Our Lady of the Nile (22 page)

“Are you really sure? No one followed you there? You didn’t say anything to Modesta? I have doubts about her sometimes: why does she like talking to us Tutsi so much behind her great friend’s back? Because she’s half Tutsi or because she’s spying on us? Why does she complicate her life so much, poor thing?”

“I don’t know. It’s hard to tell. Perhaps she’s guessed something. She often asks me what I’m up to on Sundays, then laughs and makes allusions to that crazy old white guy who loves sketching beautiful Tutsi girls so much.”

“Watch out. Even if her mother’s Tutsi, you know what side she’ll always be on.”

“But, Virginia, if we really have to flee, how will we do it? The lycée is the only thing in Nyaminombe. It’s surrounded on all sides. I bet the mayor, his police officers, and the militants are already watching it closely. And when the day comes, they’ll put up roadblocks on the track. Even if you dress as an old peasant
woman, it won’t be in a Toyota that you’ll leave Nyaminombe. Don’t count on anyone inside the lycée. Mother Superior’s already shut herself away in her office, so she can’t see anything. The Belgian teachers will keep on teaching, unperturbed. Even though the French teachers have some affection for us, seemingly because of our physique, they’ll obey the instructions from their embassy: no interference, no interference! When the killers fall upon us, some will say: it’s always been like that in Africa, savages killing each other for reasons no one understands; and even if some lock themselves in their rooms to cry, their tears won’t save them. But I have one hope, and that’s Fontenaille. You know he sent my portraits off to Europe, I’m known over there. He keeps saying they’re expecting me. He can’t let me be killed right in front of him without doing anything. Come with me. You’re his Queen Candace too. He must save his goddess and his queen.”

“I won’t be going to hide at your white’s place. It’s odd, but I’m not scared, it’s like I’m sure I’ll get out of it, as if someone, something, had promised me.”

“Like who?”

“I don’t know.”

Virginia was counting down the days leading the Tutsi girls toward a destiny she considered inevitable. There was no doubt that the scenario envisaged by Father Herménégilde would play out, step by step. Yet she couldn’t get rid of that certainty deep
down inside her that somehow she’d escape it, and this troubled her. Meanwhile, Gloriosa had deemed herself absolute mistress of the lycée, and her sovereignty extended to the refectory. The table upon the stage, from where Sister Gertrude and the monitors would watch over meals, was empty now. Gloriosa declared she no longer wished to open her mouth in front of the Inyenzi. From now on, they would eat after the real Rwandans. They took great pains to leave them the quota of food that the majority people still conceded to the parasites. All the other tables followed her example. Gloriosa also decreed that no one should speak to the Tutsi-Inyenzi anymore, and that they must be prevented from talking among themselves. The true militants would always keep a watchful eye on them, and inform her of any suspicious word or deed. Virginia noticed, however, that Immaculée always managed to be the last one to get up from the table, discreetly leaving a good share of her portion.

Virginia could no longer sleep, nor did she want to. She listened for the slightest sound, anxiously waiting for the creaking gates, the rumbling engines and screeching tires that would announce the killers’ violent arrival, to be followed by furious shouts, screams of protest, hobnailed boots hammering the stairs, the stampeding panic of flight …

Virginia hoped it would occur at night. She thought this would make it easier for her to shake off her pursuers in the lycée corridors, reach the garden by way of the staircase that led down to the
kitchen, jump the wall, and run and run toward the mountain … But she had no idea what might happen after that. She couldn’t picture it. But whatever the case, it had to be a moonless night.

Her head was filled with endless scenes of her escape, always the same, but one night she couldn’t stay awake and had a dream that reinforced yet further her vague certainty of being spared that she just couldn’t explain. She saw herself wandering the labyrinth of a vast enclosure, the kind they used to build for the kings of old. Beneath the bundles of bamboo that framed the entrance to a courtyard, stood a man, waiting for her; he was young, and very tall, with features that appeared, to her eyes, faultlessly beautiful. “Don’t you recognize me?” he asked. “Even though you came to see me, don’t you recognize Rubanga, the
umwiru
?” He handed her a huge pot of milk: “Go carry this to the Queen, she’s waiting for it, she’s waiting for you.” Virginia continued on her way, between the high intertwined fencing, finally emerging in a vast yard where beautiful young women were dancing to the gentle rhythm of a song that reminded her of one of her mother’s favorite lullabies. The Queen stepped out of the large hut, her face hidden by a veil of pearls. Virginia knelt before her, and offered up the pot of milk. The Queen drank with delightful slowness, then handed the pot to one of her retainers and spoke to Virginia: “You have served me well, Mutamuriza, you are my favorite. Here is your reward.” Virginia saw two shepherds leading a pure white heifer toward her. “She’s yours,” said the Queen, “her name is Gatare, remember, Gatare.”

Virginia was suddenly awakened by the creaking gate. It made her jump. The killers? The ringing of the wake-up bell reassured her. This new day was beginning like all the others. Her head was full of the memory of her dream. She took refuge in it, felt herself wrapped in an invisible protective force. She repeated the name of the cow from her dream like an incantation: “Gatare, Gatare.” She would have liked to remain forever in that dream.

The new statue of Our Lady of the Nile arrived in a tarpaulin-covered van. She was immediately surrounded by a crowd of lycée girls. But they were disappointed. The statue was enclosed in a wooden crate, which the lycée hands heaved onto their shoulders, according to Father Herménégilde’s anxious instructions, and carried into the chapel. The chaplain shut himself in with Gloriosa and forbade entry to anyone. They heard the hammering of the lycée hands as they dismantled the crate. “She’s beautiful,” said Gloriosa as she came out of the chapel, “very beautiful, really black, but no one must see her until the lycée’s fit to welcome her, and Monsignor to bless her.” The girls rushed inside the chapel anyway, but all they saw was a shapeless form in front of the altar, wrapped in a huge Rwandan flag.

Virginia looked for Veronica, but in vain. She wasn’t in class, nor did she appear for refectory. The twelfth graders acted as if they hadn’t noticed their classmate’s disappearance. Only Gloriosa
remarked – loud enough for Virginia to hear: “Don’t worry, Veronica’s not gone far, I know there are some among us who know where she is. I know too, and from a reliable source,” she added, looking at Modesta. As everyone rushed upstairs to the dormitory, Modesta managed to whisper a few words to Virginia: “Whatever you do, don’t go to that old white guy’s place, find another way out, but above all don’t go there.”

All through the night, Virginia wondered how to warn Veronica. Seeing the statue arrive, Veronica must’ve gone to seek refuge at Fontenaille’s, since that was her only plan. But it was no longer a secret at all, everyone knew her hiding place. Virginia squeezed back tears of rage and anguish so no one could say to her in the morning, laughing: “See, despite your pretty name, we’ve succeeded in drawing a few tears from you.”

Despite the growing chaos that had engulfed the lycée, the teachers still held their classes as usual. The timetables, and the teachers’ presence and punctuality, were the only regulations Mother Superior still managed to enforce, as long as she shut her eyes to the repeated absences of some of the pupils. One day in class, Monsieur Legrand asked for a pupil to go get the exercise books he’d collected for marking, and which he’d left in his pigeonhole in the staff room. Immaculée beat everyone else to it. When she returned, she handed out the exercise books. Upon opening hers, Virginia found a small square of paper. She read:
“When the JMR arrive, apparently it’s tomorrow, don’t flee with the others. Try to go up to the dorm, go to my room and wait for me there. Trust me, I’ll explain. Destroy this note, swallow it if you must. Immaculée Mukagatare.”

Virginia read and reread the small piece of paper she held in the palm of her hand. Immaculée’s plan might be ingenious, but should she trust her? Immaculée wasn’t really her friend. Of course she wasn’t part of Gloriosa’s gang. She appeared to laugh at politics, and particularly Gloriosa. All she seemed interested in were her looks. So why take so many risks to save a Tutsi? Hiding in Immaculée’s room meant placing herself entirely in her hands. And what would she do then? But there was Immaculée’s name, her true name, the one her father gave her, Mukagatare. Gatare, was that what her dream meant, Gatare, that which is white, that which is pure? Again, she felt in the grip of some invisible protective force. Yes, she’d follow the plan suggested to her by Immaculée, Mukagatare, what did she have to lose?

When it happened, it was pretty much as Virginia had predicted. Two minibuses sped through the gates and halted right in front of the steps at the main entrance. Young men – extremely young men – got out brandishing huge clubs. Immediately, the Tutsi girls rushed into the corridors in a desperate attempt to flee. The other pupils went in pursuit but were unable to catch them. Virginia spotted an empty classroom. She entered and hid
under the teacher’s desk. The horde of pursuers ran past shouting. When she was sure the corridor was deserted, Virginia couldn’t help looking out of the window onto the yard. She saw Gloriosa giving her instructions to the man who seemed to be the leader of the militants. She had no trouble understanding the plan Gloriosa had hatched: the pupils were to hustle their Tutsi classmates into the garden, where the JMR gang and their clubs lay in wait. Virginia opened the door a crack. There was no one in the corridor. She tiptoed down it. In the empty classrooms, the Belgian teachers sat at their desks, clearly seeking the appropriate demeanor in such a situation. The French teachers huddled together, plunged in deep, animated discussion. As if protected by a halo of tranquility, Virginia went up the stairs to the dorm, without meeting anyone, and reached Immaculée’s room. She made sure that in the event of danger, she could hide under the bed. She waited, attentive to the slightest sound. Shouts and screams came from behind the building, from the garden she thought, shuddering. Soon, she heard steps, and threw herself under the bed.

“Are you there?” asked Immaculée.

“Is that you? Immaculée, what will you do with me?”

“Now’s not the time to explain. Listen to me. There’s a wraparound for you on the bed, put it on. You’re going to hide at Nyamirongi’s, the rainmaker. I’ve arranged everything. I sent Kagabo to ask her. According to Kagabo, the rainmaker accepted without a fuss. Nobody will come looking for you there. I’ll send
Kagabo when there’s a car to take us, I’ll take you in the trunk if I have to. Hurry up. Kagabo’s waiting, you’ve nothing to fear from him, I’ve given him enough money, and anyway, witches don’t like having anything to do with the authorities. I’ll go ahead to warn you of any danger.”

“At the market,” Immaculée had said. “He’s waiting for you at the market.” By that time of the afternoon, the market had long finished. A few scrawny dogs were squabbling with crows and vultures over small piles of refuse. From behind a barricade of old, rusty metal drums, she heard a quiet: “
Yewe
, this way.” She found Kagabo crouching by a bundle of dry wood. He looked her up and down somewhat derisively.

“Your wraparound’s much too new to pass for a poor farmer, give me that.”

He stood up, took the wraparound, roughly scrunched it up, and rubbed it about in the dust, and in the delta of fetid rivulets that streaked the ground.

“All right, that’ll do, take off your shoes and come over here.”

He took Virginia’s face between his hands, reddened with earth, rubbed her cheeks, and gave her a piece of filthy cloth to cover her hair.

“So, now you look like a poor farmer. Take this bundle of sticks, put it on your head, and walk slowly, very slowly, like a real farm woman. There’s nothing to be scared of, everyone’s afraid, they
don’t understand what’s going on, they don’t dare go out, the traders have all closed shop. And remember, I’m here to protect you – it’s not wise to approach a poisoner.”

When Virginia entered the smoky hut, she saw only the shifting play of shadow and light caused by the leaping flames in the hearth. From the dark interior, by the foot of the woven-straw vault that the fire didn’t reach, came a feeble voice:

“You’re here, Mutamuriza, I’ve been waiting for you, come closer.”

Virginia walked toward the back of the hut until she eventually discerned the silhouette of an old woman, wrapped and hooded in a brown blanket, from which emerged a wrinkled, lined face that brought to mind the monkeys who used to plunder her mother’s maize field.

“Come closer, don’t be scared, I knew you’d be coming, don’t think it was Kagabo who told me you were on your way; I knew well before he did, and even before that girl who sent him to ask me to take you in. I know who’s sending you to me, and it’s for Her that I agreed to harbor you.”

“How can I thank you, Nyamirongi? You’ve saved my life and I have nothing to give you in return. I left all I had at the lycée. But no doubt Kagabo gave you what my friend wanted to give you on my behalf.”

“He brought it for me. But I didn’t want it. I’m not doing this for
your friend, so there’s no reason for her to pay me. If I’m harboring the favorite of She who dwells on the side of Shadow, it’s because She will grant me her favors too – that I know.”

“Can you see into my dreams?”

“I saw a white heifer and She who gave it to you, but I didn’t see them in a dream, I saw them when the spirits carried me to the other side of Shadow. You’re the favorite of the Shadows, so be welcome at Nyamirongi’s.”

Virginia settled in with Nyamirongi. Each day she prepared her sorghum gruel. Nyamirongi seemed appreciative. Virginia noted that the granary behind the hut was well stocked. Nyamirongi must have no shortage of “clients.” When night fell, she crouched by the fire, stretched out her right arm, pointed her forefinger with the very long nail to the four compass points, then withdrew it beneath her blanket, and simply nodded, muttering some words that Virginia wasn’t able to grasp. A week passed. Virginia grew increasingly worried. What had happened at the lycée? What had become of Veronica? And all the other girls? Had any of them succeeded in escaping? She forced herself to believe they had. Had Immaculée forgotten about her, had someone informed on her? Hiding behind a rock, Virginia spent her days watching the slope that ran down to the lycée.