I shook my head miserably. This wasn’t how it was supposed to work. The people were supposed to prevail. It’s what I’d been raised to believe. I’d seen it happen in the Philippines, Eastern Europe, and Russia. But instead, it was Tiananmen Square all over again. All of the suffering, all of the cruelty… I realized I was crying again. Chantlo patted my shoulder gently.
“There, there, Mrs. Anderson. While I am extremely disappointed at the failure of the protests, I am yet thankful that I was able to bring you to safety. And we are all grateful that you have saved Anya from death.”
“It probably just prolonged the inevitable,” I said bitterly.
“Perhaps, or perhaps the success of the revolution is inevitable. If the army had turned on the government, if the government had had foreign pressure to flee, and had been offered a place in exile, it might have happened this time. I believe that many of the soldiers are decent men who are not comfortable with killing so many of their countrymen, but they dare not object. Perhaps next time, Mrs. Anderson. We as a people have learned to live in hope of next time.”
“I’m American,” I retorted sharply. “I want it now.”
He only smiled; a smile filled with sorrow and pain. “Here are some pain killers, Mrs. Anderson. Take one, and rest.”
I didn’t see Anya until the next day. The pain in my head had subsided somewhat, and I was able to walk around. I kept thinking about my family, and the anxiety they must be feeling, but I had no way of leaving, and no way of reassuring them that I was OK. I shut down that line of thought as best I could. I’d go crazy otherwise.
The nurse who had taken care of us gave me permission to walk, and permission to see Anya. Unsteadily, I walked into the next room, and saw her lying on a cot in the gloom.
“Hi, Anya,” I whispered. She looked at me with a huge, dark eye. I realized that the other one was bandaged shut. This was the second time in her life that she had been beaten by soldiers. I wondered how many more times it would happen.
“Hello,” she whispered.
“How are you feeling?” I wanted to touch her, or hold her, or comfort her, but I didn’t know how badly she was hurt.
“The pain is less now,” she said brokenly. “The soldiers”
“Shush,” I whispered. “It’s OK. You’re safe here.”
“I remember you carrying me.”
“I didn’t get far,” I said.
“Mother says you saved me.” She swallowed with difficulty. “Thank you, Mrs. Anderson.”
The sincerity of her voice made me feel warm all over. “You’re welcome, sweetheart.” I kissed her on the forehead. “Go to sleep, dear.”
She smiled, and closed her eyes.
In the other room, I saw Anya’s mom sitting and waiting for me. “Hi, Marina,” I said in surprise. “I didn’t know you were here.”
“Chantlo say what happen,” she said in her broken English Tears came to her eyes. “Many thanks to Mrs. Anderson.”
“You’re quite welcome.”
“Your father save her once. You save her once. Andersons great family,” she persisted.
I hugged her, and held her while she cried. Gratitude makes me uncomfortable, but it was beautiful nonetheless. I cried with her for awhile. These people deserved better than this.
After awhile, I looked up and saw Chantlo standing in the doorway, smiling at us. Marina and I stopped crying, and he waited until we finished sniffling and drying our eyes.
“Mrs. Anderson, I have some news for you,” he said. “Are you familiar with your American embassy?”
“I know we have one, but that’s about it,” I said soggily.
“It is, of course, here in the capital city,” Chantlo said. “And as you are a citizen, you will surely be admitted into the embassy compound. There you will be safe, and will be able to transmit a message to your family as well.”
“That would be wonderful!” I exclaimed.
“Indeed. And may I beg that when you return to America, you tell them about us, and the atrocities that you have experienced? You may be the most effective spokesperson for our cause that we have yet found.”
“I promise I will,” I said. “How do I get to the embassy?”
“Transportation has been shut down by the protests,” Chantlo said. “But it is perhaps an hour’s walk.”
“Draw me a map,” I said.
“It would be better if you were to wait until tomorrow,” Chantlo said. “You are not yet recovered.”
“I can’t wait another minute,” I said firmly.
After some discussion, they saw that I wasn’t going to change my mind. Chantlo insisted on coming with me, and Marina and Anya declared that if I was going, they were going too. I felt guilty about taking Anya that distance, but she was determined, and it put off saying good-bye for awhile.
We set off after an hour. I felt unsteady, but driven by determination to reduce my family’s anxiety as quickly as possible. Anya, being younger, had bounced back more quickly than I had, and seemed more energetic. She refused to wear the bandage that covered half her face, and would only consent to a much smaller one around the area where the billy club had hit her. Marina was completely exasperated, and I smiled in recognition.
As we left, I saw Anya take a bunch of daffodils from a vase in her room. She tried to hide them from me, and I knew she was planning on giving them to me as a farewell bouquet. I pretended not to see.
The streets of Thusbammanna were in shambles. There were almost no unbroken windows to be seen. Broken, smoking barricades dotted the city landscape. People were everywhere, milling around uncertainly, dangerously. Troop trucks filled with soldiers roared around everywhere, looking for trouble, and occasionally I saw a tank, rumbling monstrously down a city street.
After about half an hour, we approached the radio station. We stopped so I could rest, and we gazed at the people inside. It was one of the last structures to be held by protesting citizens, and Chantlo said that it wasn’t likely to last much longer. Rough barricades had been thrown up around the gate. It looked terribly feeble: even I, with absolutely no military knowledge, could tell that the tanks I’d seen wouldn’t even be slowed down by them.
A crowd had gathered outside the fence, and some of them were singing. Small campfires were burning on the sidewalks. But most of the crowd were spectators, standing in clusters and talking in low tones as they gazed at the locked building inside.
Chantlo looked at the fortifications and shook his head. “So our revolution comes to this,” he said bitterly. “I have never seen anything so weak in my life. I hope that the fools inside are speaking quickly over the airwaves—they will not last long when the soldiers and tanks arrive.”
I nodded forlornly. It was clear that the uprising had fizzled out; crushed by the superior force and tactics of the Thusbamannan military.
We had paused in front of the radio station to rest. Now I wanted to leave, so I wouldn’t see the end. I was about to suggest moving on, when a couple of blocks away, we heard the snarling bellow of tank engines.
“The tanks!” Marina cried.
“They are coming,” Chantlo agreed grimly. “And there is nothing we have that can stop them.”
As he spoke, the tanks turned a corner and roared toward us. With murmurs of apprehension, the crowd got to its feet and made way for them. Some of the campers outside the gates stamped out their fires. A few shouted some slogans, but they could barely be heard over the tank engines.