White Dog Fell from the Sky - By Eleanor Morse Page 0,65
saw what the chief was getting at and felt himself grow angry. “She is not involved,” he said, the heat rising into his face. “She is not involved at all.”
“Then you are involved,” he said.
“Involved in what?”
“What you were speaking of.”
“No, rra, I too am not involved.”
“How long have you been in Botswana?”
“Eight months.”
“Long enough to get the lay of the land.”
“Excuse me, rra?”
“You were living with ANC people, but conveniently you were not there on the night when you knew there would be a raid by the South African Defense Force. You are a clever man, anyone can see that. You have been playing one side against the other.”
“No, rra, I am only a gardener.”
“You are working with the South African Defense Force, isn’t that it? You are a double agent.”
“No, rra.”
“You are telling me that you are not a double agent?”
“I don’t know what this is, double agent.”
“Then how do you know enough to say you are not when you did not know what it was?”
“I only work for the madam in the Old Village. No one else.”
“Your story is too simple. Where is your passport?”
“I have no passport.”
“How did you get into Botswana?”
“I traveled by car.”
“Why were you not stopped at the border?”
“I was hiding.”
“Where?”
“It’s best if I don’t say, rra.”
“You are protecting someone. Who would that be?”
“I cannot say, rra.” Thinking better of it, he said, “I traveled in a hearse, hidden under the body of a Botswana government official who became late before I left South Africa.”
“You are not a good liar. That is impossible. You were in the casket?”
“No, rra. Please, sir, I only wish to live my life. I am harming no one.” He thought of White Dog waiting for him at the gate. And the cats hungry. “Please let me go now. I am supposed to be looking after the garden and the house in the Old Village. There is no one there to do these things.”
The chief looked at him with his good eye while the glass eye looked at the floor. His cheeks were hanging, as though he had not slept well. Isaac could see he didn’t know what to do with him. “I need to make a phone call,” he said.
He left the room. Perhaps Isaac could have escaped but it seemed that the chief trusted him not to. Besides, where could he have gone? To run was to admit guilt, and he could not fulfill his duties if he was in hiding. His fate was in this chief’s hands. They were small hands, he’d noticed. He was a man who wielded power, but he did not look like a bold man to Isaac. More like someone who tried to stay out of trouble, however he might do that. In this, Isaac saw little hope. In that he had one eye and knew what it was to suffer, he saw a grain of hope.
He was gone a long time. Isaac’s eyes became heavy and his heart fell into despair. He expected he would go to the prison where the old man with the sunken garden had been. Perhaps he would work in the garden and become proficient with plants. He would be an old man when they set him free, his whole life wasted.
The chief returned. He sat down as though he weighed twice as much as a man of his size. He looked at Isaac. “I believe that you are not telling the truth. I believe that you are a double agent. Botswana is a peace-loving country. We cannot harbor people such as yourself. You are a danger to us. I am sending you back across the border.” His good eye twitched once as he said this.
Isaac was stunned, without words for a moment. Then he said, “Please, rra, they will kill me there. Let me stay here. I risked my life to come here.”
The chief was not a man who changed his mind, although Isaac thought he saw a small flicker of misgiving in his face.
As two policemen led him away, Isaac wondered whether there was any point at which he might have saved himself. If Kopano and he had not stood on that train platform. If he had not met Amen on the path. If he had not fallen a little in love with Amen’s wife. If he had eaten and slept the day after the shooting and not become small brained like that bird who fell down the chimney into the jaws of a cat.