Chapter 12 - The Morning After
The next morning I wake early. I’m still terribly tired, but the Sun is already burning through the window again, making it impossible to sleep any longer. I rise from the floor, my body aching all over from having lain too long on those mercilessly hard planks. Mwinda is still curled up on the bunk, wrapped in the blanket. She sleeps, and I hope that for once her sleep is free of nightmares. I don’t think the others in the rooms next door will be up early this morning. They’ll still be under the weight of too much drink, exhausted after their nightly performances as self-styled cavaliers.
I look at the girl and am struck once more by how beautiful she is. Her face so innocent, even though the innocence that should still belong to her at her age has long been taken from her. She breathes peacefully, the blanket rising and falling with the rhythm of her lungs. I’d gladly go on watching her, but I need to relieve myself urgently. I can only hope that when I come back she’ll still be there.
I step outside, down the little staircase by the main door, next to which the commander has had a small flowerbed laid out. It is kept in perfect order, with a chosen servant making sure not a single blade of weed threatens the roses and African lilies. A fence has even been built around it to prevent anyone from stepping inside. The flowerbed is the commander’s private domain; not even the major dares set foot in it. I doubt the major has any interest in botany anyway, apart from rubber.
Behind our hut stand the rudimentary latrines, nothing more than two large holes in the ground, curtained by canvas, their foul stench striking me full in the face. The Sun shines mercilessly, though the day is still young. The sky is piercingly clear, with only a few cumulus clouds blown along by a strong wind. I marvel at how dry the ground already is after last night’s deluge. Yesterday it was a shallow lake, four inches of stagnant water; today it’s again a desert plain, with only a few muddy puddles left to testify to the tropical storm that struck us.
Hundreds of black men still lie sprawled across the plain in the distance, most of them near the forest where they can still find a little shade. I doubt the commander will be pleased to see again that they haven’t gone to work. But how can they, without anyone telling them exactly what to do? Are they not animals that must first be given strict orders before they can work, or so they are thought?
Then I notice something odd. Some figures are moving about at the far end of the plain, near the rubber storehouse. They have painted themselves entirely white. It’s hard to make out at this distance, but it stirs my curiosity.
As I am peeing, I hear footsteps descending the stairs behind me. I glance anxiously to see whether the person is heading here as well, and indeed he is. To my relief it is only Louis. He stumbles rather than walks, which doesn’t surprise me.
"Aaaaahhh…" he sighs as he pulls out his willy to piss as well, stretching and yawning at the same time. "Jan, my friend… what a night… my God, what a night!"
"You’ve had fun, I see," I answer, careful not to betray my true feelings.
"Hahaha! My friend, you’ve no idea… no idea!" He goes on as if he’s woken up in heaven itself. Then, suddenly, he asks: "And how was yours?"
"Eh… what?" I reply in surprise.
"Come on, Jan, my friend, are you still drunk or what? How was your pretty whore? I fancied her for myself as well, but then I thought, tonight I’ll do my friend a favour, hehehe…"
My anger flares, though he carries on as if nothing is amiss.
"Go on, tell me, how was she? I think I’ll try her tonight myself! Hahaha!"
I snap.
"How dare you…" I hiss, careful not to wake the others, "Do you feel no shame at all after what’s happened?"
"Er, Jan, what are you saying?" he reacts like a sulky child. "Did she bite your cock or something?"
"Her name is Mwinda, do you understand? MWINDA! And she is a girl, not a toy!"
Louis says nothing at first, just stares at me as though I’ve come from another planet. He doesn’t understand a thing. This damned place is driving everyone mad, and he hasn’t even realised it yet. Or perhaps it is not this place that is driving him mad, but this place that has finally revealed the madness that was already there. I thought I knew him. Now I see that he was a stranger all along, waiting for the right kind of darkness to become himself.
"What’s got into you?" I try to reach some sense in him. "Louis… I don’t know you like this!"
He tucks himself back into his trousers and gives me a look that chills me. His red curls no longer seem comical.
"Jan," he says in all seriousness, "I think you’re the one who doesn’t understand."
He turns his back on me, heading inside. Louis, turning his back on me!
"You really think what happened is normal?" I shout after him.
He stops and looks round again.
"What happened then? Nothing happened!"
"Nothing? You call raping women nothing? And..."
"Shhh!" he cuts me off. "We didn’t rape anyone! It was just a joke, don’t you see?"
"That’s not what I heard all night! Is that why you became an officer?"
I’ve struck home. I see in his blue eyes the struggle with his conscience. For a moment he is lost for words, something rare for him.
"Blacks aren’t human…" he mutters hoarsely. "So we… didn’t… rape… anyone!"
Off he goes. On his way he crosses the Danish engineer, who greets him with the broadest of smiles, not understanding why cheerful Louis does not return the greeting. His genuine, warm smile is like a gasp of clean air. He seems to possess a quiet, unbroken spirit, an integrity that has not yet been swallowed by this jungle. For a moment, I find myself thinking that not all of us are monsters.
"Good morning!" the engineer greets me, as he starts to pee as well.
I wave briefly, too anxious to engage in conversation with the Dane and head back inside. I want to return to Mwinda at once. Too late. Even before I reach the door I hear the cries and sobs: the girls are being gathered again.
In the corridor I see them already chained together by the wrists. All naked, all humiliated. Some bear the visible marks of violence. Captain Roger still dishes out slaps on buttocks here and there, to the laughter of his men.
Mwinda is among them. Relief washes over me to see her, and for a second our eyes meet. I think I see gratitude in her gaze, or perhaps I see only what I long to see. Then two FP soldiers tug hard at the long chain, and the line shuffles towards the exit. All with heads bowed, all wearing the same mask of suffering, some limping, some struggling to walk.
I have no idea where they are being taken, but I find a little peace in the thought that it cannot be far. With some luck, I will see her again.
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