The Other Side of Silence

by Andre Brink

  Gisela only shrugs. After a while she says, “All right. I shall go where you go. I have been passive long enough.” She gazes around her. “But this land…It has been going on for so long, for centuries. You know, I once read – we were still in Dresden then, I told you I was a history teacher before we got married – I read about the first Portuguese explorers who came down the coast of Africa. Diego Cam. Bartolomeu Diaz. Well, they said that Diaz kidnapped four black women from the coast of Guinea to drop them at different spots. He thought they could make friends with the natives – of course in those days they believed everybody in Africa spoke the same language – and then he’d pick them up again on the way back. The first woman was set down at Angra Pequena here on the coast of this land, and the second further down, I think they called the place Angra das Voltas. But then things went wrong, the little fleet was driven off course, and Diaz never came back for the women. Perhaps they never survived anyway. But what always shocked me was how they could just be abandoned like that. No one thought of the families, the children, the lives they left behind. They were like markers, like the wooden crosses the men planted along the coast. Just because they were women anything could be done to them. And how often during the years I was married, I thought that, really, that was all I was to Gottlieb too. A beacon to mark his progress.”

  That is why you must stay with us, insists Hanna, through Katja. All these wooden crosses must rise up to say No.

  Gisela nods. Whether she is convinced remains to be seen.

  ∨ The Other Side of Silence ∧

  Fifty-Three

  What will be the turning point begins in an ordinary enough way. And although they have been preparing for just such an eventuality – days of strenuous weapons training, directed by Kahapa – a ripple of unease, even of fear, moves through the small company when, on the afternoon of the fourth or fifth day, he announces the news.

  He has gone down on all fours, pressing his ear to the ground. “There is people come this way,” he says. “With horses and all.”

  “How far?” asks Gisela, apprehension showing in her tightly drawn features.

  “Still far.”

  “How many?”

  “I don’t know,” says Kahapa. “We must wait. More than five.” He holds up one hand, fingers spread wide.

  “Good,” says Himba. “We kill them all dead.”

  “Not if there are too many,” Gisela objects.

  If they are soldiers, Hanna gestures to Katja, we must get ready. You know what to do.

  Gisela, it has been decided, will lie down on the cart pretending to be sick. (Not much pretence is needed; she is still in bad shape.) She will be the wife of a high official, who fell ill during a visit to the mission station and is being taken back to Windhoek for medical care. Over the past days they have rehearsed a number of possibilities; and Kahapa and Himba, sometimes the crafty and agile monkey man T’Kamkhab, have taken them through routines of attack and defence – with guns, with knives, with bows and arrows, with kieries, of which by now they have quite an assortment. But practising, Hanna knows only too well, is different from facing a real enemy. However, unlike the other women, she feels little fear. What makes the prickly hairs on the back of her neck stand up is excitement. At last, perhaps, at last something is going to happen.

  It is a long wait, over two hours, before the dull thudding sounds Kahapa has picked up materialise into figures approaching from the horizon in the east. Eight of them.

  “Too much men,” says Kahapa quietly. “We are not ready for them. Not yet.”

  We’ll see, responds Hanna, her eyes revealing a determination which makes him feel slightly apprehensive.

  The approaching figures resolve themselves into six soldiers on horseback; and two native batmen, presumably Namas, on mules. The soldiers are in uniform, the batmen in odds and ends of clothing, most of it too big for them. Each of these two holds a small figure in front of him on the saddle of his mule. They are young girls, Hanna discovers as they approach; naked but for the very small aprons worn by the barely nubile of their tribe. She feels herself tensing. And when the group dismounts and she sees the telltale thin streaks of blood on the thighs of the girls her mind is made up. Whatever reservations Kahapa may have, this will not be a peaceful encounter.

  The six soldiers – five of them young men who have barely outgrown their adolescence, the sixth an officer of more mature years and rather stocky compared to the slender agility of the others – dismount very rapidly in a small cloud of powdery dust, their guns held in the crook of their arms. They seem prepared for trouble; and the sight of the three white women surrounded by blacks of various tribes and sizes clearly increases their tension.

  “Who are you?” demands the officer. “What are these natives doing here? Are you in danger?”

  Hanna gestures to Katja, who takes over. “There is no danger. These people are escorting us through the desert. The lady on the cart there, Frau Wunderlich of the Kolonialgesellschaft, was on a visit to Pastor Maier’s mission station in the south when she fell ill. We are taking her to Windhoek to see a doctor.”

  “What is the matter with this one?” asks the officer, trying to peer under Hanna’s kappie and recoiling from what he dimly perceives in there.

  “She is badly hurt,” says Katja. “She cannot speak.”

  “We heard gunfire earlier today,” says the officer. “Were you involved in that? And what happened?”

  For a fleeting moment Hanna feels worried: the soldiers must have heard, from afar, their shooting practice this morning. But Katja lies calmly: “Just a band of robbers,” she says very quickly. “Our escort managed to beat them off quite easily.”

  The man glares suspiciously at Kahapa and his group. “Which way did they flee?”

  Katja makes a vague sweeping gesture towards the south. “They’ll be well out of reach by now, they got quite a scare.”

  “We have to pursue them,” the officer says grimly. “The whole desert is swarming with robbers and vagabonds dislodged by the war. It is not a safe place for women. Or anyone else, for that matter.”

  “We haven’t seen anybody,” Katja says pointedly. “The few Nama settlements we found were all razed to the ground.”

  There is a satisfied grin on the man’s face. “This is how General von Trotha taught us to make war,” he says. “Leave nothing behind that can move or make a sound. Not even a chicken.” He seems unaware of the contradictions in his statements.

  “Then you have nothing to fear, do you?” the girl comments.

  For a second the officer examines her intently. Then he motions, once again, towards her companions. “Are you quite sure this lot can be trusted?”

  “They have been very loyal,” Katja assures him.

  “You can never be too sure, Fraulein. They’re like jackals, you know. You can tame them like a dog, but one day, when you least expect it, they suddenly bite your hand. Or go for your throat.”

  “We’ve known these people for a long time, General.”

  He gives a small smile, slightly embarrassed. “Leutnant Auer, Fraulein. At your service.”

  As if she has been born to it, Katja puts out her hand. He clicks his heels and bends over to brush her fingertips with his lips. Then he turns to his men. “We must go off and track down those bastards before they get away.”

  Hanna prods her with an elbow. “It is so late already, Leutnant,” says Katja with her most beguiling smile, tossing back her long blonde hair. “Why don’t you and your men stay with us for the night? You must be exhausted. When last did you have a proper meal?” She makes a gesture towards Kahapa. “This man shot a gemsbok today. We’ll be only too happy…” And with a flutter of her eyelashes she offers the: “We’ll feel so much safer with you here.”

  There is a murmur of approval from the eager young men behind him.

  “Well, if it’s a matter of a lady’s safety.” He makes a brief, stiff bow and motions to his men. A series of staccato ord
ers sends them scuttling in all directions to unsaddle the horses and pitch a camp and collect firewood for the night.

  The two Nama batmen approach with some hesitation, shoving their scared young charges in front of them. Dust has caked on the drying blood on their legs. The tiny flaps of skin covering their genitals are trembling although there is no wind. Glancing at their bare bodies Hanna realises that they are even younger than she has first thought.

  “What do we do with these two?” asks one of the batmen.

  “Tie them to the back of the cart for now,” says the lieutenant curtly. “We’ll think of something later.”

  Prompted by Hanna, Katja turns back to the officer. Her breath is shallower now. “What are the girls doing with you?” she asks.

  “Well…” For a moment he seems at a loss. Then, precipitately, he explains. “We found them near our fort, when we set out yesterday morning.” He motions to the east. “They were lost, their people must have abandoned them when they fled. We’re trying to take them back to where they belong.”

  “With their hands tied?”

  “It is for their own protection,” he assures her, flustered.

  “How very kind of you,” says Katja. “I have no doubt you will look after them very well.”

  He glances at her with narrowed eyes. “This is not an easy time for anybody, Fraulein,” he says brusquely. “Our men have been stationed in the desert for months now. Night and day, they cannot relax for a moment. Sometimes a fort is not much different from a prison. Can you imagine what it is like when you are young?”

  “I know all about it,” says Katja.

  He ignores the tartness in her voice. “Every day patrols are sent out,” he continues. “This way, that way, everywhere. To make sure the land is safe so that people like you can sleep peacefully.”

  “I’m sure we are very grateful to you, Leutnant.”

  He prepares to say something, then thinks better of it and turns away to oversee his men at their tasks.

  Back at the oxcart Kahapa comes up to Hanna and Katja. He is clearly upset, “You cannot do this,” he says. “Six soldiers with guns and two others. It’s too much for us. They kill us, Hanna.”

  We cannot miss a chance like this, she says through Katja. Can’t you see?

  “I can see. That is why I want to stop it. This is big trouble.”

  Leave it to me, she conveys to him. In transmitting the message, Katja’s voice trembles with eagerness; but there is dread in it too.

  Bring the medicine woman to me, Hanna signals. She will help us.

  While Hanna and Katja confer with Kamma, the soldiers bustle about. They are still busy when the sun goes down; the west becomes gaudy with the approaching night. Then, gradually, the activity slows down. The men have made a huge fire. It must be visible all the way from the horizon, flaring up into the sky, the hard dry wood exploding from time to time, sending showers of sparks through the dark.

  Overhead a shooting star briefly blazes through the sky.

  “That is not a good sign,” mutters old Tookwi.

  “Just wait, you’ll see,” says Katja. She watches very closely as Hanna does the rounds dispensing roasted venison to the young blond men who sing her praises; they have not seen her without her kappie.

  They are all grouped around the fire; only the two Nama batmen keep their distance. Himba has joined them, ostensibly to keep them company, though he clearly bears them no amicable feelings. (“They don’t even have their Nama names any more,” he told Kahapa, who duly reported his sentiments to Hanna. “They’re Lukas and David now. That’s white names. They go over to the other side.”)

  The women are trying to keep the conversation going. But behind the politeness of their efforts they are only waiting for Kamma’s medicine to take effect.

  Hanna sits with her chin resting on her drawn-up knees, staring not at the men but into the fire. Something lies in the hollow of her stomach like a heavy lump. Tonight it will happen. And tonight will decide whether they can go on. If anything goes wrong – and at this stage anything may – not all of them will see the sun rise from its own blood in the morning. For once she almost wishes there was someone, a God, a Jesus, a Mary, a star, the wind, to pray to. Little Susan of the faraway beach, she thinks, if you are somewhere there, intercede for me; tell them what I have gone through, what blood I have waded through, to arrive at this dark still moment.

  Much sooner than she has expected the first of the soldiers start complaining of drowsiness, rise dully to their feet, stagger off towards where their batmen have unrolled their blankets on the far side of the fire. Two of them remain for longer, the lieutenant and one of the smiling youngsters. Without his military cap he looks like a boy.

  Lieutenant Auer is the first of the two to get up. With determination on his face he starts walking stiff-legged towards the back of the cart. Hanna sits up, her body tensed, like a lioness preparing for the chase. But halfway to the cart he stops, yawns, stretches, grins sheepishly in the direction of the women, and then changes direction towards his blankets.

  The young private is the only one to remain behind. He will be on sentry duty for the first quarter of the night. But already his head is lolling. Katja moves closer to his side and starts chatting to him, very gaily, seductively, her voice low and inviting. After a while he reaches clumsily towards her, half loses his balance, slumps against her.

  She moves away. He rolls over like a bundle of washing.

  “Kahapa,” the girl says, almost too softly for anyone to hear.

  It happens with such amazing precision and swiftness that it seems like an unreal action taking place somewhere at a remove, from which they remain detached. A hallucination, a mirage in the dark, something they are dreaming. And yet they are involved in it, in the most immediate and urgent and bloody way. Looming up above the collapsed boy, larger than life in the flickering light, Kahapa brings down the heavy kierie he is clasping in both hands. The youngster utters something like a sigh, no more. In the same instant the others move to the positions Hanna has mapped out for them and communicated through Katja and Kahapa. The agile warrior Himba remains with the batmen to make sure they will not interfere or abscond. T’Kamkhab sets upon one of the sleeping young soldiers, old Tookwi on another. Koo and Nerina take charge of the third, Katja and old Kamma of the fourth. It has been decided that Hanna will dispense with the lieutenant on her own, but as she moves into position she discovers Gisela beside her. There is no stopping her.

  It is over in barely a minute, two at most. It’s been almost too easy. There is a sense of anticlimax when they gather at the fire afterwards. For a while they avoid each other’s eyes. Hanna finds release in going to the back of the cart first to untie the thongs that bind the two scared Nama girls. Katja, glancing up as they approach, hurries away to fetch blankets for them.

  Himba, joined by Kahapa, escorts the two trembling batmen to the fire. One has soiled his trousers; everybody else moves a few yards away.

  “You stay with us now, or you want to go back to your fort?” asks Kahapa.

  They seem to realise what the second choice will entail. “Please, we want to be with you,” they plead in breaking voices, their legs collapsing. One grabs Kahapa’s knees, the other Himba’s. Both men impatiently kick them out of the way.

  A deep silence, like a large black blanket, folds over them. The crackling of the long logs that feed the fire sounds like bursts of gunfire. As each looks at the others, one unspoken thought takes root in all: It may have been quick, but it wasn’t clean. They are all spattered and smudged with blood – clothes, legs, hands, even faces.

  “We’ve done it,” says Katja at last, a sob in her voice.

  Hanna puts her arm around the girl, but only for a moment. Then she gesticulates; and Katja, regaining her composure, transmits the message to Gisela:

  How did you manage to do it? We said you could stay out of it.

  “But I wanted to. I had to.”

  “I d
idn’t think you had it in you,” says Katja.

  Involuntarily, the thin woman raises her bloodstained hands and gazes uncomprehendingly at them. With a kind of wonder in her voice she says, “Yes, I’ve done it. I just imagined it was my husband. Then it happened by itself.”

  Hanna silently places a hand on Gisela’s shoulder and presses it. She proceeds to Katja and repeats the gesture. And to each of the others in turn. They stare at her with new respect, some with awe. Slowly the tension subsides. In reaction, a few of the men become jocular. But Hanna rapidly puts an end to it.

  Through Katja she says, The place is a mess. We must clean up.

  “It wait for tomorrow,” suggests Kahapa.

  It will be done now. We don’t want to attract predators. And we don’t want anyone to know.

  Reluctantly at first, but with increasing energy, they start digging a trench in the now accommodating earth. When it is big enough for the six bodies, Hanna orders them to strip the dead soldiers. They all help. Like six skinned animals the dead are piled into the trench.

  That is when Kahapa wants to take over. The backs of the bodies must be broken, he says. The spines must be shattered into small pieces, otherwise their shadows will come back to haunt them and slay them in their dreams. But Hanna will not allow it. There is an angry argument between them, with Katja interpreting.

  “You take no chance with enemies!” Kahapa argues.

  Killing is enough, she counters. We’re not jackals or hyenas.

  “What you know of this land?” he challenges her. “We have our own customs.”

  Before we took on these soldiers you said it was impossible, she reminds him. Was it I who said we must kill them, or was it not?

  “It was you,” he concedes, crestfallen.

  Then you will now do as I say.

  Kahapa hesitates for another moment, then shrugs and yields.

  The burial resumes. The brass buttons and the buckles torn from the uniforms and the belts are put in a canvas bag to be buried elsewhere, tomorrow, on Hanna’s instructions. Even if the bodies are discovered it should be impossible for anyone to identify them.