The Garden of Burning Sand (28 page)

Zoe pictured Charity speaking the promise to her daughter as she prepared for another night in the embrace of strangers. She saw Kuyeya rehearsing it as she fell asleep in the room she had scored with her fingernails. She imagined Charity’s thoughts as she followed Doris out the door:
Everything I do, I do for you
.

Zoe touched Kuyeya’s face. “Yes, your mommy loves you. She loves you very much.” She looked at Sarge and saw the light of understanding in his eyes.

“Let’s introduce her to Darious,” he said.

“Your Worship,” Sarge began, when everyone had reassembled in the courtroom, “I have only a few more questions for the child. But for
the inquiry to be meaningful, she must be able to see the accused clearly. I ask that you order him to stand before her.”

Benson Luchembe stood so quickly he nearly knocked over his chair. “I object! My client is not a …” He searched for the right word. “…
marionette
. And this trial is not cheap theater.”

“I don’t like it,” Mubita snapped at Sarge. “I indulged Ms. Fleming’s unprecedented motion, and now you ask me to modify the dimensions of this chamber.” He scribbled a few notes on his pad. “However, if the child can’t see …” He waved toward the courtroom deputy and barked, “Escort the accused to a spot beside counsel table.”

Zoe held her breath as Darious walked across the floor and stood before the witness stand. Sarge slid Kuyeya’s glasses into place and stepped aside. The girl blinked once, then twice, startled by a world suddenly in focus.
What if she doesn’t react at all?
Zoe thought.
What if she doesn’t remember his face?

“Kuyeya,” Sarge said softly, “your mommy’s ring is pretty, isn’t it?”

The girl nodded.

“Remember what Mommy said?” he went on. “Men are not supposed to touch.” He gestured at Darious. “Did this man touch you where only Mommy was supposed to touch?”

Kuyeya cast a glance at Darious and looked away. For excruciating seconds nothing happened. No one in the courtroom moved. No one dared to speak. The silence was complete.

Then Kuyeya looked at Darious a second time. Slowly, she started to rock. Then she began to groan. Finally, the dam broke and words poured out of her in a torrent.

“Giftie is gone, Auntie is gone,” she said, staring at the floor. “The door is open. The street is noisy. The boy is running. The car is loud. The man has sweets.” The cadence of her rocking increased. “Men not supposed to touch. Not supposed to touch.”

Zoe sat riveted, knowing how close they were to a breakthrough. Yet the last push was also the most delicate. If Sarge missed the mark, even slightly, he could lose her.

“Kuyeya,” Sarge said with consummate gentleness, like he was trying to wake her from sleep, “Did this man touch you? Did he hurt you?”

The girl faced Darious and her groaning ceased. Her mouth moved but no sound came out. Zoe studied her lips and gripped Joseph’s hand.
Come on, Kuyeya, say it! Say the words!

Suddenly, the girl blurted out, “He touched me. He wasn’t supposed to touch. He touched me. He wasn’t supposed to touch.” She repeated the accusation a third time, as if to seal the truth of her words.

Her testimony transformed the courtroom. Instantly, Darious lost his smugness; Benson Luchembe slumped in his seat; his team sat motionless; Sarge beamed; Niza’s eyes shimmered with tears—something Zoe had never seen before; Sister Irina looked astonished; Timothy, the law clerk, stopped his scribbling. Zoe caught the harsh light in Frederick’s eyes, the absolute determination. She faced the judge and her joy turned sour. He sat on the bench like a potted plant, looking unimpressed.
Don’t you dare take this away from her
, she thought, struggling to contain her indignation.

At once Mubita waved toward Darious. “I’ve heard enough. Get back in the dock. Sarge, I assume you have no further questions.”

“I’m finished, Your Worship,” Sarge said.

The judge looked at Luchembe. “Do you wish to cross-examine?”

The defense attorney shook his head.

Mubita sat back in his chair. “By my count the next witness is your last.”

“That’s correct,” Sarge replied.

“Get to it then.”

Sarge pushed Kuyeya to the bar and Zoe took over from there, wheeling her out of the courtroom. The girl’s hands were folded tightly in her lap, and she was whispering something about her mother. When they reached the arcade, Zoe prised the ring from the girl’s grasp and slipped it on her middle finger—the only finger large enough to fit it.

“You did so well,” she said, kissing Kuyeya’s head. “I’m very proud of you.” She looked at Sister Irina. “Take her home. The music and the garden will soothe her.”

“I hope so,” Sister Irina replied quietly.

Zoe saw Jan Kruger watching her from a bench nearby. Her first thought was unkind:
You kept your distance
. Her second was more charitable:
At least you’re here
.

“Dr. Kruger,” she said, walking toward him.

He stood up. “Call me Jan. The formalities seem a touch out of place.”

“Do you have the paperwork?”

“It’s all here.” He held up a leather satchel.

They entered the courtroom together, and Zoe escorted him to the bar. Then she turned around and stared at Frederick. The elder Nyambo looked stunned.

“Your Worship,” Sarge said, “Dr. Jan Kruger is my final witness.”

After the judge swore him in, Sarge ran through the doctor’s credentials. Jan answered confidently, yet cautiously, his diction exacting.

“You are a university professor and a medical doctor?”

“I teach epidemiology, yes. And I do clinical work in the townships.”

“I’d like to focus on your activities in 1996. What were you doing in March and April of that year?”

“I was wrapping up a study at the Livingstone General Hospital. We were seeking to identify discernible links between HIV infection and the incidence of common childhood illnesses—pneumonia, malaria, TB, and diarrhea.”

“Did you do any teaching alongside the research?”

Jan nodded. “I taught a practicum course at the nursing school.”

“Was there a nursing student with whom you worked closely during that period?”

“There was. Her name was Charity Mizinga.”

Sarge glanced at the judge to make sure he was paying attention. “How close were the two of you?” he asked.

Jan took a moment to answer. “We were intimate.”

Whispers broke out in the gallery and the judge’s temper flared. “Quiet in the courtroom!” He turned his frown toward Jan Kruger. “Go on.”

“When you say intimate,” Sarge continued, “what do you mean?”

With the precision of a clinician, Jan summarized his affair with Charity—their rapport as doctor and nurse, their brief romance, and the way he broke her heart.

“When did you last see her?” Sarge asked.

“In April of 1996. Before she moved to Lusaka.”

“At that time, did she have a child?”

Jan shook his head. “She did not.”

“You say she moved to Lusaka. Do you know why she did that?”

“I’m afraid I suggested it.”

Zoe glanced at Darious and saw his confusion.
This is part of the story you’ve never heard before
.

“Why did you suggest it?” Sarge inquired.

“Because Frederick Nyambo had offered her a job and promised to take care of her.”

Shock registered on the judge’s face. “Explain yourself,” he demanded, ignoring Sarge who was on the verge of asking another question.

Jan faced Mubita, a look of resignation in his eyes. “Frederick was a patient of mine,” he said, and then proceeded to tell the judge the rest of the story.

When he finished speaking, Sarge asked, “Do you know what happened to Charity after she left Livingstone?”

“I do. Frederick hired her as his personal assistant and had an affair with her.”

“Your Worship!” Luchembe objected loudly. “Frederick Nyambo is not on trial here!”

“That’s quite right,” Mubita agreed. “I may not admit any of this testimony. But Dr. Kruger has come all the way from South Africa. I want to hear what he has to say.”

“Have you seen this before?” Sarge went on, holding up a spiral-bound notebook.

The first volume of the journal
, Zoe thought.
The courtroom is about to explode
.

“I have,” said Jan. “I’ve read every word of it.”

Sarge handed him the journal. “What is it?”

“It’s Charity’s diary from her first year in Lusaka.”

Zoe heard footsteps in the aisle. She turned around and saw Frederick striding toward the bar, his eyes full of loathing. “Your Worship,” he said forcefully, “the document is a forgery. You
must
inquire how the prosecution obtained it.”

Luchembe stood up. “I request a recess to confer with my client.”

Mubita ignored the defense lawyer and focused on Frederick. “Mr.
Nyambo,” he said in an even tone. “I appreciate your concern, but this disruption is inappropriate. Please sit down.”

For a long moment, Frederick locked eyes with the judge. Then he nodded and returned to his seat. Zoe’s heart began to race.
Did they just communicate something?
She turned around and stared at Frederick. He met her eyes, his face a mask.

“Please proceed,” said the judge.

Sarge directed Jan’s attention to the notebook in his hands. “I’ve marked a passage in the diary. Would you read it out loud?”

Zoe watched as Jan found the prescribed page. His fingers shook as he opened the volume. She closed her eyes and listened to him read the letter that explained so much.

Zoe opened her eyes and watched as the revelation settled on Mubita’s shoulders.

“Sarge,” the judge said, “I’d like to ask the doctor a few questions.” He fixed his eyes on Jan. “Who is Field?”

“Charity’s uncle. I believe he had been raping her.”

Mubita shook his head reproachfully. “Do you admit the child is yours?”

Jan shifted in his chair. “I can’t deny it. I’ve seen the proof.”

“You have proof of paternity?” the judge demanded, taken aback.

Jan nodded wearily. “Her DNA is mine.”

At that moment, Sarge stood up, holding a sheaf of papers. “Your Worship, the test was conducted in Johannesburg. I have the report here, together with an affidavit from Officer Kabuta, who transported the blood sample to the lab, and an affidavit from Dr. Chulu certifying the accuracy of the report. The probability that Dr. Kruger is Kuyeya’s father is 99.99 percent.”

“I object!” Luchembe cried, lurching to his feet. “The defense knew nothing of this.”

The judge cleared his throat. “Neither did the Court.” He took the paperwork from Sarge. “Everything appears to be in order. Do you have any further questions for this witness?”

“Two more,” said Sarge. “Dr. Kruger, since Kuyeya is your child, what is her age?”

Jan gave a straightforward answer. “If she was conceived in March or April of 1996, she was born in January or February of 1997. That means she is fifteen years old.”

Sarge nodded, barely suppressing a grin. “Finally, do you know what happened to Charity Mizinga after she wrote the letter you read to the Court?”

Jan looked grave. “I can’t say with certainty. But I know she ended
up on the street, working as a prostitute. She died not long ago. From what I understand, she had AIDS.”

“That’s all I have,” Sarge said, returning to his seat.

Luchembe’s cross-examination was brief and formalistic. He forced Jan to concede that he knew nothing of Kuyeya’s defilement and—again—that he had no idea what happened to Charity after she realized the paternity of her daughter. But the damage had been done. Jan had shored up Amos’s recorded testimony and established Kuyeya’s age beyond doubt.

When Luchembe sat down again, Sarge spoke: “Your Worship, the prosecution rests.”

“In that case,” said the judge, “we will take an early recess for lunch and begin again at half past twelve with the defense witnesses.”

Zoe met Jan at the bar and walked with him to the arcade. He looked spent from the ordeal, but he carried himself with dignity.

“Thank you,” she said, offering him a smile.

He shrugged. “I said what I came to say.”

She watched Frederick Nyambo stroll toward the lobby, talking on his mobile phone. “Are you leaving today?” she asked.

“This afternoon,” he said, looking away.

“Have you thought about her future?”

“Yes,” he replied guardedly. “I don’t see how it makes sense for me to be a part of it.”

Zoe bristled. “You’re her father. How can you say that?”

“Fatherhood requires a relationship. My only connection to her is genetic.” He backtracked, as if realizing how selfish he sounded. “Look, I don’t mean to deny my responsibility. I’d like to help with her care. It’s just that …”

“You don’t want to deal with the messiness of her life,” Zoe said.

He inhaled sharply. “I wouldn’t put it that way.”

“How
would
you put it?”

“Look, I knew Charity fifteen years ago. Kuyeya has never met me before. I’m not what she needs. She needs someone to care for her. To her I’m just a
muzungu
.”