White Dog Fell from the Sky

53



She’d seen the car from a long way down the road. Something about it made her pay attention. It was black, low slung. It pulled up to the gate, and the shorter of the two border guards let it through.

Two white men got out wearing uniforms. The border guard bent down and looked into the backseat of the car. Someone was back there, but the sun glared through the windshield and she couldn’t make out a face. One of the two men in uniform, the thicker one, passed some papers to the shorter guard. The border guard studied them. He passed the papers to the other guard, who looked them over. The shorter guard turned in Alice’s direction. She might have been a tree, or a goat, by the way he gestured toward her.

She froze, and her stomach flipped over. She walked toward them. One of the men in uniform opened the backdoor of the black car. A figure got out, a black man. He stood, swaying slightly. She came closer. It wasn’t Isaac’s face or his body she recognized, both altered beyond recognition, but some shred of dignity.

“My god,” she whispered, “what have they done to you?”

A light entered his eyes briefly and went out. She couldn’t tell if he knew who she was. She wanted to take his hand, but she thought there must be a rule against it.

“Is this the man?” said the taller of the two border guards. His face said, How could anyone want him?

“Yes. Isaac Muthethe.”

“He’s free to go,” said the border guard.

“Now?” she asked.

“Take him,” the thick-necked one from the black car said. “That’s what he said.”

Leering at her, his companion asked, “So where’s your husband?”

She ignored him. “Isaac, my truck is over there.” She turned away, and Isaac stumbled after her, barely able to walk. She felt the back of her neck crawl, thinking of their eyes watching. She opened the passenger’s side for Isaac, and he ducked his head. She saw his body shake with the effort of getting in. Her throat constricted, her vision swam. She got into the driver’s side and drove toward the other gate. The truck filled with an unspeakable smell.

“Dumela, rra,” she said, greeting the guard on the Botswana side for the second time that day. She held out the papers for him to check once more. He peered in at Isaac and flinched. “Go siame, mma,” he said, waving her through.

The gate lifted, and they headed up the dusty road toward Lobatse. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Isaac sitting stiffly, one hand clasped over the other. His hands were thin, so thin they seemed hollowed out, his thumbs swollen and dark purple.

“A o batla metsi?” she asked, pointing to the jug of water.

“Ee, mma,” he said, but he didn’t reach for it, as though they’d stripped him of volition. She drove north until she spotted a small turnoff. “Please,” she said, reaching for the water and handing it to him.

He uncapped the jug and poured water from above so his lips never touched the mouth of the container. He drank deeply, with his eyes closed. He looked shattered, the bones of his face skeletal. She handed him half a cheese sandwich and took the other half. The cheese had melted in the heat and lay limply inside the bread. He took the sandwich carefully, ate a bite slowly and ate the rest quickly.

“White Dog is dead, yes?” he said, his words barely audible.

“No, she’s alive. She waited for you. Also, Moses and Lulu are with me now.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Your brother and sister. You sent a letter to your mother, do you remember?”

“They’ve come?”

“Your mother didn’t know you’d been deported. I met them at the train station. They sleep in the room where you were sleeping.”

“In Naledi?”

“No, no. At my house.”

“At your house,” he repeated.

“They are going to school now.” It was like talking to a thick curtain with a man behind it. “Lulu and Moses came to Gaborone by train. Hendrik Pretorius arranged it.”

“Hendrik Pretorius?”

“He is the one who got you released from prison.”

“Are we going to see him now?”

“We’re going to Gaborone. You’re back in Botswana now.”

“And my mother? Is she alive?”

“Yes.”

“And my father?”

“I don’t know.”

“And Nthusi?”

She stopped. “Your brother?”

“Yes.”

“I heard from Hendrik that your brother died in the mines. There was a collapse. It happened several months ago. I’m very sorry.”

She glanced at him. He’d closed his eyes. In his face, it seemed she could map the world’s history of sorrow. He coughed again, a sound that seemed to pull up everything in him.

“Isaac,” she said, “I’m going to be taking you to the hospital.”

“Yes,” he said. She’d expected an argument. They drove a short distance, and he said, “Please, mma, I need to get out.”

She found a place to stop, and he opened the door. “Do you need help?” He didn’t answer, and she averted her eyes while he staggered behind a bush.

When he returned, he said, “I’m sorry, mma. I’ve caused so much trouble.” She waved his words away and started up the truck. “While you were away,” he said, “I made a very bad mistake.” It seemed to hurt him to speak.

“Don’t worry, you can tell me later.”

“I need to tell you now. I hid the money under a stone for my family back home. I was staying in the house with my friend and his wife and baby and some others. My friend, Amen, and his comrades were with the ANC. I wasn’t working for the ANC, only staying there. I came to Botswana wanting peace. Perhaps this was selfish of me, but I only wanted peace.” A large truck passed them going in the same direction, kicking up a storm of dust. She slowed, straining to see through the windshield.

“They attacked Amen’s house. His wife died. The baby lived. I don’t know whether Amen is alive or dead. I wanted the money under the stone to send back home, the money you gave me together with what I had saved. I thought they would bulldoze the house. I went like a thief while the guard was sleeping. He woke and took me to the police. The chief of police said I was a double agent and deported me.

“Another thing I must tell you,” he said. “Amen sold your bicycle without my permission. He needed the money. I was very angry, but the bicycle is gone. When I’m able to work again, I’ll pay you back a little bit this month, a little bit next month, until I have paid for it all.”

“Please, don’t worry. All you need to think about is getting back on your feet. No one can harm you now. Do you understand? They’ve given you political asylum here. You’re a legal resident.”

“Ee, mma.” He coughed again, a terrible sound, and grew quiet. She drove more slowly than usual, as though he could break if she hit too many potholes. She gripped the steering wheel as another dust storm arose from a passing vehicle. She glanced up at the hot blue sky and hoped the men who’d done this would suffer the flames of hell for all eternity.