Escape Under the Forever Sky (9 page)

The afternoon crawled by until about six o'clock, when Helena showed up with my dinner. I decided I had nothing to lose.

“Helena, please talk to me. Please tell me what's going on.”

No answer.

“Please, Helena. Markos is crazy. Why don't you and Dawit and I just go? I promise I'll get my parents to help you. I swear I will.” Now the words came pouring out. I was saying anything, anything at all, to save myself—or at least to get her to give me some hope.

“Helena, my parents won't be mad at you if you bring me home. They'll do whatever you want to get me back.”

Helena finished filling my water jug and turned to go. I was frantic.

“Why me?” I pleaded. “Can you just tell me that one thing? Why me? What did I do?”

But before she could answer, the door smashed open. It was Dawit, his face livid.

“What did I do?”
he whined, imitating me. “Poor little girl. Such terrible problems you have.” He glared at me for a second, about to go on, but then he seemed to change his mind.

“I will tell you a story about another girl just like you,” he said, his voice tight and angry. His quiet fury scared me way more than shouting would have.

“Her name was Maryam. She lived in a small village with her mother and father, her younger brother, and her sister, who was only a baby. Every day Maryam's father worked in the field next to their
tukul
, trying to grow food to feed his family.” Dawit paced back and forth while he spoke. Helena stood frozen, listening to him. “But there was almost no rain that year, and
so there was very little food. All of the people in the village were hungry.” He paused. “The pump in the village could give no more water, so Maryam walked very far every day to bring water to her family. The water she found was filthy, and the family knew it, but what choice did they have?” He paused again and let out a deep breath before continuing. “No one in the village had a choice. And many people became sick from the bad water and because they were starving.” Dawit's voice had grown so quiet it was almost a whisper. I was afraid to move a muscle.

“Maryam's brother became sick. Their father carried him ten kilometers to the health clinic, but by the time they got there, no medicine was left. And so Maryam's father carried her brother back, sicker than before, and when they got home, Maryam's brother was dead.” Dawit had stopped pacing. He stared over my shoulder as if all the people in the story were ghosts that only he could see.

“Very soon Maryam's sister became sick, and then her mother. They all died. Many people died that year—like they do every year in Africa. This is a very common story.” Dawit stopped and looked at me
with a challenge in his eyes, like it was my turn to say something.

“What happened to Maryam? Is she still living in the same village with her father?”

“I am Maryam's father. She is dead.”

I thought about Teddy's face every time something reminded him of his brothers. Dawit had lost his entire family. I didn't know what to say.

“I'm very sorry about your family, Dawit,” I said softly. “But, well, I don't understand what it has to do with me.”

“What does it have to do with you?” Dawit repeated, shaking his head with a bitter smile. “Nothing,” he spit out. “It has
nothing
to do with you, Lucy.” He paused. “And
that
is the problem with Africa.”

They left, and I just stood with my face in my hands in the middle of the floor, whispering “I want to go home, I want to go home” over and over again like a prayer.

“Lucy.” It was Markos.

He grabbed hold of my trembling shoulders and leaned so close to me I could feel his breath against my ear. “That was not very smart,” he hissed.

Markos stood up straight, and I flinched at the hatred in his eyes.

Wham!
He smacked me hard across my face with the back of his hand. I kept my head facing the wall and managed to hold back my tears just until he was gone.

I
LAY CURLED
up in a ball on my mat, staring at the opening near the ceiling, unable to sleep. Mr. Malaria was back, and he'd brought some friends, but I was beyond caring. I wasn't even hungry anymore.
Who puts a window near a ceiling, where no one can see out? They probably just ran out of scrap wood and didn't care about filling the gap
.

There's an old spiritual my mother used to sing to me whenever I was really upset, called “Hush.” It's all about Jesus, which is kind of funny because my family isn't religious at all. But Mom loves religious music for its beauty, whether it's Handel or gospel. I've always loved the song, especially the “hush, hush” part.

Hush, hush, somebody's callin' my name.

Oh my Lord, oh my Lord, what can I do?

Sounds like Jesus, somebody's callin' my name.

Oh my Lord, oh my Lord, what can I do?

Soon one morning, death come creepin' at my room
.

Oh my God. I'd never really thought much about the words before. I'd better not be having some kind of premonition.

Oh my Lord, oh my Lord, what can I do?

The opening. It was so small and high up, my captors had probably never even thought of putting in bars or boarding it up.
I wonder
. . .

Very quietly I placed the lantern on the floor and carried the crate to the wall directly under the opening. Standing on top of the crate, I reached up as high as I could. My fingers were maybe four inches from the bottom of the gap. I was pretty sure that if I jumped, I could get a good grip on the board and pull myself through. I had done much harder jumps in my gymnastics classes. It would be tight, but I thought I could do it. For once in my life it was good to be a runt.

Yeah, but then what?
I knew that the minute I got outside, the dogs would start barking and it would be all over. I could never outrun them, especially not barefoot. And even if I got lucky and the dogs didn't bark and I got away, where would I go? I didn't even know where I was, let alone how to find someplace else. And like Helena had said, if the dogs didn't get me, the hyenas would. Or the lions. I was trapped.

That's it. I'm trapped, and I'm never getting out alive, and there's nothing I can do about it. It's the same old stupid story, whether it's the cement walls at the residence or this damn hut. THERE'S NOTHING I CAN DO ABOUT IT
.

I thought about what Tana had said on our way to the
mercato
. For once in my life I wanted to be able to
do
something. I wanted to make a decision for myself and act on it.

Well, right there, right then, there was only one choice I could make:
If I can't choose how I get to live, at least I can choose how I get to die
. And maybe, just maybe, there was a .00001 percent chance I'd get lucky.

If Jane, Dian, and Biruté could take leaps into the unknown, so could I.
All right, ladies, time for a little planning
.

I moved the crate back to its usual spot and sat down on my mat to think.

How to Deal with These Obstacles

1. Dawit, Helena, and Markos—
   I'll leave when they're away, or at least inside. If I get a good head start, I should be able to hide from them in the woods
   .
   
2. Dogs—
   Luckily, the window is on the wall farthest from the dogs, and the dogs are chained. I'll escape when they're sleeping. If Dawit, Helena, and Markos release them to chase me, I'm probably dead meat. Literally
   .
   
3. No shoes—
   Nothing I can do
   .
   
4. No food—
   Stockpile injera, hope to find berries or nuts that I recognize as nonpoisonous. Bugs are an absolute, on-death's-doorstep last resort
   .
   
5. No water—
   Since I can't carry it, I'll have to find a water source like a stream or a watering hole. If I'm south of Addis and not southwest, there may be a lake nearby
   .
   
6. Insect bites—
   Nothing I can do. Try not to scratch
   .
   
7. Snakes—
   There aren't too many poisonous ones in Ethiopia, but if I climb any trees, I need to remember to check for pythons
   .
   
8. Wild animals—
   Avoid at all costs! Lions and leopards sleep most of the day, so I'll leave in the morning. If I have to spend the night out there, I'll follow the advice Dahnie always gave me: “Walking around in the wild at night is just asking for trouble. It is much better to spend the night in a tree
   .”
   
9. No idea where I'm going—
   Since I was unconscious for about six hours, my best guess is I'm within two hundred miles south or southwest of Addis. I'll head north and keep my fingers crossed
   .
   

Once I was at a rhino preserve feeding sugarcane to a white rhino when the rhino turned around,
stamped his foot a few times, and peed all over me. It was totally disgusting, but later Iskinder told me rhino pee brings good luck. I hoped he wasn't kidding.

I lay down and tried to sleep, but my mind was racing. I kept thinking about Iskinder and how I had lied to him at Tana's. “
I
promise
I won't do anything I shouldn't do
.” I cringed. Iskinder is the only person in my life who makes any effort to actually spend time with me—all the lunches and dinners and those hours building card houses. He's never been anything but kind to me, and look how I treated him. Iskinder. A man who has lived among kings. And me, who am I? Just some bratty American kid.

From 1930 until 1974, His Imperial Majesty Haile Selassie I, King of Kings and Lord of Lords, Conquering Lion of the Tribe of Judah, was emperor of Ethiopia. And from 1968 until 1974, Iskinder was Selassie's pillow bearer, just as his father had been before him.

Iskinder told me about it one day while we were building Selassie's Jubilee Palace out of cards.

“You were his
what
?” I couldn't believe my ears.

“I was His Majesty's pillow bearer.”

“But what does that
mean
, Iskinder? What does a pillow bearer
do
?” I had visions of Iskinder tucking Haile Selassie into bed at night, fluffing mountains of frilly pillows.

“Well, you see, Lucy, the emperor was not a large man. In fact, he was not much taller than you. But of course it is only proper that a man so exalted in position be seated far above his subjects. For this reason, all of the imperial thrones in the palace were built high off the ground.”

“But what does that have to do with pillows?” I gently placed a jack of clubs on top of Selassie's bathroom to make a ceiling.

“Think of it, Lucy. Just imagine how it would look if important men came to see the emperor and he sat on his throne with his feet swinging back and forth like a child. No, it would not do at all. It would not be dignified.”

“So what did you do?”

“My job was to quickly place a pillow under the feet of His Majesty as he sat down so that his feet would not dangle in the air for even a moment.”

I nearly knocked over the our replica of Selassie's indoor lion cages. Could Iskinder be making this up? But, no, his face looked perfectly serious.

“I remember one morning not long after I had begun my job in the palace—the kitchen wall, Lucy, it needs more support.” I propped it up with a two of diamonds and Iskinder continued. “I was a young man, maybe about the same age as your friend Dahnie. A small group of important men from Kenya had come to propose a cultural exchange program.

“Emperor Selassie was already seated on his throne, his feet resting upon the proper pillow, when the men entered the audience chamber. As the Kenyan dignitaries stood before the throne offering their deepest appreciation for His Gracious Majesty's kindness and indulgence, His Highness's little dog jumped off his lap and ran about, as she always did on such occasions.”