Call me Wendy.

I bumped into a gunner from the firing battalion. The sapper kicked a prisoner until he coughed blood. Then, he carted him towards the iron-cast gate. 

“What did you do to him?” I asked. 

“I used him to sharpen my shooting skills,” he said. “You did what?” I asked. “I partied my birthday with 18 bullets,” he said, giggling. “You’re 18?” I asked, raising my thick eyebrows. 

Then, I squeezed my chest against him. “That’s my papa,” I said.

“What?” he said.

That sun-up, the soldier dragged a woman to the feathery grass. I strolled towards him and polished his muddy-brown boots. 

“What did you do to her?” I asked. “I laced her to a tree,” he said. 

“That’s my mommy,” I said, wiping salty water from my eyes. Suddenly, the trooper pressed his bushy chest against mine. “I’ve forgiven you,” I said, looking into his red-trimmed eyes.

I spotted tears drowning his eyelids. Soon, he dumped a biscuit on my tongue. 

“I want to view their bodies,” I said. “You can’t,” he said. “Please!” I said, grazing my arms around him. “I’ll be fired,” he said. “Ich liebe dich,” I said, stroking his pointy chin. The squaddie rubbed his tangled hair.

That sunset, I massaged his shoulders. Later, I washed his feet with lukewarm water. “Would you marry me?” I asked. “What?” he asked. I winked, and rubbed buttery lotion between his toes.

“I’ll make a plan,” he said, pressing his lips on my cheeks. The next sunrise, I walked towards him. “I’ve forgiven you,” I said, with a smacking kiss.

“Swing me to a tree,” I said. Instantly, I pictured terror on his face. “Shoot me,” I said. “I can’t,” he said. “Why?” I asked, tapping his metal tube.

Then, we sneaked out of the concentration camp. I wrapped my arms around his waist. “You’re beautiful,” he said, raking my hair. 

In the bright evening sun, I bowed before the two swinging bodies. “I’ll quit this army,” he said. 

Soon, his plumped lips matched mine. We stumbled upon salty water, and jumped on to a floating house. I spewed through the boat’s window. 

Then, the soldier placed my head on his lap. Later, I braved sharp kicks in my tummy, and my water broke. I gave birth to twins, and baptised the dark-skinned Paul, and the light-skinned, Saul.

* Ruben Kapimbi hails from Okangeama in Otjituuo. He is a fifth-generation offspring of the genocide. This story is historical fiction.