Thirty Girls (23 page)

You do, said Harry.

What?

Block things out.

I do?

I watch you go away when you’re right here.

Really? she said. Sometimes she felt any other version of life would be preferable to the one she had. It’s hard here, she said.

You expect something different?

No.

People here have luck against them, he said. You can’t lend people luck.

You can try.

Trying is good, he said. He took her hands off his shoulders and stood up. I’m going to bed.

I’m going to write down a few more things.

You do that.

Some time later, she returned to a dark room. The bathroom light threw a white stripe to the corner where Harry’s body lay on its side in one of the beds, motionless, a band of light curved up over his shoulder.

She switched off the light and got into the bed opposite. She lay on her back and against her closed eyes saw the faces of the girls, the frowns creasing their smooth foreheads, their demure eyes at one moment, drooping with heavy lids, then the next moment lifted, with a bright shine in them of something good, of relief. She heard their soft voices speaking of unspeakable things. Tears leaked down her temples. She would never forget them, she thought, then immediately wondered how long it would be before she did.

In the middle of the night she woke to sharp snapping sounds outside. Harry stirred in the other bed.

You awake? she said.

Yes, came his voice out of the black.

What was that?

Gunshots, sounded like.

Were they close?

Not too.

They sounded sort of close.

Well, they’ve stopped now. They both listened. After a moment, he said, What are you doing over there?

Sleeping.

You should be over here.

I should?

Yes.

She felt her way over in the dark. He was nearer than she thought.

I
T TOOK DAYS
of walking to get to Sudan. We traveled in a small group, about fifty of us. The rebels were about twenty. Most of the girls of St. Mary’s were with us. I walked by Louise. Agnes, she was near Charlotte. One boy with us, very thin, died on the way. You think by then you would be accustomed to long journeys but we never got accustomed to it. We filled the splits in our feet with mud then walked then filled the splits again.

At night we collected leaves to sleep on. Sleeping, the girls stayed close. In the morning before opening your eyes, you might hear a rooster and be sure that the walls of your room were around you with your cross on the wall and your jacket on the hook and then opening your eyes had a moment before you understood the ceiling above you was branches and white sky and leaves like shriveled paper. Then you would remember: I am in this other life.

One day we passed through my grandmother’s village. The rebels did not know I knew this village. Fortunately we did not stop there.

You are thinking about home when you are crying.

In Sudan we stayed in a riverbed. A trickling stream ran through it, enough for doing washing. One day I was draping bedclothes on a bush when a rebel came to me. He had on a brown wool hat covering a puff of hair and wore a blue shirt with white stripes on the shoulders. He was not so tall, only a little taller than me. He did not carry with him a gun, there were other rebels nearby with guns.

There are thorns on this bush, he said. You will make holes.

My mother uses this bush at home, I said quietly. The points are not so sharp but keep the washing from blowing away.

Even so, I began to take the sheet off. Speaking of my mother brought her near me then made me feel how far from me she was.

This rebel had eyes wide apart and a round forehead. He looked at me. All right, you leave it there. He kept looking. You are thinking of your mother now, he said.

You are never certain if it is okay to answer. I lifted my shoulders a little.

He shook his head, smiling as if I know nothing. But she is not your mother anymore.

I looked to see how he was meaning it. His forehead slanted to his hair. You have a new family now, he said. Kony’s family. Your mother does not want you. He said this as if this were good news. She no longer wants a daughter who has been with the rebels. But Kony will always take you into his family. He will always forgive you.

I knew my mother loved me, but it is true she did not know what I had done. What if he was right?

Do you know Kony? the rebel said.

I have not seen him.

Kony is very wise. He crossed himself on each shoulder and waited for me to say something.

I have heard it, I said. We heard many things, that Kony had three spirits in him, that he could not die. That he had eighteen wives. Perhaps my face did not look convinced.

You do not believe in Kony?

I said I did.

Kony is very handsome, he said. Kony will lead us to heaven.

He told me to go back to washing, and when he left I had that dizzy feeling. I knew my mother loved me. Even when we might fight, even when she did not understand me, I knew there was love. I did not believe this rebel in the striped shirt, but he was making me think of my mother turned against me. Even not believing something can make small rips in you. With the rebels I thought there was not more to be ripped in me, but there was. There always is more if you are living. That my mother would not want me was a new worry I had not imagined I would ever have.

We were told Kony wanted to meet the girls from St. Mary’s so we were gathered together. By now not all of us were together. We had been separated a few times and now some had come together again, but not all were in Sudan. Janet was not with us, and for a long time we had no news. Theresa was not there or Beatrice. We learned they had escaped but were never certain if they were alive. We found Judith again. She wore a dark T-shirt with a torn collar, and around her waist I saw she now had Sister Giulia’s sweater. The scar in her neck was healed, but now there was a bandage on her hand. We laughed how she always had a bandage. So this is what we would laugh at—bandages and being hurt. Charlotte, however, was not laughing. She had new unhappy eyes.

They took us to Kony. His compound was in a place with trees of soft thin shadows. Guards in camouflage pants stood by the doorway of the biggest house, with new thatch on the roof. We stood outside for a while, then a few of us at a time were taken inside.

I went in with Agnes, Judith, Charlotte and Lily. Our eyes adjusted to the dimness and we saw a man in a white cowboy hat sitting on a canvas folding chair. Women sat on the ground nearby and rebels stood behind with guns and machetes in leather holders. The man in the chair I recognized, he was the one in the striped shirt who had spoken to me by the river, the one who said Kony is very handsome. This was Kony, this small man not at all big. His hair this time was to his shoulders with many thin braids and over the wide-set eyes were yellow aviator sunglasses. Come in, he said.

More girls entered till we were all there. Louise was behind us.

Come near, he said. We moved. So these are the girls of St. Mary’s, he said, tipping back his head to observe us through those yellow glasses. Do you know the Pope is talking about you?

We had heard this, but did not answer. The rebels did not really want you to speak.

What would make you so special for the Pope to know of you? Kony looked at the guards and the women near him. He had a sort of bulge above his eyes. They shook their heads. Special treatment was bad according to the rebels.

Do we treat you badly? he said to us.

This we did not answer either.

No, he said. We treat you well. We have brought you here because it is the will of God. I am only following the will of God. Who would hear God’s words and not follow them?

Kony told us we were not captives here. No, we belonged here because we had sin in us. God sent his sinners to Kony and his mission was to cleanse us. He told us how he would save us, told us about the will of God. The women near him dipped their heads.

Then he said, Those who escape are like women with two vaginas, one in front and one in back. From the back, the wife of one man. From the front, the wife of another.

My eyes got used to the darkness and I could make out the shapes of cages against the walls. They had animals in them. I saw chameleons and snakes. Other animals hung on the walls, dead. I saw a couple of turtles on the floor but could not tell if they were alive or not.

You must listen to what Kony says to you and remember it. You are to be my ministers. He changed to speaking in Lor.

How old are you? He pointed to Charlotte in front of him.

Fourteen, she said, keeping her head down. She had a gap in her teeth which made her lisp.

How are you treated? he said. His voice louder.

Charlotte’s eyes shifted side to side. I am treated well.

Kony nodded and stood up from his low chair. And you? He stepped near Judith. How are you treated? He pointed to the bandage on her hand as if to show she was looked after.

I am treated well, Judith said in a hoarse voice.

Kony walked along the line of us. He stopped at me.

Kony has seen this one before, he said. What is your name?

I told him it was Marie.

I felt the girls beside me flinch, hearing the lie, but they knew not to show anything.

One of the guards said, They call her Esther.

Which is your name? Kony did smile.

Esther Marie, I said. Marie was never my name, but it helped to have a lie against Kony.

Kony remembers your face, he said, proud, but he did not remember from when. Do you know Kony?

I know you are Kony.

Perhaps it was in another life, he said. He looked at Agnes beside me. You are?

Agnes.

He looked at Agnes a longer time. He looked to her feet and again to her face. Agnes had nice legs and nice skin.

This one, he said, pointing to her and turning around to the soldiers. Bring tonight, he said. He sat down again. Agnes’s face did not move, but I saw the fear in her tight mouth. Her gaze slid in my direction.

This is my friend, I said. Somehow I dared to speak.

Kony turned around. Did you say something, Esther Marie? He showed us he remembered my name, even though it was not my real one.

In another life we were sisters, I said. Maybe you knew us then. We would stay with you.

His look was of interest. No one comes except when invited by Kony, he said with a warning voice. This is a rule. Perhaps you did not know this rule.

I shook my head a small bit.

But maybe you will come too. He set his hands on the arms of his chair. You will come if I wish it.

Two soldiers came for Agnes. I saw them make her stand up. They were looking around. I waited. When they spotted me they indicated that I also was to come as well.

It was a different hut that we were brought to then that night, a smaller one. Kerosene lamps sat on the floor on polished dirt of the first room and in the next room Kony was sitting on a mattress on the ground. There was a mirror on the wall, and a flashlight sat on a stump. Kony did not have a hat on and his head looked big on a small body like Howdy Doody. I cannot say I was not scared, but I was there for Agnes and it is easier to be brave when you are doing it for someone besides yourself.

Come this way, he said. Out of the past life into this one. Soon when we are dead we will be in another life. I know I will die. If I don’t die I am not the son of God. God created me just as he created death.

So it was how Kony spoke.

Sit here. Do you know that when you are chosen by Kony you are lucky. Kony sees women because women are the bearers of his children.

I thought how luck was the same thing as being special and how no one was supposed to be special, but I did not argue this.

Women are also the portals of the devil, he said. He put his hands on the chest of Agnes. They are one way facing this direction—he felt her chest on one side—and another way facing another. He moved her that way. Agnes looked not at him. For this reason we must watch the women as they move among us, he said, staring all over her body.

He kept one hand on Agnes, then looked at me. He touched my arm and made a circle with his fingers and ran it down to my wrist. I see you have a bracelet, he said.

I did not speak. My nonni had given it to me, the last thing I owned. It was a silver band with a space for putting on and taking off.

See, we do not take your bracelet from you. He moved my hand, smiling at how kind he was and put it onto his lap. He looked at Agnes. Take off your skirt.

I floated up. I hardly knew I was being laid down. I didn’t feel anything touching my mouth, I didn’t feel hands pushing. Agnes and I looked at each other’s eyes just one time, not to see what was happening, but to say, I am here. Do not worry. Then we looked away to be respectful.

Sometimes we heard jackals in the night and now and then saw a wild boar traveling by with his family, all their tails up at an angle. But
there were not many animals among us. We would find a rabbit sometimes, a few birds hiding in the trees. There were more animals in Kony’s house than in the bush.

It turned out I could shoot. We were given guns for practice and I would hit that can in the middle many times. One time before practice we saw a dik-dik darting through the trees. We did not see them often, small gazelle-like animals with pale fur and pale spots. The rebels said if I could shoot that dik-dik I would go free. I did not believe it, but I would try anyway. I like all animals and do not like to see them die. I do not kill spiders. Maybe I would not care about a grub worm, but that is all. I shot and missed and then I shot and hit that dik-dik. The rebels laughed, everyone was surprised. They said, Maybe this girl is useful.

Girls are not often given guns to carry but after that I was taken back into Uganda when they went on raids. I thought about not shooting so well, so they would not take me, then I had the idea that it might offer me the chance to escape. So I kept shooting.