Thirty Girls. Susan Minot

Lagira brought Sister Giulia to a hut and sat there on a stool. There was one guard with a gun who kept himself a few feet away from Lagira. This rebel wore a shirt with the sleeves cut off and a gold chain and never looked straight at Lagira, but always faced his direction. He stood behind now. During the walk they had talked about prayer and about God and she learned that Lagira’s God has some things not in common with her God, but Sister Giulia did not point this out. She thought it best to try to continue this strange friendship. Would Sister Giulia join him for tea and biscuits? Captain Lagira wanted to know.

      She would not refuse. A young woman in a wrapped skirt came out from the hut, carrying a small stump for Sister Giulia to sit on. It was possible this was one of his wives, though he did not greet her. At the edge of the doorway she saw a hand and half of a face looking out. Tea, he said.

      The woman went back into the hut and after some time returned with a tray and mugs and a box of English biscuits. They drank their tea. Sister Giulia was hungry but she did not eat a biscuit.

      I ask you again, she said. Will you give me my girls. She didn’t phrase it as a question.

      He smiled. Do not worry, I am Mariano Lagira. He put down his mug. Now you go wash. Another girl appeared, this one a little younger, about twenty, with bare feet and small pearl earrings. She silently led Sister Giulia behind the hut to a basin of water and a plastic shower bag hanging from a tree. She must have been another wife. Sister Giulia washed her hands and face. She washed her feet and cleaned the blisters she’d gotten from her wet sneakers.

      She returned to Mariano. This rebel commander was now Mariano to her, as if a friend. He still sat on his stool, holding a stick and scratching in the dirt by his feet. She glanced toward the girls and saw that some of them had moved to a separate place to the side.

      Mariano didn’t look up when he spoke.

      There are one hundred and thirty-nine girls, he said and traced the number in the dirt.

      That many, she thought, saying nothing. More than half the school.

      I give you—he wrote the number by his boot as he said, one oh nine. And I—he scratched another number—keep thirty.

      Sister Giulia looked toward the girls with alarm. There was a large group on the left and a smaller group on the right. While she was washing they had been divided. She knelt down in front of Mariano.

      No, she said. They are my girls. Let them go and keep me instead.

      Only Kony decides these things.

      Then let me speak with Kony.

      No one ever saw Kony. He was hidden over the border in Sudan. Maybe the government troops couldn’t reach him there. Maybe, as some thought, President Museveni did not try so hard to find him. The north was not such a priority for Museveni, and neither was the LRA. There were government troops, yes, but the LRA was not so important.

      Let the girls go and take me to Kony.

      You can ask him, he said and shrugged.

      Did he mean it?

      You can write him a note. Captain Lagira called, and a woman with a white shirt and ragged pink belt was sent to another hut, to return eventually with a pencil and piece of paper. Sister Giulia leaned the paper on her knee and wrote:

      Dear Mr. Kony,

      Please be so kind as to allow Captain Mariano Lagira to release the girls of Aboke.

      Yours in God,

      Sister Giulia de Angelis

      As she wrote each letter she felt her heart sink down. Kony would never see this note.

      You go write the names of the girls there, he said.

      She looked at the smaller group of girls sitting in feathery shadows.

      Please, Mariano, she said softly.

      You do like this or you will have none of the girls, said Captain Mariano Lagira.

      She left the captain and went over to the girls sitting on the hard ground in feathery shadows. She held the pencil and paper limply in her hand. The girls looked at her, each with meaning in her eyes.

      She bent down to speak, Girls, be good … but she couldn’t finish her sentence.

      The girls started to cry. They understood everything. An order was shouted and suddenly some rebels standing nearby were grabbing branches and hitting at the girls. One jumped on the back of Louise. She saw them slap Janet. Then the girls became quiet.

      Sister Giulia didn’t know what to do. Then it seemed as if they were all talking to her at once, in low voices, whispering. No, not all. Some were just looking at her.

      Please, they were saying, Sister. Take me. Jessica said, I have been hurt. Another: My two sisters died in a car accident and my mother is sick. Charlotte said, Sister, I have asthma.

      Sister, I am in my period.

      Sister Giulia looked back at the captain standing with his arms crossed. He was shaking his head. She said she was supposed to write their names but she was unable. Louise, the captain of the football team, took the pencil from her, and the paper, and started to write.

      Akello Esther

      Ochiti Agnes …

      Judith … Helen … Janet, Lily, Jessica, Charlotte … Louise … Jackline …

      Did I mistreat you, Sister?

      No, sir.

      Did I mistreat the girls?

      No, sir.

      So, next time I come to the school, do not run away. The captain laughed. Would the sister like more tea and biscuits? No, thank you. They bade each other goodbye. It was as if they might have been old friends.

      You may go greet them before you leave, Mariano Lagira said.

      Sister Giulia once again went over to the thirty girls, her thirty girls who would not be coming with her. She gave her rosary to Judith and said, Look after them. She handed Jessica her own sweater out of the backpack.

      When we go you must not look at us, she said.

      No, Sister, we won’t.

      Then a terrible thing happened.

      Catherine whispered, Sister. It’s Agnes. She has gone, just over there.

      Sister Giulia saw Agnes standing back with the larger group of girls gathered to leave.

      You must get her, Sister Giulia said. She couldn’t believe she was having to do this. If they see one is missing …

      So Agnes was brought back. She was holding a pair of sneakers. She was told she might be endangering the others.

      Okay, Agnes said. I will not try to run away again.

      Sister Giulia had to make herself turn to leave.

      Helen called after, Sister, you are coming back for us?

      Sister Giulia left with the large group of girls. They walked away into the new freedom of the same low trees and scruffy grasses, which now had a new appearance, and left the thirty others behind. Bosco led the way and Sister Giulia walked in the middle. Some girls walked beside her and held her hand for a while. They bowed their heads when she passed near them. Arriving at a road they turned onto it. The rebels stayed off the roads. It grew dark and they kept walking. They came to a village that was familiar to some of them and stopped at two houses to spend the night. There were more than fifty girls to each house, so many lay outside, sleeping close in one another’s arms. Sister Giulia felt she was awake all night, but then somehow her eyes were opening and it was dawn.

      At 5 a.m. they fetched water and continued footing it home. As the birds started up they saw they were closer to the school and found that word had been sent ahead and in little areas passed people who clapped as they went by. Sister Giulia felt some happiness in the welcome, but inside