‘Go and fetch water,’ Lydia said. ‘Hurry up. It’s getting dark.’
That night Sofia had difficulties falling asleep. She thought of Totio. She thought about the white fabric that she would never be able to get hold of. And about the promise she’d made Maria.
But most of all she thought about the white sheets.
They were often hanging there at dawn, which meant they had been there all night.
José-Maria had many sheets. He probably wouldn’t notice if one of them went missing. José-Maria surely didn’t keep count of his sheets. He had so much else to think about.
Sofia opened her eyes in the darkness.
What was she thinking of ?
Stealing a sheet? Was she going to make a dress out of stolen cloth?
Did she want Maria to wear clothes that a thief had taken?
She huddled up in the darkness. Her thoughts frightened her.
I can’t steal one of José-Maria’s sheets, she thought.
There had to be another way.
But Sofia didn’t find any other way. And in the mornings, when she and Maria walked out to the fields, she could see the white sheets waving in the light morning breeze outside José-Maria’s house.
There was yet another cycle of the moon. When it was full again, Sofia knew she couldn’t wait any longer. One night, when everyone was asleep, she carefully got up, pushed aside the straw mat that hung in front of the doorway and slipped into the darkness. She held her breath and listened. Everything was quiet. Somewhere a rat rustled. A child moaned in its sleep inside a hut.
Then her fear came crawling.
What would happen if somebody saw her?
I’ll go back to bed, she thought. I can’t do it. Even if I just borrow the sheet, it will still be José-Maria’s, even when it’s a dress for Maria.
At the same time, she knew her promise to Maria was more important. She ran through the darkness, past the dark huts, past the still-smouldering coals of many fires.
The sheets were hanging there. They were like white, restless spirits in the moonlight. She stood still and listened.
I don’t dare, she thought. I don’t dare.
Then she crept swiftly across to the clothesline, plucked off a sheet, pulled two others together so there wouldn’t be a gap, and ran away.
Suddenly it felt as if every person in the village was awake. She imagined they were watching through cracks in the hut walls. They could see her – Sofia, Lydia’s daughter, Maria’s sister – the thief who had stolen one of José-Maria’s sheets.
She didn’t stop running until she was back at the hut. She had to bend over to get her breath back.
There was a hole in a tree that grew close to the old brick and iron fireplace. She stuffed the sheet into the hole and covered it up with soil.
Then she carefully drew aside the straw mat and went back to bed.
‘What are you doing?’ Maria suddenly said.
Sofia thought her heart would stop. Had Maria been awake the whole time she’d been away?
‘I just had to go to the toilet,’ she said.
But Maria was already asleep.
Sofia lay awake until dawn. Several times she was on the verge of running with the sheet to hang it back on the line. But when dawn came and Lydia left the hut, the sheet was still in the tree. She waited until Lydia had gone, then hurried outside before Maria woke, and wrapped the sheet around her body under the capulana she usually wore.
A few weeks later they had school holidays. José-Maria hadn’t complained that he was missing any sheets. Sofia was always frightened when she met him. She had a guilty conscience and was sorry she’d stolen it.
It will always be his sheet, she said to herself. Even when Maria is wearing it as a dress.
When she went to Totio with the sheet she was afraid he might ask where she’d got hold of it. But he said nothing, just looked at it and nodded.
‘I don’t have any thread,’ Sofia said.
‘I’ll give you some,’ said Totio. ‘After all, the fabric was the main thing.’
That week, with Totio’s help, Sofia sewed a dress for Maria. She was never allowed to treadle the machine, but Totio said she would certainly learn how.
‘I’ve spoken to Xio,’ said Totio, and nodding towards the sewing machine. ‘He believes you and he will become friends one day.’
‘So the sewing machine is a he?’ Sofia asked.
‘I think so,’ Totio answered with surprise. It seemed he had never thought of the sewing machine as a she.
‘At least, he’s never protested against his name,’ he said. ‘And Xio is no name for a woman.’
When Maria wanted to know what Sofia was doing in the afternoons, Sofia just said it was a secret.
‘It’s something for you,’ she said. ‘Don’t ask any more.’
The dress was ready. It was beautiful. Sofia could hardly wait for Maria to wear it.
But there was a problem. How was she going to explain where she got it? How was she going to make Lydia believe she was telling the truth?
As she stood there with the dress in her hand, she thought she had better ask for Totio’s help.
‘Mama Lydia might ask where I got the fabric,’ she said. ‘I found a banknote on the ground. Instead of giving it to her, I bought the fabric. She might be angry with me.’
Totio laughed. It saddened her to know how easy it was to lie.
‘I can say you got it from me,’ he said. ‘Don’t worry about it.’
That evening, Sofia gave Maria the dress. She didn’t want Lydia to see it. Not until Maria had put it on. She gave it to Maria on the little hill down by the river.
Maria couldn’t believe her eyes. It fitted perfectly. Sofia had used her own measurements and then just made it slightly bigger.
‘I made it myself,’ Sofa said. ‘That was the secret. And I got the fabric from an old man who had a sewing machine. His name is Totio. Do you remember the Indian who sat under the tree and sewed on a machine? Totio has one exactly like that.’
Sofia saw how happy Maria was. Maria wanted to run home straight away to show it to Lydia.
‘Wait until tomorrow,’ Sofia said. ‘It’s Sunday. It’ll be a surprise for her too.’
Lydia was just as surprised as Maria. To Sofia’s relief, she believed the explanation. The following day, she went over to Totio and thanked him for showing Sofia how to sew.
Sofia dreaded her return. But Lydia just smiled.
‘Totio said you were clever,’ she said.
‘I’d very much like to learn to sew,’ said Sofia.
Sofia thought less and less often about the fact that the dress was actually José-Maria’s sheet. Maria wanted to wear the dress all the time, even when she was out in the fields. She would just hitch it up and wrap her capulana over it.
A few more full moons came and went.
Every morning, Sofia and Maria ran out to the women in the fields. It would soon be harvest time. The plants were already tall.
They played as they ran. They leapt in unison, or tried to avoid touching the stones that stuck out of the ground. They always made a game of it.
One morning, when it had been raining overnight and the red dirt on the path was still wet, Sofia had the idea that they should take turns closing their eyes while they ran. She gave it a try to see if it worked, and ran a couple of metres with her eyes shut. Maria was just behind her.
It wasn’t hard. She tried again. One last time. Then she would let Maria play the game as well.
It may have been because the ground was wet. But she stumbled and took a couple of strides off the path. Maria was alongside her. Sofia opened her eyes and saw she was off the path. The game was probably more difficult than she’d imagined.
‘What are you doing?’ said Maria, who was still standing on the path.
‘Nothing,’ said Sofia. ‘I’m playing.’
She hopped on her left foot.
Then she put her right foot down to
take a step back onto the path.
And then the ground exploded.
CHAPTER FIVE
AFTERWARDS, everything was silent.
Sofia thought she was lying in an ants’ nest, with thousands of angry ants biting and tearing at her body. It was as if she had ants inside her stomach, in her head and in her legs as well. She was lying on her side. She had difficulty seeing clearly and the pain was so bad that she couldn’t even cry. Maria was a few metres away, face down, halfway into a bush. Sofia noticed that her white dress was gone, the one she’d been so fond of. Now there were just a few rags hanging around her waist. And they were no longer white, either. They were red. Sofia realised it was blood.
She tried to scream again, to call out to Maria, to Mama Lydia. She felt as though she were falling: the ants bit and tore at her body and then she sank into a bottomless darkness.
José-Maria was standing with a cup of coffee in his hand and was about to lift it to his lips when he heard the explosion. He knew at once what had happened. Someone had stepped on a landmine. His face twisted with fear. He didn’t even give himself time to put the cup on a table, but threw it aside. Then he flung open the door and ran in the direction of the blast: somewhere down by the river, by the outer fields. As he ran he shouted at people to fetch the nun called Rut, who was a nurse. He ran as fast as he could. It was already hot, although it wasn’t more than six o’clock in the morning. His heart pumped wildly in his chest, and he dreaded what he might see.
He wasn’t the first to arrive. Women had come running from the fields and he could hear them screaming.
It’s one of them, he thought. But why did she leave the path? They know there are landmines.
He noticed he was almost angry.
When he arrived, several of the women grabbed him and tried to explain what had happened but he couldn’t understand what they were saying. He forced his way through and stopped short.
What he saw made him weep. It was the two little girls who looked so alike, Sofia and Maria. He bent over the one who lay in the middle of the path. He thought it was Sofia but wasn’t sure. He dropped to his knees and flung his arms out.
It was a bloody lump that lay in front of him. It barely resembled a child any longer – it was just blood, shattered limbs and ragged clothes.
But she was still breathing. He yelled at the women to be quiet and told them to find the girls’ mother. By now some men had arrived as well.
‘Where’s Sister Rut?’ he shouted. ‘Take off your shirts, find some branches, sling the shirts in between so we can use them as stretchers.’
Then he crawled on his knees across to the other girl who was lying face down. He tried to feel her pulse.
‘She’s dead,’ he thought. ‘Oh my God, I can’t bear this.’
Then he felt her pulse. It was very weak.
He heard Sister Rut’s voice as she came running.
‘They’re alive!’ José-Maria shouted.
He stood up on shaking legs while Rut, in turn, bent over the two girls. She’d brought a bag with her, and quickly started bandaging on Sofia, and then Maria. One of the women helped her.
A man touched José-Maria’s shoulder and pointed.
The girls’ mother was running towards them. She hadn’t seen anything, but she was screaming – screaming so loudly that it cut through him.
‘What’s her name?’ he asked. ‘Has she got a husband?’
‘Lydia,’ replied one of the men. ‘Her husband was killed by the bandits.’
‘She shouldn’t see this,’ José-Maria said.
He tried to intercept Lydia as she ran closer, but she fought herself free. It was only when the other men grabbed her as well that she could be held back.
But by then it was too late.
She had already seen her daughters lying on the path.
She stopped screaming.
Then an unearthly howl burst from her.
José-Maria would never forget it.
Her howl would haunt him for the rest of his life.
The stretchers were ready and Rut had done all she could. Carefully they started to shift Maria. All they could hear was a weak moan. Someone carefully laid a capulana over her and they carried her up towards the road where a truck stood waiting.
Then they lifted Sofia onto the other stretcher.
As they lifted her up, her left foot came loose and remained lying on the path. Rut picked it up carefully and placed it on the stretcher. José-Maria turned away and vomited.
When they arrived at the hospital in the city, José-Maria thought it was already too late.
‘They’re dead,’ he said.
Sister Rut shook her head.
‘They’re alive. They’re still breathing.’
‘Are they going to be all right?’ José-Maria asked.
‘We’ll have to have faith that they will,’ Rut replied.
José-Maria nodded. He thought about the girls’ mother, Lydia, who had been left behind with the other women.
He felt a mixture of despair and rage such as he’d never felt before.
He thought about the fact that he was a priest. He believed in God. He believed in a God who had created the world and the animals and the humans, the ocean and the sun, the moon and the stars. A God who was good.
How, then, could this be possible? Two poverty-stricken children, torn to pieces, lying on a path one early morning.
Rut seemed to read his mind. She took his hand and shook her head.
Sofia and Maria were transferred to two other stretchers. The hospital was poor, José-Maria knew that. It lacked almost everything. On many of the hospital beds there weren’t even sheets. But the nurses and doctors were capable.
One of the nurses was called Celeste, another one Marta. They’d seen plenty of landmine victims.
But now they looked at Sofia and Maria.
‘I know you shouldn’t think like this,’ Marta said, ‘but wouldn’t it have been better if these children had died?’
‘They no doubt will,’ Celeste replied. ‘They’ll never survive these injuries.’
At that moment a doctor walked in. His name was Raul. He hadn’t heard what the two nurses had been saying. He was young, and felt the same helpless rage as José-Maria when he saw what landmines did to people.
He examined Sofia and then Maria.
Although Maria had fewer wounds, he realised at once that her injuries were worse. The blast from the explosion had damaged her internally. She was bleeding from inside, unlike the other girl, who had lost her foot and had her legs and her belly torn apart.
The girls were wheeled away so he could begin operating. He turned to José-Maria, who was still there. Rut had already gone back to take care of the girls’ mother.
‘What happened?’ Doctor Raul asked.
José-Maria flung his arms out.
‘They knew they weren’t supposed to leave the path,’ he said. ‘Yet it happens, all the same.’
‘It will happen as long as there are landmines,’ Doctor Raul answered. He made no attempt to hide his anger.
‘Are they going to survive?’ José-Maria asked.
Doctor Raul had to think before he replied.
‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘Most likely not.’
‘Neither of them?’
‘Maybe the one that lost her foot. The other girl has severe internal injuries.’
Doctor Raul operated for several hours, along with several other doctors.
In the end, tired and sweaty, they knew there was only one thing they could do.
Wait.
Maria and Sofia lay in two beds set close to each other. There was complete silence in the room. A nurse sat on a chair by the window. It was dawn again: the sun was rising above the horizon and the roofs of the city.
Two doctors came into the room.
Sofia was asleep. But she was aware of what was happening around her. She heard two men talking. Had her daddy come? No, he was dead. It had to
be someone else. Or perhaps she had dreamt it all? There had never been any monsters that night.
She didn’t know. In her sleep she could hear the two men talking to each other. They spoke with low voices.
‘Maria is probably not going to make it,’ said one of the voices. ‘The injuries are too severe. We can’t stop the infections.’
‘She’s strong,’ said the other voice. ‘They’re both strong.’
‘We’ll have to wait. That’s all we can do.’
The voices stopped and the footsteps moved away. Deep in the darkness, Sofia tried to comprehend what she’d heard. But then surging pains made her drift away on a dark, underground ocean.
It felt as though fires were burning inside her. Why was she in so much pain? The last thing she remembered was that she and Maria had been on their way out to the fields to work. Maria had been wearing her white dress. Sofia had been angry with her because she would get it dirty out there in the fields. They’d been running and pushing each other, she remembered. Pushing each other and laughing and running.
Then everything was gone.
She was drifting on the dark ocean and the fires kept burning inside her.
Suddenly she thought she heard Maria calling. But she couldn’t see her. She listened while she drifted. Now she could hear it clearly. Maria was calling her.
She came to the surface with a jerk. The fires kept burning. It was agonising. But she opened her eyes. She didn’t know where she was. The room was strange to her. It wasn’t their hut. Cold, tall, white walls. From a doorway, a dim light shone into the room. When she turned her head – carefully, since every one of her movements hurt – she could see a woman dressed in white sitting on a chair by the window with her chin on her chest. It was a nurse; Sofia could tell, because she had a white hat on her head. She was sleeping. Sofia turned her head again. Next to her bed there was another bed and Maria was lying in it. The light from the door shone on her pale face.
Suddenly Maria opened her eyes and looked at Sofia.
‘I want to go home, Sofia,’ she said. ‘I’m in so much pain.’
Sofia reached out, although the pain shot straight through her. But she had to do it. If she didn’t, Maria would get out of the bed and leave. She would be left on her own. Apart from the sleeping woman by the window, she would be the only person left on Earth.