Chanda's Secrets (17 page)

“Yes.” I squeeze him. “Mama wants us to be happy.”

Another pause. “Chanda...why hasn't she called again?”

“Maybe she doesn't have anything to say.”

Soly stares at his toes. “Do you think she misses us?”

“Of course she misses us. Just like we miss her.” I kiss his forehead. “Don't worry. No news is good news.”

Soly tries to smile, but he can't. He doesn't believe me. Why should he? I don't believe me either.

W
AITING FOR
M
AMA IS STRANGE.
Sometimes I fill with hope. Other times, like tonight, I lie in bed sweating with terror.

Soly is right. Mama should have called again. What's wrong? Is her sickness worse?

Her AIDS, I mean. Why can't I say the truth even now? Who am I trying to fool? How long before she dies? How long before we're alone? What then?

I see Jonah's face. I flash with hate. He gave it to her. I know it. I hope he's dead in some ditch. Stinking. Rotting.

No. That's awful. Anyway, why think the worst? Mama hasn't been tested. I don't know anything for sure.
Maybe
she has AIDS. But maybe not.

“Mama doesn't have AIDS. Mama doesn't have AIDS.” I say it over and over. But I don't believe it. Instead, I get a more terrible thought: What if Mama has AIDS, but not from Jonah? What if she gave it to him?

No! I hit myself. But the idea won't go away. It itches and itches.

I calm down. I tell myself not to be stupid. If Mama didn't get AIDS from Jonah, then from who? From nobody, that's who.

Then I think of Mr. Dube. He was a widower for a long time. Did he spend all those nights alone? Or was there a trip to a boxcar? A stroll to hooker park?

No. Mr. Dube was nice.

So what? Nobody's perfect. People make mistakes. They do things they shouldn't. That they normally wouldn't. That they wish they hadn't.

I start to sweat. If Mr. Dube gave Mama AIDS—then what about their baby? What about Soly?

No! If Soly had the virus, he would have died before Sara! Wouldn't he?

Maybe not. By the time Sara was born, Mama would've had it longer. Sara could've been born sicker.

Oh no, an even worse thought: What if Mama didn't get sick from Jonah or from Mr. Dube? What if she got sick from Isaac Pheto?

Then what about
their
baby? What about Iris?

My heart stops. What about me?

I think of what Isaac did to me. The times he did it. I thought that was my one big secret. But what if there's another secret? What if Isaac gave me AIDS?

ABCD-CD-CD-CDEG-GF-FG—I can't even remember the alphabet.

I get up, walk around, go back to bed. Get up, walk around, go back to bed. Get up, walk around, go back to bed. All the while, reciting, reciting, reciting—but instead of letters I'm reciting every cold I ever had. Every fever. Every headache. Every diarrhea. I think of all the times I couldn't sleep, the times I sweated in the middle of the night. Was it normal? Or symptoms?

Please God, help me. Tell me I'm all okay. Tell me. But He doesn't. I'm swallowed up by silence.

The torture goes on till I'm too tired to be frightened. My head hits the pillow, and I fall into a world of other nightmares.

I dream I'm at the junkyard. I'm not sure how I got here. All I know is I'm alone, it's night, and I'm lost in a maze of tires and broken pots piled to the sky.

“Chanda?” a voice calls. It's a ghost voice, light as air.

“Who are you?”

It doesn't say. It just keeps calling me. “Chanda? Chanda?” It leads me through the maze to the abandoned well. “Help me, Chanda,” the voice floats up from down below. “Please? Help me?”

I'm rolling over in bed, half awake now, the dream voice still in my ears. “Chanda?” A light tapping on the window shutters.

I sit up. Dreams can take us into the future. This one comes from right now. “Esther?” I whisper.

There's a whimpering. I run to the front door, undo the bolt, and open it. Esther comes around the corner of the house. She stays in the shadows, out of the light of the moon: “Stay back. Don't look at me.”

“What's happened?”

A moan so horrible I think the earth will open up. I run to her, but she holds up her hand. “No. It isn't safe.”

I catch a glimpse. I pull back. “Esther...” I say, as calmly as I can. “Esther, come inside.”

“I can't. Your mama...”

“She's not here. You have to come inside.”

She follows me in. Soly and Iris have woken up. I tell them to stay in their room. I draw the bedroom curtain and light the lamp. Esther collapses to the floor. She's battered, swollen, and half-naked. Her halter top and mini-skirt are ripped. Caked in dirt, dried blood, and pus. Her face is slashed. Stitches run from her forehead over her nose and down to her throat.

“We have to get you to a hospital.”

“I've already been. The doctors were busy. A nurse sewed me up. She said I was lucky I didn't lose an eye. But there'll be scars.” A terrible sob.

“They should have given you a bed.”

“There weren't any. Besides, I'm just a whore.”

“No, you're not. You're my friend. My best friend.”

Esther buries her face in her hands and cries.

I put on a pair of the rubber gloves I got from Nurse Viser, and bring over the breakfast water. There's some antiseptic in a bottle under the sink. I bring that, too, as well as a few clean rags, my housecoat, and a blanket. I help Esther out of her torn clothes. There're bruises everywhere. Even behind her ears and on her back. I dab antiseptic on the nicks and cuts the nurse overlooked.

“Chanda... Chanda, I never thought this would happen. To other people maybe. Not to me. I'm such a fool.” She starts to shiver. I get her into my housecoat.

“Shh, shh,” I say. “You don't have to explain.”

Esther wipes her eyes. “I do. I need to. You're the only one I can tell.” She's shaking now. I bundle her in the blanket and rock her. Her words pour out in little gasps. “It was a slow night. A trick at the mall, one in the park, that's it. Then, ten o'clock, a limo pulls up, tinted windows and everything. The driver says, ‘There's a party at the Safari Club. Twenty bucks plus tips, you interested?'

“I say, ‘Sure.' I open the door to the back seat. Two men in masks are inside waiting for me. I try to run, but the driver's behind me. He grabs me, shoves me in. One of the men says, ‘Scream and you die.' The other ties a pillowcase over my head.

“We drive and drive. We stop I don't know where, a garage maybe. I hear other men circle the car. The door opens. I'm dragged out. Held down. And then they all come at me. It goes on and on. They whistle and laugh. The last one says, ‘I got AIDS from a whore. Now I'm giving it to you.' They toss me in the car trunk. I'm sure I'm going to die. Next thing I know, I'm
in a ditch. A masked man rips the pillowcase off my head. ‘Remember me when you look in the mirror,' he says. He slashes my face. They drive away.”

Esther and I huddle together, very still, for a long time.

“The cops found me,” she says at last. “All the way to the hospital, they asked questions. I didn't have any answers. I only saw the driver. It was night. He was in shadow. The limo was just a limo. I don't even know where they took me.” She chokes. “The cops didn't care about that part anyway. They wanted to know why I was out so late: ‘You a whore?' they asked. Like I deserved it.”

“Nobody deserves this,” I say. “Nobody.”

“Tell that to my auntie. After the hospital, the cops took me to her place. She said it was my own fault, I was a slut and I'd burn in hell. Then she kicked me out. I went to the shed. Put my stuff in a bag. Biked here, I don't know how. My bag's at the side of the house.”

Esther's overcome. She gulps breath after breath. “Chanda...” she says, “Chanda, I have nowhere to go.”

“Yes, you do,” I say, holding her tight. “You have here. You have right here.”

I
PUT
E
STHER IN
M
AMA'S ROOM,
exchanging Mama's mattress for my own. Soly's fallen back to sleep, but as I make the switch I catch Iris peeking at me from under the sheet. How much did she hear? How much did she understand?

“So she's staying,” Iris whispers.

I nod. Iris groans and rolls over.

I go back to Mama's room and tuck Esther in.

“I'm never going to sleep again,” she says. But she does. Her breathing's heavy. Her body twitches. I hope her dreams take her to a happier place.

Mine don't. When I finally get to bed, I dream I'm back at the junkyard. Voices call to me from the abandoned well. Mama. Sara. Iris. Soly. Esther. “Help us, Chanda, help us,” they cry. I lean over the lip of the well. “I can't,” I cry. “I don't know how.” A wind blows me over the side. I'm falling. Falling and falling and—out of nowhere a giant white bird, my magic stork, swoops down and catches me in its bill. It holds me safe and flies me into the sky. I see storm clouds in the distance. “Where are we going?” I ask. “What lies ahead?” But before the stork can answer I find myself sitting up in bed, wide awake.

Esther's still asleep when Soly and Iris come to breakfast.

Soly pads to the table scratching his bum. “Is it true Esther's staying with us?”

“Yes.” I glance at Iris. “News travels fast.”

Iris stirs her porridge with a know-it-all smile. “Tell Soly why she's staying.”

“Esther had an accident,” I lie. “She fell off her bike onto some glass. She was stuck in a toolshed at her auntie's. This is a better place for her to heal.”

“Tell Soly the real reason.”

“That is the real reason,” I say evenly. (At least it's
half-true
, I think. And half-true is more true than most things around this place.)

Soly rubs his eyes. “How long will she be here?”

“As long as she wants.”

“Does Mama know?” Iris asks innocently.

“She will,” I whisper. “She won't mind either. Even if she
did, she'd be polite. She likes guests to feel welcome. Unlike one little brat I could mention.”

Iris ignores me. “Soly,” she smiles sweetly, “would you like my porridge? It's got bugs.”

“Don't listen to her. She's lying.”

“I am not.”

Soly puts down his spoon.

After we clear the dishes, I walk him to Mrs. Tafa's hedge. She's waiting with open arms. “Guess what?” Soly whoops as I pass him across. “Esther's living at our place!”

Mrs. Tafa nearly drops him on the cactus. (I wish she had.) “Esther Macholo?”

“Un-hunh,” he nods happily. “She fell off her bike and now she's staying in Mama's bedroom.”

Mrs. Tafa arches an eyebrow. “Is this some kind of joke?”

“No,” I say. “Esther's having a rough time. If it's all right, when I get home, I'd like to use your phone to call the general dealer in Tiro. You know, to let Mama know.”

“You don't want to be upsetting your mama.”

“This won't upset her.”

Mrs. Tafa cranes her neck as though I'm an idiot.

“Anyway,” I say nervously, “I have to run. I promised my teachers I'd get to school early. I have to do a makeup test in physics, hand in an English essay, and, well, good-bye.”

Mrs. Tafa's about to stop me, but Soly tugs at her dress. “Mrs. Tafa,” he says, “can I get a glass of lemonade? My porridge had bugs.”

I drop Iris off at kindergarten. This morning I didn't have time to think. Now that I'm alone, I'm drowning in nightmares. Real ones.

What'll I do if Esther gets sick? Or if Iris runs away? Or if Mama dies? Or if Auntie Lizbet swoops in? Or if I have AIDS?

WHAT'LL I DO IF I HAVE AIDS???

I have to talk to someone. Who? Mr. Selalame! When I get to school I'll talk to Mr. Selalame—he'll know what to do.

Mr. Selalame! Yes! I pedal fast.

Mr. Selalame! No! He's a teacher. He'll have to write a report. What if it leaks out? I'll be the AIDS girl with the AIDS mama and the AIDS friend. What if the city finds out? What if they take Soly and Iris away? Would they? Could they? I don't know.

I forget about school. I head to the hospital. I give my name to reception and ask for Nurse Viser. Eventually she sticks her head out. She waves me in.

“We sent a caseworker to your place,” she says, perched on the edge of her desk. “The worker says your patient disappeared.”

“Jonah, yes,” I say. “He's gone. I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I'm sorry I wasted your time. I'm sorry for everything. I'm sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry—”

“Whoa, girl, whoa!” Nurse Viser laughs a mama-laugh and puts her hands on my shoulders. “Forget being sorry. That's not why you're here. How can I help you?”

“I have a friend who has a friend who may have the AIDS virus,” I blurt out. I tell her Esther's story without saying her name. “If my friend's friend has the virus, should my friend and her brother and sister wear rubber gloves around her?”

“Not if she's all patched up.”

“Good. My friend wanted to make sure her brother and sister were safe.”

“They're safe,” Nurse Viser says. “HIV/AIDS only spreads through blood, semen, and fecal matter. But you already know
that, don't you?” She fixes me with a firm gaze. “What's the real reason you're here?”

I stare at the linoleum, thinking about Isaac Pheto. Nurse Viser watches me for what seems like forever. Finally I take a deep breath. I say: “I have another friend. She was raped when she was a girl, but she's still healthy. The man who raped her is still healthy, too. So she's all right, isn't she? She doesn't have AIDS, does she?”