Read Online Running the Rift by Naomi Benaron - Free Book Online Page A

gestured toward the hills. Panic gripped his chest. “Can you ask the burgomaster to come another day?”
    â€œAh, Jean Patrick. Don’t worry about the burgomaster now. Track is canceled. Everything’s canceled. Cyangugu has gone mad.”
    I N THE MORNING , Uwimana drove Jean Patrick to Gashirabwoba. With his long legs, it was impossible to get comfortable on the seat. “No need for X-ray; they’re both broken,” Angelique had said when she splinted his toes. “Probably a bone or two in the foot as well, but I’m afraid there’s nothing we can do but bandage it and give you crutches.”
    The smoke of burning houses was gone, replaced by the haze of cook fires. Roads and hillsides bustled with morning traffic. At a small spring in the rocks, children filled jerricans with water. A young boy walked down the road balancing two filled cans nearly as big as he was. Jean Patrick almost wondered if yesterday had been a bad dream.
    The truck backfired and strained on the hill. Jean Patrick searched the landscape. Beyond the welcome sign for Gashirabwoba, he saw the first charred ruin. In the valley below, in the eucalyptus grove where meetings were held, he counted a second, a third. His heart contracted. As the truck lumbered forward, his eyes did not leave the spot where Uncle’s compound should soon have come into view.
    His attention was so singularly focused that he didn’t see Uncle and Mathilde until Uwimana slowed and called out. Although he was relieved to see them, he knew something was not right. Uncle was dressed for town, with his jacket and wide-brimmed hat, when he should long since have left to tend his fishing lines. Mathilde should have been in school.
    Mathilde was already talking loudly as she hopped into the truck. “Jean Patrick! You’re safe! Ko Mana—we were so worried.” She flung her arms around his neck.
    â€œMe, too. I hardly slept all night, worrying. Is everyone OK at home?”
    â€œThanks to God,” Uncle said.
    â€œAnd the house?”
    â€œUntouched. But what about you? We heard there was trouble at Gihundwe. We were on our way to check.”
    Mathilde squealed and touched Jean Patrick’s bandaged foot.
    â€œTsst! What happened? They beat you?”
    â€œIt’s not bad,” Jean Patrick said, shifting his weight. The movement made him wince.
    Uncle whistled. “Who did this?”
    â€œJust some boys from town. I’m all right.”
    Mathilde pointed to a dark purple bruise on her arm. “Me, too. Some girls in my class said it was my fault the rebels attacked. They called me Inyenzi. I don’t care; it didn’t hurt too much.” She touched her lips to Jean Patrick’s ear. “I pushed them down when Madame wasn’t watching.”
    â€œGood girl,” Jean Patrick whispered back. He plucked a piece of grass from her hair. “What’s this?”
    â€œWe’re all dirty from sleeping in the forest,” Mathilde said. She rubbed her scalp, and flecks of leaves and grass fell onto her blouse.
    â€œWe saw the smoke,” Emmanuel said, “and I sent everyone into the bush. Then I sat all night in the chair with my machete. I wasn’t going to leave our safety up to chance.”
    At the bottom of the trail, Uwimana got the crutches from the bed of the truck. They were heavy wooden things with thickly padded armrests and handles, a few sizes too small. Jean Patrick limped stubbornly up the slope before Uncle had a chance to help him. Aunt Esther, Clemence, and Jacqueline ran to embrace him. Zachary and the twins came out behind them. Clémentine still had dirt on her face; Clarisse had one flip-flop on and one in her hand. The familiar chatter of family hummed around Jean Patrick. He couldn’t remember another time when he had been so glad to hear it. He kept expecting his mother to come and greet him, but when he reached the house and looked inside,