Free Beneath the Darkening Sky by Majok Tulba Page A

a sheen of sweat and muck.
    As far as I can see, Akot never looks for me. He stares at his feet and the ground in front of him. He isn’t watching, no fear keeps him alert. His mouth isn’t tight the way it gets
when he’s sad and doesn’t want anyone to see. If anything he looks bored. Everything about him is relaxed – easy movements only just fast enough to satisfy the soldiers.
    We don’t walk for very long before our first stop. My feet are numb. The Captain needs the toilet. Others have just gone by the side of the road during a break. I don’t need to. I
haven’t since the night they came. Now there’s grass around, I hadn’t noticed before. Up ahead is a forest of short trees, all spread out. A few are close to us. The Captain grabs
a recruit and tells him to walk to a nearby tree. After he takes a few steps, the Captain follows, stepping exactly where he stepped. When the boy gets to the tree the Captain orders him to walk
around it. No mines. The Captain goes behind the tree and squats.
    Then the boy comes back, with the Captain following. They are back in line and yell for everyone to walk. Those who aren’t ready scramble to get themselves together, and the grown-ups in
the front change our order. The boy who was leading ends up standing behind me. As we walk he hums to himself.
    We aren’t allowed to sing anything but the revolution songs. But this boy, he’s so happy to have survived he has to sing, and humming is the best he can do. He does it quietly, but I
recognise the song. It’s a good song, a freedom song. I wish we could talk in line but we’re too tired, and if we talk too loud we’ll end up in the lead sooner. So on we go in
silence and I pretend I’m talking with Akot. We’re telling each other stories from tending the goats. The stories are slipping away, but I miss the goats.
    We sleep again. Tonight, though, we are closer to the trees and the ground around them is covered in leaves. Old leaves, rotting, but still pretty soft. The soldiers send us to walk around the
trees, checking for mines. Nobody finds one. It’s even better than the cardboard. As I lie asleep I wonder how far away from home I am – not just in distance, but in time. It’s
been so long since I was home. That feels worse somehow, but I don’t know why exactly. It doesn’t matter. Any distance from home is the distance between a starving man and a loaf of
bread.
    I lie on my bed of rotting leaves, waiting for dreams of my grandfather. I pretend that I’m at the football field. I left the village just this morning. I saw Pina on my way here. When I
wake up I say the same thing to myself. Today is the first day. Yesterday I was at home. Yesterday I was with Mama.
    We walk, we sleep. No food today. The soldiers had what was left of their paste food from yesterday. No – not yesterday. Yesterday I was in the village. Yesterday I was with Mama. What
they have is just what they have.
    And I have nothing. I’m getting really hungry now. It’s much worse than just my stomach growling, now my head is starting to feel like a balloon. The lightness comes in little waves,
then I’m heavy again. In the morning, I’m right behind one of the grownups in front, the ones that keep the lead boy walking. During one of the lightness waves, I stumble forward a
little and I bump into the soldier.
    ‘What are you doing?’ he yells. Everyone up front stops. ‘Are you going for my gun? Are you trying to escape?’
    ‘No, no,’ I say. ‘I just got dizzy and tripped.’
    ‘I think you wanted to escape,’ he says. ‘Get in front of me where I can watch you!’
    He grabs my shoulders and forces me in front of him. There’s just one other boy up here. ‘You are lucky,’ says the soldier. ‘That boy snores really loud. He kept me
awake, so he’s leading.’
    Twice more we stop without changing positions. The first time is for water. They pass the canteen, but it doesn’t get to me. The soldiers at the