The jeeps are parked in the center of Gutu. They are empty now. The soldiers are everywhere. I look for Innocent, but he is gone. All around me, people are moving toward Red Beret. He watches us as if we are cattle being herded across a river. His soldiers move from home to home, holding their guns in the air. Their faces show nothing. They neither smile nor shout. They neither push nor pull. But still the people move as if they are being shouted at, as if they are being pushed and pulled.
“Deo, where is your brother?” My amai has found me. She looks frightened.
“He ran away when the soldiers came,” I say, not looking at her, knowing that she will be angry with me. Innocent may be ten years older than I am, but I always look after him. I should not have let him run away.
“You must find him, before they do. Deo! Are you listening to me? Find Innocent. You must look after your brother.” Amai is worried, looking around but not seeing her special son.
But it’s too late. One of the soldiers walks up to us. I cannot slip away. Behind him, I see Grandpa Longdrop coming out of our home. My amai calls to him, and the soldier allows her to fetch him. I feel better now that Grandpa Longdrop is here.
Grandpa Longdrop puts his arm around my shoulders and leads me to where everyone else has gathered. His hand may be wrinkled, but it is strong. His face may look like the cracked, dried mud of the water hole, but his eyes are always kind.
“Have you seen Innocent?” I whisper to him.
He shakes his head and lifts his finger to his lips. Perhaps he has hidden Innocent. I’ve learned to expect the unexpected from Grandpa Longdrop. He knows so much about everything that sometimes his words make me dizzy. He can tell you about the planets. When it will rain and when it won’t, when to plant beans and when to watch for the calves to drop. How electricity works and where the dead go when they die.
Of course he would kill me if he knew I called him Grandpa Longdrop. But the story of how he was born made me laugh so hard that I always think of him as Grandpa Longdrop. Amai told me how her grandmother gave birth to her son while she was sitting on the long-drop. She pushed too hard going to the toilet and if it weren’t for the umbilical cord, they would have had to fish the newborn baby out of the shit. Your grandfather is a survivor, she said to me. He survived his birth, the liberation war, running the white man’s farm, and now old age—he can survive anything. His real name is Grandpa Doro.
We face Red Beret, who waits for us to be silent. Lola and her family are brought forward. She has two older brothers, who look scared. The soldiers hold them by their arms. Perhaps they were trying to run away?
We wait for Red Beret to speak.
“Bring me the food.”
This is not what I expected. Does he not know we have nothing, that there is no food here? I see the adults look at one another as if he has asked them for diamonds, or gold bars, or television sets.
Food? Why would he want what we do not have?
“Bring. Me. The. Food.” One of the soldiers repeats Red Beret’s command. His words sound like the hiss from a snake.
All around me, the adults talk at once to one another. The men send the women back to their homes. My amai looks at Grandpa Longdrop with a question in her eyes, and he nods to her an answer I do not understand.
“Amai?”
She waits for Grandpa Longdrop to tell her to go. She is the last of the women to go to her home. I look up at Grandpa Longdrop, and he squeezes my shoulder.
“We need to listen to these men, Deo. These are our president’s men. He has sent them here with good reason.”
Grandpa Longdrop loves the president. He fought with him in the war for liberation. He’s told me stories about how he met the president when he was a younger man, how they fought together in the bush, how the president promised them freedom, and how they won the war against the colonizers. Because he was loyal to the president, he was given a farm. It was good for a while, living on that farm. I don’t know why we had to leave. Grandpa Longdrop doesn’t talk about the farm much. But he loves the president and is a proud member of Zed, the president’s political party.
The women return with pots of porridge, a few ears of corn, plates of offal, pumpkin leaves, okra, black pap scraped from the bottom of the pot, a basket of eggs, chickens tied up at the ends of poles. The pile grows in front of Red Beret, but he does not look at it. If this is all the food in Gutu, a village of more than a hundred people, it is not very much. Looking at what our neighbor has, I see that he has no more than we do. Pelo’s amai has brought her goat. It is skinny and bleats to be let free.
Amai brings our food. Red Beret watches her as she places it in front of him. He smiles at my amai with the grin of a hyena.
Grandpa Longdrop feels my muscles tense. He squeezes my shoulder in warning.
“This is not the food I am looking for.” Red Beret speaks again and pulls a paper from his pocket. “Who is the teacher in Gutu?”
I feel my amai stiffen beside me. She steps forward.
Red Beret holds out the paper and calls her with the finger of his right hand. She walks forward, takes the paper from him, and reads it. My amai is braver than I’ve ever seen her. She stands with her shoulders straight. He is taller, much taller, but she holds his gaze.
“It has not arrived yet,” she says.
He nods. “When will it come?”
“Any day. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe the next.”
He nods again, sends her back to us.
“Amai, what’s going on?” There is something she is not telling me. She glares at me with that if-you-speak-one-more-word-you’ll-feel-my-wooden-spoon look, so I shut up.
A few of the soldiers move forward to collect the food and start loading it into the jeeps. We look on like dumb animals as the food is taken away from us. What is going on? I want to scream, This is all we have. Why are you taking away our food?
Red Beret speaks.
“I am Commander Jesus. I am one of the president’s men. I was once a leader of Five Brigade. The president has sent me here because he is unhappy with how you voted in the election. Most of you know that this country was won by the barrel of the gun. There are some among you who fought in the war of liberation. I see it in your eyes. You know who you are, and you should be ashamed of your neighbors. You know what sacrifices were made for the freedom we now enjoy. Should we now let it go at the stroke of a pen? Should one just write an X and let the country go just like that? You voted wrongly at the election. You were not thinking straight. That is why the president sent me here.
“In the back of my jeep there is a drum filled with blood. The blood came from people who voted wrongly. My life is to drink human blood. My supply is running low. I have come here to kill dissidents and not to play with them.
“You are going to eat eggs, after eggs hens, after hens goats, after goats cattle. Then you shall eat cats, dogs, and donkeys. Then you are going to eat your children. After that you shall eat your wives. Then the men will remain, and because dissidents have guns, they will kill the men and only dissidents will remain. That’s how we will find who they are, and then we will kill them.”
The groaning starts behind me from some of the older women. Some of the people begin crying. Pelo’s amai grabs her head and wails as if she has been burned. Lola’s brothers whimper. The ha-ha birds rise from the trees and screech away across the sky.
In my nose I smell something terrible. It is worse than burnt sour milk, worse than dog crap, worse than a day-old dead rat.
It is the smell of fear.
I stare at the jeeps. I can see no drums. What is Commander Jesus talking about? Grandpa raises his hand and steps out of the group. My stomach somersaults.
“May I speak to Commander Jesus?” he asks in a voice that stills the groaning women.
Commander Jesus nods and watches Grandpa Longdrop with interest.
“My name is Dixon Nyandoro, once Sergeant Nyandoro, veteran of the struggle for liberation and supporter of the president. I fought to free this country from the white oppressor and did not rest until such time as the snake’s head had been cut off. I was given a farm when we took back the land from the white man, and I have been a loyal supporter of Zed all my life. There are no dissidents in Gutu. I know of no one here who would betray our president, and—”
“You know of this?” Commander Jesus flaps the paper he showed Amai in Grandpa Longdrop’s face. “You know that there are people starving while you accept food from foreigners who will steal this election? Are you an imperialist? Do you support the puppet of the West?”
“My daughter runs a school that is supported by a church in America.” Grandpa Longdrop’s voice trembles. It is hard to tell if he is angry or afraid. “This church has sent some food because we have nothing here….”
“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.