Joshua (Part II)

By the time Monday arrived, Joshua was his cheerful self again. Although he saw Ms. Navidad every day, he had little opportunity to speak more than a few sentences to her during regular class hours. From his desk, he surreptitiously lifted his head to watch her move about the classroom. Whenever she leaned down to instruct and support another student, the sight of her breasts made him dizzy.


He grew increasingly agitated as the week wore on and rushed toward his tutorial like a thirsty man to an oasis. By mid-day Friday, bright sunshine had burned off the morning fog and filled everything with a pleasant glow. Picking his way through pockets of students, he swung by his locker to drop off his jacket. Shielding the lock with his left hand, he leaned close and turned the dial with his right. He opened the locker, removed his jacket and tossed it inside.

Turning around to leave, he spotted Ray Young and Lamont Thomas.

"Hee-ey boy," Ray gave Lamont a nudge in the ribs. "There's the claw." Pushing themselves off the wall, the two boys stepped forward and blocked Joshua's path.

"Whassup Captain Hook?" Ray said.

"Yeah, whassup, hook?" Lamont echoed.

The greeting surprised Joshua. Both basketball players, they were popular in the way that bullies are. They rarely spoke to him. Still, he craned his neck upward and returned the salutation. "What's up?"

Ray grinned. A sliver of gold framed one of his front teeth. "I hear you're going out for the team." He pointed at Joshua's left hand. "Can you dribble with that thing?" Lamont snorted.

Joshua raised his left hand and smiled. "It is very strong but not as good as my old one." The prosthetic was state-of-the-art. He'd been fitted for it when he'd arrived in California. He was very proud of it, even though its cocoa brown hue didn't match his own charcoal black coloring.

"How you s'posed to get some with that?" Ray asked. "You like to squeeze a girl's booty clean off." His mouth resembled a grimace more than it did a smile. Lamont tittered and raised his head like a small animal sniffing danger in the air.

Joshua was unruffled. "I have this." He wiggled a stiff middle finger forward and back. A slight whirring sound accompanied the gesture. Using his other hand, Joshua grabbed his crotch. "And I have this."

Lamont guffawed, then fell silent under a sharp look from Ray. "You hecka funny," he said, returning his attention to Joshua. "Hecka funny." He stepped closer and barked loudly so nearby onlookers could hear. "You won't be so funny with my foot in yo' ass." His stale breath made Joshua squint.

Before Joshua could respond, a stern voice came from several feet away. "What's going on here?" Arms crossed, Ms. Navidad glared at Ray and Lamont. Neither spoke. Softening her eyes, she turned toward her Joshua. "Is there something going on here that I should know about?" she asked.

Joshua's eyes swept across the two boys in front of him. Ray's face was impassive but his clouded eyes threatened. Lamont's sense of humor receded. He inched backward, as if to go after it. Looking past them, Joshua answered. "Nothing, mademoiselle."

"In that case, let's break this up," she said.

"We have a lot of work today." Using a brushing motion, fingers pointing at the ground, she waved Joshua to her. "Let's get started." Joshua flashed broad teeth as the boys parted to let him pass. Stepping between them, he said, "See you, brothers." Joining the teacher, he continued down the hallway and rounded the corner.

Once inside the classroom, Ms. Navidad asked, "Are you all right?"

"Yes, mademoiselle." He set down his backpack and pulled out his lunch and workbook. "Why would I not be?"

Ms. Navidad twisted her nose as if fending off a noxious odor. "You shouldn't hang around boys like that."

"They were just playing around."

"They're thugs."

"What is thugs?"

"Gangsters."

"Like MTV?"

"No, not like MTV."

"I'm sorry, mademoiselle," Joshua said. "I don't understand."

"Never mind," she said. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes sparkled. Taking a slow, deep breath, she smoothed the front of her dress with both hands. "Let's get started." She dragged a plastic chair next to her desk and tilted her head toward it. "Start with exercise thirteen."

Slightly confused but warmed by the teacher's obvious concern, Joshua resolved not to make matters worse. Content to be near her, he worked quietly, stopping only for an occasional bite of his lunch. The day's exercise, a series of word associations, needed little explanation.

After a half-hour, Ms. Navidad broke the silence. "I'm sorry about that."

"About what, Mademoiselle?" Joshua asked.

"Losing my temper."

Was she embarrassed? Joshua wasn't sure. "For what did you lose your temper?"

"Why did you lose your temper?" she corrected.

"Why did you lose your temper?" he said.

The young teacher paused, uncertain how to answer the question. "There are a lot of things about America you haven't learned about yet, dangerous things."

Joshua chuckled.

"I'm serious," Ms. Navidad said.

The boy adopted a more serious expression "What kind of things?" he asked.

"Many things," she said.

"In Berkeley?" Joshua appreciated the teacher's sincerity but could not hide his skepticism.

"And people," Ms. Navidad said.

"What people?" Joshua asked.

"That's not important right now," the teacher said. "You just need to be careful about who you spend your time with."

Oh, I see, Joshua thought. "You mean Ray and Lamont?" He saw the truth flicker beneath the teacher's mascara'd lashes.

"I worry about you." Ms. Navidad tried to lighten her tone. "In America, you are defined by who you associate with."

Joshua smiled. "My mother used to say that."

Smiling in return, the teacher wagged a long fingernail. "Well, your mother was right." She gave him a look so tender he let loose a small gasp.

"I'm serious," Ms. Navidad said. "Those boys are not like you. They will never be like you."

"What do you mean?" Joshua asked. Her words confused him. He wondered whether the problem lay in his deficient English skills.

"You're different, that's all," she said. "Special."

Special, he thought. His heart swelled. "Thank you, Mademoiselle."

"It's true," Ms. Navidad said. "And you need to pick your friends very carefully." She reached out and touched his arm. His skin tingled beneath her fingertips. A tiny wave of electricity swept through his body.

"You do not need to worry about that, Mademoiselle," Joshua said, happily. "I already have the best friend I could have."

"Oh, really?" The teacher asked. "And who might that be?"

Joshua lowered his eyes then raised them again. Giving the teacher a shy smile, he said, "You, mademoiselle."


* * * * * * * * * * *


For the rest of the afternoon, bliss hovered over Joshua. It buffeted his eardrums like a conch-shell's quiet roar. It brushed his face and the back of his neck, leaving him giddy, light-headed. He hadn't felt such delirium since his ninth birthday party when, inside the compound of his grandfather's house, he sang and cavorted with his father's kinsmen. And had his first taste of cane wine.

Later, when he settled into bed, he plunged into deep slumber. As he fell, his spirit wriggled loose and swam among the shadowy faces in the darkness above him. A girl no older than five had an empty socket where her right eye was supposed to be. An old man was missing his left ear.

Beyond these trunkless heads, past the ceiling but below the sky, a crowd began to form. Milling closely together, the group was segregated by sex. Men and boys on one side. Women and girls the other. All were dressed in bright robes that flowed about them as if blown by a gentle breeze. From below, the horde threw off colors so varied and bright that it seemed they stood locked inside a giant prism.

As he floated near, they parted like water beneath a ship's bow, enough to let him between them but so close he could feel their rustling garb against his skin. They leaned toward him, as if trying to speak, but their gaping mouths stayed mute. Their faces were strange yet familiar. He didn't recognize them but felt he should have.

Suddenly, a young woman appeared before him. She held a baby in her arms. She turned sideways to better show its face. As she did, it began to cry. The wails hurt Joshua's ears so he covered them.

The silence broken, the previously mute horde let loose a torrent of shouts. "We are hungry. Why do you not feed us?" As one, they stepped and opened their robes. Their ribs and stomachs were torn apart. Squirming maggots and damp earth nestled amidst glistening entrails.

Bony fingers scooped out wriggling mounds of dirt and worms. Raising their hands, they cradled the squirming mass as supplicants might before an altar.

Joshua retreated. Stumbling, his feet came out from under him. He plunged backward, headlong into what felt like a ever-darkening funnel. Eventually, he found himself nestled inside a cramped space. A hard flatness pressed against his shoulders and back. He was unable to lift his head. He twisted and squirmed but could not escape.

Taking a deep breath, he tried to calm himself. Stale air enveloped him. He peered down the length of his body to his toes. It seemed like he was inside some sort of box. Not a box. A coffin.

Panic seized him. His muscles tightened, as his body prepared for flight. Unexpectedly, the coffin's lid dissolved. Sunlight flooded the box. A rain of dirt quickly followed. Earth settled around and on top of him, growing heavier by the moment. Tiny rocks and sand filled his mouth and nostrils. He began to suffocate.

Coughing, he awoke.


* * * * * * * * * * *


"Did you see the volcano story on television last night?" Ms. Navidad asked. "Isn't that near where you come from?"

Joshua had seen the story, too. "No, mademoiselle. That happened in Goma. I come from Kabinda, which is...." He searched his mind for the correct word. "To the southwest, not far from Mbuji-Mayi."

The teacher rose from her chair and reached high above her head in an effort to relieve some of the pressure that had gathered in her lower back. "Do you still have family there?" As she lowered her bare arms, she caught sight of Joshua's thirsty gaze. She indulged him with a smile.

Embarrassed, he yanked away his eyes and hurriedly gathered his belongings. "Those who are left moved north to Kisangani. Most of them are from my mother's side," he explained. "Things have been very difficult for them. They wanted to take me in but had no more room."

The teacher's demeanor turned sympathetic. "What about your father's family?"

"All dead."

A thick quiet shouldered in between them. This was the first time she'd ever asked about his family. He'd said little about them, even to his adoptive parents. Regardless, he wanted her to know everything about him.

"My parents were killed when my father hadn't enough money to pay the monthly tax to a local warlord," he continued. "The Kioko family has been in the diamond business for ten generations. Everybody knew we were fair. We never cheated anybody. Even when rebels seized the Senga-Senga mine, they still came to us to have the diamonds appraised and prepared for sale.

"As payment, my father withheld the customary portion for himself. Soon, even that became too much. The warlord cut the portion smaller and smaller, telling my father it was a 'business tax.' He also did not like my father because we were Mongo while he was Luba. When my father protested, they beat him."

Joshua went still for a moment. He sighed, then continued.

"They killed him in front of us, me, my brother Jacques and my mother. When they shot him, I yelled, 'Papa, papa!' I was very small. There was nothing I could do but clutch my mother. My eyes were full of tears.

"Then, the rebels pulled her from the arms of me and my brother and dragged her into a back room. When my brother moved to protect her, an older boy banged his head with the butt of a rifle. They left him bleeding in the middle of the floor.

"One of the younger soldiers stood over me with a gun. I crawled into a corner and wrapped my arms around my head to keep out the sounds of her screaming." Joshua folded his arms. With the fingertips of his right hand, he scratched the crease inside his left elbow, just above the plastic sleeve of his prosthetic hand.

"A long time passed. When they finally came out, the warlord ordered the boy with the rifle to take me with him. When I hesitated, my brother nodded for me to go. I was afraid and could not speak. With my eyes, I begged him to let me stay with him. His face became rock and he turned way.

"I lifted myself and walked toward the door. I felt sick to my stomach. My legs were like rubber. The shot came before the screen door closed behind me." A teardrop trickled past Joshua's nose. "The soldier told me, 'Turn around and the same thing will happen to you.' "

He sat, head bowed, rocking almost imperceptibly, for several minutes. Laughing footfalls slipped under the classroom door and clattered around them. Roused, he lifted puffy eyes to Ms. Navidad's.

"That's horrible," she said, breaking the silence. "Your poor mother."

Joshua kept quiet, opting instead to gaze at this woman's face, the shape of which somehow reminded him of home. Still, her eyes, recently wide with horror, began to narrow. They jerked back and forth, as when dreaming. He watched dark clouds gather above her brow. Slowly, her words began to fall.

"I don't understand how your father could do business with.....with criminals?" Ms. Navidad looked strange. Perhaps spirits had taken hold of her. "How could he do that to your family?"

Joshua's eyes skittered over the tile floor as if searching for the truth of what had happened. Despite his teachers' praises, his English still wobbled on spindly legs too weak to carry the weight of what he'd endured.

"How could he do it?" Her voice was shrill. She clasped her hands in her lap, wringing them so hard the muscles of her forearms and biceps flexed in angular displeasure.

Joshua knew his father loved him. But he was dead, as were his mother and brother. How could that be his father?s fault? ?My papa was a good man, a kind man."

"A good man takes care of his family," Ms. Navidad said. "He protects them and keeps them from harm."

"What can you say to a man with a gun?" Joshua asked.

The teacher's mouth twisted as if she'd bitten a lemon. Her brown eyes receded into a field of white scorn. "He did such a wonderful job that you landed here in California living with people you barely know, people who, out of the kindness of their hearts, took it upon themselves to do something your own parents couldn't."

The implication struck Joshua so hard his ears rang. Her indignation reverberated inside his skull as loudly as any church bell. The din made him woozy and nauseous. A damp heat began to envelope him. His fugitive forearm throbbed inside his plastic limb. Absently, he cradled the contraption in his right arm. "My papa loved me," he said, voice cracking. "He loved all of us, no matter what you say."

Realizing she'd gone too far, Ms. Navidad forced a brittle smile. "I'm sure he did." She patted him on the shoulder. "I'm sure he did the best he could."

* * * * * * * * * * *

Ms. Navidad's slack of sympathy cut Joshua deeply. His bruised heart seemed to be drawing blood inward from his extremities, sapping his enthusiasm and leaving him more lethargic by the day. His adolescent mind had no words for what he was experiencing. The stultifying isolation was vaguely reminiscent of his time spent at St. Leopold's orphanage.

Before his disagreement with Ms. Navidad, Joshua had never imagined his father responsible for the misfortune that had befallen him and his family. When he thought of his father, Joshua remembered long fingers caressing his face or playfully pinching his ear. Unlike Joshua, his youngest son, Mukunzo Kioko had never hurt anyone. He had treated his wife with reverence and respect, neither raising voice nor hand to his children. Despite his risky vocation, he?d never owned a gun, believing his honor and faith were protection enough.

Had he been wrong? If so, how could Joshua hope to atone for his survival, much less for the things he'd done along the Congo River's shadowy banks. Sure, he was not alone. Many children had done the same. They had chosen life. He wondered if Ms. Navidad would have done the same.

Meanwhile, his father began to call on him. Hovering in the darkness, he remained silent. Instead, Joshua's older brother chided and admonished. "Titi, how can you say nothing?" Jacques asked again and again. "How can you let that woman talk about our papa that way?"

Jacques' words grew stronger with each passing night, unraveling Joshua's sleep and resolve. As he flayed under sweat-stained sheets, the nocturnal anger gradually took hold of him. "What has happened you, Titi? How can you let her dishonor our family?" his brother asked. "What do you think she's going to say about you?"

"I'll tell her," Joshua, still sleeping, answered. "She'll understand."

* * * * * * * * * *

Joshua was in no mood to study. He didn't care that the state-wide exam was scheduled for next week. He just wanted to sleep. When he plopped down beside Ms. Navidad's desk, rather than opening his notebook and preparing to get to business, he started blurting out the thoughts that had been consuming his nights.

"Would you kill for food?" he asked abruptly.

She bent forward and, using her left hand, reached for the desk to steady herself. She held the poise for several seconds, then answered. "What kind of a question is that?"

He raised his face and searched her eyes. "If you had to, if there was no other way, would you kill for food?"

Crossing her arms tightly, and folding one leg snugly over the other, the young teacher leaned back in her chair. It let loose a tense squeak. She sat coiled and still, like a voluptuous yogi. "I don't think I could ever kill anyone, for any reason.?

Joshua shook his head. "You've never been hungry? Really hungry?"

"Not in the way I think you mean it."

"Hungry enough to eat whatever you could get your hands on," he said. "A monkey. Snake. Crocodile. Bugs. Worms. Tree leaves."

The teacher could not hide a look of disgust. "I -- "

Joshua broke in. "In some parts of my country, the only people with food are those with guns." He began to rock back and forth, as if burrowing into the chair and below it into the floor. "I want to tell you a story about a boy I knew," he continued.

"The last time the rebels crossed the Burundi border, many people in Kabinda found it hard to find food. Jumokwe was my age. His family was not as prosperous as mine. His father did odd jobs around the town. He sometimes drove a truck.

"On one of these trips, he never came back. Jumokwe's family thought he'd been killed but his body was never found. Afterward, the family still lived on the eastern edge of town. It had became too dangerous for Jumokwe's mother and sisters to find water or collect wood. My mother began sending me over with a basket of food. It was not far by bicycle and not too dangerous.

"One day, I was stopped on the road by a group of rebels, a dozen boys or so. Some were no bigger than me. One was the Jumokwe's younger brother. He was eight-years-old.

"Before that time, I had never seen a Kalashnikov rifle. The one Jabare carried seemed as tall as he was. It hung from a big strap slung over his shoulder. He had no shoes but wore two belts of bullets across his chest like a white man I saw on a move poster.

"He was small but very mean. When I saw him, I said, 'Jabare, what are you doing here? Does your family know you are here?' At first, he said nothing. He just stood there, looking at me with empty eyes, as if he did not know me.

"So I said, 'Jabare, don?t you recognize me?' He walked up and stood beside me. I stayed on my bicycle. I was too scared to do anything else. The barrel of his rifle was close enough to touch.

"Using it to point toward the ground, he motioned for me to take the basket from the handle bars and set it on the ground. The other boys laughed when I did so. A tall boy with a machete and a scar on his neck picked up the basket. When they started to go, Jabare whispered to me. 'Tell my mother I am safe.'

"Later, after my family was killed, I learned most boys come from villages that had been attacked by the army or by rebels. Some were orphaned. Others kidnapped and used as minesweepers. More than a few, like Jabare, ran away."

Ms. Navidad's arms still guarded her front but she had placed both feet flat on the floor. The forward shift of her body made her seem closer. "What ever happened to him?"

"I never saw him again." The response resonated in the air between them, creating a phantom who drifted in the warm currents. For a moment, they shared an invisible embrace as ghostly hands drew them together at the shoulder.

"You were a soldier?" Despite the question, there was something in Ms. Navidad's eyes that suggested she didn?t really want an answer.

"Yes."

The teacher uncrossed her arms and rubbed her palms together. Taking a deep breath, planted her elbows on her upper thigh, folded her hands and propped them under her chin. "Have you ever killed anybody?" She peered at him, as if he possessed something of great value. A tiny sheen of perspiration shone above her top lip.

Joshua felt bare, as bare as the time he'd been stripped and beaten for taking another boy's rations. He hadn't been told the rations of a dead soldier became the property of the officers. Still, he'd considered himself lucky at the time. He'd largely avoided the belt's buckle.

"Yes." Joshua spoke in a hush, not conspiratorial but intimate. He could see the tension in the teacher's neck and shoulders. Her breath brushed his face. It was the closest he had ever been to her. He was sorry she was afraid. The moment's intimacy wrapped itself around him, exposing buried words and distant visions.

"How did it happen?" she asked.

"The first time?" he answered.

She tilted her head back slightly. For his part, Joshua turned his head a little, as if catching the memory in the corner of his eye.

"I had been with the group for only three days. We were patrolling south toward Karnira. Three boys were sleeping under a tree when we came across them. They must have walked far because none of them had stayed awake to keep watch.

"The oldest was the same age as I am now. He was dressed in Khaki shorts and a black T-shirt. It had a logo on the front of it. I had never seen it before. A few months ago, not long after I arrived in the United States, I saw the same logo which read, 'Miller Genuine Draft.' On his head, he wore a faded red beret.

"The middle boy wore just a pair of slacks. He was the only one with boots. The smallest wore tennis shoes that were too big for his feet, with Velcro straps. He had a pair of green cotton shorts with a piece of white string for a belt, and a stripped T-shirt with the figure of a Samurai on the left shoulder and a small orange sweatshirt with a torn zipper in front. His beret was newer and had a small silver star in front.

"The young captain who was our leader woke the oldest with a kick to the face. Seeing that, the other two had no desire to fight. They never reached for their weapons. Besides, we were too many.

"For many reasons, the captain was angry that day. We had traveled 10 kilometers in three days. The jungle was very thick around the river. He did not want to waste ammunition on hunting.

"Still, he told the three boys he would give them a chance for their lives. He would give them a five-minute head start, then send us after them. In that way, their fates would be in their own hands.

"The smaller boys began to cry. At the same time, they eyed each other like animals, sizing up their chances for escape. The oldest one, the one who was kicked in the face, proposed that they split up. I suppose he thought he was stronger and would have a better chance without the younger ones.

"Hearing that, the captain laughed but agreed. The older boy looked relieved. The others became angry and wiped away their tears. We opened a space in the circle around them to let them run through. The two younger went first. Together, they ran across an open field toward a stand of Acacia trees. Beyond the trees was a dry gully leading to a river.

"The captain then told the oldest boy that his turn had arrived. As he turned to run, the captain took out his pistol and shot the boy in the leg. He fell to the ground and screamed wildly. 'Liar. You promised you would let me go.'

"The captain's smile disappeared. He walked over and said, 'You have no right to your life. Those smaller boys trusted you to take care of them and protect them like an older brother. Instead, you sought only to save your own skin.'

"The color drained from the boy's face. He could see his own death. The captain called me over and said, 'Joshua, look at this boy. This is what a coward looks like. We will have no cowards among us.'

"Then he looked at me for a long time. I didn't know what to do. I looked around at the others. Their faces were blank. An older boy, Augustin, was cradling his rifle in front of him. He walked over and handed it to me. It was very heavy.

"My legs were trembling and the Kalashnikov shook in my hands. It was very quiet. I could hear the breathing in the boy?s throat. I don't know how much time passed but after some time I raised the barrel, pointed it at the boy's chest and squeezed the trigger.

"I had heard gunfire before but I had never fired a weapon. The sound startled me. A look of surprise was on the boy?s face. Dark, red blood poured out of him and piss ran down his leg. He started to moan, louder and louder

"Although I knew better, the whole thing seemed like a dream, very far away. Only the rifle felt hot in my hands. I was happy to return it. The captain nodded to me and we left."

Joshua stopped and stared off into middle distance. He kept still, as if ready for ambush.

During his recitation, Ms. Navidad had retreated into the back of her chair, as if withdrawing from an open furnace. She remained seated but had withdrawn with such intensity as to suggest toppling over in awkward escape. With each new detail of the story, her eyes rounded in ever-increasing horror, revealing yellow puddles at the bottom of white irises.

Joshua turned and looked at her. She stared back like prisoners he'd seen, all eyeing the chain saw, transfixed by its whirring teeth while wincing at its devilish whine. His heart sank.

"Is that what you wanted to know?" Joshua's voice remained that of someone eager to please. He squinted in youthful hope.

"There's more?" She squealed rather than spoke. Above her flared nostrils, her eyebrows played tug-of-war as her thoughts wrestled behind her forehead.

Joshua immediately regretted asking the question. "I don't understand," he sputtered. He thought she wanted to know about him, about his life. Now, he wasn't sure. "More?"

"More killing." Her fear became fury. "More death."

"I thought you wanted -- "

"I wanted to know about your incredible journey.....how a boy like you had come so far." Water welled up in her eyes. She dropped her head and pinched the bridge of her nose with a manicured hand.

"Journeys are not only about ends, mademoiselle," Joshua replied. "They are also about beginnings."

* * * * * * * * * * *

In bed that evening, feelings of despair filled Joshua. He stomach was queasy. He felt fatigue and anxiety. He wanted to flee yet felt unable to move. He seemed barely able to fill his lungs from one moment to the next.

It was not a boy's despair but that of a soldier. In the darkness, he began to feel the weight of the lives he'd taken. They sat squarely on his chest, like some red-eyed carrion awaiting the sound of his last exhalation.

He cradled himself in his small arms. Closing his eyes, he carried himself back in time to his dead mother?s embrace. Shortly, he felt the softness of her cheek on top of his head, her breast and heartbeat against his ear, her hard, gentle hands on his back and shoulders, and the expanse of her lap.

After a while, he could hear her soft laughter, her teasing and coaxing. "Give mama a smile, boy. Don't cheat me." His eyes drew water at the beauty of it.


-- THE END --