Beneath the Lion's Gaze (34 page)

“Gabriel, take care of his soul, give him no memory of this,” he prayed to the archangel. “Send him to his father.”

The soldiers ambled on, kicking stones in a mock game of soccer. Tagging behind them, Lukas carried Yonas’s white plastic bag, swinging the bag casually. It rose and fell in the air, the pool of blood from the meat dulled to pink through the plastic.

“Death to All Enemies!” the marchers cried in the distance.

Yonas waited until the soldiers curved into the bend of the road and disappeared, and the anthems of the frightened marchers faded into the sky, then he walked back to Berhane and lifted him in his arms and hugged him. He cradled his head, cupping it so it wouldn’t loll back, then he carried the boy back to the car and laid him in the backseat, tucked under a frayed blanket he hadn’t known was there.

57.

THE NIGHT WAS
thick with fear. Echoes of gunfire pounded relentlessly on the horizon. The prisoners had been taken to the soccer stadium, marched past Revolution Square into the heart of the city, and ordered to sing of their loyalty to Guddu and the Derg. Their fervent cries of revolution and Communism were soon eclipsed by sudden and continual rounds of shooting. All over the city families listened in their homes in helpless anger and sorrow. Anbessa, it was rumored, had climbed up a tree that overlooked the soccer field and begun to pick off one merciless soldier after another. Whispers carried from one eager ear to the next told of a row of angels, enraged by the bloodshed, who surrounded him with swords, deflecting bullets and blinding soldiers who dared look in his direction. And underneath those whispers, other stories bloomed, of three men who moved with the fierceness and speed of fire: Mekonnen killer of soldiers, Anbessa destroyer of roadblocks, Solomon the wise.

BEHIND A FADED DOOR
, Emama Seble knelt, solemn and spent, over Berhane, the small body wrapped in a crisp white sheet. Sofia and Robel clung to each other, watching her every move. Melaku stood just behind them, rocking back and forth, his mouth moving in rapid prayer. From a row of candles, bright yellow flames curled into long strips of smoke. In the distance, bullets drilled through the last remaining marcher.

Emama Seble turned to Sara and Yonas. “I don’t know what you expect,” she said. “I’m just a simple woman.” Sweat fell down her face and collected at her neck.

Sofia held Robel tighter. “Help him,” she pleaded.

Emama Seble smoothed the sheet lovingly. “I can’t.” She sat back. “He’s dead.”

“Emama …” Sara began.

Emama Seble held up her hand. “Your daughter was only sick. If there’s life, there’s a chance.” She wiped her eyes and turned to Sofia and Robel. “I’m sorry.”

Melaku sank into a chair. “We’d hoped …”

Emama Seble was drained, she seemed to have shrunk inside her clothes, her sweater hung loose and wrinkled across her chest. She gestured towards Sofia. “What’s the point in false hope? Why give her something you’ll have to take away?”

“Where’s my little boy?” Sofia whispered. “He should be home now.” Her glazed eyes searched Emama Seble’s. “You know where he is.”

Robel held her hand and rubbed it, his mouth trembling. “Let’s go home, Emaye,” he said.

Sara and Yonas led Sofia to the door.

Emama Seble stopped them outside. “We have to bury him. Find out how.” She pointed to Sofia and Robel going into Yonas’s house with Melaku. “Don’t leave her alone once she understands he’s gone.”

A WAIL SHATTERED
the sky, startled sparrows out of trees. A low mournful cry dipped into guttural sobs. Sofia pounded her chest, face upturned to wilting stars, her remaining son curled at her side, wrapped around her legs. Her grief knew no refuge, found no shelter.

“Daniel,” she said, her voice a whisper. “Where is mercy?” She grew louder. “Where is justice?”

“Emama.” She was deaf to Robel’s cries, his anguish eclipsed by hers.

Sara knelt over them, her eyes swollen from tears.

“It can’t be,” Sofia said. “It can’t be. I don’t believe it. You’re lying!”

Sara put a hand over Sofia’s mouth. “They’ll hear you, be quiet. Shiferaw keeps walking past the window.”

They were in the living room of Sara’s house, the doors locked. Bizu drew the curtains, protecting them from intrusive eyes. She sat next to Sofia, murmuring, “
Aizosh, Aizosh
,” in comforting tones.

“What else can they take?” Sofia said.

“You have a son,” Sara said, pulling Robel upright. “You have him.” She nudged him forward.

Robel tried to wrap his arms around his mother. “Go away,” she said. “I’m cursed.”

“It’s okay,” Sara said to Robel. “Go upstairs. Get rest.”

“Come with me,” said Bizu, holding out her hand.

Robel, drawn and shaken, refused. “I can’t leave her.” His lips trembled. “She’s alone.”

Sara hugged him, aching at the way he clung to her desperately. “She’s got you. You’re everything to her now. She’s lucky to have you still.” She wiped his tears. “Go take a nap in our room. She’ll be okay.” She could see the boy’s struggle. “Go. Then we’ll eat. You haven’t eaten all day. We have to bury him tomorrow.” She smoothed his hair.

Robel stared at her, stunned. He looked at his hands as if expecting Berhane to materialize between them.

“Go upstairs,” Sara said, putting his hand into Bizu’s.

Once he was gone, Sara laid Sofia down on the sofa. “Rest,” she said. She covered her in a blanket once reserved only for Hailu. She held Sofia when she struggled to sit up. “He’s safe. You’re both staying here for a while, don’t worry about anything.”

BEYOND THE COMPOUND,
underneath a tree, Yonas counted coins and bills into Shiferaw’s open palm. The
kebele
officer stared at the mounting pile greedily, his permanent smile spreading like a thread across his face. “It’s going to be extra because now you want to keep it overnight,” he told Yonas. “I’m taking a bigger risk.” He worked a finger into a hole in his sweater. “Just take it back to the street. The mother’s seen him now.”

Yonas pulled the man’s hand away from his sweater and held his wrist. “I brought what you told me. I’ve cleaned out my savings. We have to bury him.”

“Are you crazy?” Shiferaw protested, pulling out of his hold. “Where?” He waved his arms to encompass the neighborhood. “Anyplace they see freshly dug dirt, you know they’ll come and dig the body out. Especially after tonight and all that shooting.” He shook his head. “Take it somewhere in the hills and put it under rocks. Burn it. I don’t care, but you can’t put it anywhere near here. They’ll take me to jail.” His grin widened, his finger finding the hole again. “Next time they’ll slice my nose off.”

Yonas slapped the man’s hand from his sweater and raised his chin. He searched Shiferaw’s face. “And my brother?” he asked.

“It’s not enough.” Shiferaw held out his other palm, then flinched when Yonas reached for his throat. “Okay, okay. I have a family too,” he said, backing away. He cleared his throat. “These fanatics don’t pay me enough for what they did to me. They cut my face and leave me with one sweater. They give the best nationalized homes to these foreign advisors.” He spit in disgust. “No one’s said anything about your brother. I’d hear it if they found him.”

Yonas turned away, unwilling to let the man see the relief in his face.

“Take it into the hills. Tomorrow is Major Guddu’s birthday, they won’t be watching,” Shiferaw said as Yonas walked back into the gate and into the compound.

THE VOLKSWAGEN WOUND
its way up the hill. Sara sat in front. Robel, Sofia, and Emama Seble rode quietly, dazed, in the back, the wrapped body across their laps. Sofia concentrated on the landscape of rolling hills and the bright yellow of
meskel
flowers. She tapped on the window as they came to an alcove tucked away from the road. There was a leafy tree sheltering the mouth of a small cave.

“Stop, “she said, beating on the window. “This is it.” She stumbled out as the car came to a halt. She leaned against the large tree and sat down. “Right here. We’ll dig here.” She inspected the sky. “He’ll face the sun every morning.”

Sara sat next to her. “The men will dig,” she said. “Let’s go wait over there.” She pointed to a spot several paces in front of them.

“Give me the shovel,” Sofia said, standing. She stared ahead of her without seeing anything. “Bring it here.”

Robel and Yonas led her away. “Emama Seble said it’s my job,” Robel reminded her. He wrapped his arm around her, supporting her.

“No,” Sofia said, staring at a spot on the ground. “I’ll do it.”

The old woman, still sitting in the Volkswagen, frowned. “Sofia, go sit with Sara, let the boy do this.”

Sofia followed Sara woodenly.

“He needs to do this for himself,” Sara said. “Be gentle with him.”

“Why can’t I look at him?” Sofia asked.

The sun burned the belly of the sky, cut deep orange streaks into the horizon.

They sank onto the hard, rocky earth, their black dresses tucked beneath their legs. Sofia stared at Sara as if seeing her for the first time. “I’ll wear black for the rest of my life,” she said. “For both of them.” She pulled a small plastic bag out of her handbag and took out a faded shirt. “It’s Daniel’s,” she said, holding it up to her face. “There’s still the scent of him in the bag. I’m giving it to Berhane so he’ll have his father. How selfish of me to keep it to myself. I couldn’t even share with my children.” She folded it carefully and put it in the bag again.

Sara took the bag. “Keep it. You can give it to Robel. You gave them so much of their father. Memories.” She patted the other woman’s cheek but Sofia didn’t respond, a silhouetted statue against the fading sun.

“Do you think he was afraid?” Sofia asked. “At the end, do you think he cried for me?” She covered her hands with her ears. “I hear him.” She wrapped her arms around her legs. “How can I put him in the ground after all he’s been through …” She hugged herself. She couldn’t stop moving.

“That body’s not your son anymore,” Sara said, holding her still. “It’s just a shell.”

The women watched the sun arc and slide through the sky, a cooler breeze descending on them as the horizon darkened.

“We’re ready,” Emama Seble called out.

They walked back to the tree, and at the sight of the short, shallow grave, Sofia fell to her knees and held out her arms. “Give him to me,” she said. “Give me my son.”

Emama Seble and Yonas laid the body in front of her. Sofia began to unwrap the sheet. “I will look at him,” she said, talking to no one. “I will look at what they did and never forget.”

Emama Seble held her back. “Don’t do this. Don’t punish yourself.”

Sofia shrugged her off and rolled the sheet away from Berhane’s face. “I don’t even have a photograph of him. Nothing’s left but this.” She fell back at the sight of his wounds. “Daniel, what have they done to your son?” She turned away, her hand in her mouth, fighting not to scream. Then she started unwrapping the sheet again, talking to Berhane as she worked. “I met your father on Timket, in a big field called Jan Meda, did I ever tell you …?”

Robel buried his head in Sara’s chest. “I can’t look,” he said.

Sara led him over to Yonas and the boy clung to the man. She sat
next
to Sofia and took hold of the other end of the sheet, stripping it from the body. At the sight of his ankles and the punctures on his thighs, she stopped and glanced at Sofia, who refused to take her eyes off her son’s face as she continued talking to him.

The two women worked under the dead sun and didn’t stop until a wan moon hung above them like a curious eye.

Sofia kissed each cheek and each hand, and smoothed the creases in his wrinkled shorts. She shifted the rigid body onto her lap, then she cradled it as best she could. Rocking softly, she began to hum, her voice like a blowing feather, the sounds evidence of a grief that could not be contained within the confines of language.

“Daniel,” she finally said. “He’s mine no more. Take him and wait for me.” She paused, then looked to the car where Robel stood, shaking. “Wait for both of us.”

A LION KNEELS.
Berhane climbs on its back and they race through a field of
meskel
flowers to the top of a bright green hill where his father waits on his white horse, his hair like a dark sun around his head. Berhane rushes through the wind, becomes the wind, sails to the tip of the sun, and falls into the Nile. He swims, free and cool, in the golden light of dusk. His father holds out his hand.

“You’ve come,” Berhane says.

“I’ve been looking for you.”

Berhane climbs onto the back of the horse and holds on tight as they ride through the hills, leap over creeks, and rush headlong into the orange sky.

58.

HAILU’S CELL DOOR
slammed open and two soldiers dragged him towards the immaculate reception area he hadn’t seen since walking in. Soldiers worked quietly at their desks, ignoring his noisy shuffling towards a row of sleek metal chairs. He didn’t have enough strength to sit up in the cold chair he was pushed into. A balding soldier handed him papers that slipped through his hand like dust. The pen they waved in his face fell to the ground as soon as they gave it to him.

The soldier, picking up and testing the pen, said, “Bring a new Biro, the Colonel doesn’t like old ink.” His shout produced another pen and a few smirks. “Sign,” he said, pointing to the paper on the desk in front of him.

The letters shifted dizzyingly in front of Hailu. Two soldiers steadied him by the arms. His head tipped, dragging the rest of his body down, before someone finally held his forehead and anchored him.

“Don’t you want to know what you’re signing?” the balding soldier asked, his raised eyebrows causing deep ripples in his forehead.

The rest of the soldiers looked up from their documents. Hailu saw the soldier’s mouth moving, his pointed eyebrows, but couldn’t decipher the words. His head felt thick, heavy.

“It’s your death warrant,” the soldier quipped, pointing at the paper. “Sign it or we’ll kill you.”