by Majok Tulba
The Captain grins from cheek to cheek.
One of the younger boys holds the Captain’s gaze, standing rooted to the ground, and straight like a Dinka spear. The Captain nods at him.
‘On the truck,’ he roars.
Sick
We sit in the front, us new recruits. The soldiers say that way, if the goats shit, they won’t shit on the soldiers. They mean the ones who are my age. Sitting along the side, the grown-ups are well clear of the goats. Those new boys look at us, but we can’t look back at them. They’re our size but they have grandfather eyes.
It’s worse up here, and not just because of the goats. We are packed in very tight. Akidi is sitting on Otim’s lap. She’s older than him and a bit bigger, but he keeps crying and the rebels yell at you if they catch you crying. So Otim hides his face behind Akidi’s back and acts like he’s resting.
Right behind me is one of the big boys from my school. He doesn’t pick on me much, but he does join in when the others start. He has two boys sitting on his lap. They’re a bit younger but he still looks really uncomfortable. I’m not on anyone’s lap. When I climbed up I just sat down and pulled my knees to my chest. I’m right next to a goat’s leg. Akot is next to me, but he’s facing forward. The rest of us look out the back, watching Pina’s village vanish. The familiar land gets farther and farther away. Akot keeps staring at the big gun on top of the truck. I don’t know if he’s angry or sad or scared. I wish he would say something, just so I’d know.
I wish I could be like Akot. I don’t want to cry any more, but I also don’t want to go with the soldiers. Then I think about our village and I don’t want to go back there, either. I want to see Mama, but I don’t want to go back home. Everything is burned and they will be digging graves. If I was digging graves, I would have to think about the dead, their empty faces staring out of the ground from behind closed eyes, and bit by bit I would have to throw dirt on them.
At least if I don’t go back, I can imagine that Mama is okay and she is living with another family, bringing the goats with her and working in her kale garden. Mama grows good kale, cassava, okra and sweet potato. I can even imagine that Papa isn’t dead and is with her. The village can just be in my head forever and I can visit it any time.
But what will happen to me with the rebels? Maybe when we get out of the truck they’ll look at me and tease me like the big boys at school. Maybe they’ll say I’m too small to be a soldier and tell me to run away and I will. I’ll just run and run. Then I’ll find water and drink and drink. Then I’ll run more. After a while, I’ll come to a big town and I’ll tell everyone there that I escaped the rebels, and everyone will be impressed and some rich man will send me to school so I can become a doctor.
I put my hand on my chest to feel my heart. If I had that thing the doctors wear, I could listen to my heart as well as feel it.
We are passing through another village. The truck doesn’t stop here, but the soldiers wave their guns in the air and whistle and shout. I can hear women’s voices – they’re shouting back at the soldiers and singing. They say that the soldiers are strong and wonder if they’re good kissers. Do these women know what the rebels do? If they saw what they did in my village, they wouldn’t sing for them. Maybe they’d spit at them. No, if they spat at them, the Captain would tell the driver to stop and they’d beat the women up and maybe hurt them. Or maybe they wouldn’t stop. Maybe the Captain would just shoot them as he drove by.
The soldiers hoot and jump around when they hear the women’s songs. The driver gets a big kick out of it too. He’s honking his horn and shouting, ‘Hey, you ever suck an elephant’s cock? Look at that ass, I wanna cover it with my cum!’ The women all seem to like the strange things he says, because they are crazy.
As soon as we’re out of that crazy village, the driver speeds up. The bed of the truck has lots of bumps in the metal and one of them keeps jamming against my rear. The soldiers on the sides, they love it. They shout at the driver. They call him Champ. We’re getting further from the villages, so the road isn’t as good. We hit a big bump and the truck throws me up in the air and I crash down into the boys behind me. The grown-ups all laugh.
In certain places little hills and valleys carve up the road. Bump. Bump. Bump. Bump. Ouch. Ouch. Ouch. Ouch. My rear really hurts. We hit another. Digga-digga-digga-digga. The shaking goes up my spine, and keeps going, like an echo, even between the bumps. Because I’m squished in so tight, I have to keep my knees up close to my face. The next big bump we hit, my knee smashes into my mouth, almost like getting punched. My hand flies to my mouth, I’m scared I’ve lost a tooth. When I look at my hand, there’s no blood. Another bump sends my knee into my mouth again, and my other knee hits my hand and that makes me hit my own forehead. I’m beating myself up, just like Akot used to make me do at home. It’s almost funny. I look at Akot, but now he’s looking straight down.
We swerve into a corner in the road. I fall over and land on some young recruits lying under the goats. They smack my head and tell me to get up. I’m trying, but it’s hard. Another bump and I roll back into the boys behind me. Now another turn. I think the driver went faster on that one. He speeds up on the turns. Champ is really crazy.
My spine feels like it’s punching my brain. And my jaw hurts because I keep bracing against the bumps and shaking. More corners and I’m rolling around like a football. The others seem to be holding their spots better, maybe because they’re bigger. The clouds swing away from me and then back and then goat belly and the clouds come back. I look down and everyone else is swaying and their heads look like they’re spinning and my eyes can’t stay in one place. Up in the sky the clouds spin too. And I tumble and the goats bleat, one stumbles and steps on my hand and we turn the other way and everyone sways and the clouds turn and my eyes spin.
My stomach starts to turn, like the food in my belly is boiling. The bubbles pop and rise. Every turn sloshes my insides around. A little sick jumps into my throat and burns back down. Oh, it burns bad!
‘Can we slow down?’ I try to yell. No one hears me. ‘I’m going to be sick,’ I get out. ‘Can we slow down?’
A couple of soldiers hear me, but they just laugh.
‘I’m not joking!’ I say and we hit a bump and I fly up and hit the floor again and my stomach jumps into my throat. ‘I’m really going to be sick.’
Still the soldiers laugh.
One more turn throws my stomach against my side and I can feel the juices bubbling and rising. Quickly I climb over kids, push through a couple of adults and vomit over the side. When it comes out, it’s all green and burns my throat really bad. But it feels better to have it out. Then we hit another bump and the side of the truck whacks me in the stomach and I vomit again.
I fall back inside the truck, my eyes watering. The rebels have stopped laughing.
‘Stop!’ the Captain yells. He’s right next to me. I hadn’t seen him.
The truck screeches to a stop and we are all pressed forward. I open my watering eyes and see the Captain. Right next to me, scowling, his face close to mine. He’s missing two front teeth and all the others are coloured dark green, black. I didn’t know teeth could be black. His hair is dirty and sticks out in every direction. His beard is tangled. He looks like he’s been made in the wild, out of the earth and the darkness. A monster. A big scar swoops up his cheek. From here it looks sort of like a smiley face.
My sick is all over his pants and boots.
Everyone is silent, waiting. The Captain jumps down, grabs my shirt and pulls me out of the truck. I hit the ground and roll. I lie there weakly, aching everywhere.
Three other soldiers jump down from the truck and stand next to it, waiting for orders. The Captain takes a few steps towards the side of the road. He stops and I can see his face. He no longer looks angry or anything, he wears a mask of nothing. He unzips his trousers, adjusts himself and starts peeing in an animal’s hole. The three soldiers look away, but keep the Captain in the corners of their
eyes.
I don’t know what he’s been drinking, but it’s all coming out. He’s just going and going and going. Elephants don’t pee that much. After what feels like forever he stops and zips himself back up, then stands with his hands on his hips. He looks at the sky, then back at the horizon.
He snaps his fingers. The soldiers drag me towards the back of the truck and throw me on the road again. It’s like they’ve practised this a hundred times. My heart beats like a drum at a dance and my feet beg to scramble and run. Are they going to kill me?
One boot straight into my stomach. The pain rushes up through my body and explodes inside my head. The shock hurts me as much as the kick. I have seen them beating and killing people. Is it my turn?
I can’t breathe but I’m not dead. My brain is working. The pain seems to have dissolved all over my body, and I’m dizzy and tired and cold, that kind of cold you get when you’re having malaria. I want to climb into my bed and snuggle under the covers and hug myself with my thighs against my chest and close my eyes and then wait for Mama to bring the herbs for malaria from the bush. I feel like I’m falling asleep but I don’t want to sleep. Because if I fall asleep I might not wake up.
Another kick in my back. I’m awake and the pain is red-hot. A club to the shoulder. Someone stomps on my legs. Again and again and again. A boot heel crushes my hand. The thick black club hits my ribs. Stomp, stomp, and stomp on my knee.
I’m on fire. I scream for them to stop. My whole body hurt before, but that was just an ache. This pain blazes in my bones. Every time they hit there’s an explosion under my skin, blistering heat spreads across my body. A cracking sound. I don’t know if it’s my arm or my ribs. They hit both at the same time. I don’t even know where the pain is coming from, it’s everywhere, wrapped around me.
I’m screaming, ‘Help! Help help h— ugh!’ They keep kicking my stomach and ribs and I can’t breathe. The club hits me in the face, I see dark red, I feel dark red everywhere. Another hit to my jaw. I taste my own blood, my mouth an undercooked piece of meat.
I cry. That’s all I can do. Sob and sob and sob because no one is going to help me. The soldiers are watching the new recruits, who can’t do anything, they’re all too scared. I’d be scared too if I was in that truck. I’d hide, I know I would. More boots dig into my body. I can’t feel my feet. Dirt scratches my eyes.
A whack to my ear, everything sounds wrong, muffled like they wrapped my ears in a thick blanket, and then my whole body goes numb and I don’t feel any pain any more. In my mind I’m watching and hearing someone else being beaten. Not me. I hear shouting but I don’t understand it. The feet around me step back, shrinking to normal sizes. I’m lying in the road, my body throbbing and burning.
I can see the road leading back to the villages. It’s rocky and far away. I can spy hills and trees all around. Good climbing trees with thick leaves on the top. If I could climb one I could just lie there, and maybe when I woke up I wouldn’t hurt any more.
Clouds hang over the dark-blue faraway hills. Rain is coming. It might soothe my burning bruises.
Oh God, make it rain. Make it thunder. Send lightning to kill them.
I hear two shots ring out. For a moment, I wonder whether they’ve shot me – my body feels far away. It’s possible. But then I hear a soldier yell, ‘Runners!’ and I know that some more kids have tried to escape while I was being beaten.
The soldiers throw insults at the boys who ran away. ‘Stupid fat boys can’t run!’ ‘If your mother was here I’d fuck her ass!’ ‘Death to deserters!’
Through my burning eyes I see the Captain walk over to a dark lump on the ground, draw his pistol and stand there a moment. Then a flash and a bang.
Beside me, another pair of boots. And against my cheek a change in temperature. The cold breath of a gun. ‘Can I finish him, sir?’ the soldier asks. A boot under me. I’m rolled over to face the sky. Above me the Captain, his eyes looking into mine.
‘It’s your lucky day,’ he says to me. He kicks me in the shoulder. ‘Get his baboon’s ass in the truck.’
Soldiers pick me up by my arms and legs, stoking the coals of the pain. ‘Come on, Baboon’s Ass. You won’t get sick any more, will you?’
They throw me on top of the boy soldiers, who push me towards the front and the goats. Akot grabs my hand and pulls me to him. He sets me in his lap without a word. Maybe he doesn’t hate me. I’ll ask him one day.
I close my eyes and hope for sleep. Maybe when I wake up I won’t hurt any more. Maybe I’ll be dead and be with Papa. I could be an empty face staring out of a hole. Throw dirt on my face.
Blessed
A dark shape rustles the bushes.
Something large stalks me.
It might be a wild dog, but it looks too big. All I can imagine about it is terrifying.
Slowly, I walk back to the village. If I run it might chase me, so I just walk. I look over my shoulder, and the shape lies still. So I walk a little faster. The blackness doesn’t even blink. Then I turn, and there is my village.
Mama waits in front of her hut, wearing a perfect white dress. Her eyes are wet. Even from far away, I can tell she wants to cry. I think I am far enough away from the thing in the bushes that I can run, so I do. I run up to Mama and she throws her arms around me and hugs me tightly. She kisses my cheek and my forehead and presses her cheek against my neck.
‘What’s wrong, Mama?’
She doesn’t answer, she cries more and holds me tighter.
‘We have to go.’ I know the voice. I look over Mama’s shoulder and there’s the Captain, standing in the hut, holding a running shoe. Steam’s flowing out of the shoe. Closing his eyes, the Captain brings the shoe to his mouth and drinks out of it, like it’s a cup.
‘Just one more day?’ Mama pleads.
‘One more day,’ the Captain replies, wiping his mouth, ‘is a year.’ He drops the shoe to the floor and steps outside with us. I feel his hands around my waist as he pulls me from Mama. At first she holds tighter, but he tugs on me and she lets go. The Captain holds me like I’m a basket of fruit and says to Mama, ‘Thanks for the coffee.’
I hold the Captain’s hand and we’re walking towards the big green truck. Other children stand on it dressed in dirty rags. Big holes all over their brown stained clothes. They don’t look sad or angry, their tears have been beaten out of them. Just blank faces.
Then another voice. A tall man, dressed in black with a priest’s white collar. ‘Excuse me,’ says the priest. ‘The boy isn’t ready.’
The Captain stares at him. ‘He’s going to be a soldier and the elephants aren’t waiting.’
‘He cannot go yet,’ says the priest. ‘He hasn’t been blessed.’
‘Then go bless him.’ The Captain gives my hand to the priest. ‘Before the elephants come.’
The priest takes my hand and leads me to the village circle. A hundred people wait, all dressed in white, standing shoulder to shoulder in rows. ‘The boy must be blessed!’ cries the priest, and the people cheer.
One lady in the front claps. The others join her and clap a lively beat. They sway to the rhythm of the clapping. One woman gives out a long cry as a first note to a song and others join her. As they sing, the rows of people close around me, until I’m in the centre holding the priest’s hand.
In their song they praise God because he has sent them food, which eases their hunger. They thank him for rain, which eases their thirst. Then they cry out that their lives are filled with fear. The soldiers roam the hills and wild animals steal their goats. The rains don’t come and their gardens wither. They thank God again, praising him for heaven. In every pain and hunger and thirst and sorrow on earth, heaven is always there, hope is always alive. Hope, they sing, eases every pain.
The priest raises my hands and tells me to sing.
‘I don’t know the words.’
‘Then you must learn the words,’ says the priest with a smile.
I look at the singers again.
Their swaying turns to spinning. All around me, the singers in their white clothing spin and dance. They move as one in their rows. Clapping and calling out the song that doesn’t end.
‘If you cannot yet sing,’ the priest says, standing up, ‘you can always dance.’
So I pick up my feet and step with the clapping and I listen to the music and nod my head. I close my eyes and feel the music, like Papa taught me for the traditional dances. I turn and tap the soil and the dust rises and the trees and the village spin around me. I stomp and jump and turn and kick and yell and spin and step and kick and jump. The huts become blurs, rising dust a haze, the people around just colours whipping by. I raise my arms, shake my hands and my elbows bounce.
The music is warm inside me and the harder I dance, the deeper it goes and the warmer I feel. Like my bed in springtime, after a long day with the goats. Like everything inside of me is smooth and comfortable. I swim in this feeling.
The Football Field
I wake. My entire body aches.
The heat of the blows has calmed, but the pain is like the humming of cicadas. Quiet, but constant. The truck’s shaking makes it worse.
On the truck, though, I don’t want to cry. I’m cried out. Or perhaps they really did beat it out of me. I can feel my feet and hands again, though maybe it was better when I couldn’t. My feet don’t hurt too much, but when I try to shift my leg I can only move it a couple of centimetres, it weighs two tonnes. My left hand hurts like there’s an animal inside. When the animal breathes in, my hand hurts like crazy, but then it breathes out and the pain isn’t so bad. My right hand has turned to stone.
I’m sure my bones are broken. My hand, my knee, and a couple of ribs. Even breathing lightly hurts. Sticky spots of drying blood are all over me.
‘Hey, he’s awake,’ Akidi says. Akidi is like a big sister to all of us younger kids in the village. The girls like going to collect water from the stream with Akidi because she tells fables and funny tales as they walk. Now she’s curled up like I was, behind the goat.
