The prosecutor rose to his feet. He said he would be asking the witness questions about one particular day, during the unrest following the election. He would be obliged to ask her to go into considerable detail, for which he apologized. And he also apologized for speaking to her in French, unfortunately he did not speak her language. After a brief pause, during which his words were interpreted, I looked to the booth across the way. The young woman gave a curt nod and the prosecutor cleared his throat and examined his notes before commencing.
You were at home on the day in question, were you not?
The young woman leaned forward and responded.
Yes, I was at home with my family.
But you went out in the morning.
Yes. I went out in the morning with my brothers. It seemed that things had quieted down, and we wanted to go to the school. There had been gunshots the previous night, coming from that direction.
Her voice remained low and firm. She spoke with great deliberation, so that each word was like a link in a chain and the entire thing held fast, even as it moved across languages. From her to the visiting interpreters to us. The prosecutor nodded.
How far is the school from your home?
Perhaps ten minutes.
And what did you find when you arrived at the school?
The young woman paused and took a sip of water from her glass.
Please take your time.
Her gaze snapped up to the prosecutor. She shook her head, as if to say that she required no special dispensation, and continued.
There were bodies everywhere.
How many?
Thirty-two.
How do you know?
Because I counted.
Why?
What else should I have done?
Her manner was very simple as she said this, and there was not a drop of self-pity in it. Robert was interpreting and I heard his voice run dry. He continued.
And they were of the targeted ethnicity?
Yes.
How do you know this?
Because they were my neighbors. I grew up with these boys. I knew them very well. I knew their mothers and their sisters. I knew what they liked to eat for their dinner, what they wanted to be when they grew up.
Robert motioned to me and I nodded and took over.
And what happened next?
There were more gunshots. We heard more gunshots, and so we went home as quickly as we could. We ran home.
What happened when you arrived?
Our father pulled us inside and he and my brothers barred the door. We could hear the shouts coming from down the road. I ran outside and hid in the shed.
Where were your father and brothers?
They stayed in the house. I ran out alone.
And what happened next?
As I worked, I was obliged to focus on the voice of the interpreter in the opposite booth, which was measured and precise and occluded much of the sound of the young woman’s speech. And yet her voice came through with remarkable clarity in the gaps between interpretation, the syllables distinct, the timbre unmistakable, so that I still had the sense that I was speaking for her, despite the layers of language between us.
I said: There was the sound of shouting coming louder and louder and then the men started banging on the door. I could hear them from the shed outside, I could hear everything. They broke the door down and then they ordered my father and my brothers to lie on the ground. I heard the sound of gunshots and I ran out of the shed and into the house—
Why did you do this?
I paused. Because I wanted to protect my family.
How did you hope to protect your family?
With my body. It is small and it does not look like much but it can stop a bullet.
But you were not able to protect your family?
No. I paused. When I arrived, my brothers were dead. They lay in a line on the floor, facedown. My father was lying on the floor beside my brothers and I begged them not to kill my father, I ran forward so that I could stop them. But one of the men hit me in the head with the butt of his gun and I fell back to the floor and I could not move. I watched as they shot my father in the head. The blood from his wound flowed into the blood of my brothers and I screamed and screamed. They ignored me as they went through the house taking our money and our radio and whatever else they could find, they even ate our food, the food that had been prepared for lunch. They had no respect for the living or the dead, they were laughing as I screamed. As I shook my brothers and I shook my father and I tried to bring them back to life.
I stared across at the booth, and the interpreter looked up as he spoke and as I continued to interpret, and for a long moment we simply stared at each other.
The other interpreter looked down again as the witness paused. Sorry, I did not stop to allow for the interpretation, he said. I apologize. The witness looked up to the booths. I apologize, I said. May I continue?