Mark Lee - The Canal House

“Could you decide to stay here?”

“I can’t speak for the others, Mr. McFarland. We must have a conversation.”

The sergeant led his men across the beach to the ruins of the pagoda. They sat on chunks of concrete with their rifles cradled in their arms. Battis passed around his cheroot cigars and everyone had a smoke. The Gurkhas discussed the problem and I felt like I was watching a village meeting in Nepal. Everyone got a chance to talk, even the younger men.

The western horizon was a luminous gold ribboned with red light. Waves came in with a soft hushing sound and the pebbles on the shore tumbled and clicked against each other. I hiked down the beach a few hundred yards and took a silhouette shot of the sunset and the palm trees and the walls of the destroyed restaurant. During the moment that I was taking the photograph, I forgot about the villagers; there was only light and shadow. When I got back to the tennis court, the Gurkhas had made a decision. Rai and Thapa began to open their field rations while Sergeant Gurung approached Julia.

“We will stay here tonight, Dr. Cadell.”

Julia relaxed slightly and she touched Gurung’s arm. “Thank you, Sergeant.”

“Battis and Mainla said that you would stay here without us and it’s our job to protect you. Private Rai said that he isn’t frightened of the militia and we would be cowards to run away. Private Thapa said that if the people at his village were sick he hoped a doctor like you would help them. And I said”—Gurung shifted his rifle around and looked embarrassed—“I said we must do this.”

The sun disappeared behind the hills and a cool breeze came off the ocean as the stars and sliver of new moon appeared in the night sky. Julia had brought along a flashlight and she borrowed another one from the Gurkhas. She and Sister Xavier moved among the refugees, paying special attention to the children. The two light beams came together for a few minutes, then wandered off in different directions.

Daniel finished unloading the supplies, then sat on the tailgate of the church truck. I went over and joined him. “Corporal Mainla said we could eat some of their rations,” I said. “One packet has deviled ham, crackers, and applesauce. The other has processed cheese and canned peaches.”

“Maybe later, Nicky. I’m not that hungry right now.”

I sat down beside him. The steel truck bed was still warm from the sun. “Julia would have stayed here without the soldiers.”

“I think so.”

“And Sister Xavier would have stayed because this is her village. And you would have stayed because of Julia.”

“What about you, Nicky?”

“I would have stayed because I’m a damn fool.”

“You’re a better person than you think you are. For some reason, you keep telling yourself that you’re not good enough.”

“Maybe that’s true.”

“Nobody is good enough, but we can still hope.”

Daniel began to talk about his farm at Bracciano. He wanted to plant some peach trees near the house but La Signora insisted that the trees would die. Did I know anything about peaches? If peaches could grow there, why not apples? I didn’t know anything about gardening, but I began to argue about winter frost.

A Timorese woman began screaming. The two flashlight beams, now weak and yellow, moved toward the sound. “Daniel!” Julia shouted. “Bring the truck down and turn on the headlights! Hurry!”

Daniel drove the truck down onto the beach and aimed the headlights at the villagers. The two beams were so bright and unexpected that the refugees shielded their eyes. Trying not to step on anyone, we walked across the tennis court and found Julia bending over the little girl in the red dress. The child was dead, but her mother refused to accept it.

“Ajudar-me!” the mother shouted. “Por favor, ajudar-me!” But we couldn’t help her. It took almost an hour to get the girl’s body away and cover it with a towel.

Some of the old people began to weaken. Julia hurried to each one, trying to defeat death with a few medical supplies. As we helped her I thought of the sand castles my sister and I used to build on the beach every summer. We’d guard our creations all afternoon from the attacks of other children, but then the tide came in and the relentless waves pushed over our walls, destroyed our towers.

Two more people died. Our flashlights began to weaken. The pickup truck was low on gasoline. Daniel talked Sergeant Gurung into driving the Land Rover down on the beach so that we could use the headlights. “Only for a short time,” he said. “If snipers are around, it’s not safe to shine a light.”

Moths and mosquitoes swarmed around the Land Rover’s headlights, bouncing against the glass. Julia moved into and out of the light as she tried to help an old man who was having trouble breathing.

“Is there enough petrol to drive the truck back to Dili?”

Daniel nodded. “What do you want to do?”

“I’ll stay here with Sister Xavier and the soldiers. I want you and Nicky to put six or seven of these people into the truck and get them to the airport.”

As she led us over to a sick old woman, a rocket-propelled grenade came out of the darkness and hit the Land Rover. All three of us fell to the ground, shielding our heads with our arms. When I glanced up the Land Rover was burning and three of the Gurkhas were lying on the sand. Private Rai was on his knees, his face covered with blood. Gurung was bending over as if someone had punched him in the stomach. He raised his rifle and fired down the beach.

There was a booming sound and a second RPG hit the Land Rover. The vehicle split apart and bright fragments of burning metal went spinning into the night. Gurung was knocked off his feet by the concussion. Gunfire. Bright flashes. And then the militia ran down the beach and came toward us. A man stood over Sergeant Gurung, pressed the muzzle of his rifle against the wounded man’s neck, and fired.

Some of the militiamen went over to the tennis court and shot a refugee woman who tried to get away. People were screaming. I raised my hands to surrender. A boy with braided hair swung his rifle and hit me in the face. I started to go down, but another man grabbed my arm and dragged me toward the burning Land Rover. I could taste blood in my mouth as Julia, Daniel, and Sister Xavier were pushed up beside me. A young man carrying an M16 approached us. He had a scraggly beard and wore a white yachting cap with a plastic brim. The other men were waiting for his orders and I realized he was Cristiano, the militia leader.

Cristiano screamed at us in Tetum. I glanced to my left. Private Rai and Corporal Mainla were lying on the ground. Both of them moved slightly, but the other three Gurkhas were dead.

In the light of the burning Land Rover, I could see Daniel’s face. He watched the militiamen fire a few more bursts at Sergeant Gurung’s body. I knew that he was considering every option, trying to figure out some way to save our lives. Daniel began to say something, but the boy with braided hair punched him in the mouth. Cristiano shouted a command and two men forced Julia to her knees. One of them took a long knife and slid the tip inside her T-shirt, ripping through the cotton fabric. Her shirt fell away, exposing her breasts and stomach.

The militiamen laughed and I realized what was going to happen. I tried to make my brain retreat to a safer place, to be the observer one step back, looking for a photograph. I watched the smoke and flames rising from the Land Rover, the dirty orange light, and the shadows moving across Julia’s bare skin. Her face was rigid and defiant as she willed herself to be brave, but her eyes kept jerking around, showing her fear.

“I must talk to Cristiano,” Daniel said to Sister Xavier. “Translate for me.” He took a step forward. “I have something you want, comandante . I have something.”