White Dog Fell from the Sky

33



“You look terrible,” Lillian said. “Here, give me that.” Alice dropped her bag. Her head swam, and her knees shook. To her dazed eyes, the old Gaborone train station looked like a daguerreotype, its surface painted in silver halide. People moving about hauling boxes and trunks looked oddly still. “I tried to call you earlier,” she said.

“Gerald and I went away, a spur of the moment thing. While you were gone, he came home and said he wanted to take me to Victoria Falls for our thirtieth anniversary.”

“How was it?”

“The best holiday we’ve ever taken.” She put Alice’s bag in the truck and opened the door for her. “You poor thing. You look like hell warmed over.”

“Thanks, Lillian. Has there been any rain?”

“I heard there was a shower while we were gone. Nothing much.”

“It’s a dust bowl up north.”

“Some bloke has been around your place. A European.”

“I asked Will to let Isaac know I’d be a few days late … Do you know if Itumeleng’s back?”

“I saw her hanging out laundry.”

As Lillian drove toward the Old Village, Alice recognized a woman she’d seen before, knitting as she walked, carrying a baby on her back. The bush stretched out on the left, a tangle of footpaths and low scrub; on the right were houses thrown up so fast, she thought some of them hadn’t been there when she left. Lillian turned right off the main road, then pulled into the driveway, maneuvering around White Dog. “You leave that bag. You have no business carrying anything.”

Itumeleng greeted Alice as she stroked White Dog.

“Take good care of her, okay?” said Lillian. “She’s sick.” She handed the bag to Itumeleng and hugged Alice good-bye. “I’ll bring by some food later. You go have a good sit on the veranda, and a nap.”

“Thanks, Lillian.” She watched her go and turned to Itumeleng. “Where’s Isaac?”

“Ga ke itse, mma. Only the dog is here.”

“He wasn’t here when you got back?”

“No, mma. I think he has gone. Or maybe he is late.”

“Why would you say such a thing?”

“If he is staying at the place where there is the shooting, he is dead, mma. They come and kill the ANC people. Only one little baby is still alive.”

“I don’t understand.”

“While you were away, mma. The South African police come over the border.”

“When was this?”

“After you leave, mma.”

“The South African police crossed the border?”

“Ee, mma.”

“… But Isaac is not with the ANC.”

“Then maybe he go home to see his mother in South Africa.”

“He couldn’t go back even if he wanted to. He left illegally.”

“I don’t know, mma. I don’t know where he is gone. One cat, the Horse, is also missing.”

Alice went inside and slumped down in a chair in the living room. A few minutes later Itumeleng brought her sweet tea. A pile of mail sat next to her, and she picked up a couple of envelopes and set them back down without opening them. Two were from home, one from her mother. A heap of soot sat at the base of the hearth, gleaming in a ray of sun that sliced down the chimney. She wondered where it had come from. And wondered how she could have lived in this house as long as she had without noticing the way the sun fell through the darkness of brick and dust and reappeared on the hearth.

The tea was lukewarm, and she drank it fast. And then sat with the cup shaking in her lap, her legs still weak. She got to her feet and tried to call Will, but the phone lines were down. Half an hour later, she tried again and finally drove around to his and Greta’s house.

One of Will’s young sons had made a bow and arrow and was shooting a stick into the air and running toward the falling trajectory, trying to get the stick to hit him on the head. One of the family’s large dogs walked out of the shade and came toward her with the end of her tail wagging.

“Hey, beautiful,” said Alice, leaning over to pat her head.

“You’re back!” Greta yelled, yanking a pair of child’s socks off the line. What couldn’t Greta do? Corral squirming boys for bath time, whip up dinner for a small village at the drop of a hat. She stopped suddenly and studied Alice. “What’s wrong with you?”

“I came down with tick bite fever.” Alice bit her lip.

“Come here,” said Greta, folding her into her arms.

Tears came, and Greta said, “Oh, poppet, you’re exhausted. When was the last decent meal you had?”

“I’m all right. I came by to see if Will had seen Isaac.”

“No. We have no idea where he went. Will went round to the police station. One of the officers came down to your house. There’s no trace of him.”

“He wouldn’t have left his dog.”

“That’s what we thought.”

“I don’t know what to do.”

Greta grabbed a few more clothes off the line and threw them over her shoulder. “I’d go back to the police. Come on in, I’ll give you a cuppa.”

“I just had one.”

“Well, stay for dinner then. We’ll eat in an hour or so.”

“Thanks, sweetie, not today.”

At home, Itumeleng heated up a beef stew and gave Alice a bowlful. Alice looked at her fondly, thinking she was one of the homeliest people she’d ever met. A thin scar began at the round of her cheek and plunged toward her jaw. Her face was huge, her eyes large, her eyebrows a jumble. One gold and one white front tooth sat side by side. The few times Alice had seen her go out at night, a stain of pink lipstick blazed across the white and gold.

“I’ve decided to go to the police,” Alice said.

“No, madam, you must not. It will make trouble.”

“Are you afraid it will make trouble for you?” Alice stood up and set her empty plate in the sink.

Itumeleng sloshed water into a dented pot. “No, I am not afraid of them. I am not afraid of anyone.” The back of her neck was moist with sweat. She wore a pink uniform, stained under the arms. Alice had not wanted her to wear a uniform, but Itumeleng had wanted one. She had this pink one and a green one.

“He would not have left his dog unless something had happened to him.”

“Leave it, madam.” Itumeleng banged the pot. “Last year you did not know him.”

“But I know him now.”

“Next year, again you will not know him.”

“I hope to know him next year.”

“If you have a child, then you are not asking for trouble like this,” Itumeleng said. She kept her eyes on the ground and walked out the backdoor.

Alice picked up the pot Itumeleng had set down and slammed it against the table.

The deputy chief of police did not look well. Mr. Tebape’s skin was tired and pitted, his shoulders sagged. The chief of police was out of town. Mr. Tebape hadn’t wanted to see her, and his secretary had tried to pawn her off on someone else. She sat in an uncomfortable wooden chair on the opposite side of his desk. She explained that Will had seen another member of the police force when Mr. Tebape was out of town.

“My mother was ill,” he said, as though she’d accused him of something.

“I hope she’s better now.”

“She is not better, she is late,” he said with a slight quaver.

“I’m very sorry.”

“Ke a leboga, mma,” he thanked her. He moved a cup from one place on his desk to another place and looked at her for the first time.

She explained the circumstances surrounding Isaac’s disappearance.

“Which town is he from?”

She hesitated. “He is from South Africa. Pretoria.”

“Legal or illegal?”

“Will I get him in trouble if I say illegal?”

A small twitch of a smile passed over his lips. “No, madam.”

“Illegal. His name is Isaac Muthethe.”

Mr. Tebape shifted in his seat. “I do not know anything about this man,” he said.

“Is it possible that anyone on your force would know anything?”

“I will make inquiries,” he said. “Tell me his name again.”

She spelled it for him while he wrote it down. “He was … is a very responsible, peace-loving person. He had been a medical student before coming here. He needed to flee for political reasons.”

Mr. Tebape nodded. “I will let you know, madam, if I have discovered anything. If Mr. Muthethe returns, he must apply for political asylum at that time.”

“Yes, of course.”

He stood. The interview was over. The heat smacked her as she stood to leave.

She’d been deep into a dream when the phone rang after midnight. She jumped up and ran from the bedroom in a panic, stubbing her toe on a corner of the couch.

“Did I wake you?” he said.

“Yes. Where are you?”

“Maun. I’m sorry to call so late. I just got in. No place to phone you from.”

“How are you?” she asked.

“I’ve missed you. Are you all right?”

“Almost better, but a strange thing’s happened. Isaac’s missing. He left his dog. I went to the deputy chief of police today and got nowhere.”

“Maybe he took off.”

“He’s not that sort of person.”

“Do you have an address for his family?”

“No.”

“I don’t know what to suggest.”

“I don’t know what to do, either.”

“I’m sorry. I wish I were there with you.” His voice sounded husky.

“Oh, god, that makes two of us. What have you been doing?”

“Cutting fence. First at the southeast corner of the Kuke fence, not far from where we were. I borrowed a wire cutter. I was making fine progress but a red-necked rancher threw a spanner in the works. Had a bit of a row, and he told me to get out—from the other end of a shotgun.”

“Jesus.”

“I thought of telling him to piss off but it didn’t seem a good plan. He was a dodgy sort of fellow. So I moved on, drove to another section of fence south of Sehitwa.”

She was quiet a moment. “It’s hopeless, you know.”

“I know it.”

“Dangerous too. That rancher could have blown you off the face of the Earth. Don’t do it anymore, darling. Write a letter.”

“I’ve talked to them already.”

“Talk to someone higher up.”

“And why would anyone listen to me?”

“Write a letter to the minister, go see the president.”

“It’s not how I operate.” She pictured him sitting in Maun, the river beyond, a glass of beer nearby.

“You could learn a new trick.”

“What you see is what you get.” He went quiet. “Listen, if things don’t change … I can’t work in a country where animals are dying like this. You and I could live in England for a bit, then perhaps I can get a grant to do some work in East Africa.”

“I can’t leave right now.”

“I love you, Alice.”

It made the breath go out of her. She said nothing for a moment. “I can’t go, at least not now, with Isaac missing.”

“Can you still come to Mahalapye this weekend? We can talk about it.”

“You remember I’m supposed to be at that government do after work on Friday?”

“I’ll be in Mahalapye Friday night. Maybe you’ll manage to get away early.”

She whispered good-bye and set the phone down. Back in bed, she lay awake in the dark. It was tempting to leave here, start a life together elsewhere. She liked England, could imagine living there. And she could imagine, almost, a life with Ian.

But Isaac would not have abandoned her, and she wouldn’t abandon him. She thought how, at the end of each day, he and White Dog headed up the road together, the dust in the air turning the contours of things shimmery. It was possible he led a double life, but somehow, she didn’t think so. She knew nothing, though, about him or the family he’d left behind. They were shadows, the kind of caricatures that white people carry in their heads when they think about Africa: no shoes, no school, no future.