Kololo Hill Page 16

  She moved her fingertips along the walls and doors of each room, trying to commit the feel of them to memory. She made her way to the front door, lingering on the threshold, telling herself to leave her home for the final time.

  Outside, the others were gathered by the car. They were going to travel to the airport with Motichand’s old customer, Cyrus Mody. As soon as Jaya and the others had started making plans for the airport and they had heard that Cyrus was on the same flight as them, Jaya knew exactly what to do. She’d gone straight to Cyrus’s grand villa up at the top of Kololo Hill, reminding him of the long-standing friendship between him and her husband, how Cyrus had been such a loyal customer, how Motichand had looked after him all those years and what did it matter now about the unpaid bills when all their lives were at stake, how surely it made sense for them to stick together, as she, a widow, had no idea how she’d get the rest of her family to the airport safely otherwise? And that was how, after all those years, it was Jaya who had finally managed to get Cyrus Mody to repay his debt to her husband.

  18

  Asha

  Asha was dizzy with goodbyes. Dozens of people, old friends and new, cousins and uncles and aunts. She should have been well practised by now, ready for her parents and two younger brothers, Raju and Sailesh, who made a hurried stop at the house on the way from Jinja to Entebbe airport the week before Asha was due to leave.

  ‘You’ll come to India soon, I’m sure,’ Asha’s Ba said. ‘Or we’ll come to England. It won’t be long, beta.’ Asha humoured her mother, knowing that nothing in their lives could be locked down with certainty. She hugged them tight, felt sorry for all the times she and her brothers had argued, wishing instead she’d spent more time creating good memories before she’d left for her marital home. And for a moment, she wished she could leave with them.

  Her Papa was distracted, worrying about the checkpoints, the airport, the flight out, the new life that awaited them. He’d only known India as a baby, before his parents had settled in Uganda. ‘We’re too old to learn our lives all over again, aren’t we, Jayaben?’ he’d said, before hugging Asha so tightly and for so long that her Ba had to gently prise them apart.

  And now, the final goodbye, as Asha and the family left their home for the last time.

  ‘We’ll see each other soon, Ba,’ Pran assured Jaya, but they all knew it would be a long journey for him from Uganda to India, let alone joining them in England without a British passport. Jaya held him tight, lingering in his arms and leaving specks of tears on his shirt pocket.

  Vijay ruffled Pran’s hair with a ‘Take care, bhai, see you soon,’ trying to keep it light, though he fooled no one.

  Asha gave Pran the briefest hug, leaving it at that for the sake of propriety. She took him in, trying to commit him to memory, trying to pretend she hadn’t seen the glimmer of anxiety, the shadow of fear across his face. Instead, she focused on the hint of aftershave on his skin, the way his hair brushed against her forehead. She stepped back. The feel of him, the warmth of his body quickly disappearing from her own.

  Cyrus climbed into the driver’s seat. His hair was a dirty copper colour from his henna dye. He’d battered the Mercedes with a hammer that morning, smashing one of the tail lights and shattering a headlight. ‘Who wants a car that looks like it’s been beaten up by a lorry?’ he’d said. The cream paintwork had also been ruined, covered in scuffs and scratches. ‘You don’t expect someone driving a car like this to have any money, do you?’

  Asha, Jaya and Cyrus’s wife Aruna were crammed into the back of the car, the air stuffy with the scent of petrol and warm leather. Vijay climbed into the front.

  As the car pulled out of the driveway and down the street, Asha watched Pran’s figure fade away.

  The night before, Pran had moved across the bed and kissed Asha on each eyelid. ‘At least you won’t be alone,’ he said. ‘I know you sometimes struggle with Ba, but you’ll watch out for each other, won’t you?’

  ‘Of course,’ Asha said. She gently pushed away a strand of Pran’s hair from his eye. ‘But you’ve got to be careful too.’

  ‘Don’t worry about me. Just remember I love you and stay safe.’

  But as the thought of the journey ahead made her throat tight with worry, she already struggled to recall last night’s whispered goodbyes, his lips on her shoulders, his fingers along her back.

  As they drove through the neighbourhood, Asha watched other families preparing to leave, strapping luggage to car roofs or making their way to the buses the government had laid on to try and stop the soldiers’ looting, for all the good that did. Abandoned cars had been left at the side of the road, some with the doors still open, as though the drivers had been spooked and simply run away. They reached a part of the road where the tarmac wasn’t finished and the car rumbled and rocked over the uneven ground. Asha wound her window up to keep out the red dust that turned the air pink and caught in her throat, shutting out the petrol fumes and the smells of the smoking meat on the stalls outside.

  As they left the city, the road cut through layer upon layer of green trees and shrubs. The colours seemed too lurid today, too celebratory. All those things she’d taken for granted. Along the road to Entebbe, they passed smaller shacks with rusty metal roofs, lined with shelves of goods and rows of clothing; barbers, and butchers with carcasses of meat hanging in front. A few fruit stalls were dotted near the roadside, selling papaya, jackfruit and tiny yellow bananas, the sorts of places her family might once have stopped at, taking their hoard of treasures home for dessert.

  ‘We just have to get to the airport, that’s all. Get to the airport,’ Jaya said, repeating it over and over like a mantra, in between the real prayers that she murmured under her breath. ‘Just get to the airport.’ She clutched her handbag so tightly, pressed her fingers so hard, that it made the tips white, fingernails leaving tiny waves in the leather.

  Asha thought of the stories they’d heard of looting and violence. Of Mrs Goswami’s house girl, Grace. What would she do if that happened to her? She’d fight back, wouldn’t she? Yet the spectre of the soldiers’ guns always loomed above her. She’d been wrong about what she said to Pran earlier: they weren’t equal.

  On the road ahead, there was a checkpoint with two soldiers standing next to a truck. As they got closer, she saw that one was female, her hair close-cropped like all the others, but with a delicate jaw and full cheeks.

  ‘Remember what we agreed,’ Cyrus said. They’d decided that it was best for him to do the talking. He owned a restaurant that all the army officials used to go to and he’d made a few acquaintances over the years. He was used to dealing with soldiers and thought it better that they make their own way to the airport, rather than be sitting ducks on the government buses.

  The female soldier approached the car. Cyrus wound his window down. Her face was so close that her nose almost touched his. The soldier’s round eyes took each of them in, one by one. Jaya kept her head down. Asha glanced at the soldier but decided against looking her in the eye; this was not the time to show defiance.

  ‘Where are you going?’ said the soldier in Swahili. It was obvious where they were going, unless this idiot had somehow missed the news that all Asians had to leave the country.

  Before Cyrus had a chance to reply, the other soldier who stood at the roadside started shouting for everyone to get out. Vijay began to open the door on his side. Asha followed suit.

  ‘Wait, not yet,’ said Cyrus. He took money out of his trouser pocket and showed it to the female soldier.

  She snatched the money from Cyrus’s hand, flashing it at her friend, who’d also approached the car. Cyrus got out but gestured with his hand for the rest to stay inside.

  They sprang into action, just as they’d agreed. Vijay pulled out some notes from his shirt pocket, Asha took off the single gold bangle she wore on her arm, having decided earlier that it was best to have some jewellery on show, to stop prying eyes and hands searching anywhere else. Please le
t it be enough, she thought, let them be satisfied.

  Cyrus piled it together and handed it to the two soldiers. They took the crumpled heap as though it was worthless rubbish and stuffed it into their pockets, telling them to move on.

  They drove away, as fast as the car would go.

  ‘That was lucky. Didn’t even bother to look in the boot,’ said Vijay. To think yourself lucky after being robbed, was this what things had come to?

  ‘God is looking down on us.’ The relief in Cyrus’s voice broke through.

  Once they were out of sight of the checkpoint and the road was clear, Cyrus pulled the car over. He reached down towards his feet and pulled out another stash of notes that they’d gathered together before the trip. He handed out the money and gave his wife a gold necklace.

  At the next checkpoint, there was a pristine navy BMW parked up near the army truck. Cyrus pulled in behind and a soldier came towards their car. He was so young that his face had not yet hardened into the clean edges and sharp lines of an adult, hadn’t lost the softness of childhood, as though his features were still trying to work out how to settle under his skin. He stared through the windows with milky brown eyes. Sweat pooled on Asha’s forehead, but she didn’t dare move. Jaya’s arm was resting against hers; she felt the rise and fall of her breath.

  ‘Get out,’ said the soldier, his voice hovering between man and boy.

  ‘Here, please, this is all we have.’ Through the car window, Cyrus handed him the valuables they’d collected. The soldier paused, eyes narrowing, then walked away to speak to his comrade, glancing back at the BMW behind them.

  No one in the car dared speak.

  The young soldier came back to the car and stared at Cyrus, then at his wife, Aruna, eyeing her gold chain. Not waiting to be asked, fiddling with the clasp, she hurried to take it off.

  The soldier looked down and then waved Cyrus on, sending them off with a hard thump of his fist on the car bonnet. Asha could barely look at the family who stood at the roadside, waiting alongside their gleaming BMW, waiting to surrender the last remaining fragments of their lives, as the trashed Mercedes trundled past them.

  ‘What happened?’ said Cyrus’s wife, covering her mouth with her hand. ‘They didn’t make us get out.’

  ‘I told you before, mere jaan, why bother with tin and copper when you can have gold and platinum?’ Cyrus said wearily. ‘They see this heap of rubbish and they look for their treasure elsewhere.’

  But a few miles later, another checkpoint loomed ahead. An army jeep was parked in the middle of the road. To the left, three soldiers were slumped against a tree trunk, shaded by a swathe of thick foliage. If it hadn’t been for the khaki uniforms, the rifles at their sides, the berets the colour of dried blood, they might have been three ordinary young men, bored and looking for something to do. When the car approached, the soldiers perked up, backs straightened, guns raised. They moved swiftly to the middle of the road and surrounded the Mercedes.

  ‘Out, now.’ The first soldier was skinny and tall, the eldest of the three. He walked with his shoulders hunched and looked like the sort of boy who might be picked on at school for being lanky and awkward, but here he was, the bully pointing a gun at others. Asha’s lips parted, her cheeks bloomed with heat. Was this when their luck ran out?

  ‘We’re just trying, well, we wanted to get to the airport, you see . . .’ Cyrus seemed to have lost his earlier bravado. The exhausting rounds of talking to the soldiers were taking their toll. He stuttered like a toddler learning to speak. His softly spoken manner, which had helped to build rapport with the army at the previous checkpoints, now made him sound childlike and vulnerable.

  ‘Shut up,’ said the skinny soldier. ‘You’re boring me. Get out now.’

  This time, they all climbed out. The sun was fierce. Usually at this time of day they’d be inside, perhaps taking a nap in a shaded bedroom.

  ‘Open the boot,’ he said.

  The other soldiers watched as the thin one, apparently the leader, gave the order to put their suitcases on the ground and open them. He seemed to blink fast, as though he constantly had dust in his eyes. Another one, the smallest of the three, who had a light gait and a torn collar on his shirt, came forward, kicking at the clothes in the suitcases with his foot. Asha watched as the rusty dirt from his boot smeared the clothes inside.

  ‘You know Sergeant Hawar? A friend of mine, in the army?’ Cyrus said quietly. It was unlikely that anyone he knew in the army was a friend, but he’d probably figured that, at this point, anything was worth a shot.

  ‘Never heard of him,’ said the soldier with the easy gait. ‘Have you?’ He looked towards the tall leader.

  ‘No, us lieutenants don’t pay much attention to the ranks below us,’ he replied, blinking hard.

  ‘Now, take it all out.’ The shorter soldier moved closer to Asha.

  Asha’s hands shook as she pulled the clothes out on the ground, while the male passengers were told to empty their pockets. She looked up from the suitcase. The soldier was no longer staring at the clothes. He was staring at her.

  He lifted his rifle and pointed it at Asha. He placed the barrel of the gun, cool despite the heat, against her neck. Her body tensed. The soldier moved it down towards her chest. Everyone was still, watching them.

  ‘Asha—’ Jaya called out.

  ‘Who told you to speak?’ The lieutenant moved towards Jaya.

  The other soldier still had his eyes on Asha. She willed him to stop, hoping that Jaya had broken the spell. But instead he carried on, tracing the shape of her breast with the tip of the gun. He glared at her, waiting for Asha to react. She held her breath, swallowed her fear. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

  ‘People like you hide things,’ the soldier said. ‘In places that people like me can’t see.’

  She forced herself to look him in the eye, to appeal to him, showing him the clothes from the bag to prove she wasn’t keeping anything from him. ‘I’m not hiding anything.’

  ‘But there’s plenty more to hide.’ He nudged her blouse open with the gun tip. He gestured with his head towards a parting in the nearby trees and shoved her shoulder with the rifle.

  ‘Please, here, we have more money, take what you want,’ Vijay called out. He moved forward, the earth scattering under his feet.

  The tall, skinny soldier held him back. ‘Look at this. What’s wrong with you?’ He prodded Vijay’s left arm.

  ‘That’s not the hand that keeps him company at night, so why feel sorry for him?’ said the soldier standing near Asha.

  ‘Eh? What do you need a hand for when you have a woman?’ the lieutenant replied, blinking fast again.

  ‘Don’t you know? You need two hands to hold her down.’ The soldier dug the gun into Asha’s skin and grinned, eyes lit up with contempt. ‘Let’s go.’ He pushed Asha.

  ‘Wait, let’s just take what we can and send them on their way.’ The third soldier, who’d stayed quiet until then, spoke, his gaze shifting from Asha to his comrades. He looked at them all with wide eyes; his cheeks were covered in pimples. Eighteen years old at most. ‘There’ll be more coming soon.’

  ‘I don’t have any more money, I swear,’ said Asha, wishing her voice had come out louder than a whisper.

  ‘I don’t want money, Joseph.’ The soldier prodded her with the gun again, digging into her breastbone.

  ‘Look, we haven’t seen what else is in the suitcases,’ said Joseph, dropping quickly to his knees to look at the contents. He wiped his forehead. ‘They’ve probably got some gold in there, let’s have a look and send them on their way.’

  Hope.

  ‘I’m sick of you going on, Joseph. One more time and I may have to shut you up myself.’ The small soldier shoved Asha; she glanced once more at Joseph as he remained on the ground, silent. A chance of escape taken away as quickly as it appeared.

  Now, the soldier pushed her along, away from the roadside to the undergrowth, the bark scratching her arm as
she reached out to steady herself. They arrived at a small clearing, the air thick and humid.

  He said nothing, leering at her blouse.

  Asha knew what he wanted but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. ‘Please don’t do this.’

  He lowered his gun and stepped forward. ‘Fine, I’ll do it myself.’

  Asha pushed him away as hard as she could. ‘Stop!’ The soldier stumbled backwards and looked up at her.

  ‘Bitch,’ he said in English, then smacked her across the face.

  There was a call from the roadside. ‘What are you doing down there, can’t get it up?’ The booming voice of his tall comrade.

  The soldier dropped his rifle and rushed towards her, as though he had to prove himself before he went back. She glanced over his shoulder at the abandoned gun, wondering for a split second if she could push him aside and reach it. But what would be the point? There were more soldiers waiting. Always more soldiers.

  Now his fleshy fingers fumbled at the buttons of Asha’s shirt. She willed herself to move, to stop him, but her muscles tensed, the panic running through her body like wildfire. He gave up and ripped her shirt open, the buttons hitting the tree trunk like bullets. His breath stank of alcohol.

  He stepped back, eyes crawling all over her. ‘Show me, now.’

  ‘Hurry up, William,’ the soldier at the roadside called out. A roll of dry earth as another car pulled up.

  The soldier unzipped his trousers.

  This couldn’t be happening.