Those Who Love Night (25 page)

The judge's amusement lasted only seconds, though. A breeze coming in through the window carried on it a rich, animal smell. Yudel remembered having experienced such a smell only once before. Taking a walk in a forest, he had come upon the distended corpse of a baboon. It was lying on its back on a sandspit in the center of a stream. The maggots were already devouring it. To Yudel's memory, this smell was much like that one had been.

“Close it, close it.” The look on Mujuru's placid face had become agitated. “What an awful smell. Close it immediately.”

This time the policeman succeeded in following his orders without entertaining the court. The judge took an added moment to compose himself. “This is the first time in the history of our country, perhaps of any country, that a plaintiff seeks an order to have the cells of a prison thrown open to search them for prisoners that the government has declared are not being held. If this petition succeeds, it will have an effect that may prove to be historic on our continent and throughout the world.” He looked pleased at the idea of making history. “Miss Bukula, please proceed with your opening address.”

Because her audience was gathered into a corner of the hall, there was no reason for Abigail to raise her voice. She spoke softly, almost conversationally, but clearly, as was her way, every word perfectly enunciated. “The principle that is involved here is the most basic in our law. Habeas corpus is the remedy against unlawful detention that is applied in all civilized countries. Its provisions ensure that people do not disappear off the streets, that ordinary citizens cannot be taken by the authorities and held without trial at the pleasure of their political masters.” All her attention was concentrated on the judge who was nodding sagely at every point. “In this matter, we are able to produce witnesses who have seen their loved ones and colleagues brought to the place in which we are gathered this morning. They are willing to testify to the circumstances of the abductions and the manner in which the missing people were taken and delivered to the very premises in which we find ourselves.”

Abigail had read the first few lines. Now the inner force, as she thought of it, had taken over. She had stopped glancing down at her prepared text and spoke to the judge as if only they were in the room. The words flowed without hesitation.

“The crime of these individuals was to disagree with policies and actions they found tyrannical. They are brave young patriots, who sinned only by having the courage to stand against what they believe to be wrong.” For half an hour Abigail reasoned with Judge Mujuru, offering legal precedents, building arguments that she told him were self-evident, raising issues of Zimbabwean law and begging him to remember the many brave judges who had gone before. She and Mujuru both knew how many injunctions ordered by those brave judges had been ignored by the government. “But this can surely not be the case here. If this precedent-setting judgment is made today, we are here in this place. The order of the court can be carried out immediately.”

She knew that African patriarchs rarely liked to have women, especially younger women, prescribe their actions to them, but the opportunity was too great for her to resist. “Your Lordship, this is your opportunity to deal with a matter today that will establish, once and for all, the personal rights of the citizens of your country.” But Mujuru showed no sign of irritation at her reminding him where his duty lay. He continued to nod, seeming to agree with everything she was saying.

So far, Abigail's gestures had been restricted to only the smallest movements of her hands. As her address drew toward its end, she raised both hands in what was almost a supplication. “I am speaking of a country in which I lived for years and that I love dearly. The dilemma of the courts is to dispense justice in a country in which the national government has, on many occasions, ignored the basic rights of its citizens. This morning, your Lordship, this dilemma is in your hands.”

When she sat down, Mujuru nodded one more time, as if there was certainly food for thought in what she had said. He looked sternly at Gorowa. “Mr. Gorowa, your opening statement please.”

Gorowa rose, managing to spill a sheaf of papers onto the floor in the process. “If it please your Worship…” Abigail heard a tremor in his voice. “… if it please your Lordship, the Zimbabwean people see the logic in the arguments of my learned colleague. We see no reason to oppose the application.”

“What the hell?” Abigail murmured.

Yudel leaned toward her. “They're not here,” he whispered. “We aren't going to find them, not today.”

Judge Mujuru was nodding yet again. Would the corrupt old bastard ever stop? she asked herself. She wanted to scream at him to stop this charade. But she admonished herself in her father's words: play the cards you've been dealt. And, for the moment, these were the cards.

“Since there is no objection from the state, I can find no reason to refuse the application,” Judge Mujuru said in the thoughtful tone a man would use while making history. “I will give my reasons in writing at a later date. Will the representatives of both parties approach the bench to discuss implementation of this order?”

Gorowa was already at the judge's table when Abigail reached it. “In the interests of justice, my client is willing to do it now,” Gorowa said.

“Director?” Mujuru had raised his voice. He was looking in the direction of the men at the back of the court.

Abigail turned, quickly, thinking that the judge was talking to Chunga. But one of the prison officers had risen. “Yes, your Lordship.”

Chunga, who held the same title, had not moved. The whole damned thing is choreographed, Abigail thought. And I've been the prima ballerina.

“Do you see any reason why this inspection should not be conducted now?”

“No reason, your Lordship.”

Mujuru banged down his gavel once. “The inspection of this prison by Miss Bukula, her assistant and her two clients will commence immediately within the provisions of the Official Secrets Act as it applies to our prisons. They will be accompanied by the director and other staff members of the prison and, because this is a matter of national security, representatives of the Central Intelligence Organization.” He took a deep breath and looked round the room with obvious satisfaction. “I further order that if any of the complainants in the pleadings are found in this facility, they are to be released to Miss Bukula immediately. And let those who criticize our Zimbabwean system of justice take note of this judgment.”

33

The group which, according to the judge's order, was to conduct the search gathered in the passage outside the hall. “Shall we let the director of the prison lead us?” Chunga said to Abigail.

It sounded to her like a tea-party suggestion. She could imagine Chunga saying, “Shall we ask Auntie Martha to pour?” It was an offer no one would think of refusing. But this was not the way she saw it. You did not let the criminals decide where to search for the hidden loot. She was still looking for the right answer when Yudel spoke.

“Thank you for the offer, director, but that's not necessary. I'll lead the way.”

Chunga sighed ostentatiously. “With respect, the director of the prison knows it better than you do, never having been here before.”

“I know many prisons,” Yudel said. “I'll lead the way.”

“But this is not one of them.” Chunga turned his attention away from Yudel. “Abigail?”

Helena had moved close to Abigail. “Don't let the bastard get away with it.” She tried to keep her voice low enough that only Abigail would hear her.

Chunga's eyes had gone cold. “I heard that, Miss Ndoro. There's no need for that. You are being treated with respect here.”

Abigail placed a hand, both comforting and protective, on Helena's nearest shoulder, but she spoke to Chunga. “Jonas, I apologize for Ms. Ndoro's outburst, but please support me in this. I want Mr. Gordon to lead the way.”

“But he doesn't…”

“Please, Jonas.”

“Very well. Let's have Mr. Gordon take us on a tour of our prison. Let's also hope that he doesn't miss half the cells.” He was making no attempt to hide his irritation.

Abigail smiled at him. “Thank you, Jonas.”

Mpofu came forward and spoke softly to his boss. This time no one else heard.

“One more thing,” Chunga said. “We have forms here which all visitors need to complete. No interviews with the media on the state of our prisons may be conducted. Please understand that the state of the prison is not what any of us desire, but ours is a country in which many people do not have enough to eat. We do not have the resources to feed the prisoners the way we would like to.”

Mpofu handed a form each to Abigail, Yudel, Helena and Prince. It swore them all to secrecy for everything they saw in the prison. All signed without comment.

Chunga waved an extravagant hand toward the door. “Mr. Gordon, please.”

Yudel was not one to be affected by sarcasm. “This way,” he said.

The principles on which prisons are constructed are much the same everywhere. The cells are divided into groups, usually called blocks or floors. Once you have identified these groups, ensuring that you cover all the cells is not difficult. After that come the various common areas, the storerooms and the offices. In anticipation of the hearing's outcome, Yudel had already formed an idea of the prison's geography. He was certain that, if Abigail's clients were here, he would find them.

He found the entrance to the first block where he expected it to be. It led off to the right of the main passage from the front entrance. The group went slowly through the block, Yudel and Abigail leading, followed by Helena and Prince who stopped at every cell, taking turns to study the inmates through the inspection holes in the cell doors. The five officials walked behind. It took over half an hour to complete the block. Chunga tried to draw Yudel aside. “For God's sake, Gordon. This is a big prison. Do you know how long this is going to take us?”

“The rest of the day,” Yudel said.

“Exactly.”

“We have the time. I'm sorry if it inconveniences you.”

Abigail, who had been listening to the exchange, directed her warmest smile at Chunga.

The group moved on, from block to block and cell to cell. Helena and Prince studied every face, occasionally asking someone to turn round to be identified. The reasons that the visitors had to be sworn to silence were everywhere. Cells that had been intended for six now held twice, even three times that number. Some of the prisoners wore ragged clothing that had obviously not been replaced for years and may not have been washed for months. The others wore the clothing they had been wearing when sentenced. Yudel could see no sign of reading matter or any other sort of diversion. The dirt floor of the exercise yard showed no signs of having been disturbed by human feet in the last week. Against its farthest wall, a sewage outlet seemed to have burst, spilling a trail of its contents onto the dirt.

It was the condition of the prisoners themselves that disturbed Abigail most. The bodies of some were covered with sores—evidence of kwashiorkor, brought on by severe malnutrition. Almost everyone was desperately thin. Most of them were sitting or lying down on the mats that provided the only furnishings in the cells. They showed little interest in the visitors, many not even turning to look at them.

As far as Abigail could see, Chunga never once looked into a cell. He walked in silence behind the prison officers, his face set in the stern expression she had come to associate with his displeasure. Mpofu walked a step behind him.

It was after the second block that they found themselves in the part of the prison directly behind the hall where the hearing had taken place. They turned a corner, and now the smell that had entered the hall when the policemen had opened the window was everywhere. The change was so great that a valve may have been opened and the smell pumped into the air around them. Yudel turned toward it.

“There are no cells there.” Chunga's voice had taken on an urgent tone.

“We both know what that smell is,” Yudel said. “We have to look there. One of our clients may be among them.”

“What is it?” Abigail, who had fallen a few steps behind Yudel, caught up to him.

Yudel was looking at Chunga. “It's the prison morgue.”

“It's not necessary. None of your people are there.”

Abigail had stopped. “Dear God,” she said. “This never occurred to me.”

For the first time since they had started searching the prison, Prince spoke. “We have to look.” The thought that his Joyce may be among the bodies was frightening, but if she was, he wanted to know. “We have to.”

Abigail steeled herself for what she knew had to be done. “The order is for us to search the entire prison, not part of it.”

The director of the prison had made his own decision. He led the way to the door from which the smell was issuing. A ring of keys had appeared in the hands of one of his men. The director stepped aside for him to unlock the door. Yudel looked at Abigail. “You can do nothing in here. You don't need to come.”

“At last there's a point on which I can agree with Mr. Gordon.” Chunga had positioned himself between Abigail and the door. “You don't need to go in there.”

But Abigail was there for the search, all of the search. “I have to,” she said.

Yudel followed the prison director into what seemed to be an old solitary-confinement cell. Abigail was close behind him. She reached out and took hold of one of his sleeves. It was not much, but it provided some reassurance. Behind her she could feel the presence of Helena and Prince.

The morgue had only one window, set high like those in the other cells, but it had been covered by newspaper. The heat of the African day penetrated all of the prison, but in this confined space it had no way to escape. The heat and the smell together were an assault on the senses that even Yudel had not expected. There was perhaps a quarter of the light in the other cells. It took almost a minute for Abigail's eyes to become accustomed to the semidarkness. She was holding Yudel's arm just above the wrist.