Kololo Hill Read online

  ‘What are you doing?’ she said. ‘You scared me.’

  ‘Nothing.’ He tried to hide something behind him.

  ‘Let me see, Pran. Are you keeping things from me again?’

  Pran hesitated, then showed her what he was doing. ‘We’ll need this again one day.’ He was wrapping a cloth around a metal box, ready to place it in a small hole in the ground.

  ‘What do you mean?’ She recognized the box as the same one Motichand had kept valuables in. They kept it hidden in the sitting room behind a bronze clock cut into the shape of Africa. Had the stress pushed Pran over the edge, burying things in the ground under cover of darkness?

  ‘We’ll come back for this.’ Pran didn’t look up at her. ‘I’m just keeping our money safe.’

  ‘What are you talking about? The government will give this house to other people to live here.’ It still angered her to say it out loud. Strangers living in their home.

  ‘It’s all temporary.’ Pran finished patting the earth down and stood up. She’d felt such relief when he’d given up his talk of staying, realizing that it was far too dangerous. But the things he said still concerned her. ‘We’ll get this house back. They’re not taking my Papa’s home, nor my business. I’m going to fight for it one day.’

  ‘Pran, what are you saying?’ She didn’t bother to hide her annoyance, or her wariness. The idea of coming back to this nightmare. Pran was sapping everyone’s energy with his anger. She put her hand on his shoulder. ‘You want to come back here, after everything?’

  Pran turned and looked at her. ‘Don’t you?’

  *

  Later, they ate dinner by candlelight and kerosene lamp, breaking the diamond-shaped dhebra with their hands and using it to scoop up the lentils in the mugh ni daar. Asha sipped the last of her bland chai, craving a teaspoonful of sugar. It was difficult to come by now that the plantations were in such a mess.

  At least the gunfire hadn’t started yet. Some nights, it seemed to get louder and louder, as though the soldiers were in a ridiculous battle with the crickets. She knew it was important to listen for the sound, measuring the distance by how loudly it rattled through the air. But the moments to watch out for were those brief times when she realized she’d tuned the noise out in her head. That was far worse: to become so used to the terrible sounds that they blended into ordinary life.

  When they’d finished eating, Asha and Jaya went to check on December. The storeroom door was ajar, but out of courtesy, Jaya knocked as she always did.

  Inside, December was lying down on the bed, the plate of matoke and beans that Jaya had made especially for him sitting untouched beside him. It was strange to see him so subdued, so different from the first days after Asha had arrived, when he bounded around the yard, sweeping the veranda, painting the walls and tending to the shrubs in the garden. In the dimness, his skin looked ashy, the weeks without sunshine taking their toll.

  Recently, he’d spoken to Asha about Jinja, where he had a few friends. They recalled the places they both knew, the local market, the nearby waterfalls, close to the source of the Nile. Old times, when you could make conversation about everyday life, without care or worry.

  ‘Adenya, you’ve not eaten?’ Jaya asked.

  ‘I’m sorry, I’m not hungry,’ he said.

  ‘Why not eat something, keep your strength up for your journey?’ Asha said, picking up the plate. Pran had confirmed that he’d found a way out for December, he could leave in a couple of days’ time, making a trip to the border, getting out through Kenya. Yet sorrow had replaced hope in his eyes.

  ‘Have you heard anything?’ December asked Jaya.

  She shook her head. He asked the same thing every time any of them came to the storeroom. But the answer never changed. No news about the northern territories, no word from his daughter, nothing to cheer him.

  ‘Pran said we’ll be able to get you to the border in a few days,’ Asha said, in a vain attempt to make him feel better.

  Outside, there was a loud rattle of the gate, followed by a shout in Swahili to let them in. Jacob, who used to keep watch outside each night, had long gone, taking up one of the Asian businesses. This voice didn’t sound familiar.

  ‘Why would anyone come to the house now? Curfew’s started,’ said Jaya, clutching her sari chundri at her neck.

  December got up. ‘I could still try and get out, over the back wall?’

  ‘No,’ said Asha, heart drumming. Even if he escaped, soldiers would find him in the streets in no time. ‘You need to hide, we’ll go and find out what’s going on. Perhaps it’s nothing.’ Asha and Jaya hurried back to the others in the sitting room.

  ‘Perhaps it’s Naseem and Razia, or one of the other neighbours needing help?’ said Jaya.

  Pran’s breath was shallow. ‘No. It must be soldiers.’

  They’d talked many times about what they’d do if the army came, as they heard more and more stories about other houses in the neighbourhood, looted while the families were inside, the men beaten, the women shoved into bedrooms. But the closer the family got to leaving, the more Asha told herself that they’d get away with it and leave Uganda before the army got their chance.

  ‘Let’s just stay here like we agreed,’ whispered Vijay, his tone filled with impossible hope. ‘They won’t be able to see any lights at the front of the house. They might just be trying their luck.’

  No one moved.

  Another knock, another shout, this time more demanding than the last. ‘We know you’re in there,’ they said, then laughed.

  ‘We’ll have to let them in,’ said Vijay. ‘They might try and shoot their way in otherwise.’ How ridiculous it sounded, like something from a film, but there was a strong possibility that they’d actually do it.

  Pran took Asha’s hands. ‘Hide in the bedroom, both of you. Lock the door and don’t come out, no matter what. Vijay, go and tell December to hide in the storeroom while I go and get them.’

  ‘Be careful, beta,’ Jaya whispered.

  They made their way across the yard and into the bedroom.

  Asha’s fingers slipped against the metal as she hurried to lock the bedroom door behind them. While Jaya stood close behind her, Asha peeked through a crack between the door and the frame. It smelt of old wood and oil. She looked out across the yard. Vijay had turned on the kitchen light so that it didn’t look like they’d been hiding in the dark. The light threw shapes across the yard, as though the frangipani tree, branches cast in dark shadow, was cowering in the corner. Asha strained to listen for voices beyond the thrum of the crickets. Thank God there was no gunfire in the neighbourhood tonight.

  Nothing, no movement, no sounds from the kitchen.

  ‘What’s going on?’ said Jaya in a hushed voice.

  ‘I can’t tell. There’s no sign of anyone, not even Pran and Vijay.’ What if they’d already been attacked, lying on the floor? How long before the soldiers found the rest of them?

  Behind her, Jaya whispered a prayer under her breath. Asha listened for a sound, a sign.

  Four figures came out from the kitchen. Pran’s slim frame and Vijay’s stockier mass were flanked on either side by larger silhouettes with lopsided heads and jutting shoulders: the soldiers’ berets and upended rifles.

  Asha held onto the door frame, her heartbeat pulsing through her. She couldn’t make out what they were saying. The soldiers didn’t have loud, demanding voices. Instead, they spoke in subdued tones, almost as though they were house guests, stepping outside to enjoy the fresh air after dinner.

  The taller soldier turned to look towards the bedroom. Asha flinched, stopping herself from jumping back from the door. There was no way he could see her, but it was as though he was looking through the darkness, beyond the thick mahogany door, straight at her.

  ‘What happened?’ said Jaya.

  Asha waved her hand to hush her. Laughter came from across the yard, but she didn’t recognize it. It must have been the soldiers. Perhaps that was a good sign. Th
ey weren’t angry, at least. She stepped towards the door again and peeked through the crack, no longer able to see Pran, Vijay or the soldiers. What was going on? She edged her face as far to the right as she could but it was impossible to see the sitting room or the storeroom.

  The room grew stuffy; the only sounds were the ringing insects outside and the heave of Jaya’s short breaths. Asha kept close to the door, alert to footsteps or voices. She turned and surveyed the room. If it came to it, they’d have to slip under the bed and hide.

  What could they be doing? Pran was supposed to show the soldiers the valuables to get rid of them. And if they were with December, there’d surely be noise by now. Shouting?

  Gunfire?

  15

  Vijay

  Vijay ran and helped December hide the folding bed.

  ‘It’s the army, isn’t it?’ December whispered, hiding himself behind the gunny sacks as best he could.

  Vijay looked at him. He didn’t want to say it out loud, lacked the words to comfort him, the danger right outside their door.

  ‘Be careful, don’t put yourself at risk for me,’ said December. ‘I mean it.’

  ‘We’ll be fine,’ Vijay said, smoothing out any signs of panic in his tone. ‘Don’t worry, they won’t get anywhere near here.’ He quickly shut the door before December could reply and rushed back to the kitchen, heart swelling with every beat, pulsing through every vein. Should he stand right by the door? No, too aggressive. Rest his hand here against the table? No, too relaxed. There was no right way to behave in a situation like this. So he stood with his back against the wall. Like waiting in front of a firing squad.

  Pran’s voice, grave and low, along with two others that didn’t belong. The slow thud of footsteps, the familiar creak of the door in the hallway.

  The first thing he saw was the rifles, standing to attention along the soldiers’ backs. The tips of the guns glinting in the light like cold eyes. Pran seemed to have shrunk as he stood next to the two men with their badly fitted khaki and their slanted berets. The strangers filled the space; it was Pran and Vijay who didn’t belong now.

  The first soldier stared at Vijay with heavy-lidded eyes. He wasn’t much older than Pran but his close-cropped hair was flecked with grey, and he moved his neck slowly, like a tortoise, as he looked around the room. The other soldier, younger, broad-faced with hazel eyes, came closer.

  Shoulders proud, head high, Vijay told himself.

  The broad-faced soldier spoke, his breath laced with the sharp, chemical smell of waragi. ‘You want to show us around.’ It wasn’t a question but a command.

  ‘Look, we’ve got some cash in the other room, thousands of shillings,’ said Pran. ‘Please take it.’

  But the soldiers were already walking out into the yard. The younger soldier tried to light a cigarette, but his fingers kept slipping from the expensive-looking silver lighter. ‘Eh, there’s something wrong with this lighter,’ he said.

  ‘No, there’s something wrong with your head, David,’ said the grey-flecked soldier. He slumped his body when he moved, curled shoulders, hips low. He had a go at lighting it too, but still it didn’t work.

  Pran took a matchbox from his pocket and lit a match for them, the flame lighting up every worry line on his forehead. David, the younger soldier, nearly burnt his hand, unsteady on his feet as he held the cigarette close to the flame. The two comrades talked amongst themselves, the younger soldier muttering about the stars, pointing out the Southern Cross with his finger. For a moment, December’s words rang in Vijay’s ears. Young soldiers with little money, little choice. What would that soldier have been in another life? A teacher, a map-maker?

  Vijay and Pran exchanged a look. What now? Did the soldiers know what they were doing either? The stench of alcohol gave them the answer.

  ‘This is the sitting room.’ Pran pointed, trying to direct them towards the money in the hope that they’d leave soon.

  But the older soldier turned his slow neck from the kitchen towards the storeroom. ‘Eh, you got any whisky, anything to drink?’

  ‘I’ll get some.’ Vijay hurried to the sitting room, decided against taking a whole bottle outside and poured it into two glasses instead. The last thing they needed was the army utterly drunk on the veranda. Even if they passed out, the idea of them slumped like gunny sacks in their house for hours didn’t appeal either. He rushed back outside with the drinks, drops of whisky spilling as he went.

  ‘How many rooms do you have?’ said David, looking around the yard.

  ‘Six.’ Pran answered quickly, omitting the storeroom that would have made seven.

  ‘Show us.’ The soldiers started walking towards the sitting room.

  They wandered about, laughing at the soapstone knick-knacks that Jaya had gathered in her glass cabinet, picking things up, throwing them in the air a couple of times. Vijay stayed by the door. Pran stood against one of the walls, back flat, as though he was trying to disappear into it.

  The soldier picked up a gilded photo frame from the side cabinet. ‘Eh, where are they?’ He was tracing his finger over Asha’s face, a photo from her wedding day.

  ‘They’ve already gone, they left ahead of us. We’re sorting out the last of the paperwork before we join them,’ said Vijay.

  ‘Got rid of the women. Having fun without them, I’ll bet.’ The young soldier giggled like a schoolboy.

  Growing bored of the room, the two army men walked outside. Vijay’s room didn’t seem to interest them much but his heart sank when the younger soldier said he’d take the record player on his way out.

  The only place left on this side was the storeroom, the door hidden in the gloom. From where they stood on the veranda, there was a chance they hadn’t seen it at all.

  ‘There’s not much else, to be honest.’ Pran tried to say it lightly but Vijay knew him too well, his voice tinged with tension.

  David lit another cigarette. He inhaled, then stepped towards the storeroom.

  ‘Aren’t you going to leave now?’ The words burst out of Vijay’s mouth before his mind had a chance to catch up.

  Pran stared at him. The soldiers too.

  ‘What?’ said David, turning towards him.

  ‘Did you come here for something in particular?’ Vijay’s breath quickened. Whatever happened, he wouldn’t let them reach the storeroom.

  David threw his cigarette down and rushed towards him, grabbing Vijay by the shirt, the seam of the collar cutting into his neck.

  The soldier’s face was inches from his. ‘What did you say?’

  ‘Please, he didn’t mean it. He’s been drinking too.’ Pran tried to get closer to them but David’s comrade shoved him back.

  ‘Eh, you have a big mouth to make up for the rest of your cripple body.’ His breath sour, his voice low.

  ‘Like I said, when are you going to leave?’ They wouldn’t find December, nor Jaya and Asha. There was no way.

  The soldier clutched the back of Vijay’s shirt, dragging him back towards the veranda, earth scattering under Vijay’s feet, dust flying into his eyes.

  The last thing Vijay saw was the wall hurtling towards him.

  16

  Asha

  Asha stood at the door, struggling to swallow, mouth dry. She turned to Jaya. ‘How long do you think it’s been since we heard anything? Forty minutes?’ She’d stopped wearing a watch months ago and there was no clock in the room.

  ‘Maybe an hour?’ Jaya whispered, as she sat down on the bed. ‘Can you see anything?’

  Asha shook her head, then gestured with her hand for her mother-in-law to stay where she was. She looked through the crack. Still nothing. She opened the door a fraction. Did it creak when you opened it? No noise, luckily. Even the crickets seemed to have quietened down, the breeze still. She held it ajar, waiting to see if the movement had alerted anyone. She bristled with fear, trying to steady her hands before she stepped out. She took a deep breath – even that seemed impossibly loud, as though she might
wake the whole of Kololo Hill and send all the soldiers in the area running towards them.

  Asha smelt the cigarette smoke before she saw it; the trails twisting themselves around Pran as he leant against a wall.

  ‘What happened?’ She hurried over to him. ‘Pran?’

  He sucked hard on the cigarette, looking out into the black.

  ‘Why didn’t you come to get us?’ Asha placed her hand on his arm, warm to the touch. She scanned his face for any sign of injury. ‘Are you OK? Where’s Vijay?’

  Pran turned towards her, as though he had woken up from a dream. ‘Vijay. He’s still in the kitchen.’

  She rushed to find Vijay. He was slumped against the wall, blood dripping from his forehead.

  ‘What happened, Pran? He needs help.’ Asha grabbed a clean cloth and soaked it with water. She put it against Vijay’s forehead. ‘Vijay, can you hear me?’

  Vijay opened his eyes and moved his hand towards the wound. ‘They’ve gone?’

  Asha nodded. ‘Don’t touch it, it’s still bleeding.’

  ‘They hit me.’ A sleepy smile appeared on his face.

  ‘Yes, I can see that. Don’t move. We won’t be able to go to the doctor until the morning.’ Too dangerous. Another thing they could thank the army for.

  ‘Bapre! Vijay, what did they do?’ Jaya hurried into the kitchen and went to Vijay’s side. His shirt was blotched with blood and he moved his body awkwardly as he tried to sit up.

  Asha turned towards Pran, who stood in the corner. Alarm turned to confusion as she grabbed his hands in hers. ‘Look at me. How did this happen?’

  ‘They were heading for the storeroom and Vijay said something, some smart comment. They threw him against a wall and then hit him. Asha, they were so drunk, they could barely speak.’ Pran clenched his hair with his hands. ‘I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know how to stop them.’

  ‘It’s OK, beta.’ Jaya’s voice wavered as she held the cloth to Vijay’s forehead.

  ‘They were moving towards the storeroom,’ said Pran. ‘I ran to get the money from the sitting room but by that time . . .’ He looked down at his shoes. ‘I told them we had no idea December was hiding there. They were so drunk, they believed me.’