The Wild Roses

RWANDA, 1994

“Don’t worry. There’s practically no chance of us being attacked here.”
    “But there are so many places they can hide.”
    “This is a Red Cross convoy. They wouldn’t dare attack the Red Cross.”
    “We’re not Red Cross. We’re with the U.N.”
    “Look, I’ve been here almost two years now and I’ve guarded countless Red Cross convoys. They never get attacked.”
    “All I'm saying is that there’s a chance.”
    “No way. Trust me.”
    Anna was always like this. She knew she was right, and wouldn’t listen to anyone else. She took risks. Sometimes too many.
    “I really think we should tell this convoy to turn around. I have a bad feeling about this.”
    “It’s too late now,” said Anna. “Here they come. Just calm down, we’ll be fine.”
    “I hope you’re right. I really don’t want to be ambushed in the dark.”
    “OK, you go to the opposite side of the bridge. Now, it’s very narrow and those are big trucks so guide them very carefully, all right?”
    “OK.”
    “And don’t worry.”
    As the young soldier ran across the bridge to take his position, Anna thought he couldn’t have been more than sixteen. How did he ever get into the corps?
    The trucks rumbled along the low mountain pass, their camouflage colours melting into the surrounds, broken by bright red crosses, each illuminated by the lights of the truck behind it.
    Anna and her young colleague successfully guided the trucks across the bridge. As the last of the bright red taillights faded into obscurity all was pitch black. There was only a small circle of light on the ground where Anna was shining her flashlight and across the bridge she could see another small circle approach her.
    “See?” she called into the darkness. “No ambush!”
    “Right,” the voice called back. He came close and she shined her light in his face. “Let’s just get out of here as quickly as we can.”
    They turned towards their jeep and a gunshot rang out through the valley. A cloud of earth by their feet erupted into the air. For a silent moment, the young soldier’s angelic face was haloed in Anna’s light, fear in his eyes.
    “Oh, shit!” he cried.
    “Run! Run!” yelled Anna. “Back to the jeep”
    She felt a flash of fire in her stomach and fell to the ground.
    She lay on her back, feeling nothing, hearing nothing, seeing nothing but the bright stars above her. Flames leapt across the sky, leaving fiery trails after them. The stars blazed white for a moment before turning blood red. Anna’s breathing slowed.

NORTHERN SPAIN, 1991

Anna fondly stroked the petals of the red rose in her bedroom. She always did this when she was thinking. She gently replaced the rose on her dresser. She had made a decision. She breathed deeply and opened her window to let some air in. She looked at the beautiful white clouds in the sky. They were being chased away by gargantuan black thunderclouds. The wind was picking up. A storm was on its way. She took another deep breath and went to tell her parents of her decision. A gust of wind blew into the room, whipped the curtains, rustled some papers and knocked Anna’s rose to the floor.
    Her parents didn’t take kindly to Anna’s decision.
    “You could get yourself killed!” said her mother.
    “But how many lives could I save?” Anna replied.
    “We’ll forbid it,” warned her father.
    “As soon as I leave school I’m joining the U.N. Peace Force and there’s nothing you can do about it!”
    She stormed out of the room and back into her bedroom, accidentally crushing the rose on the floor. She sat and stewed in her own rage for a while.
    Her parents remained in silence for some time until her mother, looking out of the window into the garden, said to her father, “Those wild roses have grown back again. You should cut them.”

NORTHERN SPAIN, 1981

When Anna was nine years old she decided to explore the large patch of unlooked-after wild roses at the bottom of their garden. Her parents warned her not to go into that patch of roses, but of course she didn’t listen. She went wandering into the thicket of plants, lost her footing and fell into the web of thorns. She lay there bleeding for hours and when her parents finally found her she had almost bled to death.
    The day after she returned home from hospital, her father went into the garden with a machete and cut down every last one of the roses. When Anna discovered he had done this she ran into the garden to find a pile of stalks and petals, massacred. She burst into tears, crying, “They were so beautiful! Why did you kill them?”
    She never forgot the sight of the red petals lying scattered on the ground, as though the dead flowers were bleeding.

RWANDA, 1994

Anna lay on her back in the dirt, slowly bleeding to death. She looked around her and saw the puddle of blood, and the body of her young colleague. She drew her last breath and closed her eyes for the last time. Her final thought was of the red petals strewn on the ground where the wild roses once grew.