A child began crying somewhere outside the restaurant, a high-pitched scream that wound down to a long, pleading cry. The nun took a spoon from the saucer of her drink and began tapping the table, slowly but steadily. The man facing her turned to look out the storefront windows of his business to see the child. He turned back to the nun. “I have spoken to my contact in Wad Madani. He assures me all will be ready and he will meet you at the airstrip at dawn. The process will be more elaborate, more complicated than first thought. He believes the children can be acquired and moved safely as planned. One child is now sick and may be left behind. Unfortunate, but necessary. Too much is at stake. My niece will be of much help in this process. She is good with children, can comfort them. Her value in this matter will be obvious. I pray this will work.”
Chairs scraping the floor interrupted the conversation. The two old men were leaving, making a loud production to signal their departure. One tossed a small coin to the tabletop while struggling to get into his jacket. The other watched and then, with a new grunt showing his exasperation, grabbed the elusive sleeve of the coat to assist. For another thirty seconds, they wrestled against each other and the sleeve of the jacket until both stopped. They left the restaurant with the arm of the man pinned to his side by the twisted coat. Once outside, they began again, both turning in a tight circle, pulling on the fabric, finally getting the arm through and the jacket on straight. Leaning against a light pole, they rested before ambling down the street, cursing each other and the coat.
Normally, the nun would have found the scene amusing, but this afternoon, it only irritated her. She was not amused by men anymore, at least not now, not while she planned to save some children from enslavement by other men. These thoughts pained her. No matter how careful she was not to label all men as bad, she struggled with the urge. Too much misery came at the hands of men. She must be careful. Other men were helping her save these children.
“It will work. Tell your friend the plane will stop at the end of the landing strip, turn and stop again. Have the children nearby and ready to board when the door opens. We want to have the children on the plane and take off in five minutes. The engines will be running and so there will be dust and noise. If the children know this ahead of time, they may not be as frightened and the loading will go smoothly. Do you understand? As I have said, I want Jumma to remain in the plane. I will be the one outside helping board the children. Your niece and the others must help with the loading. With only twelve children, we can load them quickly, don’t you think?” The man nodded. Paul Abimaje said, “I have told the man not to have any of the children wrapped in blankets so that they can walk if needed. The morning will be cold this time of year. Perhaps you can have blankets on the plane for the children.”
“We will try,” the nun said.
Pulling on his earlobe, the man said, “We risk much to do this. I am doing it for my brother and his wife, as they cannot. I understand why you do this; you are an instrument of God. It is your duty. But the American, I don’t understand. Why would he do this? I don’t trust him. I think he might change his mind and fly off with you and the boy and leave my niece and the others there. If they are caught, things will be worse for them than they are now. It is a risk, don’t you agree?”
“No, I don’t agree. He will not change his mind. We will be there, this I know. We will be there, I promise.”
27
The small boy was shaken awake by a large rough hand that smelled of cigarettes and apples. The hand shook him by the shoulder and a man’s voice told him to wake up and stay quiet. The child had been dreaming of his mother as he always did. He ached for her. By now, he could not remember her face, exactly. He started to cry, but the man hushed him and he stopped. He often cried when he was first put to work in the shop where he pushed the cart with the linens on top and the broken wheel on the bottom. He learned to stop after the owner beat him when he cried. Now he could stop whenever he was told.
It was still dark and the room where he woke was full of movement. In the darkness, he could just see other children sitting up on the hard floor, wide-eyed and shaky as he was. He had fallen asleep in the back room of the house with the girl. A man and woman he did not know, the same man and woman who took them from the shop, whispered to the others. He was hungry, but then he was always hungry. A scrape on his knee seeped a smelly liquid and hurt.
The man returned, knelt beside him and whispered in his ear. “Stand up, child, and be silent. We are leaving. Make no noise whatsoever and you will be safe. If you speak or make a noise, everyone will suffer. Do you understand? Good.”
All the children were now standing, the adults forming them into a line before the door. Scared, he still hoped his parents would come for him as he closed his eyes and waited to be told what to do. The door opened, the woman said, “Follow us,” and led them
