The Garden of Burning Sand (33 page)

“There are some things you don’t know,” he began. “I offer them not as an excuse, but as an explanation. Your mother and I were an unlikely couple. I don’t know how it happened that we fell in love, but we did. There were a lot of things about her that I didn’t understand. She was selfish. When she set her heart on something, she didn’t let anything get in the way. Even you and Trevor. But she had this gift, this glow. When she was around, she made me feel alive.”

He took a breath. “It wasn’t Sylvia who suggested I get into politics. It was your mother. I’ll never forget the night she told me I could be President of the United States. She gave me that earnest look—you
know the one—like she had a secret to tell. ‘Jack,’ she said, ‘imagine how much good we could do in the Oval Office.’ We planned it all out. She was supposed to be with me when I ran for the Senate.” He choked up. “She was supposed to be with me now.”

Zoe stared at him in shock. So many of her assumptions had been wrong.

“When she died,” he went on, “I promised her on her grave that I’d make it to the White House. What I didn’t realize is how many concessions I’d have to make, how many things I’d have to say that I don’t really believe. It’s ironic: your description of me in the
New Yorker
was spot on. It’s who I’ve always been. But the political climate right now is more toxic than I’ve ever seen it. It’s impossible to run as a moderate. People don’t want to hear about the benefits of cooperation. They want you to tell them how right they are and then beat up the other side.”

He ran his hands through his hair. “Please hear me, Zoe. I never intended to put politics before you. But when you told me what happened with Clay, I was blindsided. So much was at stake. I didn’t think. I reacted. I knew you had a crush on him. Sylvia told me how affectionate you’d been. I figured there must have been a misunderstanding. I thought you’d get over it.”

He shook his head wearily. “I don’t know if it means anything now, but I’m so sorry. I should have believed you. I should have defended you. I was wrong.”

Tears spilled down Zoe’s cheeks and collected on her chin. She saw a shaft of sunlight on the ground and walked toward it, allowing the light to warm her skin.

“I don’t understand,” she said, turning back to him. “The other night …”

He hung his head. “When you walked out the door, I finally realized
what I’d done. I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you forever. Not you and your mother both.”

She felt an ache deep inside, a mixture of empathy and sorrow. She went to him and touched his hand. “Thank you,” she said. “For coming here and telling me this. It means a lot.”

He met her eyes and nodded. “I’m glad.”

Suddenly, her iPhone beeped. Joseph had texted her. Kuyeya was ready to take visitors. “I need to go,” she told him.

“Wait,” he said quickly. “You asked for—”

“It’s done. The bill is covered.”

He gave her an inquiring look. “Then you’ll have to find something to do with the money. I got the wire confirmation when I landed.”

She couldn’t help but smile. “Thank you,” she said again.

“The little girl,” he ventured. “Can I … meet her?”

She examined his face and saw his sincerity. “Of course,” she said.

She led him down the hallway, past the theater where Kuyeya’s vertebrae had been fused, to the now empty waiting room. His bodyguards trailed twenty feet behind. She saw Joseph walking toward her. He slowed in astonishment, staring at her father.

“Joseph,” she said, “meet my dad. Dad, this is Joseph Kabuta.”

“Jack Fleming,” the Senator said, taking Joseph’s hand. “It’s a pleasure.”

“Likewise, Senator,” said Joseph, glancing at Zoe. “Right this way.”

They found Kuyeya in a private room with a sitting area and a television. Her bed was on the left, configured like a recliner. She was resting quietly, her neck in a stiff brace. Sister Irina was at her side and Jan was lounging in a chair. He stood up quickly when he saw the Senator. Sister Irina looked confused until Zoe made the introductions. Then her eyes went wide.

Zoe approached the bed and touched Kuyeya’s hand. “Hi there. I missed you.”

At the sound of her voice, Kuyeya blinked and focused on her. She tried to speak, but the words came out in a barely discernible whisper. “Hi, Zoe,” she said.

“Dad,” Zoe said, “meet Kuyeya.”

She stepped back and watched as her father squeezed Kuyeya’s hand—the hand that held Charity’s ring. It was a scene she could never have predicted in a hundred lifetimes, a vision of the world that could be, the world of the possible.

Suddenly, she noticed something in the girl’s arms. “Where did that come from?” she asked, pointing at a brand-new doll.

“I brought it,” Jan replied. “From what I understand, her old one wasn’t too friendly.”

Her smile broadened. “You didn’t need my advice after all.”

“It is good to see her at peace,” Sister Irina said quietly. “If only an operation could make the rest of her whole.”

“‘The chains of the body are often wings to the spirit,’” Zoe replied. “Mandela wrote that on Robben Island, but it’s true for her, too.”

Sister Irina nodded. “You’re right. She’s perfect in her own way.”

Lusaka, Zambia
June, 2012

At the end of May, Flexon Mubita received an official appointment to serve on the High Court of Zambia. Two days later, he announced he’d reached a decision in Kuyeya’s case. On a bright morning in early June, the legal team drove to the Subordinate Court to receive his judgment. Sarge and Niza rode with Maurice, and Zoe and Joseph followed in her Land Rover. The mood among the lawyers was gloomy; the timing of the hearing suggested a quid pro quo with the Nyambos. Their only recourse was to ensure the press would be on hand to document the miscarriage of justice.

When they pulled into the parking lot, Zoe saw a ZNBC television crew waiting on the courthouse steps along with an army of pad-wielding journalists. They entered the judicial complex by a side door, bypassing the horde that had descended upon Sarge and Niza. They walked the length of the arcade and took their seats in Courtroom 10. Darious was already present in the dock. He gave Zoe a confident smirk. It was the first time he had acknowledged her directly. She looked away, enraged.

Before long, the lawyers took their places at counsel table—Sarge
and Niza on the right and Benson Luchembe on the left. Luchembe’s entourage sat on the bench beside Zoe, and the press crowded noisily into the rear of the gallery. Frederick and Patricia Nyambo made their appearance at the last minute. They took seats immediately behind Zoe and Joseph, ignoring the swirl of hushed gossip among the journalists. Zoe glanced over her shoulder and saw the smugness on Frederick’s face. Patricia, by contrast, was a model of neutrality.

Moments later, Flexon Mubita took the bench. He peered over his glasses at the packed courtroom. “In the matter of Darious Nyambo,” he began, “I have reviewed the evidence presented at trial and recorded my findings and conclusions in a written judgment. Copies will be furnished to counsel and any interested third parties.” As he said this, he looked toward the press. “Are there any preliminary issues that I must address before I pronounce my judgment?”

Sarge and Luchembe both shook their heads.

“Very well,” said the judge, folding his hands on the bench. “This case troubles me deeply. As the father of two daughters, I am horrified by the crime of defilement. As a judge, I am angered by the violence that has attended these proceedings. Yet the law is not about my morality or feelings. It is about the conscience of our society. And society in its collective wisdom has placed a high burden on the state to establish the guilt of any man accused of raping a child. It is not enough for a victim to be found in a state of defilement. It is not enough that the accused knows the victim, not enough that he wishes her ill. The state is obligated to prove beyond a reasonable doubt that the accused
in fact
defiled a victim under the age of sixteen.”

Reasonable doubt
, Zoe thought, her heart sinking into the mire.
He’s going to hand the case to the Nyambos and look Solomonic while he does it
.

The judge glanced at Darious. “After reviewing the evidence, I find that Kuyeya Mizinga was raped on the night of August 20, 2011. I find,
moreover, that she was underage. I had hoped that DNA would establish the identity of the perpetrator with the same degree of certainty. Alas, we must wait for another case to bring Zambia into the modern age. In the absence of scientific evidence, this case boils down to the credibility of witnesses and the burden of proof.”

Mubita took a breath. “The prosecution presented a great deal of evidence about historical relationships between Darious Nyambo and the victim’s mother, Charity Mizinga, and between Ms. Mizinga and the accused’s father, Frederick Nyambo. This evidence was offered to establish the motive of the accused in committing this particular crime. While I find the prosecution’s theory highly intriguing, it is irrelevant to the question before the Court. Defilement is a strict liability crime. The thoughts in the head of the accused are immaterial. It only matters whether the evidence shows he committed the act alleged.

On that ground, I have excluded from consideration the following evidence: the journals of Charity Mizinga, the testimony of Dr. Amos, the testimony of Dr. Kruger, except as it pertains to the paternity of the victim, the testimony of Officer Kabuta about the accused’s state of health, and the testimony of Priscilla Kuwema, also known as Doris, except as to her observations of the accused shortly before the incident in question.”

He just eviscerated our case
, Zoe thought, horrified.
I can’t believe I’m listening to this
.

“Concerning the eyewitness accounts,” the judge went on, “I see no reason to doubt that the children saw a silver SUV and a man who resembled the accused. I also find no reason to quibble with the testimony of the women from Kanyama. They saw and heard what they saw and heard. The question is whether this evidence is sufficient to prove beyond a reasonable doubt that Darious Nyambo defiled Kuyeya Mizinga on August 20 of last year. I find that it is not.”

Zoe closed her eyes and felt the pain down deep. How much she had risked for Kuyeya. How much they all had risked. They had built a persuasive case out of fragments buried in the past. They had defied their fears and spoken truth to power. And now a corrupt judge was dismantling their handiwork, piece by piece. She imagined Darious’s smile, the warmth in Frederick’s stomach.
Check and checkmate
, she thought.
It’s all over
.

And then she heard a single word and her heart stopped in mid-beat: “However—” She opened her eyes and stared at Mubita. His countenance had transformed. No longer was his expression matter-of-fact. He glowered at Darious like an avenging angel.

“However,”
he said, “there is a witness whose testimony I found compelling. The child herself confronted the accused. She did not equivocate. ‘He touched me,’ she said. ‘He wasn’t supposed to touch.’ The truth could not be spoken any plainer. Taken together with corroborative evidence from the children and old women and the medical evidence offered by Dr. Chulu, and setting aside the unbelievable alibi offered by the accused, I find that Darious Nyambo
in fact
defiled Kuyeya Mizinga, a child under the age of sixteen, on August 20, 2011.”

Zoe watched in shock as Mubita delivered the coup de grâce to a terrified Darious. “Let this be clear:
no one
is above the law, not even the son of a former cabinet minister. In accordance with the power vested in me by the Republic of Zambia, I commit your case to the High Court where you will be sentenced to no less than fifteen years in prison. The evil you have committed will not be tolerated by this nation.”

As soon as the judge departed the bench, the gallery erupted with noise. Zoe, however, sat in silence, incapable of believing what she had just witnessed. Nothing made sense. She had seen Mubita with Patricia
Nyambo and the Deputy Minister of Justice. His behavior at trial had been inexplicable. He had mollified Frederick at the bar. He had delayed his decision until the Nyambos secured him an appointment to the High Court. Could it be that he had taken the bribe and walked away from the deal? Could he have defeated them at their own game?

She stood up slowly and accepted Joseph’s stunned embrace. She looked for Frederick and Patricia but didn’t see them. The press surrounded the legal team when they left the courtroom, every reporter asking a different question. Sarge and Niza offered rapid-fire answers, enjoying the limelight, but Zoe took Joseph’s hand and whispered: “Let’s go.”

They made their escape through the side exit, scurrying across the parking lot and keeping their heads down to avoid attracting the television crew. Joseph climbed into the Land Rover and started the engine, but Zoe looked back. She saw Frederick and Patricia leave the courthouse by the main doors. They forced their way through the cameras and walked quickly in her direction. With a start, Zoe realized that Frederick’s Jaguar was only two cars away.

The Nyambos didn’t notice her at first, but Zoe continued to stare at them, and the moment when it came seemed inevitable. Her eyes met Frederick’s across a distance of twenty feet. He looked startled, as if the sight of her carried an electric charge. For a split second, Zoe didn’t react. Then her expression caught the wind of her feelings, and she grinned.

The Rule of Achilles. We win
.

What happened next turned the world on its head. Instead of following Frederick into the Jaguar, Patricia hesitated, her hand on the door. She met Zoe’s eyes and her lips curled into a smile. It was a vanishing thing, swallowed quickly by the sorrow that had preceded it, but its meaning was transparent—it was a smile that carried a secret,
a smile of complicity. When she followed it with a nod, like a grace note, Zoe realized the truth.

Sliding into the Land Rover, she began to laugh and cry at the same time, as all the doubt and frustration of the past nine months rushed out of her on the current of vindication. The conspiracy of corruption had been thwarted by a conspiracy of mercy. Frederick had betrayed Patricia with Charity, and Patricia had betrayed him back, salvaging the institution to which she had committed her life, even at the expense of her son’s freedom. She had executed the deception perfectly, leading her husband to believe that she had set up the exchange with Mubita, making the necessary connections and delivering the High Court appointment. But she had neglected to tell him one thing: the Principal Resident Magistrate had no intention of selling out.

Suddenly, Zoe understood the last piece of the puzzle. Flexon Mubita. His behavior on the bench hadn’t been erratic. It had been purposeful. While giving Frederick and Darious the impressions they expected, he had built a blemishless evidentiary record and grounded his judgment on the surest foundation—the accusation of the victim, corroborated by eyewitness testimony and medical evidence. Far from subverting justice, the judge had given them a sublime gift: a ruling the High Court would never reverse.

“What?” Joseph said, giving her a peculiar look. “Something happened.”

She laughed again. “I’ll tell you on the drive.”

Two days later, Zoe awoke to the sound of vervet monkeys chattering outside her guest room at the Royal Livingstone Hotel. Joseph lay beside her on his back, snoring softly. She kissed his cheek and slipped out of bed, dressing in capris and a white cotton shirt. She grabbed her backpack off the floor and stole out of the room into the coolness of
the morning. The monkeys scattered when they saw her, and she watched them go, laughing at the sight of a baby hanging onto its mother for dear life.

She crossed the wide lawn and took a seat on the deck overlooking the Zambezi. In the distance, the mist of Victoria Falls hovered like a cloud on the horizon. She took out the envelope that Monica Kingsley had given her in New York. She had hesitated to open it before now, preserving it on the intuition that she would find a more appropriate moment. Now, studying her mother’s graceful penmanship, she knew she had been right to wait.

She breached the seal of the envelope and extracted two sheets of yellowed paper. She looked toward the falls again and took a deep breath. Then she read her mother’s words.