Risto’s return brought a burning and holy silence to his street. The eyes of people spoke a stronger language than their mouths. Later, those mouths voiced amazing stories. Risto became a hero after Néné’s letter was found in her room. It spoke of the love for Risto that she had kept inside her. She spoke of him as the only boy she had loved in her entire life, and the pain her departure might cause to him:
‘You are the only one, the first and the last to hear this from me; and it is the first and the last time I say it because as I am writing it, my acid potion is waiting to be taken. I will die in a few minutes. Please don’t cry … you will be hurt by this news, but try to stay strong. Better my death than the birth of this cursed child; think of the infinite pain it would have caused in our lives. Death is the only way to survive what I have been through; at least I will rest in peace.
I have kept a lot of your secrets since childhood; I know you will keep mine too. Keep this as your own, as you are the only one who knows.’
People spoke about what they knew and could guess, but the extent of the love of a sixteen-year-old girl enchanted and bewildered them all. To those whose love was shrinking because of the thickness of their problems, this was a new story of love that came to bring them hope. It testified to the fact that love never dies, that love is mysterious, that love is the only magic that has always eluded the brave minds of scientists and philosophers. If after so much unbearable trauma and abuse, life could still shine in Néné’s face, then love had magical healing power.
Risto’s story seemed to have reached everyone: first his recovery from deadly injuries in the hospital, the sympathy he received from everyone, and then the suspicion and the fear when the rumour grew that he had been a child soldier. No child had escaped before from the evil of the militia. And few child soldiers who returned home managed to escape the seductive money that street gangsters offered those who could steal and kill with a gun. Risto was the first one. And now he came with this powerful story of love and healing. Many more unbelievable things would follow, people thought.
This story became a mirror for the street. People realised how unforgiving they had become, how they had forged their mouths into tools of gossip, how judgmental their eyes and hearts had become. They realised how the noise and smoke of war had turned their souls to steel. It was time for their souls to be healed. It was time to claim what war had stolen from them. Everyone renewed their vow that ‘a child is a child of all’.
The child of Néné came to earth to heal the ancient wounds and bury the scars of the past. He came with a smile of heaven and the pure laughter of the gods. ‘He will heal the world,’ Risto’s cheering heart whispered to the young mother’s ears. They decided that the child should be called Risto Junior, because he did not have the spirit of his biological father, but that of his adoptive father. He would be a reminder of a persevering spirit; he would be a heroic soul sent by heaven to heal the memories of time and history. He would remind his mother of the happy days and future dreams yet to come. This news puzzled people, but it cleared the vapour of war that they breathed. It gave them another story to tell their grandchildren.
Risto officially became the father of the child, whom he privately called Benny, in honour of his best friend and cousin, lost in Kahuzi-Biega National Park. He went back to further his mechanical training at the Centre de Formation Professionnelle under the supervision of the famous mechanic, Donas Bafwa. He did this all for the future of his son and the rest of the family he dreamed of having one day with Néné. Néné went back to school determined to become a teacher. Behind them, in their shadows and their dark and bright journeys, they could easily hear the great agony and pure laughter of the gods. And the child grew stronger day by day.