The Teacher's Secret (46 page)

‘Who was he?' the tribunal member asks her.

‘I don't know,' she says. ‘I don't know who he was.'

But she does know.

The member is insistent. ‘Who was he?' she repeats.

She is frightened to tell her. She is frightened to say. Even here, so far away, she is fearful.

‘I need his name. I need you to tell me his name.'

Rebecca has to force the words out. ‘Joseph Muponda,' she says. ‘His name is Joseph Muponda.'

‘Is that what he told you?'

‘Yes,' she says, but this is not the absolute truth.

‘Tell me about him.'

No.

No.

But she does.

‘I believe he is one of the chief investigators,' she says softly. ‘He asked me questions. About Johnson and about Grace. I told him the truth—that we were no more than neighbours. He asked me about the ACC and I told him that I had no involvement in it.'

The tribunal member thinks the ACC is a political party.

Rebecca shakes her head. Not a political party, an association: the Association for Constitutional Change.

‘Then what happened?'

She hesitates. ‘Then I was released.'

‘Just like that?'

She swallows but says nothing.

The tribunal member thumbs through the papers in front of her. ‘In your interview with the department, you told the delegate you were so frightened you made arrangements to leave the country as soon as you could.'

‘Yes,' Rebecca says.

‘Even though you were simply questioned and released?'

‘That's right.'

‘You weren't kept there overnight?'

She shakes her head.

‘You weren't questioned any further about your involvement with Grace and Johnson?'

‘No.'

‘You weren't asked any more questions about the ACC?'

‘No.'

‘You were simply released without charge?'

She bites on her lip to stop herself from crying. ‘That's right.'

‘Then why are you seeking protection?' For the first time, there is an impatience in the woman's voice. ‘From your evidence, it seems that you aren't of interest to the police, you weren't able to give them information, you weren't kept in custody, you weren't threatened with arrest, you were simply released. How, then, are you in need of protection?'

Rebecca lowers her head so she no longer has to meet the woman's eyes. She tries to swallow so that she might then be able to speak, but she can only cry, and although she tries to stop herself, she cannot. The tears slide down her face and drip onto the table. ‘I'm sorry,' she tries to whisper, but still no words come.

‘Mrs Chuma,' the tribunal member asks her softly, ‘do you have something more to tell me?'

Slowly, Rebecca looks up.

The woman's eyes are more compassionate now, and her voice is gentle as she says, ‘Tell me.'

‘I recognised him,' Rebecca says quietly, her head lowered. ‘This is why I knew his name. Because we had been at school together. And because, even then, he was well known. His father had been a long-time supporter of the party, even before they came to power. For this loyalty, he had been rewarded with land. It was from this land the family became wealthy.'

‘Your family, were they also wealthy?'

The question makes her bristle. ‘My family were hard workers. They made their own wealth.'

‘So they
were
wealthy?'

‘To attend the school I went to, there had to be some wealth. My parents bought a business, which became successful. This is how they made their money.'

The tribunal member nods. ‘Tell me what happened at the police station,' she says.

And so Rebecca does. Finally, she tells it all. And how it frightens her to tell it. Even though she is here, even though she is no longer there, still, how it frightens her.

It has been a long time since I last saw you, Rebecca Vera
. His first words to her, lilting, unhurried, amused even.

Joey—Joey Muponda
, she had replied, for this was what he had always been called.

He tut-tutted her, as though she were a child.
Joseph, not Joey.
Then he laughed.
I would not have taken you for a political agitator, Rebecca Vera.

And when she said no, that she had never been a political agitator, this, too, had made him laugh. He had always found politics a worthwhile endeavour, he told her. A helpful one, too. One, he suggested, that might also be helpful for her.

The suggestion had made her laugh in turn. Now, she is hard pressed to explain why; why, in the circumstances, she should have laughed. Better to have screamed or cried or wept.

Because it was Joey Muponda, this was why she had laughed. It is the only answer she has. Because it was Joey Muponda, pretending to be important.

Her laughing had upset him.
You might be well known in this country
, he told her,
but here, you are nobody, and here, I am to be shown respect
.

Had she been wiser, she would have apologised. Instead, she'd said nothing.

In retrospect, she could claim it as an act of bravery. Sometimes she can still convince herself that this was what it was: an act of brave defiance. In fact, it had been nothing of the kind. She had simply stayed silent.

Just as she had continued to stay silent when, from one of the drawers, he took out a gun and laid it on the desk.

A curious thing, thinking back on it now, to see it there, lying right beside his pen holder, his writing pad, his teacup.

The tribunal member wants to know more about it, about the gun.

But Rebecca knows little of guns.

It was small. She can tell her that much. Small enough, in any case, for him to pick it up and twirl it around in his hands, around and around as though it were nothing more than a plaything.

‘Is that all he did? Picked up the gun and played with it?'

Rebecca's eyes flick up before settling on the tabletop in front of her. ‘No,' she says, trying to sound casual, trying to curb the fear spreading through her, ‘that is not all he did.' And Rebecca describes how, for a time, Joseph Muponda had continued to play with it, running a fingertip along it, up and down it. How, then, with the gun in his hand, he stood up and walked around the desk until he was standing close to her. Too close. So close she would have stepped back had she been standing. But she had not been standing, she was still seated, so she couldn't move away.

‘
And then?'

‘And then,' Rebecca says, ‘he began to stroke my cheek with his finger. At first, he stroked me softly, but as he continued, the pressure increased until soon he was stroking so hard, I suspected it would leave a mark on my face.'

Now, too, she feels his hand on her face again; now, too, she feels his breath as he leans down to whisper that she would do well to answer when she was spoken to.

It had been a stupid thing to spit at him.

She keeps her eyes averted from the woman. ‘After that, he told me to stand. When I was not quick enough, he pulled me up. Roughly. By the arm. He pushed me against the wall. Then he . . . then he violated me.'

She has said it.

After all this time, she has said it. Aloud.

And to a stranger.

She has told a stranger what she has told no one else. Not even Emmanuel. And the shame of it is so sharp it makes her want to retch. Now again, she feels it; she feels every second of it, as the shocking realisation returns to her: that rather than speeding time up, terror should instead slow it right down. Right, right down: his face so close it grazes her cheek, his breath warm and meaty, his hands grasping. Even now the fear of it makes her shake and weep—loud, heaving sobs—sounds she has only ever allowed herself when alone.

The tribunal member suggests a break. But Rebecca doesn't want a break. She just wants to be finished.

So they continue.

‘And afterwards?'

‘Afterwards, I was allowed to leave.'

‘Just like that?'

She gives the woman the smallest of smiles. ‘Just like that. He even walked me out. No one stopped him. No one stopped me. Because he was a man of power, that was clear. As we walked out, he spoke as he would to an acquaintance, his manner straightforward, friendly even, as though he was suddenly a completely different person. Only once we were out of the building and on the street did he grab my arm and pull me close to him, close enough so he could whisper to me.'

‘What did he say?'

Again she feels her composure slipping, and again she struggles to push the words out of her mouth. ‘He told me he'd see me soon, very soon. He told me he'd had so much fun, he was looking forward to spending more time with me. Very, very soon. And that I should tell him—I must tell him—anything I found out about Grace and Johnson. He'd be interested in that, he told me, very interested.'

‘And then?'

‘And then he just left me there in the street. I didn't know what to do. I had nothing with me: not my phone, not my handbag, no money; nothing at all. I knew only that I needed to get away from this place, as quickly as I could. So I started to walk. I walked until I came to a main road and I found a taxicab. I told the driver I had no money with me, but that I had money in my house. This is how I managed to get home.'

‘
And when did you decide to leave the country?'

‘That day. That day, I decided we would leave. Earlier than planned. I needed only to change the tickets.'

The tribunal member nods. ‘Thank you,' she says.

And then it is over: there are no more questions. The tribunal member leaves the bench and Rebecca finds herself being ushered back into the foyer, blinking hard, as though emerging from the cinema.

Emmanuel is there waiting for her. He smiles to see her. She has no smile in return—not here, not yet—but how she is comforted when he reaches for her hand.

Nina

The weeks are passing quickly. So quickly it's making Nina nervous. Only three weeks until the show and there's still such a lot to be done. Tickets are on sale in the office from Thursday, but to make sure no one misses out, Nina wants to give the class a couple of days' head start.

To get an idea of numbers, she needs a show of hands: one hand up for one guest; both hands up for two.

Straightaway, Kurt shoots both his hands up. They'll both be there, he tells her, his mum and his dad.

Ethan looks doubtful. ‘You reckon your dad'll come back from overseas?'

For Kurt, it's a no-brainer. ‘He'll be there all right. Definitely.'

‘But he didn't even come back for your birthday,' Cody reminds him. ‘Remember? You said he would and then he didn't.'

Slowly Kurt puts his hands down. ‘Yeah,' he says, ‘but that was because of his business and everything. He was going to fly over but he had to stay because there was a problem with the builders and that.' Nina is curious. ‘The builders?'

Kurt becomes businesslike. ‘Yep, miss, my dad, he's building all these huts like a resort sort of thing to rent out to tourists and that. And when they're all finished, when we go over—Jordan and me—we'll get one for ourselves. Not sharing with Dad and Sari or anything, just us.'

Nina is impressed. ‘Sounds good.'

‘I'll show you all the pictures, miss, when he comes back for the show.'

‘But what happens if he doesn't come?' Despite the softness of her voice, Bridie's question rings out.

Kurt frowns. ‘He'll be there. I've been telling him about it on Skype. He's stoked I'm the wolf so he'll definitely be there.'

When Bridie still doesn't sound convinced, Kurt has his own question for her. There is the hint of a smirk as he asks it. ‘How about your dad, is he coming? Or will it be just your nan—
again
?'

‘My dad's coming too,' she tells him. ‘He'll be there.'

Kurt widens his eyes like he can't believe it, then gives Cody a dig with his elbow. ‘But we've never even seen your dad. How come he never comes to school, like, ever?'

‘He works away a lot.'

‘A lot? You mean all the time? You mean every day of the year? Because I've never seen him. Never ever.'

‘That's because his work is really important and he can't leave.' Her voice is raised now, high and shrill.

‘But he's coming to see you in the show, isn't he, sweetheart?' To calm things down, Nina keeps her own voice very steady.

The little girl gives her a searching look, a confused searching look, as though she herself is surprised by the question. ‘Have you talked to my nan about it?' she asks, her voice hopeful.

This time it's Nina's turn to feel confused. ‘Do you want me to talk to her about it? Is that what you'd like?'

‘Mr P,' she says, ‘he'd talk to my nan sometimes.'

Kurt joins in now. ‘Because her mum's dead. That's why Mr P used to talk to her nan. Because her mum's dead and her dad doesn't come to the school or nothing. Just her nan.'