I stare at Saint Catherine with her rosy cheeks and wistful gaze. She is as unflappable as ever. I take a deep breath to try to calm down, the richness of the smell of wet earth and rotting leaves outside filling my lungs. I should sleep. I turn down the lamp until the flame flutters out, and then lie back on the cot. I rest the photo and the card on my chest. I can’t hear Boyboy and Michael talking anymore, only the riot of insect nightlife. The sound is oddly familiar, and I guess it should be. I must have listened to these same bugs as a little kid. Or their great-great-grandparents.
I wish Kiki could see this place. Parts of it are so different from how I think of Congo when I’m in Sangui City. It’s dangerous here, I know, but it’s also full of insects and frogs getting on with their business. Rain, and people worrying about making it home from the market before it starts. I think of all the herders we saw on the side of the road from the banana lorry, and women tending their fields, and kids playing in a school yard in one of the towns we passed. I guess a million little dramas happen here, just like anywhere else. The war can’t stop everything. I want Kiki to see this part of who she and I are. When I started out of Sangui two days ago I didn’t think I would ever tell her about this trip. But maybe I should. Otherwise, I’m just like Mama, hiding things from my family because I think I know best. But then again, Kiki’s so little. If she asks why I came here, what do I tell her? That I’m here mainly to make her father pay in blood for Mama’s death? My head swirls. But this trip isn’t all blood and death. It’s also frogs singing and kind nuns.
I realize I’m starting to doze, my thoughts flickering randomly. The rain drums like fingertips. And then I realize it’s not just rain, but someone knocking gently at my door. I sit up, tucking the photo and card into my hoodie pocket.
“Who’s there?” I whisper, ready to tell Michael or Boyboy that I’m in no mood to kiss and make up.
“Sister Dorothy.”
I jump up and open the door. I can just barely see the outline of her face. “Wait, let me get a light.”
“No. No light. Come with me.”
I slip out of my room, not even bothering to put my shoes on, and follow her down the covered walkway. Rain splashes up from the edges and hits my ankles, making me shiver. I think she’s leading me back to the hospital, where a few kerosene lights still burn, but instead she turns off toward a small chapel on the grounds.
The glow from the hospital doesn’t reach here, and the night is thickly black. She hurries across the lawn through the rain as thunder rolls. Mud oozing between my bare toes, I follow. She doesn’t go to the front door, but around to the side of the chapel, to a padlocked door. From a key on a string around her waist, she unlocks it and ushers me in.
I wipe rain from my face with my sleeves in the dark interior. There’s a scratch and a burst of flame, and I finally see Sister Dorothy in the light of a candle. I glance around the empty chapel and can just make out solemn rows of pews and simple stained-glass windows speckled with rain.
“I’m sorry for all the cloak-and-dagger business,” she says, and opens another door behind the altar that leads into a little room. Inside it’s musty and cool like a cellar, carved out of the hill the chapel leans up against. Dusty boxes and bottles of Communion wine line the walls, but there’s space for a small table and two chairs.
Sister Dorothy closes the door behind us and sits down with a tired sigh. “If I’d known who you are, I would have told you to be more careful with what you say in this town.”
“Who I am?”
“Your mother.”
I grip the table edge. “What about my mother? You knew her? The way everyone was acting at dinner tonight—”
“Sit,” Sister Dorothy interrupts, and I lower myself into a chair across from her. She gives me a weary smile. “It’s been a long time since anyone mentioned Anju.” Her eyes glimmer in the light, and I wonder if she’s searching for signs of Mama in my face. “You were born here. In the clinic. You didn’t know that, did you?”
The words hit me like a punch. “I was?”
“You were right. Your mother worked here,” Sister Dorothy says, touching the silver cross at her neck. “She did her nurse’s training here. At one time she wanted to be a nun.” She stops, pulls the cross absently over the chain, back and forth.
“A nun?” I ask, blinking. “Mama? What happened? Please, do you know something? I’m trying to find out who killed her.” Sister Dorothy’s eyes leap back to my face and I lean forward. “Did you know about that? Did you know she was murdered?”
“Yes. We get the news from Sangui. Is that why you’re here? To chase her ghost?”
“I-I’m chasing her killer.” I look down at my dirty nails curled in my lap. “I need to make him pay for what he’s done.”
Sister Dorothy doesn’t act shocked or scold me, like I expect her to. Instead she studies me. “You were a child when you left. What do you remember about living here?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing at all?”
I shrug helplessly and avoid her eye. “Bits and pieces. I remember running away.”