But perhaps sooner than that, Tamuka could ask to go to school without Mr Goop.
Trees of Bone
Daliso Chaponda
1
The sound of his bedroom door being opened woke Katulo. “What is it?”
“It’s Chama, he’s dying.” Eyo’s voice was an agitated whisper.
“Get the clinic ready.”
Eyo hurried off and Katulo dressed. He snatched his walking stick and stepped into the humid night. This had been the hottest summer Burundi had seen since 2072. In the last two weeks, Katulo had treated a record number of patients for dehydration and angazi fever. As he walked, he tried to call up a mental image of Chama. He could vaguely recall a loud boy with mud-brown skin who had been terrified of syringes. Chama’s father was the chief of village police.
When Katulo neared the clinic, he heard shouting: “We can’t wait for that stupid old man.” He recognised the voice.
“Just wait. He’s coming,” Eyo replied firmly.
It made him proud that his apprentice was standing up to someone twice his size— especially a person as intimidating as Osati. Osati’s nickname since his teens had been “the leopard”. It suited him. He was tightly muscled, and his motions gave the impression he might lash out at any moment. Eyo, on the other hand, had a body that looked like a collection of twigs.
Osati swallowed his response when he saw Katulo enter.
The clinic was a circular hovel with little space. In the daytime, patients were received in the yard outside. Eyo and Osati stood between two unpolished wood cabinets and the sleeping cot. Lying on it, Chama’s body looked like slaughtered game.
“Fill a basin with water,” Katulo ordered. Eyo scrambled to do as he had been instructed. Katulo turned to Osati. “Bring me bandages and my operating kit. You remember the layout of the clinic?”
Osati nodded. He had been an apprentice five years earlier but had left prematurely. Katulo still felt anger at his decision. He had shown so much potential. His memory had been impeccable, and he had been able to make terrified patients relax with only a few words. He would have been a gifted healer.
Katulo worked intently for the next twenty minutes. He cleaned and sterilised the wound in Chama’s side before stitching it closed. The boy’s breathing went from shallow sporadic bursts to a smoother, though still uncertain, rhythm.
“Will he live?” Osati asked.
“Maybe, I have done all I can. How did this happen? This wound was not caused by an animal.” It was a single, deep, horizontal slash. A machete?
“It was those Hutu bastards,” Osati spat. “I swear by my ancestors they will pay for this.”
The oath made Katulo flinch. “What happened?”
“They attacked us for no reason. We were at a rally in Bujumbura.” It was because his passion lay in politics that Osati had left Katulo’s tutelage. “Some Hutus were watching us and laughing. We ignored them. After the rally Chama, Dengo and I were walking back here alone and they attacked us.”
“Where is Dengo?”
“He is coming. I ran here carrying Chama. ”
“You ran here all the way from Bujumbura?”
“We were about half way.”
Still, that was a two-hour walk without carrying a wounded man in your arms. Katulo now noticed that Osati was covered in sweat and blood. His lips were parched and his breathing was irregular.
“Sit, I will bring you some mango juice.”
“I have no time. The people of the village must be awoken.”
“Why?”
“They nearly killed him. You said he may die.”
“And rousing the village will do what? Impress the ancestors so much they will help Chama?”
“You joke about this?” Osati’s disgust was unconcealed.
“If your friend lives it will be because of me. Do me a favour in return. Let your anger cool. There is nothing you can say tonight that you can’t say tomorrow. After the wedding…”
“After this, the wedding will be cancelled.”
“Love is a good reason to postpone anger. The opposite is not true.” His words were just aggravating Osati. “Please, hold off. After the wedding I will go to Bujumbura and speak to Minister Kalé. With his help we shall apprehend the ones who attacked you and deal with them. You, Dengo and Chama will all testify.”
“Kalé is one of them; it’s a waste of time.”
“Kalé and I have been friends three times as long as you have been alive. Kalé is wise and his word is respected among the Hutus.”
Osati dipped his head but he was clearly insincere.
Katulo sighed. “I’ll tell you how he’s doing at the wedding.”
Osati left without a word of thanks.
“This is called an anaesthetic,” Katulo said as he put the half-empty bottle back into his operating bag. “It dulls the body’s responses to pain.”
“You want to teach me now?” Eyo was flustered. He was looking out of the window.
“What better time is there to teach?”
Eyo pursed his lips. He shifted uncomfortably. “It…it’s late. I’m tired.”
“What is the truth?”
“I told you…”
“The truth might change my mind.”
“I want to see what Osati does. I think he will wake up some people and they’ll talk about this.”
“I should have known. Learning is more important. Long ago healers used to have to rely on—”
“You can teach me any time.”
As good as he had been at soothing people, Osati was better at working people up into a frenzy. Katulo didn’t want Eyo to be exposed to that. He tried a different approach. “Have you ever seen a Waking?”
The question took Eyo by surprise. “No, of course not. I am not yet sixteen.”
“I will let you go now, no teaching, and if you go straight to bed, then tomorrow, when all the other children are sent away, I will make sure you can stay and watch.”
“Really?” The idea of watching a secret meeting paled in comparison to the chance to see a mystical ceremony.
“Do you promise?”
“I promise.” Eyo’s index finger mapped out a cross shape over his chest.
Katulo knew that Eyo had no idea what the origin of that gesture was. The worship of that tortured white saviour had faded from Burundi. “Good. You may leave.”
Katulo continued cleaning up. He got out an old rag and mopped up the blood. When he was finished, he threw it and Chama’s rent shirt into the dustbin. Finally, he blew out the gas lamp and returned to his house. It took a long time for him to get back to sleep. When he finally managed, he dreamt.
2
As with most young boys, obedience did not come naturally to Katulo. When his father had told him to stay behind with the women and other children, he immediately chose to do the opposite. He was too clever to be fooled by his father’s placatory, “They need you to protect them.” Katulo was fourteen, two years away from his initiation ceremony. He was too old to stay where it was safe. When he asked about the fighting, his father always told him, “You’re too young to understand.” This angered him. He knew this was about those Hutus. Fenke at school was a Hutu. He was stupid and Katulo knew it wasn’t his fault. He couldn’t be blamed for being born that way. The fighting is because the Hutus are stupid. What was so hard to understand about that?