by Aubrey Flegg
‘How’s the camp organised?’ demanded Yola.
‘It is the boys who guard the minefield. Two shifts, changing at midnight. They say that they are training them not to be afraid of the dark, in fact it’s just so the grown soldiers can sleep and drink in peace. There is little danger. There is no way through the minefield because the mines are re-laid after each crossing. And now they have a special mine that blows up when a mine detector crosses over it.’
Yola looked up sharply; they’d only just got the mines, why so quickly? she wondered. But then Uncle Banda provided the answer.
‘The rebels are afraid the Kasemban army may try to force a way through the minefield today. You see, the adult soldiers are away on exercise at the moment.’
‘How did you get out?’ asked Yola.
‘Swam down river.’
‘But crocodiles!?’ she shivered.
‘They must have been asleep. I had no choice. The men will be back tomorrow, I couldn’t hang about, not with a bullet in the leg.’
Yola, who had a safety pin in her mouth, nodded. Then something he had said struck her. Her bandaging slowed, what was that he had said about the soldiers being away?
‘Where are they – the rebel soldiers? Who’s in the Noose now?’ The safety pin slipped from her mouth.
‘The boys and their instructors, of course. The men are in Murabende on a big exercise with the army there, that’s why they put in the new mines, it was an added protection.’
‘How many instructors?’
‘Three – now that I’ve gone that is. Time for them to get drunk. With the senior officers away it will be party time. Gabbin and his lads will be in sole charge of the first shift tonight.’ Uncle Banda put a hand on Yola’s arm. ‘If we could get mine detectors … No, I’d forgotten, there’s this new mine …’
Yola stood looking down at her uncle slumped in the chair. He’d been rough with her, but always fair. When she spoke, she spoke quietly so that she could gauge his trustworthiness.
‘Uncle Banda, whose side are you on?’
To her surprise he took her hand, as he had earlier. ‘Yola, you have never had Chief Abonda dig through your mind, tear you apart, turn you inside out to show you the inner, yellow part of you! I brought Gabbin into all this. I would walk through the middle of that minefield alone to rescue him now, but all the good that that would do would be to find the first mine.’
She groped for the safety pin she had dropped and slipped it in at a low angle into the bandage. ‘Uncle Banda, there is a door to that minefield and I think I’m the only one who can open it.’
Slowly, thinking it out step by step, she explained, questioning him for details on how the boy soldiers operated, and who would be where and when. Uncle Banda said little, but as her plan developed she could feel his enthusiasm mounting. It was like a vibration between them. No wonder Gabbin had followed him. When she finished, his eyes were focussed somewhere far beyond where they were sitting. Suddenly she had a last misgiving.
‘Uncle Banda,’ she said, ‘tell me, we are not playing child soldiers, are we?’
He did her the justice of pausing while he thought. He put his hand up to his cheek. ‘You know Yola, you hit me very hard!’ He wasn’t teasing her; he was thanking her. ‘The child soldier in me died with that slap, and you will never be one.’
Yola told Senior Mother that she had to return to work and that Uncle Banda would come with her to see if he could get news of Gabbin. They got a taxi into town together. It was a minibus and it had so many people hanging out of it by the end that it looked like a bunch of grapes. Yola sat on Banda’s knee while the driver shouted the news.
‘Did you hear? The Kasemban army tried to get through the minefield into the Noose last night?’ he roared. ‘What do they think they are doing … risking war with Murabende. That place has a spell on it! There is bad medicine about … two deminers injured … two! They are saying now there are mines that can smell them coming. I reckon it’s the soldier’s feet. Ever smelled a soldier’s feet! Blew up in their faces they did. Now the deminers are refusing to go in there.’
They were not far from the NPA camp when Uncle Banda said, ‘Let us down here, please.’ He helped Yola out.
‘Where are you going now?’ Yola asked.
‘Don’t ask child, just get all the rest you can. If you can get us past those new mines then–’
But Yola interrupted. ‘No Uncle, what are you planning? We are going to rescue Gabbin – nothing more!’
Banda shook his head. ‘If we find Gabbin you can go, but you weren’t there when your father took my mind and showed me–’
‘Oh yes I was! And it was you that dragged me there!’
Her uncle flinched. ‘I’m sorry Yola, but you see why I must do something to stop this thing.’
‘What thing?’
‘War is about to start again. The KLA is not dead. For the last year weapons have been brought quietly across the river into the Noose lands. There are enough stored there now for a major attack. The plan is simple: a special force will cross the river from Murabende, pick up their weapons in the Noose, slip out through the minefield and seize the bridges from this side. KLA artillery and equipment can then cross from Murabende. Within a day we – I mean, they – could have control of Nopani again.’
‘Not again! Haven’t we had enough war? Is there nothing we can do?’
‘I don’t know Yola, but for the first time in my life I seem to be trying to stop a war instead of start one. I just hope people will trust me. Be at the place I said at sundown, ok?’
Yola watched her uncle limp away and fought back her bitterness against him. What had he to lose? When she turned she could see the gates to the deminers’ camp in the distance. What she was doing was betrayal. Time and again Hans had told her that they were a neutral peace-keeping organisation and couldn’t get involved in political acts, no matter how worthy and justified. No country would have them if they did. She would have to leave the NPA and that meant losing everything she had lived and worked for since that day Hans’s Landcruiser had first driven past the compound.
She turned in at the gate of the camp and a huge lump grew in her throat. She’d been so proud of working with everyone here. She’d shared Hans’s pride when they’d put up the Northern People’s Aid sign at the gate. She loved the work. He’d done so much for her, and she couldn’t even explain. When she got to the adjutant’s house she couldn’t resist walking quietly down the corridor to listen outside Hans’s office. She heard the phone being slammed down. Then she heard him talking to Judit.
‘Damn them! Damn them! That was the army colonel on the phone. It was his men that were injured yesterday. I can’t believe that they got those mines ready to lay so quickly! They must be the mines that that fool O’Farrell left in Murabende. They say they went off directly under the mine detectors. I can’t even offer the colonel help because this is an international dispute. I can just see the headlines: ‘NPA Takes Sides in Border Dispute with Murabende!’ Anyway, how can I send my own men out with mine detectors now! There were six mines left in Murabende, weren’t there Judit? Now there are only four. Until the last one is found our work is crippled!’
Yola backed away from the door and retreated as quietly as she could. She climbed the stairs to her room, closed the door and began to pack. She carefully separated anything that was not hers, even the NPA T-shirt she was so proud of, and put these in a pile to leave behind on her bed. Her few personal possessions she put into her suitcase. Then she sat down to write a letter. It took several drafts.
To Mr Hans Eriksen, Northern People’s Aid, Nopani.
Dear Sir,
I am sorry that I resign my job as Trainee Mines Awareness Instructor today.
With many thanks for kind help.
Sincerely,
Yola Abonda.
P.S. I have given dog Sailor one day leave. Y.
Her next note was to Judit, asking her to give Hans’s letter t
o him in the morning and to look after her suitcase till she could collect it. She thought for a minute and then explained, very briefly, what she was planning to do. She knew she could trust Judit and … well, if things went wrong, Judit would tell Hans. It was important to her that Hans should not think badly of her. She cried a bit, then she slept.
At dusk, Yola absconded with Sailor and joined a silent group waiting for transport at the appointed place. Some she recognised as NPA men, many of whom were from the Noose, but they too were incognito; there wasn’t a uniform among them. Uncle Banda had certainly got the word around. One by one, the stars began to prick the canopy of night above.
23
The Long Night
Waves of sheer terror at the enormity of what she had started swept over Yola. She could hear nothing, she could see nothing – but the night was charged with unseen energy. She stared at the faint luminescence above the forest. Would the moon never rise? Perhaps it wouldn’t and they could all go home. Sailor whined softly at her feet. The people were somewhere behind her, the people of the Noose, like ghosts exiled from a haunted land waiting to be exorcised, waiting to return to their land. Despite the crowded night, she felt utterly alone. Someone laughed in the dark and then stifled it. A plane passed high overhead, a silent winking light among the stars. She thought of Fintan, her mind told her he was up there somewhere, an unconstant star winking its way out of her life, but in her heart she felt him near. She thought of Gabbin, as he used to be, the pink flash of his feet as he ran. How much had he changed? Was he even alive? A car sounding like Judit’s puttered past on the road, stopped and then returned the way it had come. A cow lowed – surely they weren’t bringing their cattle? A sigh like the end of a long-held breath flowed from the invisible gathering. She turned; a first sliver of the moon’s rim was rising, silver above the black cut-out of the forest. It was time to move. There were steps behind her. Sailor whined with pleasure and a familiar voice said ‘Yola?’ and the night changed for her.
Fintan looked pale in the moonlight beside her Uncle Banda.
‘I knew you were near,’ she said.
He stepped forward; the moon, flooding ever stronger, picked out lines of tiredness etched in his face.
‘I had to come, Yola. The news about the soldiers being injured by our mines was just breaking when we got to Simbada. I wanted to run, go with Father, but I couldn’t. I thought about you, searching for your friend; I thought about those mines waiting in the ground. I must at least try to find them before someone else is killed or injured. Father understood, he gave me money and I got the relief flight back; Judit brought me down. I want to be with you, I want to help you if I can. If you’re ready, let’s go and find your friend.’
He stood looking at her, his formal speech over, waiting to see if he were welcome. Emotions sparked and criss-crossed inside her. She was hearing his words, but she was also hearing something about his feelings for her. She turned to look at the moon. It finally broke free from the forest rim and seemed to leap into the sky. The turmoil inside her calmed. She was ready; the missing piece of the jigsaw had been found. It needed recognition, nothing more. She turned and put her arms out and held him hard and close for a moment.
The men came forward and took up their positions. One of them laid a tape along the path that bordered the minefield. Two others were ready to unroll similar tapes to mark the left and right limits of Sailor’s figure of eight loops. Yola handed a bundle of weighted cloth markers to Fintan.
‘I need someone who isn’t afraid of Sailor to mark any mines we find. You’ve seen me do it. I’ll have to control Sailor, there won’t be room to throw his bear out there as we usually do, understand?’
Fintan stuffed the markers into his shirt. Yola took a deep breath. The men’s eyes were on her. She touched St Christopher. ‘Come on, Sailor – search.’ Sailor did not move. He was lying on the path staring out into the minefield. Yola’s mind whirled. Sailor never missed a search command! Was he sick? ‘Search, boy,’ she commanded. He whined but did not move. Oh God, I can’t fail now, Yola thought.
Then Fintan said quietly, ‘Perhaps he’s found one.’
Yola stared. ‘But … but it’s only inches from the path!’ She called Sailor back to her and then sent him out on his figure of eight loop. He passed the spot, looped back and sank to the ground. There was no doubt! There were murmurs of wonder from the men around. ‘The bastards,’ she said. ‘Look, the ground is disturbed, I bet this is one of yours Fintan.’
Fintan dropped a marker on the spot while Yola, visibly shaken, played with Sailor on safe ground; Sailor was delighted with himself. And it was this more than anything that helped Yola fight back the scent of cinnamon that rose from her memory in choking clouds.
Then the work began. Left and right, left and right, Sailor looped, nose to the ground, tail wagging. The first steps onto the minefield were the worst. Like stepping into a pool with crocodiles. The men with her were professionals. As they advanced, the two men on the flanks advanced too, rolling out the tapes that would mark the edge of the checked ground. There! Sailor was down again! Fintan walked gingerly over and marked the spot, then Yola wrestled with the dog over his rubber bear, keeping him on safe ground the whole time. Soon the pattern of the minefield emerged. First three in a line, then a zigzag pattern. Then there was a long stretch with nothing except two markers on the old track.
‘I bet those are anti-tank mines,’ Yola said. They paused to give Sailor a rest. Fintan turned to look back.
‘What are they doing back there?’
Yola followed his gaze. The parallel tapes were clearly visible. She could make out the zigzag line of markers, but beyond them were lights low to the ground. People seemed to be working there on hands and knees.
‘They are digging the mines up, I think,’ she said.
‘But isn’t that dangerous?’
‘Yes,’ she said, ‘very, but most of these men are deminers or were soldiers once – they know what they are doing, I hope. Uncle Banda says that if the people can get back onto their land tonight, it can be done peaceably before anyone realises what’s happening. They have a big stock of arms here, but the soldiers are away training across the river.’
She turned her back on the activity behind her and looked ahead. Fintan followed her gaze.
‘Is no one defending the Noose lands, then? Surely we can’t just walk in.’
‘Yes, there are defenders,’ Yola said. ‘The boy I am seeking is one.’
‘But … I … I thought he had been captured?’
‘Yes, Fintan, he was. But it’s his mind that is captive, not his body. We must be careful, he could be very dangerous.’ Yola thought back to her mines awareness class and remembered with pain that nasty little look of triumph on Gabbin’s face when he had scared poor Sister Martha. ‘Let’s go on, I think we are nearly there.’
The washout – a steep-sided gully that had been cut into light-coloured gravels by the river in flood – appeared stark and bright across the track. On the opposite side it rose to a line of bushes.
‘Get down both of you!’ whispered Uncle Banda coming up behind them. ‘Gabbin’s post is just over there in those bushes. There are no mines now, but he won’t hesitate to shoot. I just wonder why he hasn’t challenged us yet.’
Yola felt a surge of anger. She had brought them through the minefield and she was damned if she were going to let Banda take over now.
‘Perhaps he’s dead!’ she snapped. ‘Anyway, I can’t lie down.’
‘But I’m going to call out to him! He will obey me.’
‘No you are not! I want Gabbin back, I don’t want a child soldier. Fintan, you hold Sailor. I’m giving the orders now so stay quiet and keep low.’
She hesitated at the gully edge, then she launched forward and down. Her artificial leg dug deep into the gravel and sent an avalanche of stones and pebbles bounding down the slope. It was at that moment, and too late, that she realised why she had not bee
n challenged before. On top she had been a comfortable black on black, here she was black on white: the perfect target. She looked up towards the bushes above her. The metallic click of the rifle being cocked carried over the sound of the cascading stones. She could feel the rifle pointing at her like an invisible eye. She closed her eyes, waiting for the hammer blows of the bullets that would follow.
‘Stop!’ a boy’s voice called in Kasembi. ‘Don’t move or I will shoot!’
Yola opened her eyes. She could see him. He had moved out from the shelter of the bushes and stood recklessly exposed against the moon-glow of the sky. She recognised the voice but it was twisted out of shape, somewhere between triumph and despair.
‘I am Yola,’ she called. ‘Why do you stand in the open like a fool, Gabbin Abonda, where you can be shot!’
‘You cannot shoot me. You are the fool. Your bullets will bounce off me. I have strong medicine.’
‘What has given you this power, this medicine, mighty boy?’
‘I have killed. I have this medicine because I have spilled the blood of my own kin.’
‘Do you not recognise my voice, Gabbin Abonda?’
‘Go away, I do not know you. I do not know myself. I have sold my soul by what I have done, all I can do is go on.’ The boy’s voice was rising. ‘I can kill you … nothing matters.’
Yola realised she was losing him. She’d never looked down the barrel of a rifle before. She must enter his world or perish.
