The Cinnamon Tree (4 page)

‘Well, don’t stand there, run Sindu, chase them you cow!’ she yelled, appeasement forgotten.

‘Don’t you dare talk to me like that. I’m your Mother, and don’t forget it!’

Yola looked around for something to hit her with,
fortunately
thinking of her crutches too late. Sindu, however, saw the danger and hopped out of range.

‘All right, all right, but only because you’re a cripple.’

Yola tried a late swipe, missed and had to hop to find her
balance
.

‘Temper!’ said Sindu, and Yola could only sob with rage as the older girl walked slowly up the hill as if the exercise would kill her, waving her arms ineffectually.

The next morning, Gabbin startled her by peering into the secret place she had between the granary and the compound fence. No one knew of this secret place apart from Gabbin. She kept her precious school books here in a battered tin-box, safe against the ants. Since her accident she had been escaping in here whenever she could, just to pretend she was still at school, and, more significantly, to get away from Sindu. But Gabbin was not coming in today.

‘Yola! Shhh. They are coming.’

He was literally vibrating with excitement. She had been miles away, wondering what snow would feel like, poring over grainy pictures of dogs and sledges in her geography book.

‘Come in, Gabbin. You might be seen.’

‘It’s Landcruiser men! That went past yesterday. They are going up the hill, quick quick quick or you’ll miss them!’

‘What are they doing? Why …’ but Gabbin was turning to run.

‘The hill, Yola, they are going to hunt the demons from the hill!’ His lapse into baby talk was accidental. ‘Landmines,’ he called as he pelted down towards the entrance, the pink soles of his feet flashing.

Yola dropped everything and, thanks to Gabbin, was ahead of everyone else, swinging through the entrance just as the Landcruiser rose through the heat shimmer towards her. She heard Sindu’s flat-footed run behind her and didn’t care.

‘Where have you been? I’ve been looking for you
everywhere
.’

‘Busy,’ snapped Yola, without turning.

‘I think I’ll stop them. I could tell them where you found the landmine,’ said Sindu.

Yola clenched her teeth. ‘Don’t you think
I
could tell them that better than you,’ she muttered.

‘What was that? Oh look, there’s a white man!’ said Sindu, waving excitedly. Yola had been about to wave herself, but she was sickened by Sindu’s cavortions and concentrated on the writing on the car door: Northern People’s Aid, she read.
Eskimos
! she thought, and a rare bubble of laughter rose inside her. She looked up and found herself smiling happily into the eyes of the man in the car. He seemed surprised but smiled back at once. Then the car had gone past and Yola realised she had never smiled at a white man before. But why had he been
looking
at
her
so intently? Then she remembered her crutches and her ugly stump. Her lingering smile faded. She turned to go back into the compound but she was knee-deep in children. Behind her, she heard the car slow down, then a high whine as it reversed. She couldn’t move and she wasn’t going to turn to face them – at least the children were shielding her leg – so she faced stubbornly into the compound. She heard voices, then Gabbin’s voice, high and triumphant.

‘No, not you Sindu – it’s Yola he wants.’

She had to turn then. Gabbin looked tiny beside the jeep, but nevertheless completely in charge of the situation.

‘Come on Yola, he wants to talk to
you
!’

Sindu was walking towards her with a face like sour milk. Yola avoided her eyes, and a subtle little sideswipe at her crutch, as she lurched over towards the car. The man swung the car door wide open and her leg felt very exposed; she felt
suddenly
shy and had to force herself to look up. To her surprise, the man was not staring at her leg, he was smiling at her, one eyebrow raised as if he liked what he saw.

‘The young chief here tells me you speak good English.’

‘A little,’ Yola lied, dropping her gaze.

Then, to her surprise, the man shot his hand out towards her and said, ‘Hans. I’m Hans.’

She looked at his hand. What should she do? She had to
balance
while she freed her hand from her crutch in order to take his; it felt warm and strong. She had thought a white man’s hand would be soft and flabby. He had a tousle of short fair hair and blue eyes. Sister Martha had blue eyes too, so Yola was no longer disturbed by them. This man’s eyes seemed to be laughing.

‘My name is Yola,’ she said, trying not to giggle; the dark thoughts that had been plaguing her lifted like a cloud drifting away from the sun.

He talked to her quietly, while she stood listening intently. He asked about her accident, where it had happened and how she was managing with the crutches. He talked so naturally, and seemed to know so much, that soon it felt as if it were not shameful for her to have only one leg. He told her about
people
he knew who had artificial legs, false limbs so clever that you could hardly tell them from the real thing. He went on to tell her how they had come to find and clear away the
landmines
about the town. All the time, Gabbin stood beside her looking up, eyes switching back and forth between them, struggling to understand with his few words of English. They were all so engrossed that no one noticed when Sindu slipped away from the small crowd that had gathered about the vehicle.

‘I mustn’t keep you standing,’ the man said eventually. ‘Also, we have work to do. Tomorrow, perhaps you would like to come up to see what we are doing?’

Before she had time to think, Yola nodded in agreement. It was only when the Landcruiser had roared off that she realised how frightened she was at the thought of going anywhere near that hill again.

Sindu was waiting for her when she got back into the compound. To her surprise, she smiled and asked if Yola could possibly look after the little ones as she had an errand to do. Because of this, Yola forgot to go back to her secret place to put her books away.

M
r Hans pulled up outside the compound early the next morning. Yola was waiting, her fears had subsided and she longed, even for one day, to get out of the compound. Also, she was curious about Mr Hans.

‘I must ask your mother,’ he insisted. ‘She will think I have abducted you.’

Yola had no idea what abducted meant, but she understood enough to send an excited Gabbin flying off.

‘
My
mother!’ she shouted after him. ‘Not–’

Gabbin turned with an impish grin and did a perfect
imitation
of Sindu’s flatfooted walk, before scuttling off into the compound. Surely Mother would let her go. She could almost feel the thorns of the hedge encircling the compound reaching out to draw her back into it again. When Mother appeared, Mr Hans took her to one side; Yola and Gabbin just had to watch and hope. Mother’s English was perfect; she had worked as a secretary with an English company before the civil war. Ever since Yola could remember, Mother had spoken to her in
English
when at home – it was a private language for them. Mother had always said it would help Yola to get a job, but what Yola really wanted to do was travel.

When Mr Hans came back he looked solemn and shook his
head. ‘Your mother says that you can come, but that you must have a man with you to protect you.’

Yola was dumbfounded. What could he mean – a man? She turned to Mother, but Mother was staring innocently at Mr Hans. Yola, sensing a conspiracy, whipped around. Sure enough the white man was grinning, then he glanced sideways at Gabbin.

‘Mother,’ Yola said in English, ‘can Gabbin come with me to protect me from this dangerous white man?’

‘If he agrees,’ Mother replied.

There was a whirr and a scurry and Gabbin was climbing into the Landcruiser like a spider. ‘Keep an eye on him,’ she said.

‘How did he understand?’ asked Yola in amazement.

‘Because he’s a bright lad – he knows more English than you think,’ said Mr Hans.

On the way, Mr Hans talked about his work: how the NPA used mine detectors to find the mines and then destroyed them.

‘One of the most important things we do Yola, is what is called mines awareness. You see, people – particularly children – don’t know about mines and how dangerous they are. We aren’t very good at telling them because we don’t speak the languages of the tribes and we don’t know the sorts of problems local
people
have, like where they go for water, or how they get to their fields. Because of this we like to train local people to give mines awareness classes. Someone like you, who has suffered from a mine, would be ideal. People would see that you have lost a leg and would listen to you as they would never listen to me or to someone they think knows nothing about it. That’s why I wanted to talk to you and to show you what we are doing.
Perhaps
you might be interested?’

Yola could hardly believe what she was hearing. She stared
ahead as the Landcruiser pitched and rolled up the hill. She was afraid to say yes in case she hadn’t understood correctly, but her whole body was shouting
Yes
! Away from Sindu, away from the compound, away into something new. She would take Gabbin with her, then she wouldn’t have to feel uneasy about Uncle Banda and his Kalashnikov rifle.

‘Could Gabbin help?’ she asked.

‘Well, he’s a bit little, isn’t he, and he doesn’t have enough English yet. I want him to see what we are doing up here for his own safety and because he will influence his friends. I don’t want to press you, but think about it.’

Press her! Yola felt like throwing her arms around him – but at that moment she saw the hill, and a sudden fear froze her in her seat. Staring through the windscreen it seemed that it was the hill, rather than the car, that was tossing about as they
approached
up the uneven road. Her tongue was dry and sticky in her mouth. Up there was the path – the tree – she’d not been back since that day. What if she failed, what if she turned and ran? She swallowed painfully on nothing and clamped her mouth shut.

Mr Hans reached up to help her down from the jeep. There she stood. What if mines had been laid down here too? The earth below the cinnamon tree had looked as innocent as this. She stood there miserably. Now, of all times, when she most needed to be brave, she was frozen with fear. It was all coming back to her. Would every step feel like this? How could she teach mines awareness when she dared not take even a single step herself? A small hand crept around the grip on her crutch to take hold of her thumb. Gabbin, too, was remembering. Mr Hans was looking at them. An apologetic smile and a shrug was all she could manage. This would be the end of his offer.

‘Frightened?’ he asked. ‘We all feel it, you know. Come,
Yola, translate for me. Tell Gabbin in Kasembi that it is good to feel afraid because then you can be safe.’

Yola whispered the translation and felt Gabbin’s grip tighten on her thumb. Hans went on.

‘Your job, Gabbin, is to warn people not to be foolish and not to go where they know there may be mines, and never to play with things they find, no matter how harmless they look. If your friends find anything suspicious they should come to us and, if it is dangerous, we will destroy it. They will listen to you because you are a hero – you saved your sister’s life.’ He turned to Yola. ‘Yola, you will always be frightened, but being
frightened
will protect you and it will get less, I can assure you. We will teach you where it is safe to go and where it is not.’

‘But I can’t see them. There might be one right here, now, under my foot,’ she whispered.

‘Ya, see Yola, you are already asking the right question:
Is this place safe
? Well, I can tell you that it is because we have checked it.’

But Yola wasn’t convinced. ‘It is like lying in your hut at night wondering if there is a snake in the thatch,’ she said.

‘Yes, that would be frightening, but what if you can see the snake, what will you feel then?’ Mr Hans asked.

‘More frightened, but I will know where it is then. I can run away. One of the men can kill it if it is dangerous!’

‘So, the real danger comes not from the snake but from not knowing where it is.’

‘I suppose so.’

‘That’s why we are here, Yola. Our job is to find mines and, when we know where they are, destroy them. The mines
themselves
need not be frightening. Let me show you what a
landmine
looks like.’

Yola moved forward as if in a dream. She knew that she was
safe with Mr Hans, but what about her demons? They were after her, and from Gabbin’s tight grip she knew that they were after him, too.

A piece of ground had been marked off with red-and- white tape; a triangular notice declared,
Danger: Landmines
. Lined up on the ground behind the sign were things that looked like rusty cans of beans and tins of boot-polish. It was the sort of display she used to make when she had played ‘shop’ as a child. But these were not empty cans. Mr Hans stepped over the tape.

Yola stepped back involuntarily. Hans bent down and lifted up one of the little cylinders. Without further warning, Yola’s demons ran amok in her mind. Hans’s voice came to her
echoing
from a great distance.

‘This mine has been made safe, Yola, so I can open it and show you.’
Open it? Open again that dreadful day so carefully sealed?

‘Yola …Yola … Managu has gone up the hill,’ Gabbin was calling again.

The mine lay in two halves now, open like an oyster in Hans’s hands, and Managu’s bell was clanging on the hill
below
. If only she could see!

‘It works like this. When someone steps on the mine the top
collapses
in and presses down on this trigger in the middle here.’
Hans’s finger moved with elaborate slowness towards the tiny plunger rising like a tower in the centre of the mine. Yola closed her eyes. A butterfly opened its wings. She heard the
click
as the plunger struck home. The butterfly took off in alarm. Together they fluttered in random spirals above the hill.

‘The trigger sends a spark down this red wire to the detonator.’

The column of smoke was snaking quietly towards the sky. A crumpled figure lay beneath a cinnamon tree, a thread of red spreading on the brown earth. Where is Gabbin? Hurry, hurry, Gabbin.

‘The detonator is this thing that looks like the stub of a pencil. The explosive can’t go off without it.’

The butterfly must have delivered her to hospital because now she is in bed and they have come to change her bandages. This time she will look, not at her reflection in the night
mirror
, but really look. She props herself up on her elbows.

‘You can see how the detonator nestles into this white putty-like stuff. That’s the explosive!’

There was her stump, unbandaged, stitched and raw, stretched like a detonator in the folds of white sheet. The world began to turn and Yola was looking up not at Mother but at Hans. A black veil like drifting rain was falling between them. His voice was getting fainter. And there was a smell in her
nostrils
, spicy, familiar, overpowering: the scent of cinnamon.

The sudden breeze in her face was welcome. Yola opened her eyes to a blur of movement. Hans was fanning her with his hat, a look of alarm and consternation on his face. She smiled, and the look of alarm was replaced with one of relief.

‘I’m sorry … so sorry … it was insensitive of me. I should have known it would be upsetting for you. I’ll take you home.’

What had happened? Yola wondered. Where was Gabbin? They had been holding hands.

‘Is Gabbin all right?’

‘Oh he’s fine, he’s right here.’

Yola probed her mind like someone feeling to see if she’s been injured, but the demons were gone, her mind lay open – like an oyster. She smiled at Hans, his frantic flapping was
easing
.

‘Please, Mr Hans. I’m all right now, please don’t take me home.’

That evening, Yola lay in the wide bed she shared with her
mother and talked and talked. She talked about her visit to the hill, about the ghosts that had come back to haunt her, about hospital and about school. Mother said nothing, just ‘eeh … eeh’, which meant that she was listening but not forming an opinion either. That was a nice thing about Mother, she didn’t say anything if she had nothing to say, just eeh … eeh. It was a comforting sound and eventually Yola found herself drifting off into sleep. She had said nothing to Mother of Hans’s suggestion about her teaching mines awareness. That could wait. Curled against the crook of Mother’s back, she dreamed about Hans.

In the morning, when the other children had left for school, Yola slipped back into her secret place between the granary and the compound fence to think. Some time ago, when she
discovered
that she could no longer squat with only one leg, Gabbin had helped her to bring a log in to sit on. She sat down and rested her forehead on her knee. She wanted to think, but she couldn’t get comfortable or settled; something was out of place. She tried again. What was it that Hans had said? Oh yes, that her school work should come first. How could he know that she could never go to school again? All she had were her books. If only she could get to school … Suddenly, Yola stiffened and her scalp began prickling. Her school books! She had left them here, scattered. When was that? Oh no! It was the day before
yesterday
. And her tin-box. She slewed around left and right, but the books had disappeared. She poked in the gap in the hedge where she kept her tin-box, but it was empty. Could Gabbin have taken them? Could he have cleared them up for her? No one else knew about this place, it must be him … but was it? For a crazy moment she thought that Sindu might have found her secret place and taken them, but Sindu couldn’t read, and as they had already had a row over that she didn’t like to ask her.
Nevertheless, 
as black depression settled over Yola, a small worm of
suspicion
worked itself down deep inside her.