Chapter 7
Jean wasn’t sure what the rocks were but they were unlike anything she had ever seen. Was this the merchandise Peter had been talking about? Maybe they were some sort of rough diamonds. Maybe she shouldn’t leave them in the thermos—just in case. She lifted the rocks from the thermos and buried them in the pocket of her shorts with the five francs that Roman had given her.
And not a moment too soon.
With a thunderous crash, the door fell towards her. If Jean had not stepped back, or if she was still sitting on the toilet, she would have been crushed.
“What are you doing in here?” He tugged at her so hard that, for a moment, Jean was afraid that the rocks would fall out of her pocket.
“I—”
He didn’t give her a change to complete her statement. “You’re coming with me. I’ve had enough of this nonsense.” He jerked her arm and grabbed at her, pushing her through the living room.
The last sight Jean had of the house was of Daniel sitting in the corner of the pretty blue room with his hands over his ears and his head bowed.
He knows this is wrong, Jean thought, but he’s powerless. Just like me Jean was thrust outside and, like a disobedient animal, dragged behind Pastor Francis. She couldn’t put any pressure on her foot and, when she yelped in pain, the Pastor told her that it was atonement for her sins.
It was growing dark as Jean tried to navigate through the unevenly paved streets. She passed by a group of women sitting on cardboard boxes as they exchanged money which they took from plastic bags. One of them hissed, “witch child” at her. The statement only made Pastor Francis tug at her harder.
When they finally stopped, Pastor Francis threw her under the same stone structure Jean had seen mere hours ago, when her heart was full of so much hope.
“Over there,” he pointed to the distance.
Jean was confused.
“What are you? Stupid?” he roared. “I said go around the corner.”
Jean held on to the stone wall and taking tiny steps she moved forward. Soon she found herself in a large area lit with overhead street lamps. Three children were sitting on a sand floor. The same young boy, who had smiled at her just a short time ago, now greeted her warmly. As though she could help him. As though she wasn’t in his predicament at all.
Jean sank down in the dirt from exhaustion.
“Are you a witch child too?” the bald headed skinny boy scooted beside her. Something about the little boy reminded Jean of her brother Laurence, but she didn’t want to think about Lawrence right now.
“No,” Jean said quickly. “I’m not. It’s all been some kind of horrid mistake.”
The boy’s eyes darted back and forth, resting on the plump woman whom Jean had not noticed before. The woman was sitting on a straight back chair with a nice soft cushion. Like a sentinel, she kept a close watch on the children. In her hand she was holding a rubber whip.
“She’s Miss Gertrude. She takes care of us.”
Jean didn’t think she looked too nurturing. She was dressed all in black, a black blouse and a long black skirt with black sandals. Her hair was hidden under a black scarf.
She looked like a witch.
“But sometimes she gets mad and hits us,” the boy continued in a rather nonchalant tone, “If we do something wrong. If the devil comes back.”
Jean half listened as the little boy rambled on. All she could think of was how could she get out of there?
Maybe she could pay the woman. She could give her the five francs. Or maybe even one of the rocks which Jean would gladly use to buy her freedom. No, that was rather ridiculous. The woman would keep the francs and who was to say that the rocks were worth anything at all.
“I don’t see so good anymore.”
Jean took another look at the thin boy. Even in the dim light his eyes were cloudy. “What happened?” she asked.
“They said there was a test to see if I was really a witch child. They put hot chili in my eyes. If I was on the side of the devil, I’d go blind. But if Jesus was with me, I’d still be able to see.” The little boy shrugged. “I guess Jesus wasn’t with me because it really hurt. Then they made me eat dirt and I threw up. I’m still not cured.”
Jean lay her head in the mud “Those devils sure are hard to beat.”
“The devils are Miss Gertrude and Pastor Frances.”
The boy’s watery eyes almost popped out of his head. “You can’t talk like that. That’s the devil talking. If they hear you, you’ll get punished. They’ll burn you with a hot iron and boiling oil. Or they won’t feed you or give you water.”
Jean held on to her thermos. There was a bit of muddy water in there. She was surprised that Pastor Francis had let her keep it but then again he had been too intent on bringing her to this pathetic prison to notice what she carried in her arms.
“Okay, it’s time for bed,” Gertrude rose suddenly. She reached in the corner and grabbed a stained plastic sheet. She kicked a small girl in the corner, who stumbled as Gertrude threw down the sheet.
“This is what we sleep on,” the little boy whispered.
“You,” the woman turned her attention to Jean suddenly. “Pastor Francis brought you here?”
Jean nodded.
“I asked you a question. When I ask you a question, you answer me. Yes, Ma’am. No Ma’am. Do you understand?”
Gertrude snapped the rubber whip on the plastic, where it left a tiny hole. An older girl shrank back in fear.
“Yes, Ma’am,” Jean said, “Pastor Francis brought me here.”
“Where are you from?”
“Asmodeus, Ma’am.”
“What did you do?”
Jean hesitated for a moment, since she wasn’t quite sure what she had done.
Gertrude cracked the whip again, missing Jean’s sore foot by mere millimeters.
“I made a lady die,” Jean said.
“Yeah, well, you’re not going to make me die.” Gertrude gave Jean a hard push. Jean fell on the plastic sheets. “Do you know the rules here?”
Jean wasn’t quite sure what she was supposed to say.
Luckily, Gertrude didn’t wait for her to answer. “You don’t speak to me until I speak to you. We will feed you a little each evening and give you a cup of water—” At the mention of the word water, Gertrude grabbed the thermos from Jean, opened it, looked inside, and emptied it out of the ground. The children watched silently as the remaining mud hit the ground with a soft thud. “If we feel that you have taken a turn for the worst, that is to say, if you become sick, or cause trouble, we might have to perform an exorcism. That could mean burning you or having to stick our hands down your throat to grab the devil right out from you. Sometimes we have to beat you. It’s for your own good. Unfortunately, you missed the evening meal.”
Jean didn’t say a word as Gertrude’s dark hard eyes traveled down to Jean’s foot. “Go to bed now,” she said indifferently. “I’ll deal with you in the morning.”
Jean put her head on the plastic sheet. Three children lay down beside her.
Something was crawling on her.
She jumped up.
“Lay down!” Gertrude ordered.
“It’s the bedbugs,” the little boy whispered. “Some of them bite.”
“Some of them give you scabies,” the older girl said. “Or malaria.”
“Shut up!” Gertrude screamed.
I’ve got to get out of here, Jean thought. But how?
She couldn’t sleep at all, worrying. And it was so hot, the plastic sheet was sticking to her. Every time someone moved the entire mat would shift. Jean could feel the fleas biting, taking little nips of her legs and arms, her face and now one was in her ear.
Her sore foot was throbbing.
She was hot and she was thirsty and she had to go to the bathroom. She wished that someone would turn off the bright lights. She would welcome the darkness. Then maybe she could crawl on all fours like an animal. Maybe she could sneak by Gertrude. Maybe she could escape.
But Jean was afraid to move. If she moved she might wake someone up, like the two small children who had snuggled against her.
Maybe Gertrude would disappear in the night and no one would be guarding them at all. Maybe the children were too stupid or too tired to even think about fleeing.
Or maybe they had no place to escape to.
Someone coughed, again and again.
“Shut up!” Gertrude’s voice rang out loudly and clearly and though the child could possibly help it. “You cough again and you’re going to get whipped but good!”
Please don’t let there be another cough, Jean prayed.
Another cough.
Suddenly there was a great deal of commotion. A blinding flashlight shined on all of them, heads popped up as Gertrude practically stepped over the bodies searching for the cougher.
The little girl who couldn’t be more than six coughed again.
Gertrude flipped the rubber whip and hit her smack on her bare brown leg. The little girl howled in pain.
It’s not fair, Jean thought as the tears flowed down her face. All of us are just children who haven’t done anything wrong. We’re stuck in a prison. We’re being tortured for getting sick when other children in other parts of the world can go to school and play with toys and eat three meals a day and even watch TV –
And why didn’t anyone care or do something?
How could God let this happen?
The little girl was sobbing softly.
“Shut up or you’ll get it again!” Gertrude said.
The little girl was taking in great big gulps of air and Gertrude was flicking the whip in a very aggressive manner. Jean crawled over the older girl, who somehow managed to be sleeping and approached the little girl.
Jean took the child in her arms. She hid the little girl’s face in her dirty damp t-shirt to muffle her sobbing. Jean was hoping to calm her down, hoping that she didn’t cough again.
Her good deed was rewarded by Gertrude’s wrath.
“You better hope that she doesn’t cause any more problems,” she told Jean, “because now if she gets it, you get it first. Understood?”
Jean nodded.
Gertrude flicked the whip and hit the ground, again missing Jean’s injured foot by mere millimeters.
“You want to save the children, you pray for them,” Gertrude ordered.
“I’ll pray,” Jean quickly agreed. “I will certainly pray.”
And that’s how Jean spent most of the night. That and fighting off the mosquitoes, whom she could only hope didn’t carry malaria. She prayed to Jesus, and to his mother and to the saints she remembered, Saint John Bosco and The Little Flower and to Saint Jude, whom you were supposed to pray to if everything seemed hopeless.
Jean couldn’t imagine things being more hopeless than they were right now At least that’s what she thought.
When Jean opened her eyes, she saw that the little girl was sound asleep, huddled against her. The dawn was breaking and Gertrude was wide awake. Her cold black eyes were watching Jean, as though Jean were dangerous.
I am dangerous, Jean thought, because I will escape. Then I will come back. And I will destroy you.