Beneath the Lion's Gaze (27 page)

The Derg used the forest near his house as its execution ground; he’d avoided it as much as he could. It was close to the new jail, and in that new jail was his father. He stepped out of the car and nearly stumbled, his legs weak.

Dawit leaned into the car for support and saw Solomon watching him closely. “What about target practice …?” he asked, simply looking for something to say.

“Soon. You need something not so old, anyway. We still have to continue,” Solomon said. He paused and looked at him. “Can you handle this?”

Dawit nodded. He imagined driving past that dark forest at night and coming across his father waiting on the roadside for him, barely standing, somehow managing.

NOW I KNOW
it is not dark at all. There is moonlight that refracts from the sun and brings order to the sea. Here sunlight blooms. I have no need for bones and cartilage, blood and breath. I can forget. Hailu swung on a pendulum. I know now that time sinks to the bottom of the sea and rises again in curves. My reflection is only an illusion, only flesh and water manifest in a drop of moonlight that shudders at what it sees on this dead land I once called my home. Hailu didn’t know how long he’d been unconscious. His face was bruised, his eyes swollen, the room dark and quiet once again. It took several moments for the ringing in his ears to subside, and it was only then that he heard the moan. The girl had returned and she was bleeding in the center of his cell. She raised a hand towards him. Would he do it all over again? Then once more there was nothing but the ringing in his ears, then the slide into the belly of unconsciousness.

45.

MELAKU WAS RESOLUTE
and firm. “You know I’ll help,” he said to Dawit. He ran a cloth across a dusty shelf. “I know all the families in this neighborhood. At least the women,” he said, winking.

The transformation in Melaku had been gradual as he’d explained the mission, but Dawit saw it now in its entirety: his thin frame stood taller, the wrinkles around his eyes had flattened and smoothed, his movements were as crisp as a dancer’s.

“Anything for my country,” Melaku said softly.

Dawit felt such a rush of affection for the old man that he had to stop himself from hugging him. “It’ll be dangerous,” he said.

“You’ve said that already,” Melaku said. “Living is dangerous these days.”

Dawit saw Melaku drift into a long silence. “I need to get one more person,” he said.

“Sara,” Melaku said immediately. “Is there even a question?”

Dawit shook his head. “There’s Yonas,” he said.

“She’s the best option,” Melaku said. “She’s a housewife, and in their eyes, a simple woman.” He smiled. “Though we know otherwise.”

“If she tells him, he’ll stop us,” Dawit said. “I want Lily.”

“Do you think Sara would have married the man you think your brother is?” Melaku stared at him. “Your family is your most loyal ally.”

“We can’t have a country full of people like Yonas,” Dawit said.

“Or full of people like you,” Melaku said. “A government of fighters won’t know how to lead, only create more war. You think bravery is measured in resistance.”

“My father’s in jail because he took him there,” Dawit said, feeling hot tears rush to his eyes. He bit his lip and turned away.

“You’re upset because you weren’t the one to take him, and you know it. Enough of this. You’re wearing out my patience.” He straightened a few matchboxes on the dwindling shelf. “Talk to Sara.”

—

LILY MET HIM
at Melaku’s kiosk. Her hair had grown, her curls now grazed her chin. “What’s wrong?” she asked. “Why are we meeting here?”

“Come inside,” Melaku said, opening the side door. “Soldiers walk by here all the time.” He closed the door behind them.

“Is the
kebele
store in this area getting as big as the one in mine?” Lily asked. She leaned out the window as she glanced down the road. “They’re organizing them well.”

“Get back.” Melaku patted a stool next to Dawit. “They get their eggs and milk from the same farmers I used to, what’s there to organize?” He dusted off his counter with careful hands. “They’ve taken over everything.”

Lily glowed, earnest and excited. “This new system of distribution is the best solution, everyone has what they need, no more and no less. Capitalist methods only exploit the weak.”

“Solution? This is nothing but control.” Melaku laughed. He looked at Dawit. “Even the Russians are asking me to get them things. The day Communists stop wanting their American jeans, then we can talk about exploitation.”

Lily continued as if she hadn’t heard him. “I talked to villagers last week to write a report on medical clinics. They need to learn about hygiene and vaccinations,” she said, lost in the heat of her enthusiasm. “They need more than food, but we build these changes in small steps. I finally learned that after being a
zemecha
.” She smiled at Dawit, then grew serious again. “All of us need to contribute what we can. They give produce, we provide other resources.” She sat back, pleased.

Dawit had seen Lily caught up in her convictions before. She focused on nothing else but the goal. “The Derg is the one exploiting,” he said, speaking slowly. “They use the emperor as an excuse to take away our freedoms and rights—”

Lily interrupted him with a hand on his leg. “Can’t you see that we have to work with the government, use our leverage to educate them on true socialist policies? It doesn’t happen fighting them.” She avoided Dawit’s glare and turned to Melaku. “Already a few forums have gotten concessions and we’re establishing a joint committee.”

“We?” Dawit asked. He moved so her hand slid off his leg. “What do you mean?”

“Committees can go to hell,” Melaku said. “This government sets up committees for everything. Soon there’ll be a Derg committee to teach us how to wipe our backsides the socialist way.”

There had been a time in the early days of the revolution when Dawit had known what to expect from Lily. The person that was emerging after her work as a
zemecha
and her meetings with her
kebele
officer was someone more prone to government rhetoric. He suddenly realized the foolishness of his plans to ask for her help. They’d seen less and less of each other in the last few months, she’d become more withdrawn.

“Does this have something to do with your scholarship to Cuba?” he asked. He saw her grimace, then grip her hands together.

“I don’t know if I’ll get it,” she said.

“So you have to prove your dedication to them.” Melaku polished the counter with a corner of his shirt, his back to them.

“It means I have to study hard,” Lily said.

Melaku shifted some boxes from the floor to the counter. “I have to do some work.” The silence stretched into tension.

“We’ll leave,” Dawit said.

Lily sat rigidly in the center of the room. “I’ll know about Cuba next week,” she said, turning to Dawit. “I’m a finalist.”

“Good luck,” Dawit said.

“You know I deserve it,” she said, refusing to stand up even though he was already at the door.

“Do you think those bodies you see on your way to your precious school deserved it? This government doesn’t give anyone what they deserve.” Dawit felt the first jolt of a heart being stunned into a new kind of submission. “Let’s go so Melaku can do his work.” He held out his hand. Tenderness for her was fighting its way past his anger.

She stood, clasping her hands together. “I have to go anyway,” she said. “I have a meeting.” She didn’t let her gaze stray from his face, and Dawit saw there, too, her love for him. “Come with me.”

A loud clatter made them jump. Rows of tin cans had fallen to the ground. Melaku grumbled as he picked them up. “Get out of here, both
of
you,” he said. He stood, cans in his arms, and nodded to Dawit. “Go home.”

Outside, near his father’s car, they stared at each other with the awkwardness of young lovers.

“Every day I drive, I think one of those bodies could be my father,” he told her, aching for their familiar intimacy, trying to force it into this strange moment between them.

“And every day, has it been?” she asked. “They’re systematic. There haven’t been that many bodies. If we work with them, we’re safe.” She touched his arm, let a finger trail under his sleeve and caress bare skin. “They’re not hurting your father. They need his expertise.”

“How do you know?” She seemed so sure, her gaze into his eyes held none of the uncertainty that sent quakes through his world.

“I work with the people making policies. They’re human, just like you and me. They have families. They believe in a better Ethiopia.”

“How can you say that? Who do you think is killing so many of us, then? Don’t you hear about the same executions that I do? Do you know how many students are in jail?”

She dropped her head, chewed on her full bottom lip. “They’re not innocent, Dawit.” She tried to touch him again, but he moved away. She let her hand drop. “Sacrifices need to be made sometimes, change always causes pain.” She looked deep and steady into his eyes, into him. “It’s not easy.”

Dawit found himself caught in the reflective gaze of a complete stranger. He looked away and got in the car and drove home.

NEITHER BROTHER SPOKE
at the dining table, they had not talked to each other in days, their conversations dwindling to stares as one week without their father turned into another, and days continued to pile upon days.

“Emama Seble brought some eggs for us,” Sara said. She sat between them. “She says Shiferaw’s trying to nationalize her hen.”

Tizita kept her face close to her plate as she picked at her food. The little girl had grown noticeably thinner since Hailu’s arrest.

“Eat,” Sara said. “You didn’t eat your lunch today.” She spoke to
Dawit
. “Melaku’s been struggling, he doesn’t want to say it. The rations are getting smaller. No one’s selling him food.”

Dawit pushed away from the table. “I’m full.” He carried his plate to the kitchen and left them at the table.

Sara looked at Yonas. “Go talk to him.”

“He doesn’t want to talk to me. You should go.” Yonas patted Tizita’s head. “Did you do your schoolwork?”

Tizita nodded.

Dawit was in the kitchen leaning against the wall when Sara walked in. His eyes were closed.

“He’s coming home,” Sara said. “I promise you. He’s alive and he’s coming home.” She put her arms around him and held him tight. She rubbed his back in wide circles, the same way she comforted Tizita. “He’s a strong man.”

Dawit stepped out of her embrace. “I can’t look at him anymore without wanting to hit him. The longer Abbaye stays in jail …” He stopped and put his hands on her shoulders. “He shouldn’t have taken him to the jail, he should have asked me for help. We could have done something to help him. How can you forgive someone who does that?” His eyes, dark and confused, sank into Sara’s and held on. “How did you forgive him for letting Tizita fall?”

“You’re not being fair. Those are two different things. One was an accident.”

“And the other he could control, right?” Dawit said. “If he could control some part of it, why couldn’t he do the right thing?” He reached to hold her close, the awkwardness of his gesture sending her backwards into the dimly lit kitchen.

“You’re twisting things.” She held his arms to his side. “What’s wrong with you today? How do you know you could have made Abbaye stay?”

“Am I?” he asked. “How can you love someone who does the complete opposite of what you would do?”

“What’s going on?”

“Lily’s gone.” Sara’s supple and lean figure was silhouetted against the soft light from the dining room. He dropped his gaze.

“What do you mean? Did she get the scholarship?” Sara asked.

He sunk to the ground. “She’s left me.” Tears ran into the corner of his mouth and he licked them away, sniffing loudly, a small boy again.

Sara sat facing him, a comforting hand on his knee. “I’m so sorry.” She handed him a handkerchief.

“Emaye was right. Lily was never going to marry me,” he said, blowing his nose.

“Lily believed she was going to marry you. I think she changed. It’s these times, everyone’s changing.” She lowered her eyes to her hands. “You can’t help it.”

“But you haven’t changed. Even Yonas”—he let out a bitter laugh— “even my older brother is still the same. I thought I knew her.”

“You did know her, you still know her. This revolution.” Sara shook her head. “It’s turning everything upside down.”

“She’s going to Cuba. As soon as she gets her scholarship she’s leaving.” He wrapped his arms around his knees. “Even if I didn’t see her, it was enough to know I would soon. Now …”

Sara hugged him and held him tight. “I’m sorry.”

He clung to her, leaning into her so heavily that it nearly tipped her over. His hand found the back of her head and he turned her face towards him. He looked into her eyes and without a word touched his lips to her cheek, then pressed, and Sara let him. She didn’t resist when he took her chin and raised her mouth to his.

She pushed him away. “You’re not thinking right.” She smoothed her hair and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand before walking out and leaving him alone.

46.

YONAS STEERED THE
car towards the edge of the road and raked over the faces of pedestrians staring back at him in confused fear. This slowing down and looking had become a habit, starting the moment he woke up, when he waited for the familiar sound of his father’s footsteps and resigned himself once again to the silence of another cold morning. He felt Hailu’s absence in the radio that was no longer turned on, in the straight-backed blue chair no one ever used anymore, in the blanketed emptiness of his parents’ bed, in the unbearable tension sitting between himself and his brother.

He’d gone to church today to ask forgiveness again for being the son he was and the man he’d grown into. He’d shut his eyes in prayer and tried to push away the image of his mother throwing her pills away. He felt renewed shame remembering her confidence in his obedience. She had been right. Despite the suffering he knew his mother’s illness was causing his father, Yonas had never said a word about the skipped medication. If he’d only resisted his father’s instructions, if he’d just done what he really wanted to do and gone to Dawit’s room to wake him up, his father might be safe.