The Cinnamon Tree

by Aubrey Flegg

  Yola was about to turn away when she noticed something surprising – she had seen smoke! She pressed her forehead against the window. How could there be smoke down there if no one could pass the minefields? But it was quite clear: a little cluster of fires, threads of smoke rising vertically in the still air before dawn. Who was down there? How had they got there?

  Yola had just arrived from Simbada airport; she stood in dismay among packing cases and chaos in Isabella’s house.

  ‘Don’t tear your jeans,’ Isabella warned, ‘some of those packing cases are sharp! Trust a man to go off and leave his wife to do all the hard work!’

  Where was Hans? Yola wondered. Left? Gone to Norway? Where?

  ‘But, Isabella,’ she exclaimed, ‘where are you going?’ This was terrible.

  ‘Haven’t you heard?’ laughed Isabella, running her fingers through her hair. ‘Hans has been promoted. We are opening a Regional Office in Nopani.’

  ‘Oh wow!’ exclaimed Yola. ‘Oh wow, oh wow,’ and she had to laugh at herself; she had thought only Catherine could ‘wow’ like that. ‘Tell me, go on!’

  ‘I’ll tell you while we work,’ said Isabella. ‘I hope you are not too tired. You see, you and I are leaving for Nopani tomorrow.’

  Yola wasn’t tired then, but she was dropping by the time the packing had been completed. It was such a disadvantage not being able to bend her knee to lift things. When the work was done, they moved out on to the veranda with glasses of coke from the fridge. She watched her glass frost in the warm night air while Isabella filled her in on what had been happening.

  ‘Yes, Hans has got his wish. The Nopani mine problem is bigger than we expected and it’s difficult running it from here, running up and down for everything. Also his wife objected – too many pretty girls in Nopani.’ Isabella grinned. ‘So, Head Office has agreed. He has found an old barracks on the north side of town. There are bunkhouses for the deminers, and the old adjutant’s house is an office and there is accommodation for the office staff. Hans and I will be looking for a house in town.’

  Yola smiled bravely, but a cloud was descending. She lived on the south side of the town. If they were on the north, they might as well be on the moon.

  ‘Has the work up at the hill finished then?’ she asked.

  ‘Where you found your mine? Yes, that’s all clear now.’

  ‘Oh … good,’ but Yola couldn’t hide the disappointment in her voice.

  ‘Come on, sad face. What’s the matter? I thought you’d be pleased.’

  ‘Oh I am. It’s just … it’s so far away. The north side … well, it’s like school all over again. I’ll never get across town to see you.’

  ‘Tell me Yola, be honest, were you really hoping to work for us?’

  ‘Well, I did hope, just a little. I thought maybe I could paint sticks like Gabbin did. But now you’ve gone.’

  Isabella got up and walked into the house. She came back out holding an envelope.

  ‘I should have given you this before.’

  Ridiculously, Yola wondered if it could be from Fintan. Then she noticed that it had no stamp.

  ‘Hans said to give you this, but said to be sure … well … sure that you were interested.’

  Yola opened the envelope. She was mystified; it seemed to be full of forms. The pages were white, yellow and blue. Isabella was looking at her with a half-smile.

  ‘Go on, they won’t bite.’

  Yola wasn’t used to forms, but gradually three words resolved themselves. The first was Contract and the next were Yola Abonda. What was this? Now Isabella was laughing openly.

  ‘There’s no need to take it as a death sentence, Yola. I’ll explain. You remember that Hans said he would try to find some work for you, a holiday job with us if you wanted it?’ Yola nodded. ‘Well, NPA is a very professional organisation. Everyone who works, even if it’s to work just one day in the week, must have a proper contract. That’s what that is.’

  ‘Contract!’ whispered Yola in awe. ‘So you mean I can work with you all summer? That I can stay in your barracks?’

  ‘Yes, you will stay in the staff house.’

  ‘But Isabella, will it be all right for me to stay there? They are all …’

  ‘White?’ prompted Isabella.

  ‘Yes, I suppose so.’

  ‘Do them good!’

  ‘Oh Isabella, I don’t want pay, I really don’t.’

  ‘Oh yes you do. Hans insists. You see, if he pays you, he says that he can sack you if you don’t do what he says, or if you are lazy. Now that he’s the boss up there the power is going to his head, I’m afraid. I’ll need you to help me bring him down a peg.’

  ‘Oh my God, Isabella. Where do I sign?’

  The Landcruiser pulled up at the self-same spot where Hans had waited for Yola and her mother that early morning, months ago.

  ‘Are you sure you are all right to walk?’ asked Isabella as she helped her down. They were both stiff after the exhausting drive, but it was so wonderful to be back in Nopani! Yola stretched out her arms wide … wide. Isabella laughed. ‘Are you planning to fly?’

  Yola closed her arms about the older woman. ‘Oh Isabella … it’s home, that’s all.’

  ‘The walk won’t be too much?’

  ‘Oh no, I can walk for miles and miles,’ lied Yola happily. Then she added, ‘I’m so glad you are both up here now.’

  She picked up her flight bag and started up the hill for home. She had done some careful re-packing that morning so that she had only her essentials with her. Isabella was taking her suitcase down to the camp and the adjutant’s house.

  She reached the entrance of the compound and rested for a moment. A contented hush met her as she struggled up the steep slope to the compound. It was hot. A thread of smoke rose from a dormant cooking fire. Hens were fluffed out like powder puffs in their scratched hollows and a yellow dog looked up at her, assessed her astutely, and lowered his head on to his paws. She approached her mother’s hut. The door was open to catch any passing breeze. Yola stepped inside; she could hear her mother’s breathing. There was a domed basket upturned on the floor; slender cheepings told her that Mother had a clutch of chicks. That was nice.

  She sat down on the edge of the bed – their bed.

  ‘Mother,’ she said in a low voice, ‘it’s me, Yola! Mother, I see you.’

  She felt a hand groping for hers. It was rough and hard to the touch. ‘Yola, my daughter, you have come. I see you. Eeeh.’ And Yola remembered Brigid all those miles away; the last time Yola had seen her, she was sitting up in a chair smiling and talking to a nurse.

  Yola did her rounds: Senior Mother, Sindu, the aunts. Her new leg was a source of wonder and she had to show them all the things she could do now. Father came to see her when he came in. She told him about NPA and her job, but he knew all about it. She got the impression that there was very little he did not know. Before he left, he took her face between his hands. They were strong but soft, not like Mother’s work-worn hands. He seemed pleased with her.

  ‘You have come home quietly child, that is good,’ he said.

  When the opportunity arose, Yola slipped into her secret place behind the granary. As she had half expected, there were signs of occupation. Her tin-box was still there; there was something in it. When she left it had been empty. She thought to open it, but decided to put it back. This was Gabbin’s private place now. She sat down on the log that he had got for her all that time ago and settled down to wait.

  He appeared silently. She had heard the cattle go by shortly before. She just looked up and he was there.

  ‘I haven’t touched anything,’ she said.

  He’d grown, or perhaps just changed. He hadn’t brought his spear, clearly he too liked to slip in here unseen.

  ‘Come in, sit down.’ She patted the log beside her. He came and sat; nothing said, no smile. He smelled pleasantly of cattle. Then he put out his hand and placed it on her new leg, feeling its solidity beneath her jean
s. He turned and looked up at her, the old impish smile spreading across his face. She put an arm over his shoulders and gave him a squeeze.

  They talked about his cattle, Managu was lame, and about school – he was going to senior school next year. Then Yola told him about her adventures. He wanted to know all about how her leg was made and what it looked like. She said she would show him when she wasn’t wearing jeans.

  After the long Irish twilight, darkness came with unexpected speed. Gabbin and she slipped out unseen and parted near Yola’s hut.

  ‘Where are you sleeping?’ she asked on impulse, as Gabbin left.

  ‘Uncle Banda’s – he’s back,’ said Gabbin.

  ‘Was he away?’

  Gabbin shrugged and avoided her eyes.

  Yola watched him go and wondered why that news made her uneasy.

  Yola waited for the Landcruiser to collect her at what she now thought of as Hans’s corner. It was early on Monday and she didn’t expect Hans to come in person, but he did.

  ‘I just had to come to see that new leg of yours. Come on, show me how you can walk.’

  She handed him her crutch and did a small walk-about.

  ‘Is it comfortable?’

  ‘Yes, but it gets a bit hot and slippery – that wasn’t a problem in Ireland. I keep on thinking it will fall off, or twist around.’

  ‘But it doesn’t?’

  ‘Not yet,’ she smiled. They climbed into the jeep.

  ‘You’ve heard we have the dogs up here now?’

  ‘Yes, but I’m not sure what they do.’

  ‘They are amazing! They are able to smell the tiniest tinge of explosive. So if there is a mine or bomb under the ground, they can smell it right away.’

  ‘But don’t they set them off?’

  ‘No. They are too light, also they are trained to sink down and point with their noses. No digging or scrabbling allowed. We’ll show you.’

  ‘I think I’m frightened of dogs. Do they bite?’

  ‘Not usually. There’s only one that bites. You’ll recognise him, he’s black and white, the only collie we have. All the others are huge German Shepherds, but they are quiet as lambs. If you are bold, we will send you to sleep in the kennels! But if you are good, you will be sharing a room with Judit, my assistant in the office. She’s Dutch and lovely, you’ll like her. The only trouble is the room is at the top of the house. Will you manage?’

  ‘To be good?’

  ‘Of course, but I mean to climb the stairs?’

  ‘Try me!’

  Yola was in seventh heaven.

  ‘Learn about it,’ Hans had said. ‘Learn about the office, about demining and mines awareness. We will teach you First Aid, and about how we train dogs if you like. But I will pay you so little that you will feel you can walk away at any time.’ It was a typical Hans arrangement.

  On the first Friday, Judit called Yola in to the office. She said she had arranged a lift home for her for the weekend. Yola thanked her and turned to go.

  ‘Oh, and this is yours Yola.’ The Dutch girl handed her a small, square envelope. Yola looked at it.

  ‘Count it if you like!’ Judit said, one eyebrow raised.

  Then Yola realised – money! – she’d actually been paid. She couldn’t believe it. She blundered into the door.

  ‘Thank you, Judit! Thank you.’

  ‘Don’t thank me, you’ve earned it.’

  Yola stopped on the way up the hill from Hans’s corner and looked to left and right. She slipped off the road and took out the envelope. It peeled open and she slipped out a small wad of notes and some coins. She gazed at it, knowing – just knowing – that no little wad of money would ever mean as much to her again. She counted it carefully and then divided it into three equal folds. She didn’t bother about the coins; they’d do her for next week.

  When she got to her hut she dropped her flight bag. It was important to act now, while she still had the determination. She walked down to Sindu’s hut. Sindu, who had been sleeping, came to the door. Making sure that the girl could see that there were three equal folds of notes, Yola gave one of them to her.

  ‘My duty to you, Mother,’ she murmured, and stepped back. Sindu quickly counted the notes. Then she shrugged her shoulders and said, ‘So little.’

  Yola turned, biting her lip. Next she went down to Senior Mother, who gave her a particularly hooded look and the merest shadow of a smile, but she took the money. Mother took hers too, but then gave half of it back to Yola as pocket money.

  On Monday, she was back at work. She soon learned that what Hans really wanted her to do was to give mines awareness classes. As this involved learning as much as she could about every aspect of landmines and demining, she settled down to hard study, making herself useful when she could.

  14

  Gabbin’s Game

  Long before the first white men came up the Ruri river in search of slaves, Sister Martha’s baobab tree had stood high above its banks. In those days young elephants worked up their muscles trying to push it down, now it took at least ten children holding hands, as they did every term, to encircle its huge, old trunk. The children were on holidays now, so it stood alone and solitary in the middle of the school yard. When Yola was asked where she would like to give her trial class, she said she would like to give it here. It seemed less frightening to have it in her old school; perhaps Sister Martha would be there too. The class, however, would be for the local children and their parents, not for her school friends. Bill, her supervisor, would not take part this time, just take notes on how she was doing. If she passed this test she could then be employed as a junior instructor teaching mines awareness in the villages about the region.

  Yola was up at dawn. She viewed the compound. She forced her fingers through her hair. She’d been letting it grow longer because she wanted to straighten it and tie it back, European style, like Isabella’s. She had to find Gabbin, she wanted him to help her. She saw a thread of smoke rising from Sindu’s hut. If any one knew, Sindu would. Leaving her mother to wake in her own time, she walked down and tapped on Sindu’s door.

  The door opened and the two girls eyed each other. Sindu’s eyes flicked down to Yola’s hands – no, this wasn’t pay-day – what then?

  ‘I’m looking for Gabbin. He’s not with the cousins.’ Yola said this more abruptly than she had intended. Sindu would spot her nervousness like a snake locating a mouse.

  ‘What do you want Gabbin for?’ the older girl asked. ‘Checking up on the behaviour of your future husband? Not before time I may add.’

  ‘I’m not checking up on anyone,’ snapped Yola. ‘I’m giving my first mines awareness class today and I want Gabbin to help!’

  ‘Oh, so we’re turning teacher now. Aren’t we good enough for you?’

  ‘Come on Sindu, you could give a mines awareness class!’

  ‘Even someone as thick as me, you mean?’

  Yola bit her lip. How did Sindu always manage to put her in the wrong? She opened her mouth to try to put things right, but Sindu had a fatter morsel to deliver.

  ‘Gabbin,’ she said reflectively, ‘your little Gabbin … he’s been in bad company, you know.’

  Yola wanted to know, but she was damned if she’d have Sindu criticising Gabbin. ‘Oh forget it, Sindu.’ She turned on her heel. ‘I’ll try Senior Mother.’

  ‘But I know where he is.’ Sindu had her then; she turned back.

  ‘Please Sindu, I really do need to know now!’

  ‘Well don’t forget your manners again. He’s with Uncle Banda but …’ Sindu’s sense of timing was perfect, stopping Yola in mid-turn. ‘But …Uncle … Banda … is … not … at … home!’

  Despite her wish to strangle Sindu, a little chill ran down Yola’s spine. Uncle Banda was all right. He had fought with the KLA rebels, but so had many. The war was over now. It was the way that Sindu had said it that was sinister.

  ‘Where is Gabbin then?’

  Sindu’s gaze slipped past Yola and
a thin smile crossed her face. ‘There he is now!’

  Yola turned. The compound was empty. She heard Sindu close the door behind her. What was going on? She scanned the ground between Uncle Banda’s hut and the compound entrance. In the distance she heard the discrete beep of a car horn; that was Bill, her instructor, reminding her not to keep them waiting. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw a movement. A small figure darted across the space between two huts.

  ‘Gabbin!’ she yelled, ‘I need you!’

  If anyone had been still asleep in the compound, they were awake now. She’d had enough of mystery. She eyed her small cousin as he approached. He was dressed in army trousers several sizes too large for him and a camouflage jacket.

  ‘What are you wearing that stuff for?’ she demanded.

  The boy shrugged, avoiding her eyes but glancing towards Senior Mother’s hut. A second toot on the horn; they would have to go, enquiries could wait.

  ‘I need you, Gabbin. I’m giving my first class today and I want your help. Will you come?’ He nodded, but his eyes were shifting uneasily. ‘Well, go and change out of that awful camouflage thing. Put on the T-shirt I got you in Ireland and meet me at the car outside.’

  Yola walked towards the compound entrance. Then she stopped. She was being watched. She turned. Senior Mother was standing in the door of her hut. The woman raised her head in a slow, beckoning gesture. Yola went over.

  ‘That boy needs an interest, something to occupy his mind.’ It was on the tip of Yola’s tongue to ask why – but one did not question Senior Mother.