The Cinnamon Tree Read online

  Yola wanted to show her thanks, but the matter was closed. Senior Mother gathered her wrap around her and hunched up her shoulders, looking more like a vulture than ever. Yola realised she was dismissed and she backed away awkwardly. The hooded lids stayed down, but she had seen a glint in those eyes; Senior Mother understood her.

  Apart from Senior Mother, who was scary, Uncle Banda seemed to be the only other interesting person in the compound, but he was in disgrace. He had fought with the rebels during the civil war; Father, of course, had supported the government. Uncle Banda was supposed to have surrendered his rifle when the rebels lost, but he hadn’t. One day, Mother caught him teaching Gabbin how to aim it and she had made such a fuss that he had to hand it in to the police. He was Gabbin’s godfather, so when Gabbin’s parents died in the war he became Gabbin’s legal guardian. Yola loved him, he was funny and wonderfully unpredictable – but even Yola had to agree that he was a bad influence on Gabbin.

  Now the excitement of coming home was a thing of the past – nothing about life in the compound was interesting. She lowered herself to the ground with a sigh, her leg to one side of the grindstone, her stump to the other. She placed a pad of cloth under her stump as it was still very tender. She sat at the grindstone as she had on the day of her accident. Perhaps she could start the story again. When little Gabbin starts calling, this time she will reassure him and tell him that Managu can find his way down from the hill on his own. All Gabbin has to do is to stay with his cows. Then she will be able to run again … Stop! She hammered the grinder down on the maize. Why did all her daydreams end with her running?

  She looked at the grinder, a rounded stone that fitted neatly in the hand – pity it hadn’t broken the grindstone! She steadied herself, brushed back the grain she had scattered and started the rhythmic swing of grinding. To begin with, the stone rumbled and grumbled over the grain, then, slowly, it began to move more smoothly over the ever-fining flour. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth her body moved.

  The compound fence rose around her higher and higher, crowding in on her like a prison wall. Her future held nothing but this crish … crish … crish.

  She heard the sound of the approaching vehicle through the rumble of her grinding. No vehicles came beyond the town on this road, not since an anti-tank mine had wrecked a timber lorry a mile outside the town. She was staring in the direction of the noise when she saw the car’s aerial – to her it was a long, thin pole whipping backwards and forwards above the hedge as the car lurched up the hill. She stared, wondering what it could be. She saw Sindu appear at the door of her hut, cocking an ear at the sound. Yola listened, spellbound, her hands white, the maize flour a glistening peak on the mat in front of her. She was like a prisoner hearing, with sudden hope, footsteps approaching and keys chinking. She had to know what this new sound meant … she had to see … she had to be there. In a minute it would be gone – quick! She rolled over and grabbed at her crutches, scrabbling in the dirt like a wounded bird trying to get up. Once up, she tried to run, but then lost her rhythm and nearly fell. Sindu was running ahead, trailing a comet-tail of toddlers ready to tangle in Yola’s crutches. For just a second, Yola saw the big car as it passed, its tyres spurting dust. She saw a uniformed driver, some writing on the door … and it was gone. The long, thin pole mocked her over the fence; the car changed gear and ground on up the hill. Yola was immobilised by a grubby infant who was holding on to one of her crutches. She detached him and worked her way through the youngsters to the gate. All that remained was a cloud of dust where the car had been.

  ‘Where were you? You should have seen it!’ Sindu gasped, wide-eyed.

  Yola pursed her mouth. Sindu knew perfectly well that she couldn’t run, but Yola was determined not to react.

  ‘You should have hurried,’ tried Sindu again with a wicked little glance.

  Yola would happily have taken a swipe at her, but the memory of Senior Mother’s look on the day of the party sat on her shoulder like a vulture; she would be good.

  ‘Who were they?’ she asked.

  ‘How would I know, they didn’t stop to say.’ Sindu’s sarcasm was unmistakeable. This time Yola’s frustration flared.

  ‘But on the side. It was written! What did it say?’

  The words had come out without Yola realising their significance. Sindu was looking at her like a knife looking for a set of ribs to slide through; Sindu could not read. Yola’s demon had struck again, and having popped the words into her mouth, it scuttled off and left her to clear up. Wearily she said, ‘Look Sindu, I’m sorry, but if only you’d let me help you I’d teach you to read.’

  Sindu had never been to school, she didn’t want to learn, and Yola had offered. Sindu walked away from her, towards the compound entrance. Yola, remorseful now, was determined to repair her bridges, so she called, ‘I do mean it Sindu, it’s really quite easy, we–’

  She stopped in mid-sentence. Sindu wasn’t listening. She was smiling and looking intently up into the compound.

  ‘What’s up, Sindu?’

  ‘Oh Yola, trouble, trouble … chuck, chuck, chuck.’

  Yola hitched herself forward urgently to see. Chickens were flocking and pecking all over her abandoned corn, wading through the ground flour, scattering it left and right.

  ‘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.

  4

  Demons!

  Mr 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.