CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“Mercy’s back today,” Dingane told Karina at lunch.
“I was wondering when she’d be back,” I stated.
It’d been over a week since we’d seen Mercy, and Dingane and I’d taken over the laundry duties while she’d been gone. I wasn’t wondering, really, I was dying for her to come home. Teaching all day and doing laundry all night was becoming unbearable, even Dingane was complaining and he never complained, ever.
“Where’d she go?” I asked.
“South Sudan. She’s family there. She was checking on them.”
“Isn’t that rather dangerous?”
“Yes,” Dingane answered shortly.
“Okay,” I sang.
“He tried to convince her not to leave, but she wouldn’t listen. Her aunt’s been sick for months,” Karina explained.
“Oh, I see.”
Mercy chose that moment to walk through the eating hall and waved at me. I waved enthusiastically, unsure if I was happy to see her because I wouldn’t have any more laundry to do, or if it was because she was back safe and sound. I frowned into my plate. When she approached I found myself jumping up and hugging her. Huh, guess I sincerely missed her.
Over the last few weeks, Dingane and I had intermittently examined those parts where we suspected the soldiers had stalked us from. We hadn’t seen any sign of boot prints since that first day, but Dingane refused to relax.
“Can you not calm down for a few moments?” I’d asked him at the time.
“Do you not remember the village?” he asked me in answer.
That was the end of that.
Dingane and I had come to an understanding of sorts. I kept as quiet as possible, did my work and he would tolerate me. But after those first few weeks, I’d grown tired of submission so I showed him what I was capable of. I showed him I had enough initiative, enough industry, to strike out. I was also, simultaneously, recognizing something in myself I didn’t know could exist.
I was worth more than the sex I’d defined myself with.
Yet Dingane still treated me with latent disdain.
The child survivors of the village were adjusting swimmingly apart from a few minor hiccups here and there, but nothing we couldn’t handle. Charles, Karina, the rest of the staff and I were becoming great friends. I was truly falling in love with them and my purpose for being there, which I discovered was more than just serving a sentence.
I was learning Bantu, not enough to hold a conversation but enough to ask the younger ones if they needed to use the restroom, if they were hungry, etc.
Mandisa had started eating again thanks to Dingane and me. After our powerful breakthrough in the kitchen, she’d warmed up to me though I hadn’t any idea why at the time, but Karina helped me see that Mandisa chose who she thought could help her the best and she felt that was me. Who was I to argue? If I could help, I was going to. She’d gained almost seven pounds in two weeks. Mandisa had even taken to occasionally sneaking into my hut late at night and sleeping with me. I wouldn’t have admitted this to anyone but she was my favorite.
A week after Mercy came back, Dingane and I had to make another patrol near the watering hole. After classes, we got into his truck and headed that way.
“Oliver’s driving me nuts,” I told the window.
“He drives us all nuts.”
I laughed. “He’s too smart for our lessons.”
“I know this.”
“So why don’t we alter his curriculum accordingly?” I asked.
“That’s a fine idea,” he conceded too easily.
I sat up a bit and stared at him in shock. “What? No argument?”
He only rolled his eyes.
“No, seriously. No argument? No telling me ‘you’ve got this’ or dismissing me? I must confess, I suspect I’m living in an alternate universe.” I pretended to check out the window. “Nope, pigs aren’t flying.”
“Har, har.” He sighed, parking the truck.
He leaned over and removed his pistol from the glove compartment. I got out, not wanting to be anywhere near it. I had a healthy respect for guns. Very healthy.
“You’re scared of it,” he proclaimed to the wind.
“I’m not,” I said, moving to the other side of him, the side without the gun.
“After we check things out, you’re going to shoot it.”
My mouth dropped open to my chest. “Absolutely not!”
He stopped short and grinned at me. “You absolutely are. I can’t have you frightened of it. What if there’s occasion to use it?”
“I’ll never have need to hold it, much less use it.”
“Don’t be naive, Sophie.”
“I won’t need to know.”
“This is a ‘just in case’ kind of situation. Once I teach you how to aim and shoot it, I won’t ever ask you to use it again.”
“Fine,” I gritted, continuing on without him.
I could hear him snicker below his breath behind me. “It’s not funny,” I sang.
“I beg to differ. This is going to be delightful for me.”
I deliberately walked faster.
“Stop,” he said, catching up. “I’ll stop teasing. Just stay near me.”
I obeyed but didn’t acknowledge him. We searched the entire watering hole and found no evidence that anyone was there. We rounded the entire bit of land and were nearing the truck. I made a mad dash toward it, hoping he’d have somehow miraculously forgotten our lesson, but there was no such luck.
“Wrong way, Sophie,” I heard him say. I stopped, disrupting the dirt beneath my feet and turned around, slightly winded.
“You can’t be serious.”
“I’m deadly serious. Now, follow me.”
He led me toward a covered area and found a thick rotting stump, picking it up as if it weighed nothing and setting it against a still-standing tree.
“This is your target,” he said, checking the barrel and unloading the gun of all bullets.
“Why are you removing the bullets if this is a shooting lesson?”
“Because there are a few rules you need to recognize first, and I think you’d be more comfortable holding an unloaded gun.”
He was right.
“Okay,” he continued, “first rule’s you always handle a gun as if it’s loaded, even if you know it’s not.”
He handed me the gun and I reached for it with a shaking fist. I took it and held it in my palm.
“It’s heavy.”
“In more ways than one.”
“What next?” I asked, staring at the cold piece of metal laying flat in my hand.
He fixed my grip and pointed the gun down. His hands were warm and my breath caught a little. “Next rule,” he said, “always keep a firearm pointed in a safe direction,” he explained softly. “If you accidentally fired it, we’d want the bullet to avoid others.”
“Okay,” I wheezed.
He removed his hand from mine and I found I could breathe more easily.
“Next. Always keep your finger off the trigger and outside the trigger guard,” he said, pointing to the section of metal that protected the trigger. “Until you’ve made a conscious decision to shoot, keep that finger off the trigger.”
I nodded and gulped. His finger barely touched mine, but the world seemed to have disappeared around us. His breaths matched mine, but I was positive he was only nervous about teaching me how to shoot.
“Anything else?” I asked, breaking the trance.
Dingane shook his head and stuck his hands in his pocket. “Yeah, uh, where was I?”
“Trigger.”
“Yeah, uh, next rule is to always be aware of your target, backstop and beyond. Make sure with one hundred percent certainty that your line of fire is clear of people and property. Don’t take anyone’s word for it. You’re the only one responsible if something should happen, so make sure it doesn’t.”
“Sounds good.”
“Okay.”
“Okay, what?”
“Check, Sophie.”
“Oh!” I exclaimed, realizing what he meant.
I handed him the gun and circled my target, recognizing that nothing laid beyond my line of fire for miles besides grass and the occasional tree. I returned to Dingane’s side. He handed me the weapon once more and I pointed it toward the ground carefully and made sure my fingers were nowhere near the trigger.
“It’s clear,” I told him.
Dingane physically twisted my body toward my target stump then stood beside me.
“Since this is your first time shooting, I’d recommend you hold the gun with both hands.”
I positioned my hands the way I thought I’d seen guys on TV held it. “Like this?”
He laughed. “No, uh, like this,” he said, grabbing both my hands and positioning them properly. “You should always grip high on the backstrap. This’ll allow you leverage when the gun fires and it’ll prevent it from recoiling into your body.” My hands started to shake a little and he steadied them with his. “Your other hand should rest on top of this hand, right under the trigger guard and cup the back of your trigger hand.
“You’ll need to stand with your feet and hips at shoulder width,” he explained, moving close behind me, flush with the back of my body, sending electric shocks careening through to my toes.
I spread my feet apart and stood still, staring at my target. Dingane didn’t say a word but slowly used his feet to spread my own a little farther apart. My breath hitched in my throat.
“Comfortable?” he whispered in my ear.
I swallowed. No. “Um, yes.”
Dingane stepped from behind me and the breath I’d been holding whooshed from my lips.
“Let me have the gun,” he said and I handed it to him.
He started loading it and my already rapid pulse beat with unknown intensity.
“Make a circle with your thumb and forefinger, pick an object around you, hold it out at arm’s length and find that object within the circle.” He paused. “Got it?” he asked, still loading.
“Yes.”
I chose his face.
“Keeping that object within sight, bring the circle toward your face. The circle should naturally gravitate to one eye.”
“My left,” I told him and he looked up.
“Mine too,” he whispered. I dropped my hands to my side. “That’s your dominant eye. You’ll use that one to align your sights.” He handed me the gun and stood behind me closely, gripping the gun with me. “This is very loaded.”
You can say that again, I thought.
“Acknowledge me.”
“It’s loaded,” I repeated.
Dingane fixed himself hard against my back and my eyes slid closed at his warmth and the feel of his solid muscles. He fixed my stance once more with his feet and I could feel the blood rush to my belly. His mouth rested against my ear and I could hear every breath he took, slow and steady.
“Align your sights,” he spoke against my ear.
I nodded, my target within sight.
“Don’t press yet,” he teased.
“Why?” I barely rushed out.
“Don’t pull. Never pull. Whenever you’re ready, squeeze the trigger until you feel resistance, but let it surprise you. Don’t prepare yourself for the bullet, concentrate on applying pressure directly and let it show you exactly what it feels like the second it releases from the gun.”
I nodded and took several steadying breaths, keeping my target within sight. Time seemed to slow to a turtle’s pace. The world swirled quietly around me; the only significant sound was the deep rise and fall of Dingane’s chest.
My finger left its reclined position and rested on top of the trigger. My body tensed and I could feel his body cull itself tightly around mine in preparation. Two deep breaths and my lungs held still as my finger squeezed the trigger.
The world held still as the bullet rushed from the barrel toward the awaiting stump. The seconds to follow will forever brand themselves in my mind. The bullet struck home, shredding small parts of the stump outward in a halo of splinters, falling and settling onto the bed of dead undergrowth below. The bullet leaving the gun thrust my body against Dingane’s, but he seemed prepared for it, holding me still against him.
When it was all done, the world rushed back to reality around me, the sights and sounds loud against my eyes and ears. I began to breathe deeply and Dingane slowly turned me toward him. I pointed the gun at the earth and faced him, staring directly in his eyes.
“You did well, Soph,” he began softly. He’d never called me Soph before. “Feel all right?”
I nodded, unable to speak.
He kept eye contact but removed the gun from my hand, holstering it and returning that hand to my shoulder. He watched me intently and a deluge of emotions washed over his face. His eyebrows pinched together as if he was trying to fight something. Finally, his face relaxed then both his palms rounded my back and up my shoulders, fisting both my braids.
“They’re falling out,” I finally spoke.
“They always do at the end of the day,” he added, never breaking his stare, inches from my face.
My eyes closed when he pulled the bands holding both braids and they slipped off into his hands. His fingers deftly freed both plaits painfully slowly all the way to the top of my head. Finally, I felt his fingers sift through the length to the ends.
“It’s the favorite part of my day.”
My eyes opened lazily. “What do you mean?” I whispered.
“When you undo them and run your hands throughout the waves. That’s my favorite part of the day.”
I inhaled slowly through my nose to keep from falling over at that revelation.
“I thought you hated me,” I confessed.
He opened his mouth to answer, but we were startled from our proximity when the hand radio in the truck starting blaring incessantly.
“Dingane! Dingane!” we heard over and over.
“Shit,” he said, squeezing his eyes closed. “I forgot to tell them we’d be shooting off the gun.”
He ran toward the truck, leaving me there astounded by what just transpired between us.
The ride back to Masego was unbearably quiet, both content, it seemed, to revel in our own thoughts. My own were inundated with sifting through what had just happened. My eyes kept flitting between us and I found myself wishing we could finish what had barely gotten started.
“Karina’s pissed,” he said, startling me.
“Why?” I asked.
“I should have told her we’d be shooting off the gun. We scared her half to death.”
Guilt overwhelmed me. “I’ll have to apologize to her.”
“Why should you apologize?”
“Because I shot off the gun.”
“No, I’ll do all the apologizing. It was my fault.”
“I don’t think...” I began but was cut short by the sight of Karina standing just outside the fence, two fists settled stiffly against her hips. “Uh-oh.”
Dingane sighed loudly.
“I know, I know,” he said, exiting the truck and slamming the door. I followed suit.
“You two!” she said, storming over. I almost laughed out loud but stopped myself when I saw the expression on her face. Fear and sadness bathed it completely, sobering me. She grasped at her chest before reaching him and embraced Dingane with the fiercest hug imaginable. She waved me over and wrapped her arm around my neck. Both Dingane and I laid our hands on her back and stared at one another. We both felt so guilty.
“I’m sorry,” we said in unison then broke into laughter.
“We’re so sorry,” I told Karina.
She distanced herself a little and wiped at her eyes.
“I was preparing myself for the worst.” She audibly sighed. “I think Charles lost five years off his life. The whole family’s in an uproar.”
Guilt washed over us again. There was nothing to say.
“Come on,” she said, wrapping an arm around each of us. “Let’s go reassure everyone.”
When we opened the gate we were engulfed by children, all worried.
“How do you say ‘I’m sorry’ in Bantu?” I screamed over their chatter.
“Most understand English, Soph.” Dingane laughed and started touching their heads. After a few minutes of reassuring them, tiny heads bounced off to play before the sun set all except for one. Mandisa. I picked her up and rested her bony little behind on my hip. I didn’t say anything, just hugged her and walked with Dingane toward the baobab tree. We three stood there watching the boys play soccer and the girls congregating or singing or jumping rope.
When the sun disappeared over the horizon, leaving the sky pink and orange, Kate, Ruth and Karina called them in for baths and to brush their teeth. It all felt so normal, so gloriously wonderful. It was too bad their lives were tainted with bouts of inexplicable violence. It made me that much more aware of why I was grateful Dingane taught me how to shoot.
I set Mandisa down to join the other children. She kissed my cheek and I almost cried.
I stood. “Thank you,” I told Dingane, staring at the colorful sky.
“For what?” he whispered toward the same sky.
“For teaching me. Seeing them reminded me why I wanted to be able to defend them. They’re defenseless. If it’s ever up to me to guard their lives, I’d do it in a heartbeat. I couldn’t possibly hesitate.”
Dingane turned toward me and I faced him almost afraid of what he’d say, or more truthfully, what he wouldn’t.
“You’re welcome,” he stated simply, disappointing me.
But then his gaze raked my face with such powerful intensity, I could feel it melt into my throat and shoulders, sending chills through me.
He closed the distance between us. “Will you be showering tonight?” he asked, surprising me.
“What? Why do you keep asking when I’m about to shower? Do you watch me or something?” I teased.
His face turned bright red. “Of course not!” he exclaimed loudly, which made me laugh.
“Then why?” I asked again.
“Goodnight, Soph,” he said grinning, using that nickname again and heading toward his hut, which just so happened to be happily situated right next to mine.
“Goodnight, Ian,” I told him.
He turned around and fought a smile, biting it away with his teeth.
I wasn’t tired so I thought I’d help the women bathe all the girls. The chattering females made me smile as I approached the communal bathrooms. Seven stalls lined the walls as well as seven showerheads with poor plastic coverage. They always bathed the babies first and any girl who could properly wash herself was told to do so. The women just supervised. I joined Karina’s and Kate’s side. They were laughing about something when I approached them.
“What’s so funny?” I asked.
“Oh, nothing,” Karina explained. “So you learned how to shoot a gun, did you?” she asked wryly.
I bent my face toward the tile floor. “Yes.”
“I’m glad.”
My head whipped up. “Yes, I am glad. Every adult here should be able to. Though I wished I’d been informed,” she chastised.
“I’m so sorry, Karina,” I began, but she cut me off, wrapping her arm around my shoulders.
“Stop. I know you’re sorry. That’s the last you’ll hear of it from me.” She kissed my temple and I felt so incredibly loved.
“Karina?” I asked after a few minutes of silence.
“Hmm? Just a moment. Christine! No, dear,” she said, stopping Christine from splashing Kate, whose back was to her. Christine frowned. “I’m sorry. What, my love?”
“Oh, I was just curious about something.”
“What about?” she asked, distracted by Christine again.
“Why is Dingane so interested when I shower? I thought maybe you might know.”
Her answer shocked me speechless. “He sweeps all the bugs out for you. He heard you say how you hated them,” she absently remarked. “Excuse me, dear,” she continued, heading for Christine.
I walked away in a daze, not believing it. But he hates me. He may be attracted to me, that’s obvious, but he doesn’t care for me.
I hit the dirt outside and made a beeline for the showers, the small outside light illuminating it in the middle of our makeshift village. When I rounded the corner, I shone the flashlight I carried with me into one of the rudimentary stalls. Insects. Everywhere. The wood walls were covered with them. I almost couldn’t believe my eyes. Every inch seemed infested. I accidentally dropped my light and bent to pick it up. That means he’s been waking up extra early every morning and sweeping them out. Why would he do this?
“He likes you, dumbass,” I said out loud.
My lips twitched at the corners and I stood. I practically sprinted to our huts but just stopped myself from banging my fist on Ian’s barely-there door. My hand fell to my side. I couldn’t bring myself to confront him with the evidence. If he’d wanted me to know he was doing it, he’d have let me know. My teeth couldn’t fight the smile plastered on my face. It was time for bed.