Who are you?”
“These are friends of mine….”
“Why are you not at the pungwe?”
“They are on their way….”
“Your dish is still on the wall!”
“I am taking it down….”
“Are you Chipangano? Where’s your card?”
“No, I don’t think…”
“Do you vote for the president?”
“The president is my president for life….”
“We are talking to these boys. Not you, Captain.”
“These boys are not from Bikita.”
“Who are they?”
“Friends of mine…”
“Are they MDC? Where are their Zed cards?”
“No! They are not MDC….”
“Where are their cards?”
Their words are like bullets. The room zings with their questions—they bounce off the walls, bounce off the ceiling. Innocent stands up and moves quickly behind me. I can feel him trembling. He hates questions he cannot answer. They confuse him. He ends up saying the wrong things. I say nothing to these boys. They are strong only because they are many. If I catch one of them alone, he will not have so many questions. Instead, he’ll be worrying about how to stop his nose from bleeding and how to get my foot out of his ass.
I hold Innocent’s hand tightly to show him that I am not afraid. Captain Washington is trying to answer them all at once, but they do not listen to him, they push at Innocent and me, wave their sticks in front of my face. Their eyes shine with anger. Their smiles are cruel. Grandpa Longdrop said you can always see a bully a mile away: he’s the one who has a crowd around him and a smile on his face.
The house is too small for all of us. Some of them stand on the chairs; another has turned over the table. Two more Green Bombas have come through the kitchen door.
Captain Washington tries to block the leaders from getting to us. He pushes them back, shouts at them to leave us alone. They do not listen to him. None of these boys is older than Innocent, yet they do not listen to the best policeman in the district. What has happened to this place? Do the young people no longer respect their elders?
They poke Innocent with their sticks. He tries to swat their sticks away, but they laugh at him. Their laughter is hard, like plates breaking on a cement floor.
I can see what is happening. They want us to join them. We must become part of Chipangano. They want us to round up dissidents and take them to Commander Jesus. The commander wants more blood in his drums. He wants us to do his work for him, like the soldiers did in Gutu. They will take Innocent away with them and put him into green overalls. They’ll turn him into a Green Bomba. They don’t understand that he isn’t like them. Without me, he will die.
Now I must think quickly. Captain Washington cannot help us now. He is no longer in control in his own house. I hate to do this to Innocent. He’ll be angry with me afterward—very angry. But I have no choice. It is the only thing that will save us.
I put both my hands on my head and start chanting the old song that Grandpa Longdrop taught me, just as his grandmother taught him when he became a man. I feel Innocent freeze behind me. He did not understand the song nor its meaning, and when it was sung he lost himself. He was afraid then, to leave Amai, to leave his home, and the elders of the village decided that Innocent could remain uncut. Innocent never went into the bush to become a man.
“No, Deo!” he says, more frightened by what I am doing than of the Green Bombas. He knows what will happen to him.
The room falls silent. Everyone has heard the song and not heard the song. It is a song from long ago, from the old days. You think you know it, but you can’t remember it until you hear it sung. The song is born in your bones—some can sing it, but few can understand it.
I am one who can sing it. I step forward. The Green Bombas stare at me, their sticks raised ready to strike. Amai used to sing all the time. Not this song, but others. I know each Green Bomba’s amai did too. They know this song in their bones. I sing out loudly. Clap my hands together. Stamp my feet several times.
The song takes me over. My voice is no longer my own. It belongs to the song now. The Spirit song I sing will show them what Innocent really is.
I ignore the look on Captain Washington’s face. I turn toward Innocent and sing to him. His eyes are wide as he watches me. He is still, staring at me, listening. He cannot ignore the song. His eyes start to roll in their sockets. He flicks his head back, and all that can be seen are the whites of his eyes. He lets out a growl. It is not a human sound. He moves forward, following the song. His head winds like a snake. He stands on his toes and lets his hands drop to his sides. He drops his jaw, and his mouth falls wide open. He growls again, shudders, and then groans.
Spit drips to the floor. His eyes roll in their sockets. He is lost to us now. The song has done its job.
It is always terrible to see Innocent when he has one of his fits. When he gets them it reminds me why I have to be with him, always. People are afraid of Innocent when he becomes like this. They think he is possessed. They think that the Spirits have taken over his body. They do not know what to do with the person that is not a person anymore. In my family we know how to deal with Innocent in these moments. They are only a part of who Innocent is.
The Green Bombas back away from Innocent. They are scared of him now. His face has changed. His lips twist and curl inside out. His eyebrows shoot up, then down again. He looks more animal than human.
I hate to do this to him. He will be exhausted for many days afterward. Grandpa Longdrop says that he lives four days in twenty minutes with all the muscles and energy he uses to keep himself from leaving us.
I stop singing.
My brother is lost to me now. I have pushed him into a place he hates to go more than anywhere else in the world. He no longer sees any of us in the room. Once I asked him what happens to him when he has a fit. Where does Innocent go? He said it was like seeing himself from a great height. That he looked down on his body and could do nothing about the terrible things it was doing. He said that sometimes he would like to just fly away, but he knew that if he left his body, it would die without him. He said he didn’t want to be without a body. It was the only one he had. He said having a fit was like a bad dream that hurt him in his sleep. That is why Innocent always sleeps so well. He has no nightmares while he sleeps; he has them in the daytime for everyone to see.
Innocent drops to his knees. Soon he will collapse onto his side. I have only a few minutes before he is in danger of swallowing his tongue. This is when he needs me the most. I have to hold his head in my lap and stick my finger in his mouth to hold down his tongue.
“My brother is ill,” I say into the faces of the Green Bombas. “He is crazy. A dog bit him.” I lie, but I don’t think Innocent will mind.
“Rabies!” cries one of the Green Bombas and steps back in fear.
I nod and look sad. “It’s worse than rabies,” I say. “He was born this way, but when the dog bit him it made him even crazier.”
They have no reason not to believe me.
The Green Bombas are not smiling anymore. Nor are they angry anymore. They mumble, and some of them back away as if they are looking at a monster. They are nothing but stupid children afraid of a grown man who is having a fit on the kitchen floor. He can do them no harm, but still they are scared of him. The two Green Bombas who came in through the kitchen door have already run away. The others are backing out of the front door.
“Let’s go. These boys are no use to us.”
“We will be back to see you, Captain Washington.”
“Make sure these two are gone when we come.”
“Remember Operation Win or War.”
The Green Bombas leave, and we are alone.
I have forgotten them already. I am with Innocent. I hold his head in my lap and force his tongue down. He tries to swallow, but my finger in his mouth stops him. I feel him go weaker. I stroke his head. The trembling slows. He sighs deeply, as if the nightmare is over. Slowly, Innocent returns from the land of his nightmare. He will be asleep soon. I rub his back in the way Amai used to do and feel his breathing becoming normal.
I don’t know how long I’ve been sitting with Innocent, but when I look up I see Captain Washington at the table, drinking his booze and looking at me.
“You can do that to your brother?”
“I don’t like to, but it was all I could think of.”
He helps me carry Innocent to the couch. We cover him with a blanket. He is sleeping now as if someone had knocked him over the head.
“You can’t stay here, Deo.”
I’ve worked this out a long time ago. Of course we can’t stay here. Other Green Bombas will come here and try to recruit Innocent. They will hurt him. I won’t be able to play the same trick twice.
“I know.”
“You must go to South Africa,” he says. “It’s the only safe place for Innocent. And for you too.”
Go to South Africa. It is a thought bigger than what happened in Gutu, bigger than living in Bikita with Captain Washington, bigger than any thought I have ever had before.
“You can get a lift with one of the trucks. I know someone who can take you. He is leaving early tomorrow morning. The Green Bombas will come back,” he says.
Captain Washington goes to the window and looks out on the street. Far away I can hear the sound of angry bees. I listen more carefully. It is not angry bees. It is chanting and the sound of drums beating somewhere in the night.
“That is the pungwe. I have to go. To not go is to suffer a beating. They have started, and they will go on through the night. You will be safe here. I will wake you and take you to the driver of the truck in the morning. You don’t have any shoes?” he asks, looking at my bare feet.
I shake my head.
“I’ll see what I can do. You can’t go barefoot to South Africa.”
Go to South Africa.
I nod at the captain. My tongue feels like a flat tire in my mouth.
Captain Washington drinks one more glassful of his booze and leaves. Innocent is snoring quietly on the couch. I listen to the chanting, the drums, the shouting. There is no sound like it—not angry bees, but angry people.
I gently lift Innocent’s head and slip a cushion beneath it. I pull the curtains aside and look out onto the street. Empty. No one around. I feel I am the only person in Bikita. I go into Captain Washington’s room and lie down on his bed. I look up at the ceiling. My mother used to come to this room and sit for hours and talk with the captain. I feel her spirit close to me now.
Go to South Africa, she says.