Electronic Gags
Authors: Kudakwashe Muzira
Electronic Gags
By Kudakwashe Muzira
****
© Copyright 2013 by Kudakwashe Muzira
All
Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval
system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical,
photocopying, recording or otherwise without prior written permission of the
above.
All of the
characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons,
living or dead, is purely coincidental.
I want to thank
my brother, Tirivashe who was my creative consultant when I was writing this
book. I also want to thank my cousin T. Mora for his invaluable advice and
help.
Table of
Contents
“We must not
fear,” Michael said, although his heart was pounding with fear. “We must fight
for our rights... for our freedom.” He clenched his fists in a show of courage
and defiance. “This is not the American dream. This is not what the founding
fathers of the United States of America fought for.” Michael’s heart rate
soared. He knew that any reference to the American dream or any mention of the
previous name of the Ten Districts of America was punishable by death. “We must
fight this evil regime...”
The
living room was packed with fifty-two people who were trying their best to hide
their fear. They came from all walks of life and were united by their desire to
end President Brandon Ward’s rule.
“The
Ward regime is like a vice on our necks,” Michael went on. “This is the time
for us to say enough is enough.” He paused as he listened to his heartbeat. He
could feel sweat trickling down his armpits. “We must organize secretly and
when the time comes we shall rise and catch Brandon Ward by surprise. One day
we shall bring down Ward’s flag and raise the stars and the stripes. We shall
change our currency back to the dollar. We shall return the United States of
America to its status as the leader of the democratic world.” He took out a
handkerchief and wiped sweat from his face, hoping his hearers thought the
sweat was a result of the crowded room’s heat. “We managed to hold four
meetings without attracting the attention of Ward’s security agents. Let’s clap
hands for ourselves.”
Michael’s
hearers hesitantly clapped hands, worried state security agents would hear them.
Sitting
in a corner at the back of the room was Freddie, Michael’s best friend. This
was Freddie’s first time to attend the group’s secret meetings. He had been
reluctant to come to the meeting and had only come because Michael insisted
that it was the duty of all true patriots to fight for democracy. Freddie felt
his stomach tighten as he listened to Michael denouncing the Ward regime. President
Ward and his regime brooked no opposition. If the government found out about the
meeting, everyone in the room would go to jail pending execution.
As
his fear grew, Freddie felt movement in his rectum. He went to the bathroom and
sat on the toilet seat with a sigh.
“In
the name of President Brandon Ward, the supreme leader of the nation, I order
everyone in the house to freeze,” an authoritative voice shouted from the living
room.
Freddie
almost fainted. He heard heavy footsteps as Central Intelligence Bureau agents
stormed the living room.
“What
are you doing here?” the authoritative voice demanded.
Michael
got us in trouble again,
Freddie thought, closing his eyes.
Since
they were little boys, Michael always got Freddie in trouble. Michael liked to
take risks and Freddie always followed him like a fool. Freddie couldn’t say no
to his best friend. Michael was persuasive and he liked to have Freddie with
him in his adventures so that they would laugh and talk about their escapades
when the danger was over.
Mom was right,
Freddie thought.
I must stop
following Michael around like a fool.
“What
are you doing here?” the bald-headed Central Intelligence Bureau agent in
charge of the operation asked again.
“It’s
a church gathering,” Michael answered.
“A
church gathering?” the CIB agent in charge echoed.
“Yes
patriot.”
“Where
is your Bible?”
Michael
showed him his Bible.
The
CIB agent in charge pointed at a dog-eared book on the table. “And I guess that’s
a hymn book.”
“Yes
patriot.”
“I
assume everyone in this room has a Bible and a hymn book.”
“Most
of them have, patriot.”
The
agent in charge took some papers from the table. “So this is today’s program...
and these are the Bible passages you read to your audience.”
“Yes
patriot.”
“If
we question the members of your congregation one by one all will they be able
to tell us which Bible verses you read this afternoon?”
“Yes
patriot,” Michael said confidently, thanking his wisdom in using church service
as an alibi.
The
agent in charge clapped hands. “Nice try.” He sneered. “Now let’s hear your
sermon. Rodgers!”
“Yes
sir,” answered a gaunt CIB agent.
“Play
the sermon.”
“Yes
sir.”
Rodgers
switched on a cassette recorder and replayed Michael’s political speech.
“We
got wind of your meetings and we wired this house,” the agent in charge smiled
smugly. “We know you call yourselves the Freedom Front. Do you have anything to
say in your defense, Mr Preacher?”
Michael
said nothing. There was nothing to say. The CIB had caught him red-handed. He
was a dead man.
“Take
all of them into the trucks,” ordered the agent in charge. “Shoot anyone who
tries to escape.”
CIB
agents herded the prisoners out of the house.
Sitting
motionless on the toilet seat, Freddie listened to everything, praying the CIB
would not search the bathroom. He sighed with relief when he heard CIB trucks
driving away. He remained in the bathroom for hours, worried the CIB was
watching the house. When it was dark, he sneaked out of the house and crawled
out of the yard under the cover of the hedge.
I
can’t go to mom’s place,
he thought.
Maybe the CIB is looking for me.
Whenever
Freddie was in Subdistrict Four, he stayed with his mother. He lived in the Brandon
Ward Wildlife Refuge, named after the president, where he was the chief scientist.
After half a minute of indecision, he sped towards his grandmother’s house.
“In
the name of President Ward the supreme leader of the nation, I order you to
stop,” a voice barked from behind Freddie.
Shuddering,
Freddie turned to face two policemen. “Good evening patriots,” he said. “Long
live President Ward our supreme leader.”
“Good
evening citizen,” chorused the policemen. “Long live President Ward.”
“Show
us your ID,” the taller of the patrolmen demanded, directing his torch at Freddie’s
face.
“Okay
patriot,” Freddie said, taking out his ID card.
The
policeman looked at the card for ten seconds and gave it back to Freddie.
“Where
are you going and where are you coming from?” the other policeman asked.
“I’m
coming from home and I’m going to my aunt’s place. She is not feeling well.”
“I
would stay indoors at night if I were you. We arrested more than fifty rebels
who were planning to topple the government. Security is tight, so it’s better
to stay indoors.”
“Thanks
for the advice, patriot.”
“You
can go.”
“Goodbye
patriot officers. Long live President Ward our supreme leader.”
“Long
live,” echoed the policemen.
Freddie
walked away with a sigh of relief.
*
* * **
The
Cabinet meeting was tense. President Brandon Ward, the supreme leader of the
Ten Districts of America, was furious. He was angry with the Minister of State
Security and the Minister of Interior.
“Patriot
Campbell and Patriot Collins, can you tell me how fifty-one people managed to
hold secret meetings under your noses?”
Collins,
the Minister of State Security, and Campbell, the Minister of Interior, said
nothing. They knew that when the supreme leader was angry he brooked no reply.
“You
are now taking your positions for granted. You have been in the Cabinet for too
long. Maybe I have to reshuffle the Cabinet...” The supreme leader ranted and
raved for more than fifteen minutes whilst the vice president and twenty-eight
ministers and deputy ministers listened silently.
The
ministers knew they could now speak when the president finally said, “Patriots,
what do you suggest we do to increase national security?”
Campbell,
the Minister of Interior, cleared his throat. “Long live our republic,” he
shouted, waving a fist in the air.
“Long
live!” all the members of the Cabinet replied, waving their fists in the air.
“Long
live His Excellence President Brandon Ward, the supreme leader of the nation!”
“Long
live!”
“Down
with rebels!” he said, dropping his fist to the table.
“Down
with them,” replied all the members of the Cabinet, dropping their fists to the
table.
“Your
Excellence Patriot Ward, I thank you for the opportunity to speak. I think we
should ban all gatherings. It should be illegal for more than three people to
gather without clearance, except when they are at home, at work or at school.
Let’s ban churches, Your Excellence.”
“Long
live our republic!” President Ward shouted, waving his fat fist.
“Long
live,” chorused the members of the Cabinet, waving back.
“Long
live our revolution!”
“Long
live!”
“We
won’t ban churches,” the supreme leader declared. “Churches are good tools for
controlling the people. Why do you think we invite clergymen to officiate at our
national ceremonies? When church-goers see their bishops and pastors
co-operating with the state, they won’t think about treason.”
“You
are right, Patriot President,” Campbell said. “But with so many churches it
becomes difficult to separate church gatherings from political gatherings.”
“Patriot
Campbell and you Patriot Collins,” the supreme leader thundered, banging his
fist onto the table. “As ministers of Interior and State Security, it’s your
job to distinguish church gatherings from political gatherings. We will not ban
churches.”
There
was silence as the ministers waited for the supreme leader’s temper to cool.
“Long
live President Ward, the supremo of the National Party and the supreme leader of
the Ten Districts of America,” Professor Reed broke the silence, waving his
tiny fist.
“Long
live!”
“Patriot
President, I think we are experiencing this problem of rebels because citizens
have too much freedom of speech. When citizens have too much freedom of speech
they end up talking about politics. When they talk about politics they end up
talking about treason.”
“What
do you suggest, Professor Reed?” interjected Collins, angry Reed was
encroaching into his territory.
“I
think we should fit every citizen with an electronic gag,” Professor Reed said.
Everyone
burst into laughter. Even Assistant Police Commissioner Evans, the supreme leader’s
ever-impassive bodyguard, couldn’t help laughing.