Dave Eggers - What Is The What

Most of the men of Marial Bai were gone. The men who remained were very old or very young. Everyone between fourteen and forty was gone.

We watched two ostriches run after each other, pecking and clawing. Moses threw a rock toward them and they stopped, shifting their attention to us. The ostriches were known to the village and were considered tame, but we had been told that they could kill any boy quickly, could disembowel someone our size in seconds. We ducked behind a half-burned tree, its trunk scorched black.

— Ugly birds, Moses said, and then was reminded of something.-Did you hear Joseph was shot?

I told him that I had heard.

— It went through him here, Moses said, and then, as William K had done, he pushed his finger deep into the hollow of my throat.

Do you want to know when I left that place forever, Michael?

The day was bright, the ceiling of the sky raised high. My father was gone, in Wau for business. This was only one week after we had returned to Marial Bai. Again I was feeding the fire when my mother looked up. She was boiling water and again I had brought kindling. I saw her eyes looking over my shoulder.

Tell me, where is your mother, Michael? Have you ever seen her terrified? No child should see this. It is the end of childhood, when you see your mother's face slacken, her eyes dead. When she is defeated by simply seeing the threat approaching. When she does not believe she can save you.

— Oh my lord, she said. Her shoulders collapsed. She splashed hot water on my hand. I squealed for a moment but then I heard the rumbling.

— What is it? I asked.

— Come! she whispered. Her eyes darted around the compound.-Where are your sisters?

I had not seen what my mother had seen. But there was the sound. A vibration from under our feet. I looked for my sisters, but I knew they were by the river. My brothers were grazing the cattle. Wherever they were, they were either safe from the rumbling or had already been overtaken by it.

— Come! she said again, and pulled me with her. We ran. I held her hand, but I was falling behind. She slowed her running and pulled me up by my arm. She ran, jostling me, finally arranging me over her shoulder. I held my breath and hoped she would stop. It was then, over her shoulder, that I saw what she had seen.

It was like a shadow made by a low cloud. The shadow moved quickly over the land. The rumbling was horses. I saw them now, men on horses, bringing the land into darkness. We slowed and my mother spoke.

— Where are you hiding? she breathed.

— Come to the woods, said a woman's voice. I was placed on the ground.

— Hide in the grass, the woman told us.-From there we can run to Palang.

We crouched in the grass with the woman, ancient and smelling of meat. I realized we were near my aunt's home, on the way to the river. We were well hidden, in the shade and amid a dense thicket. From our hiding place, we watched the storm overtake the town. All was dust. Some horses carried two men. They rode camels, dragged wheeled carts behind them. I heard the crack of gunfire behind us. Horses burst through the grass to the right and left. They were coming from all sides, converging in the center of the town. This is how the murahaleen took a town, Michael. They encircled it and then squeezed all within.

— There were only twenty last time, the woman said. There were easily two hundred, three hundred, or more now.

— This is the end, my mother said.-They mean to kill us all. Achak I am so sorry. But we will not make it through this day.

— No, no, the woman scolded.-They want the cattle. The cattle and the food. Then they're gone. We'll stay here.

At that moment, the shooting began. The guns were like those the government army carried, huge and black. The sky broke open with gunfire. The pop-pop-pop came from every corner of the village.

— Oh lord. Oh lord.

Now the woman was crying.

— Shh! my mother said, grabbing for the woman's hand and finally finding it. Now quieter, she soothed the woman.-Shhhhh.

A horse carrying two men galloped past. The second man was riding backward, his gun aiming left and right.-Allah Akhbar! he roared.

A dozen voices answered him.-Allah Akhbar!

A man lit a torch and tossed it onto the roof of the hospital. Another man, riding on the back of a great black horse, prepared some kind of small round weapon and threw it into the Episcopalian church. An explosion splintered the walls and eliminated the roof.

When I thought to look for her, I saw the horsemen circling Amath's hut. Four horses carrying six men. They guarded the hut from every side and then threw a torch. The roof smoldered first and then blackened. Fire finally overtook it and leapt upwards first, then crept down. Brown smoke billowed. A figure emerged, a young man, his hands surrendering. Guns popped from the perimeter and the man's chest burst red. He fell, and no one else left the hut. The screams began soon after.

— Achak.

My mother was behind me. Her mouth was very close to my ear.

— Achak. Turn to me.

I looked into her eyes. It was so hard, Michael. She had no hope. She believed we would die that day. Her eyes had no light.

— I won't be able to carry you fast enough. Do you understand? I nodded.

— So you'll have to run. Yes? I know you're fast.

I nodded. I believed that we could survive. That I could.

— But if you run with your mother, you'll be seen. Do you agree? Your mother is very tall and the horsemen will see her, yes?

— Yes.

— We're going to run to your aunt's house but I might ask you to run alone, okay? You might be better running alone.

I agreed and we ran from the grass further, toward the river, toward my aunt's compound, far from the town center and far from the cattle camp and anything else the horsemen could want. I ran behind my mother, watching her bare feet slap the ground. I had never seen my mother run this way and I worried. She was a slow runner, and she was too tall when she ran. She would be seen with her yellow dress and her tall slow running and I wanted to hide her quickly.

A burst of hooves and we were met by a single man, gun held high, who looked down at us and held his horse.

— Stand still, Dinka! he barked in Arabic.

My mother stood rigid. I hid behind her legs. The man's gun was still held high, pointing upward. I decided to run if he lowered his gun. The horseman yelled in the direction he had come, pointing to me and my mother. Another horseman galloped toward us, slowing and beginning to dismount. But then something saved us. His foot was entangled, and in his struggle to free it his gun blasted into the front leg of his horse. A howl from the animal as it twisted and pitched forward. The man was thrown over like a doll, still caught in the tangle of reins and the strap of his rifle. The first horseman slid down from his mount to help him and in the moment his back was turned my mother and I were gone.

Soon we reached my aunt Marayin's house. It was quiet. The sounds of the attack were distant, muffled. Marayin was not there.

We ran up the ladder to her grain hut and sat in the kernels, burying each other, pushing the mass onto ourselves, sinking lower. My mother's eyes darted back and forth.-I don't know if this is best for us, Achak.

A scream punched through the silence. It was unmistakably Marayin's.

— Oh lord. Oh lord, my mother whispered.

She buried her head in her hands. Soon she gathered herself.

— Okay. Stay here. I have to see what's happening to her. I won't go far. Okay? If I can't see anything I'll come right back. You stay. Be completely silent, okay? I nodded.

— Will you promise to barely breathe? I nodded, holding my breath already.