The Farming of Bones_ A Novel - Edwidge Danticat [51]
If Doctor Javier was taken, what of Sebastien, Mimi, and all the others who were leaving with him?
“I don’t understand it,” Juana muttered. “In the sight of all our saints, we are losing our country to madmen.”
Doña Eva gathered a thin flowered scarf around her back and pulled it closer to her chest. Beatriz walked her up the hill to the house. Señor Pico turned and watched them climb. He saw Juana, Luis, and me sitting at the foot of the hill.
“We are going to take you to the border now,” he said, turning back to the men on the road.
The group chanted, “¡Nunca!” Never!
Unèl clapped his hands, encouraging the others.
Señor Pico motioned towards the soldiers blocking the road. The truck with the people from Don Carlos’ mill slowly edged forward. One man ran toward it and fell in its path. The front wheel moved over his knees, his face twisting with each endless motion that took the truck through the rise and descent over his legs.
Two other members of Unèl’s group rushed forward to help him, but scattered as the truck came at them. The wounded man fell on his back, then rolled onto his side, his face frozen in shock. He tried to lift his legs before the rear tire could pass over them.
I ran towards him, colliding with a few of my countrymen, who were now trying to escape. The truck stopped before the rear wheels could reach the downed man. A group of soldiers moved in, seized him, and threw him into the back.
It was a short drop from the deck of the army truck to the ground. The man with the crushed leg attempted the leap. He fell on his outstretched hands and crawled towards the brush alongside the road until the high grass engulfed him.
The soldiers seemed to have orders not to use their rifles; otherwise, they could have fired at those who fled. Instead they grabbed those in front of them. Two or three circled one person, seized that unfortunate by the arms and legs, and threw him into the back of the truck.
I heard Señor Pico call my name. “Amabelle, out of the road!” he shouted, as if my being there was a sign of disrespect to him and his house.
I dodged and ducked, trying to bypass the khaki uniforms. The soldiers were using whips, tree branches, and sticks, flogging the fleeing people. One of their bullwhips landed across my back; I felt the heated sting on my waist as I hurtled forward into the dense banana grove behind Juana and Luis’ house.
Seizing my hidden bundle, I peered through the banana leaves. Juana and Luis were no longer where I had left them.
I moved to the edge of the grove, as close to the road as I could come without being seen. Unèl was one of three men still fighting. The others either were in the trucks with the soldiers’ rifles aimed at them, or had fled.
Unèl hurled his machete at one of the young soldiers and cut him on the side of his face. As a small squad tried to grab him, Unèl twisted and dived between them, all the while screaming that he had never lived on his knees. All of the soldiers were racing after him now, except for Señor Pico who was standing on top of the truck, watching.
Unèl was trapped inside a circle. Three of the soldiers grabbed his right arm. Others grabbed the left, joining his arms behind him on his buttocks. One of the more anxious soldiers pierced one of Unèl’s arms with the point of his bayonet, cutting a gash from wrist to elbow. Señor Pico jumped down from the truck and watched as Unèl was tied with a cattle rope and raised to the back of the truck. Unèl made jerky movements, trying to free himself from the soldiers’ grasp. He was thrown into the back of the vehicle with the two remaining men. The gate was raised, shutting them in with all the others.
Señor Pico gathered a few of his men, and, after a brief survey