While the Sun Is Above Us by Melanie Schnell

Author:Melanie Schnell [Schnell, Melanie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Freehand Books

VII

Sandra

April 28, 2003, El-Muglad, North Sudan

Everything is blowing inside me. I can no longer hear the world clearly; everything is muffled. I am being blown away; heart, vessels, organs are beginning to tear apart.

Why haven’t they come for me? Why is it taking so long? Is it because my ID card expired and my presence here is officially non-existent? Is it that simple — just some red tape? I wonder about Riak. Did they let him go, did he make it back, was he able to tell Jim? Would it be that hard to find me?

I wonder about the old man too, and about you. I pray that you told someone about me when you returned. That you sent someone to come for me.

I hear the barn door slide open. Please, dear God, don’t let it be Kufi-man. I hug my knees, hold my breath as footsteps thud toward my stall. I see those huge eyes, the whites a burnt red against black pupils. He looks at me through the slats, the one-armed servant. What are those eyes saying to me? Does he have food? What can we exchange? How can we help each other? I want to ask him this, but I don’t know the words. He stares, unblinking. But I blink, and a tear falls down my cheek. He takes his eyes away, leaves. The barn door slides open, and closes.

Late last night, Kufi-man came in here. The noise of the heavy latch opening was like thunder rubbing up against my skull. There must have only been a small sliver of moon, for I could barely make out his enormous outline. I heard him kick the pail over with his foot. It clattered sideways, bumped against the floor, hard plastic on dirt. This morning, when the light seeped through, there looked to be bits of dark, splattered blood against the dusty floor. But it was just my own shit. I stood up, stepped in it, smeared it across the dirty wooden boards with the sole of my sandal.

Before, when Kufi-man brought me the pail, he searched my pockets. Did I already tell you that? He took my Ziploc bag; in it were my Swiss army knife, my panadol pills, my malaria pills, and my lip balm. What would I have given to have that bag last night? I could have numbed this hell with drugs, and I swear I would have stabbed Kufi-man through his fat throat with my knife. I would have had to dig in deep, push right to the knife’s hilt, but I could have done it. I would have used all the strength in my body. It’s amazing what you can do when everything is taken away from you, when all you want to do is die.

When Kufi-man entered the stall, Mr. Cobra stayed underneath us in his tunnel, listening. For all his kingly power, perhaps Mr. Cobra is terrified of Kufi-man’s crooked smile, his noisy, smelly bulk.

I know why Kufi-man came in here. But I don’t know what made him decide not to do it.

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