Beneath the Darkening Sky (25 page)

What a thought!

Fear burns into your memory, and I have feared this man for a long time. I remember every move he’s made, every little sign that he was about to strike. I have been studying this
man’s violence for years, learning to see it coming, maybe avoid it. This, this I get.

As the army around me clamours for my death, I smile. These men love death, they love killers. He’s handed over his gun, but I know a knife is tucked into his boot.

He steps forward, cracking his knuckles. I step to the side, away from the boot with the knife. If knifing is part of his plan, I’ll see it coming. We circle each other. Soldiers, noise,
smells fade into the distance. Like two lions vying for territory, crouching deep, waiting for the right moment to leap, we each watch the other, waiting for the first move. Watching for the
opening to draw the other in.

The world is the Commander’s face. And in the distance, those beating drums mingling with the half-remembered chants of my grandfather. Louder and louder, they rise from that distant sky.
Now they beat clearly over the cheering soldiers. One by one the soldiers stop cheering, shouting, their curses fall dead to the ground. Neither the Commander nor I turn. The only sound is the
drums. Then, silence.

In a blink, it comes to me. The government troops have found the field. I hope the family got more than twenty dollars.

The distant drum of helicopters bears down on us. My eyes lock on the Commander. Years in the camp have taught me to kill and hate, but also to be vigilant. He is looking at the sky, issuing
orders. The air cracks with the sound of gunfire. Large-calibre rounds boom over the football field. I duck and see a line of dirt rising like water hit by a handful of pebbles. It cuts through the
ring of soldiers. Chaos erupts as they scramble with their AK-47s, sliding in clips, cocking, and firing wildly into the sky.

The helicopter passes over the line of thick jungle. The trees so close together cast a constant shadow. The Commander points to where the helicopter has disappeared, where it will return for
another run. In a moment he will have his gun.

I see Christmas lying on her side, curled into a ball. Soldiers run about her, almost trampling her.

I run for her. I shove a soldier to one side and pull her to her feet. I push her towards the jungle, and this time she runs. The Commander is shouting and pointing at me now, but the soldiers
are shooting at the government troops who are shooting at them. I see Parasite fall, shot through the chest, and I run. Dodging through the soldiers, I beat the ground with my shaking feet,
straight for the tree line.

The last layer of soldiers falls away as I push through the final few yards of the field. Glancing to one side I see several trucks with official markings, government soldiers opening fire on
the screaming, running, panicked rebels. It’s all behind me. The bullets and the blood and the death and the noise. The helicopter returns with its stuttering thunder.

For a second I hear a mosquito-pitch whine in the air around me. Three sharp jolts knock me forward and hot stings burn my back. I drop to my knees, blood oozes from my gut. I stare at the edge
of the jungle, a penalty kick away. More government troops run out, their guns spitting fire and splitting the undergrowth around me. I turn and watch the red-purple sky swirl over the cluster of
trees. Drops of rain bathe my forehead. I hear a song in my head, almost like a whisper, like a lullaby in the wind, in the breeze. I imagine my mother singing it, singing me home. I spy an eagle
soaring high in the sky. A shadow shifts over me and a barrel aims at my face. This is a battle, the government versus the rebels. Crying girls are civilians, boys are soldiers.

I stare down the barrel of the rifle. The man holding it looks back at me. Soldiers both.

The experiences described in
Beneath the Darkening Sky
are not mine. I was shorter than the AK-47 that the rebels who came to my village used to measure recruits, and
afterwards I fled to a refugee camp. But these experiences are those of tens of thousands of children in Africa, and my novel is an attempt to draw attention to their stories, as well as to imagine
my own alternative life. I owe a profound debt to those who have shared with me what they went through.

I have used Nancy Oloro Robarts’ short story ‘Witness’ as my jumping-off point, and I’m very grateful to her for allowing me to use and reproduce it in the first chapter
of my novel. You’re right Nancy – if we don’t tell our stories, no one will. I was so desperate to find out what happened next that I wrote this book. ‘Witness’ was
first published in the anthology
Michael’s Eyes: The War Against the Ugandan Child
, edited by Raoul J. Granqvist, Umea University, 2005. The anthology was intended to raise global
awareness of the situation in northern Uganda. It can be read as a human-rights documentation of the abuse of the child in war in general.

I’d like to thank Penguin Australia for making my dream to have a book published a reality. In particular, special thanks to Ben Ball, the most perspicacious editor I know, for challenging
me to dig deep inside myself to reveal more in
Beneath the Darkening Sky
than I thought I could.

My deepest thanks to Virginia Francis, Mark Rix and John Killeen: because of you, I have stories to tell. Your excitement, motivation, guidance, support and friendship are much appreciated. Stay
as you are forever.

Thank you to Mary Ryan for introducing me to my brilliant agent, Cheryl Akle of Trust & C Agency, who knew how to make this project happen and led me through the ins and outs of the book
publishing business.

I express my thanks to Andre Kyme for helping bring my family to Australia. You are a man with a heart of gold, only warmer. God bless you and your family.

Thanks and appreciation to Mayom Tulba Malual for bringing me to this wonderful country, where I learned that stories are not only told to boys sitting in a circle by firelight.

Thank you to Zeniab Hassan Dongrin for believing in me and telling me I had something important to say. I now believe you were right.

Thanks to Chris Avent for encouragement, friendship and support and allowing me to use your office’s computer when I wanted to avoid my boys tapping me on the shoulder with a soccer ball
in their hands.

I also extend my heartfelt thanks to Jessica Perini for editorial insights, enthusiasm and encouragement during the first drafts of
Beneath the Darkening Sky.
Without you, my novel
would have remained another chunk in my computer.

My heartfelt thanks also to my family, cousins, brothers, friends and well-wishers. I didn’t know I’d ever find another Pina, other than the character in my novel, until I found
myself working side by side with two Pinas, women of vision and enthusiasm. Thank you, Pina and Pina, for the gift!