The Rain in April

I see you

Chapter 9

The moon was high up in the sky as Father Donald dragged the last of the bodies away from the road towards the pit. Gently, he rolled the body until it fell into the pit. He stood up, took off his rosary and knelt before the pit; slowly he moved his mouth in prayer, tears dripping from his eyes as he held the rosary up, towards the moon. He finished his prayers and raised his right hand towards his forehead, then his chest and his two sides signifying the cross. He walked back to the road where he wore his cassock. He took a long stick for support and started down the road, limping as he went.

Father Donald looked up, clouds were already gathering and were covering the moon, he could feel the breeze and knew definitely that it was going to rain. He placed his right hand on his head as he could feel an ache developing there; he looked around, unfortunately, all he saw was darkness. He was walking down a lonely road with bushes all around him. The first drop fell on his dirty face, he paused and looked up again, drops of rain started falling, he stood there on a spot all soaked, his head pounding with pain and his body vibrating without rhythm. He tried to move but could not, his teeth were clattering together, he knew what was going to happen but yet he was slow to think, he could feel the heat radiating out of his body. He just stood there, shaking all over, trying to keep his sleepy eyes open. The rain poured harder, he fell on his knees trying to breathe, he looked around him before clenching his hands into a fist, it was coming, slowly he gave in and in a gentle thud, he fell backwards, his eyes seeing nothing but darkness.

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Slowly he opened his eyes, he was moving, he didn’t know how or why but he was moving. He closed his eyes again, his head hurt and he was forced to reopen them. They were still moving, his body still, he closed his eyes, and he could hear his shallow breathing –darkness.

He opened his eyes again; he was lying by the bus where he had been stopped earlier. He sat up and looked around, there was blood everywhere but the bodies were gone, everyone seemed to have disappeared. He heard some noise behind him and looked back, he saw them, coming out of the bush behind him. They were dead but yet they moved, blood was gushing out of the body of some and bullet holes were evident on their bodies.

“You led us to our death,” a young man said, coming closer to him, the man had been shot on the head.

“No,” Father Donald said, stumbling back in fear, he tried to run but couldn’t, he looked down on his legs, his legs were rooted on the ground, he could not even move an inch. He looked up in horror as he had been surrounded by the dead, out of fear, he screamed on top of his voice.

Father Donald opened his eyes, he had already sat up and was breathing heavily, he looked around the small room where he was and saw a little boy who sat on the floor looking at him.

“Hey,” he swallowed.

The boy stood up and ran out, immediately, a woman walked in and went over to where he was lying.

“You are awake,” she said, trying to feel his body with the back of her left hand.

“Where am I?” Father Donald asked, looking at the young woman who had knelt down beside him. She was tall, dark and had long brown hair.

“You are somewhere safe, you are in Rusatira,” the woman answered, placing her left hand on his chest and gently pushing him backwards.

“You need to rest, your fever might have died down but you still need rest.” The woman stood up and moved towards the door, she turned and looked at Father Donald and something in him told him that all wasn’t well.

Father Donald looked around the room, it was made of bamboos and the roof was covered with palm fronds. The room was empty except for the mat on which he was lying and a big sack which was placed by the wall close to a small window. He didn’t want to, but yet he was forced to close his eyes as sleep engulfed him.

The murmurings woke Father Donald up; he opened his eyes and immediately sat up as three elderly men sat around him, the woman who had earlier attended to him stood by the door.

“Who are you?” one of the men asked, he was dark, plumb and had a bald head, he wore a blue wrapper tied around his waist with another one crossing his chest from his left shoulder, they were all dressed in a similar manner.

Father Donald looked at the man; somehow he had a feeling that the man already knew the answer to his question but he went ahead to answer it.

“My name is Father Donald, a priest from St. Christopher Catholic Church in Nyanza.”

The men exchanged glances before speaking in low tones among themselves.

“Where am I?”

The men paused and looked at him. Father Donald had expected them to answer his question but instead the eldest among the men asked him another question.

“If you say you are from Nyanza, what then are you doing in Rusatira?”

Father Donald wanted to answer the question but paused when he remembered the actual reason why he was away from home, the reason why he was in this mess in the first place. It might be a trap, he could not tell anyone that he was helping some Tutsis escape from Nyanza, they could hang his head for that.

“You are yet to answer our question, Father?”

The older man asked again, this time with impatience in his voice.

“I can’t remember.”

Father Donald was unsure whether or not the men believed him but after conversing in low tones, they stood up and left the room.

“What did they say?” he asked the woman who still stood by the door.

“They don’t believe you,” she said, shaking her head.

“Your body was found close to where the church bus had been attacked and you just confirmed that you were the driver of that bus.”

Father Donald sat speechlessly as the woman walked out of the room; he had been so fast that he had not paused to think of what he was saying. He gathered his strength and stood up, walked towards the door, tried to open it but it was locked from outside. He looked around the room as if searching for a clue, the window was small and high up towards the roof, he would have to stock up enough sacks to climb if he had to get out. He was afraid now, if this people were sure of whom he was, then he’s doomed. He climbed the sacks and tried to reach for the window but failed. Time was running out and he wasn’t sure what was going to happen next, he had to escape. The door open and the woman walked in.

“Trying to escape?” she asked, walking over to where Father Donald was standing.

“I don’t know you or where I am but I know for certain, I am not safe here.”

“You were helping the Tutsis escape when you got attacked by the militants.”

Father Donald looked at her before looking away almost immediately, he was sure she was making a guess.

“You will have to tell me the truth Father, right now,” she sounded conclusive.

“The more you sweat in peace, the less you bleed in war.”

NORMAN SCHWARZKOPF.