other. One of the army men raised the barrier and then beckoned the driver of the bus. The covered vehicle that had been leading them moved off, and then they were following it again, this time down into a long green nest. The bamboo on each side of the road was so wild and dense and it had grown so high that the poles had bent over. On each side of the road the long shafts dipped and met in the middle. The green stems against the lemony light reminded Ashes of the stained-glass window of Jesus Christ nailed to the cross in the House of Power. It was pretty and the light moved and danced in between the shafts of bamboo. They could have been in a holy place. The bus moved slowly along the slim road and it was like they were being driven up through a gateway into another world of possibilities. His heart lifted a little and he said Praise be to God.
The road began to wind and climb upwards and then it stopped at the top of a hill. They had reached a perfectly flat plateau, as if the top of the hill had been sliced off, and Ashes guessed it had once been excavated to be so flat. To the right, on the edge of the flattened hilltop, stood an enormous rusted satellite dish. Once it had been white, now it was polka dotted with orange and saffron rust. It resembled a huge eye gawking awkwardly and blindly out to sea. It was an olden day thing and it was part of what the American army had left behind: spy equipment from before the war; he had heard the talk about NASA and how they and the FBI had come to these islands to plant their satellites. It was part of some kind of defence shield, defending the USA from communists. Ashes was aware that they’d arrived at a remote and deserted spot. They’d been followed by numerous army vehicles.
All of a sudden he didn’t feel good at all. He felt bad. He felt badder, suddenly, than he’d felt during the last few days, then he had ever felt in his life. The driver of the bus turned the engine off. The army soldiers guarding them were wearing balaclavas. The afternoon sun had now disappeared and soon it would be dusk. Ashes felt sick. Why had they brought them up here? He looked at Breeze and saw that he was equally as anxious and puzzled. Every brother on the bus stared out the window at the satellite dish and at the perfectly flattened land. They were up on a hilltop, miles from anywhere. Everything was silent, muffled by bush. They were surrounded by jeeps and covered vehicles. Scores of armed soldiers were now filing out of the jeeps and trucks; every one of them was wearing a balaclava. They were not wearing green combat fatigues. They were wearing black.
Then the soldiers on the bus were barking at them.
‘Now, move!’ They were prodding and shouting at the Leader to get up off his damn blasted arse and move, and Ashes saw the Leader rise in his grey robes. He turned back to his brothers and his face was blank.
‘Come on, move!’ The soldiers began to shout and hustle them. Slowly, one by one, the brothers began to move from their seats. The soldiers outside were forcing them to walk towards where the hillside had been cut, where there seemed to be a natural wall. They still had their hands on their heads; the Leader was the first in the line of men now walking towards the green wall. When it was his turn, Ashes rose, with his hands on his head, and an image of a ladder came to him, as if he could climb up it and vanish through a trap door, up into the sky.
Breeze was ahead of him; Breeze who he had never really known before. Breeze began to descend from the bus to the ground. They were the last two men on the bus. They had become friends in a way. Ashes followed him down. When he was on the ground he heard the sound of gunfire. It made him jump. His nerves were raw from the days in the House. Some of the brothers had begun to run away from the green wall and the army men in black were chasing them down, shouting, Come back or we’ll shoot.
It was then that Ashes decided he needed to go home. He grabbed Breeze by the collar of his shirt and yanke
d hard. Breeze turned. Ashes put his finger to his lips and pointed towards the underbelly of the bus.
‘There,’ he whispered.
Breeze nodded.
The gunman minding them had turned his head away towards the commotion. There were brothers now running all over the place, trying to escape. One or two were shot and fell down. The Leader was shouting something, and then some of the soldiers in black pointed their rifles at the Leader and he went quiet again and held his hands up in the air. The soldier guarding them seemed to forget they existed completely; he had finished guarding the bus, he was hypnotised by what was happening. He walked away, towards the green wall and the armed soldiers in black. Ashes and Breeze moved quickly. In seconds they were under the bus and Ashes’ heart was beating fast and he was thinking okay, I will survive, just like my mother predicted, I’ll live from the ashes of myself.
From under the bus they watched as more brothers trying to run away were chased down and rounded up. All of them were made to stand in a line against the wall of the hill. The light was fading now and everything was still. It was the time of day when the hills appeared gentle. Sans Amen is a city surrounded by green hills, amorous slopes that embrace the city during sleep. Ashes counted one hundred and twelve men, every one a brother; almost all these men he knew and could call their name if he had to. The soldiers wearing black and who wore balaclavas lined up opposite the brothers; some regular soldiers joined them too. There was a line of army men facing another line of brothers. It felt bad, all of this. Ashes knew it was wrong that he wasn’t there with them. There seemed to be a commanding officer and he walked between the two lines of men. Some of the brothers were now praying, one or two had dropped to their knees. The Leader was standing there, his hands on his head, and Ashes had a sense he was praying too.
‘Take aim,’ shouted the commanding officer. Just like that. He put one hand up in the air. He had got himself well out of the way. The men in black aimed their rifles as one and when the commanding officer gave the second command of ‘Fire’, they all opened fire and their guns blazed.
Ashes could feel a collapsing inwards, a sense of the earth slipping from under his feet. The brothers all fell to the ground in a heap. They fell softly and the soldiers dressed in black and the army men advanced, firing again and again into the heap of brothers in case they might not be quite dead. Ashes could see Greg Mason in the heap. He saw the Leader in the heap too, blood on his grey robes; he’d been shot many times in the chest.
He turned to Breeze and said, ‘We must go, now, before they come back and ketch us.’
Breeze nodded. The sun had fallen into the sea behind the hill. The huge dish blinked at them and said Now go. The new night air was thick with insects and the stink of gunfire and then Ashes found himself running away from the bus, slipping down the muddy hillside and Breeze was ahead of him. They fled downwards, coming down the hill through the bush, running and tripping and moving blindly, both of them dazed and weeping because of what they’d seen. They ran into the night for what felt like a long time. All the while, Ashes saw the line of men falling softly, quietly, to the ground. He saw their bodies collapse, almost like a line of women fainting. He should have been with them; he should not be running away in the opposite direction. He saw his friends riddled with bullets, like his brother River.
They came to the road and it was very dark by then; over an hour had passed. It was night. Ahead of them was the long, thin track which was overshadowed by bamboo. Then the two of them were running again, on the long, slim road, heading towards the entrance to the tunnel of green. Minutes passed. It felt like they’d done it; they had escaped. It was happening. They would live. Then they stopped for a few moments, getting their breath back. Ashes could feel his ribs quaking in a stitch. He’d never moved so fast, not in his adult life. Breeze was panting heavily, as he was. Breeze said, ‘Where we going now?’
Ashes knew he was going home, back to his wife and sons. He was going to hide forever, or maybe even leave and go to Trinidad, listen to Lord Wellington in his tent. Or maybe he and his wife and sons would move to the countryside, live a quiet life. But he knew where he was going now, and as fast as possible, and he said to Breeze, ‘I going home. Through there.’ He pointed through the jungle of bamboo which was east, back towards the City of Silk. It would be an overnight trek, through the forest. He would stay close to the hills.
‘Come with me, if you like.’
But Breeze said, ‘Nah, man. Too slow, man. Too slow.’ Breeze smiled at him, pensive, and sure of himself, a look which said I need my life and I need to go too, anywhere, and I’m going my own way. Then the young man tore off down the road into the cathedral of bamboo, running quick, quick, quick as the breeze.
VI. L’Anse Verte
23 YEARS LATER
11 APRIL, 2013
‘Eh, eh, they find bones,’ says his wife Pearl.
‘Bones? What bones?’
‘Amerindians. Last month. They dig them up.’
‘Where?’
‘Under the House of Power. Bones, nuh. Four humans, they say, and some animals, some pottery.’
Joseph looks at his wife sitting at the kitchen table, her face buried in The Gazette. Her ankles are neatly crossed; her elbows are on the table. She is wearing a housedress, slippers which are rubber flip flops worn thin under the balls of her feet. He can feel his heart beating a little faster in his chest as she mentions this news.
‘They say they around seven hundred years old, maybe older. What a thing, eh?’
She doesn’t take down the newspaper.
Joseph doesn’t reply. He stopped looking at the papers some time ago. His wife loves them. Sometimes she reads snippets aloud to him and he tries to be responsive. Generally, he is evasive. Especially with anything connected to the House of Power. She knows about his past and yet she seems to enjoy reading out news about the place, as if she can’t help herself. She is always trying roundabout ways, subtle, off-hand comments, these news reports. She’s heard . . . most of the story, once, years ago, and that’s all. He feels bad about being so unable to talk. But the truth is he can’t; he isn’t trying to be difficult. He’s been over it once. And now he deals as best he can with her attempts to find out more.
‘Bones,’ she says, and he realises this is the first piece of news about the House he’s ever heard which makes him feel interested.
There’s a female Prime Minister now in charge of the country, but not like Aspasia Garland, not a real hand-on-heart type person. There’s a woman in the House, but she can’t stop the crooks. Same, same. Sans Amen has gone from bad to worse since all those years ago. The small island is now rich, the economy is booming, so much so that Sans Amen is no longer considered a developing nation. And yet corruption has increased; each government steals what it needs. One ex-PM was rumoured to be wiretapping the whole country. When he left, another senior minister was caught pocketing vast sums of money. The cost of living has soared while those in central and rural areas still scrape by. All the white people in Sans Amen do yoga while all the Indian people send their children abroad to study law and medicine. And the black man? He never again united or rose up and fought back or achieved any of those old heroics of ideology. Like anyone else, he wants to make a buck in this so-called rich island. The black man will make his money how he can. Resistance was tried, twice, and both times it failed – and so now it’s as if his heart has been taken out of his chest and pounded flat and then re-inserted. That is how he feels about politics. Heartless.
But the bones? Four humans? He remembers the place felt haunted.
‘Who find them?’ he asks.
‘They digging there. They renovating the House. Now they getting the bones examined in New York; they plan to bring a team down now, to dig up the place. Is possible there some kind of burial site under the House of Power, something so.’
‘Oho,’ he says, trying to show no real interest. And yet he’s intrigued; he can’t help himself.
Bones? He remembers the ground floor of the House, the brother they called Ashes; he remembers the library, Jesus on the cross. The first will be last and the last will be first, Ashes had said. He said Jesus had been a revolutionary. Long, long time ago now.
*
At 8 p.m. Joseph starts his shift at the visitors’ centre at the back of the hotel on the beach, behind the car park. His wife works at the desk selling permits; from March to August it’s prohibited to walk the beach without a guide after 6 p.m. To start with, he goes out on to the sand alone to estimate how many creatures are already nesting. April, a full moon. Dozens will be on the beach and when he goes out to look, he’s right. Sleek leathered black humps everywhere, like an invading fleet has landed from across the ocean, all of them pregnant females, their wombs swollen with eggs. All of them are bursting to bury their loot after their long migration from the cold waters. Every one of these creatures will be their own midwife. Each is a nursery craft. They have self-piloted all the way across the Atlantic to be here, right here on this tiny cove, L’Anse Verte.
His daughter Soleil and her friend Maria come with him tonight, two skinny girls, laughing and trying to be serious all at once. There are twelve visitors in his group tonight, all staying at the hotel.
He briefs them in the car park.
‘Turtles are very startled by light, okay. So please, no flash photography. We cannot allow cameras on the beach. Or torches. You will need to stick close by me.’
House of Ashes Page 18
