Now Is the Time for Running Read online

  “Nothing! That is a lie. See the food that my men have collected. Masvingo Province was lost in the election to the oppressors’ puppet. Your village’s votes were counted, and we know that many of you voted wrongly. Now lie down!” Commander Jesus raises his hand. The soldiers lower their guns toward us.

  A great wail of agony fills the air. We know what is coming and can do nothing to stop it now.

  “On the ground,” the soldiers scream. “Lie down! Lie down!”

  My cheek hits the ground, but Grandpa Longdrop remains standing. “But you cannot do this to us. The president would not allow you to—”

  “I said lie down!”

  I hear an awful crunch and see Grandpa Longdrop collapse in front of me. His eyes look dazed. He tries to get up, and I try to reach him to tell him to stay down, but then Commander Jesus kicks him. He crumples. The sense goes out of his eyes. Someone is screaming. At the moment when I realize who is screaming, I see him.

  Innocent.

  Innocent runs screaming toward Commander Jesus with a stick raised high above his head. He cracks it down on Commander Jesus’s outstretched hands.

  “No! Innocent, don’t!”

  It is too late. The soldiers are on him.

  3

  BEATING INNOCENT

  The soldiers beat Innocent with their rifle butts.

  What is worse than the sound of wood against the bones of your brother? I cannot think of anything worse than that.

  Innocent does not cry. He lies like a baby, curled up, his hands and arms covering his head.

  Commander Jesus holds his injured hand. I wish it broken, but then unwish it. If his hand is broken, he might kill Innocent.

  Amai cries for them to stop. She runs toward Commander Jesus, but he pushes her away. Grandpa Longdrop is still on the ground. Tears roll down my face.

  My brother is dying before my eyes. And it is my fault. I should never have let him run away. I should have kept him close to me at all times. I should have brought him home from the soccer game. I should have held his hand when we were gathered before Commander Jesus. I want to run to Commander Jesus and throw myself at his feet and beg him to stop the soldiers, but my amai has both her arms around me.

  Finally, Commander Jesus stops the soldiers.

  Innocent is pulled to his knees. His face is crooked, his eyes black balls. Blood trickles from his broken nose.

  “When you strike Commander Jesus, you strike our president,” Commander Jesus says softly. “How many here would like the opportunity of striking me?”

  Cries of fear come from the people of Gutu. They know what will follow. Some of the soldiers have taken long sticks from the jeeps. The others stand with their rifles lowered, pointing at us. There is nothing we can do.

  The soldiers beat us as we lie on the ground.

  At least they have stopped beating Innocent. They have thrown him at the feet of Commander Jesus.

  Useless hands against hard sticks. Elbows cracked. Heads smacked.

  Screams.

  Flashes of wood. Soldiers grunting.

  And pain. Lots of it.

  4

  OPERATION WHO DID YOU VOTE FOR

  Grandpa Longdrop says that there are two kinds of people, those who believe in the Spirits and those who don’t. I think I am one of the first kind of people, but I can’t be sure. I understand the Spirits of the Wind, the Spirits of the Rocks, and the Spirits of the Trees are all those who have died and live on in other ways. I understand that they watch over us, that they can sometimes be angry because we forget them. And it is said that when they are angry, they can sometimes punish us.

  But this thing of the beating is too big to blame on the Spirits. They would not allow such a painful thing to happen. If I believe in Spirits, why would I believe in something that causes such pain? Surely the Spirits had nothing to do with what has happened in our village.

  I can think only that there must be some mistake. Perhaps our neighbors did vote wrongly. Perhaps they put their X next to the wrong name. Perhaps everyone is lying to everyone else. I cannot always tell when adults are telling the truth.

  Like now, when I ask my amai what will happen to us, all she says is: “It will be all right, Deo. It will be all right.”

  I don’t believe her. I don’t think she believes her own words.

  We sit huddled together on the ground and wait for I don’t know what. We have been sitting here for a night and a whole day. Grandpa Longdrop lies on the ground, his head in my amai’s lap. Sometimes he groans, and sometimes he is so quiet that I am afraid that he will never wake up.

  The soldiers have taken my brother away. They dragged him into the bush beyond the village. I don’t know what they have done to him. If they knew Innocent, they would never hurt him.

  The backs of my legs hurt where the soldiers’ sticks fell, but this is nothing to what others have suffered. One of Lola’s brothers has a broken arm. Bhuku’s amai has a split in her head that bleeds and bleeds. Shadrack’s little sister could be dead.

  The small children cry; they are thirsty. I am thirsty too, but I will not cry. The women beg for water, but the soldiers are suddenly deaf. Commander Jesus says that he is waiting for the food from the American church.

  My amai is hurt too, but she is hurt more inside. Late last night the soldiers came and took her away to have a long talk with Commander Jesus in one of the huts. I waited for her, but she must have come back when I was asleep. I dreamed my amai was crying so hard that her tears filled a river. When I woke up I realized it wasn’t a dream—she was crying, but silently. She would not speak when I asked her what Commander Jesus wanted to talk to her about. She just shook her head in a way that made my heart hurt.

  She is worried sick about Innocent. She does not care for herself. How can any of this be all right? I wonder to myself. But I don’t speak it out loud.

  In the afternoon, when the heat has made my tongue thick in my mouth, the truck arrives. The soldiers run to their jeeps and drive out to meet the truck. I see some people run away into the bushes. Others are too scared to run.

  Grandpa Longdrop does not move. My amai lays his head down and watches as the truck driver is pulled from the cab. One of the soldiers kicks him and he runs away. I don’t see him again.

  Commander Jesus walks over to the truck and opens the flaps of the back. Inside there are wooden boxes with writing on them. PINTO BEANS. CANNED FRUIT. POWDERED MILK. MAIZE. The soldiers seem very happy now. They have lost their masks. They seem like boys now. Even Commander Jesus is smiling. He calls for the men to take some of the boxes of food down from the truck.

  “Perhaps they will give us some?” It is Pelo the Buster.

  “Maybe they will let us go now,” says Bhuku.

  I have no time for this stupid talk. The stars will fall from the sky before the soldiers give us food.

  I must find Innocent.

  While everyone is watching the soldiers, while the soldiers and Commander Jesus are looking at the boxes in the back of the truck, I slip away. I run to our home. Inside, everything is a mess. There is no sign of Innocent.

  I go to the far end of the village and look behind every hut, whispering Innocent’s name. I run faster now because it won’t be long before Commander Jesus will notice that some of the people have left. I go to the old thorn kraal where we used to keep our cattle.

  A naked body is lying in the middle of the kraal. The man’s wrists are tied to pegs in the ground. His ankles are tied to the end of a log that stretches his legs wide apart.

  There is a sack over his head.

  The man doesn’t move. I think he must be dead.

  “Innocent?” I kneel down beside the body, not wanting it to be my brother. I notice ants crawling all over his body.

  I try to take off the sack. It is wet. The cords of the sack have been tied around his neck. I struggle to untie the knots. It can’t be my brother.

  My brother’s eyes flicker open. He stares up at me.


  He is not dead.

  His smile makes him look like a monster. There is dried blood at the side of his mouth, his nose is broken, and his eyes are all puffy.

  “No, don’t move….”

  “Deo…”

  I am crying when I hear my name. Innocent is alive.

  “I need to get these out of the ground,” I say, wiping my tears from my eyes, and then I begin to pull up the pegs. They pop out of the ground. I untie the wire wrapped around his ankles and the log and help him to stand up.

  “Deo, I am sorry I am dirty. They peed on me.”

  His head is trembling. Innocent hates to be dirty. He washes his hands twenty or thirty times a day. He goes through soap like children go through sweets. He washes his clothes so often that Amai is always complaining that she has to buy him new ones. I think he might be having one of his fits. Amai always knows what to do when Innocent has a fit. She rolls him on his side and tries to stop him from swallowing his tongue. I don’t think I can do that. Not now.

  “Not now, Innocent, please not now,” I say. “We’ll have a wash together. I promise you soap and hot water. Just the way you like it. Promise.”

  “I need to wash,” he says, looking in disgust at his arms and legs and brushing off the ants that crawl over him.

  “I’ve got to get you away from the soldiers. Try to walk.”

  “Deo, the soldiers took my clothes. I need my pants.” He speaks softly, covering himself with his hands. Innocent is shy about being naked. Even when Amai helps him dress, she must always turn around when he puts on his underpants.

  “I’ll get you some more clothes,” I say quietly, trying to keep fear out of my voice. He hates being rushed, and I must force myself to speak slowly, as if we are in no great hurry. “We must go now. We don’t want the soldiers to come back and take my clothes too. Then we’ll both be naked. That will be terrible. The two Doro brothers running around like naked monkeys. Can you imagine everyone laughing at our butts and our balls bouncing around?”

  He understands that. He nods his head up and down, up and down, until it starts trembling again.

  “Doro brothers naked as monkeys. Not very funny, Deo,” he says seriously, worried about people seeing him without his clothes. “Nobody must see our butts. That’s just plain rude.”

  This idea gets him walking. I half carry, half drag him to the other side of the kraal. I’ll need to hide him until I can get him away. There are some pipes down by the river. A long time ago they were meant to get water to Gutu, but nothing came of the Gutu Water Project. One day a big truck brought the pipes, unloaded them by the river, and then drove away and never came back. No one ever fetched the pipes, and they have been here forever. When I was smaller, we played in them. Now they will be a perfect place to hide Innocent.

  But every minute I am away from the village is danger for my amai and Grandpa Longdrop. We hurry. Innocent limps, then runs a bit, then stumbles. I struggle to keep him up. Soon we are at the pipes. I choose one closer to the dry riverbed, far from the village.

  “Get in here,” I say.

  Innocent ducks his head and crawls in. I follow behind and make sure he lies down. I collect some dried bushes and block the entrance to the pipe. The hiding place is not perfect, but it is all I can think of.

  “Don’t come out of here. Okay, Innocent? Don’t come out.”

  He nods. “They mustn’t hurt him. I couldn’t let them hurt Grandpa Longdrop.”

  “He’ll be fine. Grandpa Longdrop will be all right,” I say, knowing that I sound like my amai. Knowing that I am lying to him the same way adults can lie.

  I must get back to the village.

  I run along the dry riverbed and head up the small slope to the village. I don’t want to go back. But what if Commander Jesus is looking for me? What if he hurts my amai because I ran away?

  Gunshots rat-a-tat-tat across the valley.

  The noise makes me stumble. My ears are deaf for a bit but come to life when the gunshots rat-a-tat-tat again. I get up and start running, fear chasing me every step of the way.

  5

  BLOOD FOR DRUMS

  I crawl forward into the noise of people dying.

  The soldiers are shooting. People are running away. Some are falling. Now the soldiers hold their guns as if they mean business. Their guns bark, come alive in their hands, their bullets rip into the earth, the walls, trees, pots, chairs, and flesh.

  I watch. I am too afraid to turn away.

  People scream; their cries are cut in half by bullets.

  In the noise and panic, I cannot see Amai. I cannot see Grandpa Longdrop.

  At last the shooting and screaming stops. My ears ring with dreadful silence. I slowly get up onto my knees, but no one sees me.

  The soldiers climb into their jeeps and drive up the path out of Gutu. Behind them the truck with food follows.

  I wait until they are gone, until the jeeps are out of sight. Then I run into a place that is no longer my home. I stand in a village that is no longer the place where I live. There is nothing left of that place. There is nothing left of our neighbors. Nothing left of babies playing in doorways. Nothing left of fires cooking food. Nothing left of the smiles and greetings of people who know you. Nothing left of Grandpa Longdrop’s stories. Nothing left of the touch of my amai.

  I find her in the dust.

  Amai is lying facedown. Her arms are thrown out in front of her as if she is trying to grab something out of her reach. Her back is covered with a damp patch of blood. I carefully turn her over, lift her head.

  She does not call my name. She does not look at me. She will never call my name again; she will never see me again.

  Amai is dead.

  I find Grandpa Longdrop. He stares up at the sky. His mouth is open. He does not look like Grandpa Longdrop anymore.

  I find Shadrack. Dead.

  There is Lola. Blood where her face should be. Her brothers are lying not far away.

  Everything is so still after the gunshots. It is as if all the sound has been sucked out of the air. My ears are humming with the dullness after a great noise, and it’s hard to breathe.

  I feel a burning lump in my chest. It rises in me. It will make me fall to the ground and cry and cry and cry. I can’t let it come up to my throat. I push it down. Pinch my cheeks hard. So hard it makes my eyes water. The burning lump smolders in my stomach.

  I must get Innocent away from here. He cannot see what I have seen.

  He cannot see Amai lying in the dust.

  At home, I scratch around for his clothes and grab whatever I can carry. The soldiers will come back. They will come looking for us. They will shoot again. Commander Jesus will drink more blood. He will come back to fill the drum in the back of his jeep. He is not happy until he has drunk all the blood of all the dissidents. Somebody must have lied in this village. The president would not do this if people had voted correctly. Grandpa Longdrop would still be alive if people had voted properly. My amai too.

  I run back to the pipes, carrying Innocent’s clothes. He is still in the pipe, behind the bushes. I find him shivering, curled up, and holding himself. He looks at me as if I am a ghost.

  “I heard the guns, Deo. I was scared. Why do they make so much noise?”

  “Here are your clothes.” I hand them over, and he holds them in front of him.

  “Turn around,” he says.

  “Innocent…”

  “Turn around!”

  I turn around while he dresses.

  “Grandpa Longdrop and Amai have been taken by the soldiers to meet the president.” I don’t know why I say this, but the words jump out of my mouth. “Commander Jesus has taken them to explain what has happened in Gutu. He is very sorry for what the soldiers did to you and wants Grandpa Longdrop and Amai to explain their actions too.”

  “The president will understand,” says Innocent.

  “But we have to leave Gutu. Grandpa Longdrop said that there are lots of bad soldiers who do not supp
ort the president. They will kill us if they find us. They will take away our clothes and hurt us. So we must leave.”

  “Okay, you can turn around now, Deo.”

  “We have to leave. The bad soldiers might come back.”

  Innocent nods slowly. “But my Bix-box, Deo? My Bix-box.”

  I had forgotten about Innocent’s Bix-box. Years ago, Amai went into Harare with Innocent and bought a two-for-one packet of Weet-Bix cereal. The shop gave a rectangular tin box with the two packets of Weet-Bix—for free. Innocent thought it was Christmas when Amai gave the box to him. From that day onward, his Bix-box was all that mattered. He put everything he loved in his Bix-box, the main treasure being his precious radio. Nobody was allowed to see what he kept inside, and he buried it in a place that he thought no one knew. We all pretended we had no clue where he hid his treasure, but living in one room makes it hard to hide anything.

  “I’ll get you another Bix-box….” I know this is the wrong thing to say, but I am desperate to leave.

  Innocent’s eyes darken, and his jaw sticks out. He won’t go anywhere without his Bix-box. He dips his head onto his chest and shakes it from side to side.

  “No, no, no, no!” He says each no louder and louder.

  I should have remembered his stupid box when I was getting his clothes, but my head was filled with Amai in the dust and the strange shape of Grandpa Longdrop’s open mouth.

  “You know, sometimes you can be a pain in the butt, Innocent!”

  Innocent nods his head up and down, not looking at me. He knows he will win this argument.

  “It’s not my fault I’m a pain in your butt, Deo,” he says, nodding. “It’s not my fault. You know that, Deo. It’s the doctor’s fault. It’s not my fault.”

  “Okay, okay, you can stop with the sorry-for-Innocent act. Promise me you’ll stay here.”

  I leave him nodding his head.

  “And soap, Deo. Innocent is dirty,” he calls after me. “Look at my hands. It’s not good to be dirty. Amai says the Germans will make you sick.”