Beneath the Lion's Gaze (21 page)

BERHANE WOKE
to find his mother holding him against her chest, rocking.

“Daniel.”

She was far from him even though her heart beat against his ear. He closed his eyes and left his mother alone in her thoughts. He pushed himself deeper into her embrace, drifted back to his bright fields and yellow flowers.

Sofia held her son all night and hummed songs she’d forgotten since marrying Daniel. The sounds flowed like water, simple childhood melodies that calmed her and held back fears. Near her, her eldest son, Robel, turned fitfully, then pulled the thin blanket closer to his chin and continued sleeping. Outside, the long coo of an owl fell against their window.

THERE WAS A NEW
jail rising on the horizon near his home, a slab of concrete and steel carved into the forest where Dawit once played amongst tall trees and thick grass. Constant activity swarmed around the area. Men and women carrying concrete blocks trudged up and down the road, burdened by the added weight of sun and sweat. Dawit stood at
his
gate, on the way to Melaku’s kiosk, and watched the latest procession of tired workers. Their wide-brimmed hats cast shadows on the road.

There was a long line at the kiosk when Dawit got there.

“Dawit! Good morning, what do you want?” Melaku’s wide smile revealed the empty spaces in his mouth.

Melaku’s small shop had become an alternative means for people to buy what ration cards wouldn’t allow. Shiferaw’s grumbling did nothing to deter the old man, who chose to irk the
kebele
officer further by taping Mickey’s notice ordering the kiosk closed onto one wall.

“If the palace couldn’t destroy me, do you think you can?” he quipped to the man with the deformed smile. “And watch your wife around me,” he’d added for extra injury. “Women don’t want a man who smiles in bed.”

The scowl Shiferaw’s mouth couldn’t form was nonetheless evident in his eyes.

“Dawit, tell me what you want, I’ll hold it for you. These people are greedy today!” Melaku said, angling himself to look past the row of customers to the back where Dawit stood, embarrassed.

“Am I invisible?” It was Emama Seble. She threw Dawit an irritated glare.

Dawit offered her a smile. Seeing the black-clad widow still frightened him as much as when he was a boy. He couldn’t understand how Sara managed to be friendly to the sour, frowning woman.

“Seble, shut up,” Melaku said, “or you’ll have to beg Shiferaw for more sugar this week.”

“Melaku,” a man in front of them said, “I need to get home.”

“Which woman are you taking eggs to today? You need a ration card for wives, Taye.” Melaku grinned as he watched the man’s mouth drop open. “Next,” he called out, counting money with vigor and continuing to hurl barbs at customers.

“You have to be careful,” Dawit said to him once he was at the counter. It was just the two of them—and Emama Seble, who’d decided to linger. “One report is all it takes, and they’ll put you in jail.” Dawit felt uncomfortable under the woman’s stare.

“They can go to hell.” Melaku wiped dirt out of his eyes, his long
fingernails
clean and carefully filed. He looked at Emama Seble. “Go home, old woman.”

“I’m walking back with him,” she said, pointing at Dawit.

Melaku turned back to Dawit. “I’m just an old shopkeeper,” he said.

“That doesn’t matter, you know that,” Dawit said.

“When I see the jailer, I’ll ask for his mother.” Melaku ignored Emama Seble’s snort.

Dawit patted the old man’s arm. “One Coca-Cola.” He put coins on the counter.

“None today, I ran out.”

Dawit looked at him, surprised. “It’s only noon.”

Melaku nodded. “A group of soldiers took everything, didn’t even pay for the ones I tried to hide.” He motioned to his shelves. “They bought some of my rations, too, complaining that soldiers weren’t getting any more than the rest of us, it’s all going to the officers. Imagine, just like old times.”

“They’re from the new jail?” Emama Seble asked. Her arm rested between the two men.

Melaku waved her question away, irritated by her presence. Dawit could feel her lean in. There were rumors that Melaku and Emama Seble had once been lovers, and it embarrassed him to stand next to them now and listen to the bickering he suspected covered a history of intimacy.

“They use this road every day,” Dawit said.

“Military jeeps. I saw Mickey in one. They’ve been patrolling this area more,” Melaku said.

Dawit cringed at the mention of Mickey’s name.

They all looked to the road as if expecting a jeep to rumble past them at any moment. There was only a row of women hunched with firewood on their backs and a boy herding his sheep.

“Have you seen your friend lately?” Emama Seble asked.

“No.” Dawit kept his eyes on the road in case her
budah
could detect his resentment.

Melaku put a bottle of Fanta on the counter. “I’ll try to save Cokes.”

Dawit and Emama Seble walked home without speaking. He caught
the
backwards glance she gave the kiosk before getting inside the compound and shutting the gate. He waited until she entered her house, then he stepped outside the gate and scanned the landscape for signs of a military truck or a group of soldiers. There was nothing but the silhouettes of his neighbors pressed against the outline of the jail.

35.

FROM AFAR, THEY
could have been mere sheets of paper, flimsy pages with crudely printed letters. But on these pages were words deemed treasonous and illegal. And there was a box of papers with those words tucked under a heavy blanket in the back of his trunk; anti-government pamphlets that his brother, irresponsible, arrogant Dawit, had left in his car. A thousand ways to go to jail and disappear, bundled under neat cardboard flaps. If I close this trunk and sink back into the darkness of this garage, I can walk away and forget they ever existed.

For a moment, still staring into his open trunk, Yonas didn’t hear the knocks. They came again.

“Yes?” He slowly shut the trunk. “Yes?” He checked his watch, there were still hours until curfew.

The knocks again. One, two, three in rapid succession. Yonas stood for a moment trying to decide what to do, then opened the door and braced himself for a row of military fatigues.

On the ground curled into himself was a man older than he but younger than his father. His mouth was swollen; gashes crisscrossed his shaved scalp. He reached for Yonas with a hand from which one broken finger hung.

“They’re coming,” he said at the same time that Yonas heard a truck screech and felt the shudder of thick military boots stomping towards them. It was when a soldier broke away from the line of others that everything froze.

Then Mickey put his hand out to Yonas. “He’s escaped,” he said. His extended hand dangled in the space between them as he blinked behind thick glasses. “We’re just taking him back. That’s all.” He dropped his hand and looked down at the man. “It’s my job.”

The man tried to raise himself on all fours. “Please,” he said. “Peace.”
Yonas
saw a boot crash into his ribs and heard the crack of a rifle butt connect with skull. The man tried to shield his head with his arms, but the blows came from all directions.

Mickey flinched. “Go back inside,” he said. “Please.”

It was the sharp crease in Mickey’s new uniform that brought Yonas’s memories rushing to him, images of a young Mickey dressed in worn trousers with the same sharp crease, watching Dawit fight another boy for him, begging them to stop punching.

“Leave him alone,” Yonas said. But he spoke too late. They were already dragging the man to the truck. And Yonas would have shouted, would have taken Mickey by the shirt and slammed him against the wall and beat him the way he deserved. For once, he would have relished the giving up and giving in to his blinding rage without guilt. But in his father’s garage, hidden under a heavy blanket, were cartons of pamphlets, and that cut off any other protest from him.

DAWIT WAS SITTING
at the dining room table talking with Tizita and Sara when Yonas walked into the room. He pulled Tizita away from Dawit.

“Go play upstairs,” Yonas told her.

“I was telling Dawit about school,” Tizita said.

“What’s wrong?” Sara asked.

“Are you okay?” Dawit asked.

Yonas’s brown eyes, usually soft with kindness, were stony; his full lips were folded tight against his teeth.

Yonas leaned into Sara’s ear. “Get her out of here.”

Sara stood right away. “Tizzie, help me roast coffee.” She nudged the girl towards the kitchen. “Go.”

Tizita ran into the kitchen.

Yonas moved towards Dawit so quickly that he pushed Sara against the table. Dawit jerked up, remembering boyhood fights with his brother, and shielded his face with one hand and made a fist with the other.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Dawit’s voice cracked. His head was tucked into his chest. One hand now rested on his skull to protect it. “What’s wrong with him?”

Sara had seen Yonas mad. His temper was intense but always brief. This was different. It frightened her. She shouldered herself between them and turned to Dawit.

“Get out of here,” she said.

“What the hell is wrong with him?” Dawit asked again. He was ready now for Yonas’s next move.

Yonas grabbed Dawit’s arm and pulled him close, knocking Sara away. With one sharp swing, he slapped him hard across the face. The force sent Dawit crashing into the china cabinet.

“Stop!” Sara screamed. She covered Dawit’s body with her own.

Yonas looked past her to Dawit, his expression rigid and blank, his mouth curled in distaste. “Do you think I’m a coward?” he said.

Yonas swung again, this time with a knotted fist. It landed squarely on Dawit’s chin and Sara heard the crack of teeth knocked against each other. Yonas reared back, yanked Dawit by the shirt, threw him to the ground, and knelt on his chest. He had a choke hold on Dawit’s collar, jerking him up till they met face-to-face.

“Am I a coward to you?” he hissed. He slammed his forehead into Dawit’s.

“Stop!” Sara tried to pull him away. “You’re hurting him!”

Dawit roused and tried to push. He bucked and kicked, but Yonas deflected each move. Sara finally threw herself on top of Dawit and screamed at the first blow that fell into her back.

“Emaye!” Tizita came running from the kitchen holding a bag of coffee beans. “Don’t hit my mommy! No!” She ran to her mother and clutched her waist, her face buried in Sara’s back.

Yonas recoiled. He looked from his sobbing daughter to his wife, and then to his brother, still on the floor, his forehead bruised, his mouth bloody. “Tizita,” he said. He stood up to hold his daughter.

She inched herself away from him and closer to Sara.

“Move.” Dawit got to his feet, using the table for support.

“No more, please.” Sara wrapped her arms around her daughter and lifted her up.

The two brothers stared at each other in silence, fists curled, until Yonas spoke.

“I warned you,” he said. “Your stupid, childish games.” He sank into a chair and put his head in his hands. His knuckles were cut and swollen. “
Your
stupid, senseless ideas.” He made a noise and then his shoulders shook. Dawit saw him wipe tears away.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” He was afraid to move closer.

Hailu walked in cupping a small brown paper bag. He looked at Dawit’s bleeding mouth and the angry purple welt on his forehead.

“Explain yourself,” Yonas said. He balled Dawit’s hands around a crumpled pamphlet. “Show him.”

Dawit went slack. “I was going to get those out.”

Yonas shoved him.

“This was the last time, anyway!” Dawit shouted.

“It’s too late,” Yonas said. He walked upstairs to his bedroom and slammed the door. The house rattled from the impact.

SARA RUBBED YONAS’S BACK
. His body jerked in spasms so forceful and sharp that a few times he’d almost fallen off their bed. He hadn’t spoken a word. His eyes were fixed on a point beyond anywhere she could see.

“Talk to me.” Sara pressed herself against him. He was cold. “Tell me.” She draped an arm over him and felt his heart beating so hard she grew alarmed. “What happened?”

Yonas began backwards, and told her about his encounter with Mickey.

“His mother said he got another promotion last week. I thought it was just in an office,” Sara said.

“I didn’t do anything,” he said. He sat up. “Nothing. Nothing.”

“What could you do? Nardos’s husband was shot for trying to pull their daughter away from them. Then they took both the children.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him.

Yonas shook his head. “I could have stopped them. I could have made Mickey leave the man alone, but I didn’t.”

She stroked his face. “He would have taken you in, he’s changed.”

Yonas stood. “Next time you drive my car, check inside the trunk. Be careful.”

“Why? What’s there?”

He walked out. “I’m going to pray,” he said.

36.

THE HUMAN HEART
, Hailu knew, can stop for many reasons. It is a fragile, hollow muscle the size of a fist, shaped like a cone, divided into four chambers separated by a wall. Each chamber has a valve, each valve has a set of flaps as delicate and frail as wings. They open and close, open and close, steady and organized, fluttering against currents of blood. The heart is merely a hand that has closed around empty space, contracting and expanding. What keeps a heart going is the constant, unending act of being pushed, and the relentless, anticipated response of pushing back. Pressure is the life force.

Hailu understood that a change in the heart can stall a beat, it can flood arteries with too much blood and violently throw its owner into pain. A sudden jerk can shift and topple one beat onto another. The heart can attack, it can pound relentlessly on the walls of the sternum, swell, and squeeze roughly against lungs until it cripples its owner. He was aware of the power and frailty of this thing he felt thumping now against his chest, loud and fast in his empty living room. A beat, the first push and nudge of pressure in a heart, he knew, was generated by an electrical impulse in a small bundle of cells tucked into one side of the organ. But the pace of the syncopated beats is affected by feeling, and no one, least of all he, could comprehend the sudden, impulsive, lingering control emotions played on the heart. He had once seen a young patient die from what his mother insisted was a crumbling heart that had finally collapsed on itself. A missing beat can fell a man. A healthy heart can be stilled by nearly anything: hope, anguish, fear, love. A woman’s heart is smaller, even more fragile, than a man’s.