White Dog Fell from the Sky - By Eleanor Morse Page 0,135

a narrow stretch of ground. Beyond it lay another gate and more barbed wire. He’d not heard of a prison north of Zeerust. Something woke in him. He’d fight with everything he had before they got him in there, die before they put him in another rathole.

“End of the road,” said the driver, opening the rear door.

“I’m not going in there.”

“Where do you think you’re going then?”

“Kill me first.”

A man in uniform came to the window and looked in on Isaac. He seemed shocked at what he saw. A conversation took place between him and the driver. A woman was standing beyond the stockade-type building, at least he thought it was a woman. Her dress was blue. It moved slightly in the breeze.

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She’d seen the car from a long way down the road. Something about it made her pay attention. It was black, low slung. It pulled up to the gate, and the shorter of the two border guards let it through.

Two white men got out wearing uniforms. The border guard bent down and looked into the backseat of the car. Someone was back there, but the sun glared through the windshield and she couldn’t make out a face. One of the two men in uniform, the thicker one, passed some papers to the shorter guard. The border guard studied them. He passed the papers to the other guard, who looked them over. The shorter guard turned in Alice’s direction. She might have been a tree, or a goat, by the way he gestured toward her.

She froze, and her stomach flipped over. She walked toward them. One of the men in uniform opened the backdoor of the black car. A figure got out, a black man. He stood, swaying slightly. She came closer. It wasn’t Isaac’s face or his body she recognized, both altered beyond recognition, but some shred of dignity.

“My god,” she whispered, “what have they done to you?”

A light entered his eyes briefly and went out. She couldn’t tell if he knew who she was. She wanted to take his hand, but she thought there must be a rule against it.

“Is this the man?” said the taller of the two border guards. His face said, How could anyone want him?

“Yes. Isaac Muthethe.”

“He’s free to go,” said the border guard.

“Now?” she asked.

“Take him,” the thick-necked one from the black car said. “That’s what he said.”

Leering at her, his companion asked, “So where’s your husband?”

She ignored him. “Isaac, my truck is over there.” She turned away, and Isaac stumbled after her, barely able to walk. She felt the back of her neck crawl, thinking of their eyes watching. She opened the passenger’s side for Isaac, and he ducked his head. She saw his body shake with the effort of getting in. Her throat constricted, her vision swam. She got into the driver’s side and drove toward the other gate. The truck filled with an unspeakable smell.

“Dumela, rra,” she said, greeting the guard on the Botswana side for the second time that day. She held out the papers for him to check once more. He peered in at Isaac and flinched. “Go siame, mma,” he said, waving her through.

The gate lifted, and they headed up the dusty road toward Lobatse. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Isaac sitting stiffly, one hand clasped over the other. His hands were thin, so thin they seemed hollowed out, his thumbs swollen and dark purple.

“A o batla metsi?” she asked, pointing to the jug of water.

“Ee, mma,” he said, but he didn’t reach for it, as though they’d stripped him of volition. She drove north until she spotted a small turnoff. “Please,” she said, reaching for the water and handing it to him.

He uncapped the jug and poured water from above so his lips never touched the mouth of the container. He drank deeply, with his eyes closed. He looked shattered, the bones of his face skeletal. She handed him half a cheese sandwich and took the other half. The cheese had melted in the heat and lay limply inside the bread. He took the sandwich carefully, ate a bite slowly and ate the rest quickly.

“White Dog is dead, yes?” he said, his words barely audible.

“No, she’s alive. She waited for you. Also, Moses and Lulu are with me now.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Your brother and sister. You sent a letter to your mother, do you remember?”

“They’ve come?”

“Your mother didn’t know you’d been deported. I met them at the train station. They sleep in