The Stuff of Nightmares (22 page)

A different perception.

A different morality.

Different …

Looking at Baris’s face now, I could see that he was remembering too. We’d had so much to look forward
to
. Together. Even now I still didn’t understand exactly what had happened. How could dreams turn to dust so quickly? When I shot him, he fell to his knees, his hands over the gaping wound in his stomach. The bewilderment in his eyes as he looked at me sank into deep, abject hatred. He took a while to die. Being gut-shot is a slow, very painful death. And as he died, we watched each other, neither of us saying a word. He’d died hating me … I’d died hating him, and both for the same reason.

Now Baris grabbed my hands in his and a cry rose up from both sides, before the tense silence fell again. What would he do? Close his hands over my throat for all eternity? What would I do in his shoes? I looked at Baris, waiting …

But then he smiled at me. Such a sad smile.

Just as sadly, I smiled back.

‘I love you,’ he whispered.

‘I love you too,’ I replied softly.

He did still love me, I could see it in his eyes. Just as he could tell by looking at me how I felt about him. Wrapping our arms around each other, we kissed. We had to make it last, make it count before all the others forced us apart. From far away I could hear all those in the cemetery roaring at us, but they didn’t matter any more. Nothing mattered except us. Baris was a murderer – but so was I. He came from a race of murderers who couldn’t see that what they were doing to us was wrong. Maybe Baris had realized exactly what the zenerth meant to me when he threw away his
most
prized possession. I didn’t care about that any more. We were damned, Baris and I … damned to each other. Damned because we loved each other, and nothing could or would ever change that now.

When we stopped kissing, we held each other tightly, our eyes closed as we waited for the rest to descend on us and rip us to pieces.

But nothing happened.

‘Baris …’ I said uncertainly, opening my eyes.

I didn’t dare look round. I didn’t dare look at anyone but him.

‘Come with me,’ said Baris.

We walked towards the cemetery fence together, our arms linked, our eyes focused only on each other and nothing else. I could hear the roars of fury around me, but they were distant, totally external.

We stepped over the fence and carried on walking.

20

THEY MADE IT
out of the cemetery. They
made
it. And where they were going I couldn’t follow. For the first time in what felt like for ever, I smiled. And it felt so strange, so alien, it faded almost before it had begun. Musical instruments made out of human skin? I knew Naima’s nightmare was in the future, but no way could that come true. Could it …? Who was I trying to kid? I mean, every time I thought something monstrous like that couldn’t happen, never in a million years, the daily news on the telly invariably proved me wrong. I didn’t know what country Naima was in or what colony she and her family had joined, but what did that matter? And I’d been wrong about Naima not caring about anything or anyone but herself. She was just very good at keeping her feelings deeply hidden. I could understand that.

So Naima had fallen for someone and killed him.

And everything I’d seen had been her life after death.

Who was Baris? What kind of man was he? What
type
of person would use the skin of other people in that way? I’d thought that kind of thing had stopped with the Nazis in the Second World War. Obviously not.

Listen to me! Thinking about warring ghosts like they were normal, everyday things. I was thinking about too many things. My head was still buzzing with each vision I’d seen. My head felt like an oversaturated sponge, but what was leaking out was
me
– my sanity, my sense of my own thoughts and feelings. I had too many of the thoughts and feelings of my classmates to have much room left for my own. It took all my concentration to focus on something else. Not Rachel, not my friends, and definitely not that
thing
at the end of the carriage. I looked up again. Was the TV news helicopter still there? It was, and its camera was still trained on me and Rachel.

Were they transmitting right this very second? Was it a live feed going out on all channels nationwide as I stood looking up at it? Maybe Mum was at home, watching me now. Well, it sure as hell wasn’t the moment to wave. But everything I was hoped that Mum could see me, that she knew I was OK. For now. If Mum were standing in front of me, what would I say to her? What would I do? I knew what I wanted to do. I wanted the last couple of years to never have happened. I wanted Mum and me to hug like we used to, for everything to go back to the way it was before. I didn’t want to hate her any more, but I didn’t know how to stop.

Time to escape again and stay put this time. Whose dream hadn’t I visited yet? The black woman in the camel coat, the stranger. Her nightmare would be something completely new, something I’d never seen before because I didn’t know her. I could escape into her head and never come out. Death would never find me inside her head. And it was as easy as closing my eyes.

21

The Stranger’s Nightmare

1985

Waiting.

I’ve been waiting all my life.

Exactly a year ago today my daughter Miriam walked down the dusty brown road from our township to school, swinging her orange string bag in her hand. Afternoon came and went. As did evening. As did night. I sat and waited for her throughout the night, then the next night … and the next.

Waiting.

I never saw her again.

I learned a few days later that she had been detained by the police.

‘But why?’ I asked.

Miriam’s friend Joshua looked down at the ground. He couldn’t meet my eyes.

‘Miriam stood still when they began to whip us,’ Joshua said quietly. ‘I’ve been hiding ever since in case they came back for me. I tried to send you a message …’ His voice cracked and faded, a
temperamental
radio being taken further and further away from me.

‘She stood still?’ I asked.

‘She didn’t move.’ Joshua looked up, his eyes burning. ‘You should have seen her. You would have been proud.’

‘Proud?’ I balked at that strange word.

My daughter was gone. Proud?

‘I have to go now,’ Joshua muttered.

I barely heard him. My daughter was gone.

Gone.

I sank to my knees and wept, silently, in case my daughter felt my distress … wherever she was. I could not add my grief to hers. But I never gave up waiting. I never gave up hoping that one day she would walk through my door.

Waiting.

A month later I had to seek domestic service.

‘How can you hire yourself out to be a slave – worse than a slave, a nothing?’ my son Gabriel asked angrily.

‘Tell me what else to do to put you and Ruth through school,’ I snapped back. ‘Do you think I want to go? Do you think I want to leave you? Think again. I do it so that you and Ruth will not have to live your lives as I have lived mine. You will have something better. Education is the key that opens any door—’

‘
I
wouldn’t do it,’ Gabriel interrupted with contempt. ‘I wouldn’t be a slave.’

‘You would if you had children, if you wanted the best for them.’

I was tired, so tired of trying to make Gabriel understand. But at least he spoke to me. Ruth, my youngest, had barely said two words since I’d told them that I was going to be a maid.

‘If having children means living like an animal, worse than an animal, then I’ll never have children,’ Gabriel said.

I smiled. ‘Children are the one thing you’ll ever have that no one, not even this government, can deny.’

‘They killed my brother!’ Gabriel shouted. ‘Our father hardly ever sees daylight working down the gold mines from dawn to dusk. Now Miriam has disappeared and we’ll never see her again. You’re a fool—’

I slapped him, hard. ‘Don’t you ever say that again. Don’t you even think that your sister isn’t coming home.’

Gabriel scowled at me, fighting to hold back the tears that shimmered in his eyes.

‘Gabriel …’ I stretched out my hand.

He ran out of our shack. I sighed. Maybe I’d been too hard on him but he had to be taught not to give up. He had to be taught to wait.

The road to Madam’s house was long and hard and dusty. The hot earth scorched my feet through the thin soles of my shoes. But I kept walking. I promised myself as I walked to Madam’s house that I would ask
about
my wages as soon as I saw her, but my courage deserted me in her tomb of a house. I knew that Madam wouldn’t appreciate questions about money. And I needed this job.

So I didn’t ask.

I’ll wait until I’ve worked the month
, I thought.
I’ll wait
.

I rang the bell. The door opened almost immediately. Madam stood there, her face set, her green cat eyes looking down at me.

‘Come in, Adeola,’ she said at last.

I entered the house, out of the sunshine into the cool dark.

‘I want you to know that you’re easily replaced,’ Madam said as soon as I set foot past her front door. ‘If you can’t do the job, there are at least a hundred others who can. If you don’t want the job, there are at least a hundred others who do. And another thing: when you come into this house you’re to use the back door. Do you understand?’

‘Yes, Madam,’ I murmured. Of course I understood.

‘My son’s room is across the hall from yours. You’re to feed him, dress him, make sure he wants for nothing. You’re to keep the house clean and cook all the meals. Do you understand?’

‘Yes, Madam,’ I answered. I’ve understood all my life.

Oh, Ruth, Gabriel, how I love you. How I miss you already
.

* * *

First Day

I prepared lunch for Madam. Two lamb chops, peas in real butter, boiled potatoes. She stood over me the entire time. The smell of the food made my stomach churn. I hadn’t eaten since the evening before. I had had to set out early in the morning to walk the long, long way to Madam’s house and I was so tired, so hungry by the time I got there. Madam ate her food in the kitchen.

‘You can have some lunch too,’ she said as she sat down.

I looked down at her plate. ‘What am I to have, Madam?’ I asked.

‘You may have a plate of beans and some tea as it’s your first day. Tomorrow your lunch will be bread and jam and tea.’ She cut into her lamb chop.

Later that evening, as I was preparing dinner, Madam’s husband arrived with their son.

‘Peter, this is our new maid. She’s going to be your nanny,’ Madam’s husband said to the small blond boy clutching at his hand.

Peter couldn’t have been more than five or six. His cheeks were round and chubby. His arms and legs and stomach were fat and soft. I thought of Ruth at home, her arms and legs thin and hard like pencils, her stomach bloated from malnutrition. I looked up from Peter to Madam’s husband. I liked him less than I liked Madam but I smiled tremulously.

I needed the job.

‘Why is she here?’ Peter asked.

‘Your mother needs some help around the house now that she’s pregnant,’ Madam’s husband said. ‘Now, Peter, it’s time for bed.’

Madam’s husband looked at me. ‘Take him to bed,’ he ordered, his eyes chewing me up and spitting me out.

I held out my hand, which Peter took after a moment’s hesitation.

‘Come on, Peter.’ I smiled. ‘You can show me to your room.’

Peter smiled up at me. ‘It’s this way. You can follow me.’

I looked at him, forcing a smile.

My children … Oh, Ruth, Gabriel, I love you so much. I miss you. My eyes creep and creep back to the long, hard road that took me from you. The same road that will bring me back to you. But I must wait to see you. I must wait
.

First Week

The house was empty. Madam had gone to see her doctor. Madam’s husband had gone to work. Peter was with a neighbour.

Peter … What a strange child.

He followed me everywhere, like a puppy. And when his parents weren’t around he’d help me with some of the chores. I made the most of it. I knew it couldn’t last. But for now he liked me and I didn’t mind him. After all, he was just a child.

I was vacuuming the upstairs when I heard the
sound
of a car pulling up outside. I was halfway down the stairs when the front door opened.

‘What are you doing?’ Madam’s husband snapped.

‘I was just coming to answer the door. I was vacuuming.’ I kept my voice low and soft. Even the volume and tone of my normal voice are not my own in this house, in this country.

Madam’s husband closed the door and leaned against it. He looked at me speculatively.

‘Think yourself lucky that you’re with us and not most of my friends,’ he said at last. ‘Their maids use brooms or a dustpan and brush. They’re not allowed to touch the vacuum cleaners.’

I didn’t know what to say so I said nothing. He spoke as if I should be grateful that he and his wife allowed me to clean their house and eat their bread and jam and mealie meal and samp. I turned round so that he wouldn’t see my face.

‘Where are you going?’ he asked.

I turned back. ‘To finish the vacuuming,’ I replied.

He stared at me but said nothing.

‘May I go back to it?’ I asked.

He shrugged. ‘That’s why you’re here.’

I vacuumed their bedroom, larger than my shack several times over. I vacuumed Peter’s room, around his double bed, under his chair, around his wardrobe. I paused by the window, leaving the vacuum cleaner switched on. I looked out over their pool, over their back garden. I felt homesick and heartsick and, oh, so tired.

Miriam, are you still alive?

My heart tells me yes. My head tells me no. Which should I listen to? I want to slam down every police worker in the country. I want to tear down their prisons, bulldoze their walls until I find you. First Daniel, my eldest, shot in the back while running away from them, and now you, my daughter. Is that why you didn’t run, Miriam? I’m trying to understand. Trying desperately
…