No Greater Love

by Kathi Macias

  He took a breath and looked again at Chioma. “We must convince your friend to come along. If she stays behind, even if Themba doesn’t harm her, she’ll tell him of your involvement in our escape, and Themba might then realize we’d be sticking close to the road. We have a better chance to make this work if the young woman and her baby come along.”

  Chioma nodded. She knew the man was right, but she had little confidence Mandisa would agree to leave this place and return to the farm with them. Still, Chioma knew she must try once again to convince her.

  “There’s a place I know of,” Paul said then, “not far from here, though beyond the homes of most of our students. It’s an old building, long abandoned and nearly hidden among the tall grass, where we can have a clear view of any approaching vehicles—or pursuers, for that matter. If Themba is diverted, even for a little while, we just might make it. We could spot Emma’s driver, flag him down, and have him deliver us all safely to the Vorster farm.”

  Though Chioma wondered if the farm would truly afford her any safety, she decided the plan might work for the rest of them. And even her chances at the farm were better than remaining here to face Themba.

  Now all she had to do was change Mandisa’s mind. Chioma sighed, praying silently that God would show her what to say and that He would cause Mandisa to agree to their plan.

  With that in mind, she left the others to gather their things and went to the back room to talk with the girl who had become like a sister to her.

  It was no use. Mandisa refused to listen, and instead grew more adamant that she and Sipho must stay behind. She also pleaded with Chioma to do the same, promising she wouldn’t tell Themba of Chioma’s complicity in Kefentse’s death and the captives’ escape. But Chioma knew once Themba fixed his dark, piercing eyes on the girl, she would be terrified, and would quickly crumble and tell him the truth.

  And yet, the more Chioma thought about it, the more she realized it would be better for the others if she stayed behind with Mandisa and the baby. At least it would buy some time for Emma and the missionary couple to make it safely to the abandoned building, as Themba would undoubtedly be busy for a while, taking out his wrath on his unfaithful wife. Chioma knew how it would end, but she also knew if she didn’t remain behind, Themba would be much more likely to catch up to the others before they made contact with Emma’s driver.

  The decision was made. She would tell the others she couldn’t accompany them because she had to stay with Mandisa and the baby. She would assure them Themba would be upset but would not kill her, as she was his wife. Perhaps they would believe her. If not, she would insist they leave anyway.

  With her heart racing and a fear so palpable she could nearly taste it, Chioma returned to the main room to tell her three friends what she must do.

  Chapter 29

  CHIOMA WAS SURE THE HEAVINESS IN HER HEART reflected in her face, but she couldn’t help it. Ever since finally convincing Emma and the others to leave without her, she realized how desperately she had wanted to go with them. Knowing she had done the right thing to help ensure their escape didn’t take away the pain or fear of what lay ahead.

  As she waited, slumped on the floor where the three captives had spent so many hours bound together, a seemingly unending stream of tears trickled from Chioma’s eyes. They had been flowing for so long she no longer tried to wipe them away. On occasion, when Mandisa and the baby entered the room, Chioma sensed their presence but refused to speak. What was left to say? She had stayed because Mandisa had stayed. If the girl hadn’t been so stubborn, they might all be safely hidden away in the vacant building by now, watching for the approaching car that would carry them to safety. Instead, they were stuck here in this empty home that would no doubt soon become Chioma’s tomb. She had accepted that, but she hoped and prayed Mandisa would be spared, if only to care for the baby.

  She closed her eyes, remembering how Emma and the others had pleaded with Chioma to come with them, almost refusing to go without her. But at last Chioma had convinced them that if for no other reason, they must go for the sake of the baby Jeannie carried within her. Paul had then propped up Kefentse in a sitting position against the tree outside, his AK-47 resting in his arms, in an attempt to postpone Themba’s discovery of what had happened at least until he got inside the house.

  Then, at last, Chioma and her three friends had parted, amidst fervent prayers and many tears.

  Themba was tired, though he would never show it in front of his followers. They had been gone far too long, though their monetary take had made the journey worthwhile. But he longed to get back to Chioma. He missed the comfort of her sleeping beside him, of having her prepare his food and look to him for protection. There had been many women in his life, but none like Chioma. She was beautiful, yes. But so were the others, each in their own way. Chioma was different. She had fire and courage, but she was learning to respect his leadership. As the missionary house came into view, shimmering in the mid-morning sun, he smiled, anticipating his reunion with his wife. His followers knew to lag behind and give their leader the privacy he required. “

  Chioma?”

  He called to her as approached the entrance, wanting her to come and welcome him. When she didn’t appear and the only sound he heard was the fussing of little Sipho, he called again, louder this time, as he stopped and stood in the open doorway.

  “Chioma! Where are you?”

  His eyes quickly adjusted to the muted light inside the house, and he was surprised to see his wife sitting on the floor, slumped against the wall, her head down. Was she ill? Had something happened to her? Then he realized the captives were gone.

  “Chioma!” He hurried to her, reaching down to pull her to her feet just as she lifted her head. Her tear-streaked face and sorrowful eyes set off alarm bells that told him the prisoners had escaped. But how could that be? How could she have allowed this to happen? And why had Kefentse not stopped it?

  Before he could speak or yank her to her feet, he heard Mandisa behind him, sobbing in accompaniment to the crying baby. He stood and whirled around, causing Mandisa to shrink back in obvious terror. What could have happened in his absence to cause such behavior from these two women?

  Themba turned back to Chioma, who by this time had drawn herself to a standing position, though her head was bowed before him. His initial reaction was to pull her into his arms and assure her that he was here now and all would be well. Yet he sensed there was more to the story of what happened than he wanted to hear.

  “What is it?” he asked, forcing a sternness into his voice, determined not to show any weakness or compassion until he understood the entire situation, yet praying to gods he didn’t believe in that his suspicions were wrong. “What happened, Chioma? Tell me!”

  He grabbed her chin in the palm of his hand and jerked her head up until she was forced to look at him. Even before she spoke, he sensed the guilt in her eyes.

  “They’re gone, Themba. They … escaped.”

  Mandisa’s sobs increased in intensity then, as did the baby’s wailing, but Themba stopped his ears to all but the words that passed between himself and Chioma.

  “What have you done?” he demanded, his voice low and menacing, as he squeezed her face until he knew he had caused her pain, hoping the suffering in her eyes would drown out the agony he felt in his heart. “Tell me what you’ve done!”

  Chioma’s eyes were nearly wild with terror, sending a thrill of power through Themba’s veins, even as his heart broke at the realization that his wife had betrayed him, as well as the cause to which they had pledged their lives. This was going to be the most difficult execution he had ever performed, but he knew even before she spoke another word that he would have to carry it out. Honor demanded it. There was no room for disobedience or betrayal among their ranks.

  “I …” The woman he considered so beautiful now struggled to speak, as he held the lower part of her face in a vise grip, but he refused to lessen his hold. Let her suffer as she
tried to explain. It would make no difference in the ultimate outcome.

  “I let them go,” she whimpered, even as her eyes pleaded for mercy. Did she not understand that mercy had never been shown to him and he therefore had none to give?

  Instead he squeezed tighter, leaning toward her until his face was mere inches from hers. “Why?”

  Chioma closed her eyes, and he could feel her trembling beneath his touch. Good. The more she suffered, the better. And when he was through with her, he would kill the other one and give the child to someone else. What did it matter who raised him? He was, after all, Themba’s child, though no one in the camp ever spoke of it and Themba doubted that either Mandisa or Chioma suspected it. As the leader’s child, Sipho would be raised to be a mighty comrade who would fight to the death for the cause Chioma had now betrayed. It didn’t matter that Themba scarcely remembered the name or the face of Sipho’s mother, for until now, Chioma had been the only woman Themba had ever cared for. He wouldn’t make the same mistake again.

  “Because … they didn’t deserve to die,” Chioma whimpered. “They’re good people. Religious people. They were here to help the children—”

  Her voice trailed off, as Themba, in his rage, squeezed her jaw until she could no longer hold back her cries of pain. “They don’t come here to help our people,” Themba growled. “They come here to take from us what is rightfully ours, and to turn our young people against us.” He spat in her face and watched her try to recoil as the slime dripped down from her forehead. “And you, my faithless wife, have helped them. You and your cowardly friend, with her bawling brat—and Kefentse as well.”

  Despite Themba’s hold on her face, Chioma’s eyes sprang open and she managed to shake her head no, as she struggled to speak. “It was me, Themba. Not Mandisa. She tried to talk me out of it. She begged me not to do it. She said it was wrong. She refused to go with them. That’s why I stayed. And Kefentse is dead. I … shot him.”

  Themba glared at her before answering, determined not to show the depth of pain he felt over her betrayal. “So you admit you killed my guard,” he said at last, “a loyal comrade who fought valiantly at my side. And you also admit that if not for Mandisa’s loyalty, you would have run off with those white devils. It wasn’t enough to betray me or the cause by letting them go; you would have joined them if Mandisa hadn’t insisted on staying behind.”

  With a rough shake of his hand, he released Chioma, nearly toppling her to the floor in the process. Then he turned to Mandisa. “You did well by refusing to join in this treason and by trying to convince Chioma of her wrongdoing. I’ll let you and the little one live. Now get your things. We’re returning to the camp as soon as I finish my business here.”

  Though Mandisa had stopped crying by then, she stood unmoving, staring wide-eyed at Themba, until he bellowed, “Get moving! Or must I deal with your disobedience as well?”

  Mandisa’s eyes opened even wider, as she shook her head quickly. “No, Themba. I won’t disobey you. I’ll be ready right away.” With the baby pressed tightly against her, she scurried to the back room and returned within seconds, her scant belongings in hand. “I’m ready, Themba.”

  Themba nodded. “Wait for me outside.”

  With only a furtive glance at Chioma, Mandisa lowered her eyes and hurried out the door, hushing the baby all the way.

  And then they were alone. Themba returned his attention to his treacherous wife, who still cowered in front of him. “I should make this slow and painful,” he said, watching her reaction. “But you can be thankful I’m in a hurry to leave. And though I take pleasure in killing a traitor, I don’t take pleasure in killing my wife. Do you understand that?”

  Chioma raised her eyes to his. Though her lashes were still wet, the tears had stopped streaming down her face. “Yes, my husband. I understand.”

  “And do you have anything to say for yourself before you go to be with your ancestors?”

  He saw her swallow before she answered. “Only that … I’m sorry for betraying you. I would rather not have done so. But a greater love compelled me, and … I had no choice.”

  Themba felt his jaws clench. How dare she speak of love and betrayal in the same breath? Though he would miss her, he couldn’t let her live. Perhaps the young woman Mandisa, who already cared for his infant son, could warm his bed as well. At least she had proven her loyalty, and though she might lack the fire and passion that he so admired in Chioma, he now knew Mandisa could be trusted. He wouldn’t marry her, but he would protect her and allow her to serve him for as long as he needed her. Time would take care of the rest.

  With that, he retrieved the rifle that leaned against the chair beside them, the rifle Chioma had used to kill the intruders at the camp, and also a brave brother who was loyal to the cause. Leveling it directly at his wife’s heart, he looked into her eyes one last time.

  “I go to God with a prayer for your soul on my lips,” Chioma said, her voice soft but surprisingly strong.

  Steeling himself, Themba fired and watched her drop. With her spattered blood still warm upon him, he noticed two books on the floor beside her already lifeless body. Picking them up, he realized one was the holy book he had given her weeks before. The other appeared to be a journal of some sort. Jamming them both into his waistband, he turned from his dead wife and walked out the door to join those who waited for him, thinking that maybe, one day, he might read the books she had left behind. Perhaps they would help him understand this woman who had so captured his heart—and then smashed it into little pieces.

  With that, he set out to lead the others back to camp, unconcerned with what had happened to the missionaries. Now that he had taken out his vengeance on Chioma, the rest no longer mattered.

  In the distance, Anana imagined a baby’s cry, drifting to her on the night breeze.

  Epilogue

  ANANA SAT, AS SHE HAD SO MANY TIMES BEFORE, in her favorite wicker chair on the sweeping veranda of . their home, watching the glorious South African sunset ash its majestic hues across the expansive veld. She thought of Emma, probably dozing now as she leaned back in one of the passenger seats of the massive airline that carried her away from her first homeland and back to her second, the one where she and her husband had made their home and raised their family. But Anana knew Emma would arrive in America with a fresh love and appreciation for the country of her birth.

  They had sat right there on that very veranda, she and Emma, after her sister and the others had returned on Monday afternoon--exhausted, frightened, and disheveled, with a story to tell that was nearly too bizarre to be believed. And yet, because of the integrity of those who told it, Anana knew every word was true.

  She closed her eyes now and leaned her head back, listening to the soft, familiar sounds of the approaching night. Had it really been less than a week since Emma told her of all that had taken place in the humble missionary home, and then relayed to her the harrowing story of their escape? The thought of her sister, as well as Paul and Jeannie, running for their lives, hiding in a broken-down building, praying they wouldn’t be discovered before they were able to spot the car and hail Emma’s driver nearly made her sick inside each time she thought of it. But they had done it. The car had arrived on time, and they had escaped, overjoyed at God’s deliverance yet mourning those they had left behind.

  Now Emma had begun her journey home, while Paul and Jeannie remained at the farm until their missions committee decided what they should do next. In the meantime, Anana was enjoying the company of the young couple, even as they, too, shared with her about “the great conversion,” as they called it, of the young woman named Chioma.

  And where are you now, sweet Chioma? Anana sighed as she thought of the possibilities, knowing there was little chance the girl still walked the earth, yet rejoicing to know that if she had died as a martyr, giving her life to save others, she was now safely home with the God she had so recently come to know.

  And with Andrew, she thought. And Gerti
e, too. Yes, I imagine you’ve seen them both by now, if indeed the situation turned out as we imagine it must have. Anana smiled. Such great Love. How grateful I am, wherever you are, dear Chioma, that you found such Love in your Lifetime. For there truly is none greater…

  In the distance, Anana imagined a baby’s cry, drifting to her on the night breeze. Was it the memory of her own little ones, Gertie and Andrew, now gone from her until she joined them at the end of her own life? Could it be the promise of the little one carried within Jeannie’s womb-or Mariana’s? Or was it possible it was the cry of little Sipho, the one Emma and the others had told Anana about-the one with the same name as the baby Anana had heard in her dream so many nights before?

  No matter. The cry of a baby was always the cry of hope, wrapped in mercy and given in love. And with that thought, Anana was finally at peace.

  The End

  About Apartheid

  Apartheid was a tragedy of humanity, a mockery of divinity, a fallacy of purity-in black and white. It was the political system that governed South Africa from 1948 until 1994, 46 years that saw the subjugation of the majority at the hands of the minority. Its overthrow did not come quietly or gently, as evil does not yield power without a fight. It came at the cost of bloodshed, not just by those who lived in South Africa during that nearly half a century but also by One who lived nearly 2,000 years earlier and whose purpose was to bridge the otherwise impassable chasms of sin wrought by mankind’s pursuit of selfishness.