Authors: Kudakwashe Muzira
When
Jennifer was thirteen, a burglar broke into her home at night. Her father fought
the housebreaker, but the invader was stronger. He escaped, leaving Jennifer’s
father sprawling on the floor, blood and life oozing out of him. At her
father’s burial, as she watched his coffin going down the grave, Jennifer never
felt angry or bitter with her father’s killer. It wasn’t the killer’s fault
that her father was weaker.
When
she joined the police at eighteen, she never grumbled at the ill-treatment and
punishment she and the other recruits got from their trainers at the police
academy. The trainers, she reasoned, had power because of their rank, giving
them the right to ill-treat recruits. If she wanted to lessen her
ill-treatment, she had to rise through the ranks and become powerful. With that
in mind, she pushed herself hard in training and came out first in all
disciplines. Her shooting was impressive. It was as if she was born with a gun
in her hand.
One
day, Superintendent Hall, the head of the police academy put Jennifer in charge
of the other recruits. In Jennifer’s logic, she was now stronger than the rest
of the recruits and had the right to boss them around. The trainers watched
with pleasure as she subjected the other recruits to rigorous training.
“I
like this girl,” Superintendent Hall told his colleagues as they watched Jennifer
set the pace in the morning jog.
That
day’s training was the hardest the recruits had experienced in their two months
at the police academy.
“Jennifer!”
the superintendent called when the day’s training was over.
“Yes
sir!” she answered.
“I
am putting you in charge of all recruits. I want you to maintain discipline.”
“Yes
sir.”
“Did
you hear that, folks?” the superintendent shouted. “Jennifer is in charge.”
From
that day Jennifer, or the she-monster as she became known to the other
recruits, ruled with an iron fist. She was the only recruit without friends. She
didn’t care about friends, she only cared about power. When Superintendent Hall
asked for sex, Jennifer obliged. He was more powerful than her and she had to
do what he wanted. She serviced the superintendent’s sexual needs throughout
the remainder of her stay at the police academy. Jennifer’s trainers, knowing
she was their boss’ mistress, stopped ill-treating her, making her feel more powerful.
When
her six months of training ended, Jennifer got a place in the Police Special Branch,
thanks to Superintendent Hall’s glowing letter of recommendation. The special
branch mostly dealt with political crimes. Jennifer never felt remorse when she
tortured suspects. As a cop, she had power over civilians and she was just
following the natural order of life―survival of the strongest.
Jennifer’s
eyes lit with pride whenever she looked at the glittering trophy on her coffee
table, her prize for winning the President’s Sharpshooter Competition, a
shooting tournament open to servicemen and civilians. Jennifer got the trophy
for finishing first in the women’s category and fifth in the overall standings.
President
Ward himself and all the security chiefs watched her cruise to victory in the
tournament. As was the custom, the president gave the trophy to the police
commissioner because Jennifer was a member of the police force.
“Commissioner
Hunt, I congratulate you for producing the finest gunwoman in the security
forces,” President Ward said.
“Thank
you, Your Excellence.” The police commissioner raised the trophy. “With such
fine gunwomen in our ranks, the public is assured of protection from terrorists
and bandits.” The police commissioner pinned the winner’s medal on Jennifer’s
uniform before handing her the trophy and a three-thousand lucre check.
This
was the happiest day of Jennifer’s life, not only because of the prize and the
publicity, but because her victory enhanced her chances of gaining promotion.
She knew that President Ward and his security chiefs would quickly forget about
her. The President’s Sharpshooter Competition was one of many events that these
powerful men attended and she was one of millions of subordinates under their
command. But she knew that if she won the trophy in the next three years, they
would remember her. If she won overall first place, beating all male
contestants, the president would surely remember her and the police commissioner
would reward her with promotion.
Every
day, when her colleagues went home, Jennifer went to the shooting range and
practiced shooting for at least an hour. She was going to win overall first
place in the President’s Sharpshooter Competition and earn herself a promotion.
Unlike
most overzealous cops and soldiers, Jennifer didn’t hero-worship her superiors;
she only obeyed them because they had power over her. She never believed any of
the government’s propaganda. Nor did she have any patriotism. Her main goal in
life was her survival. In this world of survival of the fittest, she had to
gain power if she wanted a better life.
Jennifer
didn’t grumble when the supreme leader decreed that the next day would be the
fifth of May. President Brandon Ward was the most powerful man on Earth; if he
wanted to prolong his wife’s birthday, everyone had to follow. She would live
tomorrow as if it was 5 May. Of course that wasn’t going to stop her from
saying happy birthday to her mother who was born on 6 May.
When
she woke up the next morning, it seemed like the start of just another ordinary
day but she was to remember this morning for the rest of her life. She pulled
out the keypad and display panel of her electronic gag and dialed her mother’s
ID number. Since NASP didn’t charge cops, it was wise to use her electronic gag
instead of her phone.
“Hey
mom... how are you?”
“Fine,”
replied her mother. “Sorry I took long to answer your call. I’m not used to
this gadget.”
Jennifer
and her mother had grown close since the death of Jennifer’s father. When Jennifer
left home to join the police, mother and daughter grew even closer. Distance
helped heal old wounds.
“You
sound sad,” Jennifer said. “Have you forgotten what day it is today?”
“What
is happening today?”
“Age
is catching up with you fast, mom. Today is 6 May, your birthday. Happy
birthday, mom.”
“Oh
it had passed me.” She laughed. “You are right darling... age is catching up
with me.”
“Officially,
today is 5 May but we all know the truth, don’t we?” Jennifer said. “I wish you
many more.”
“What
do you mean by officially it is 5 May?”
“Didn’t
you listen to the radio or watch TV yesterday?”
“I
didn’t.”
“The
president said today is 5 May,” Jennifer snorted.
“Why?”
“He
wants to prolong his wife’s birthday.”
“That’s
romantic.”
“I
will talk to you later, mom. I have to go to the national stadium for part two
of the first lady’s birthday.”
Jennifer
made herself a cup of tea, which she took with leftovers from dinner. She was
halfway through her breakfast when she heard a loud knock on the door. Jennifer
knew the knocker was someone with power over her, or someone who thought he had
power over her. No friend or subordinate could bang her door this way.
She
sprang to her feet and opened the door. Two CIB agents burst into the room and
showed her their badges.
“What’s
the matter,” she asked, believing they had come to the wrong address.
“Are
you Jennifer Rodriguez?”
“Yes.”
Now her heart was beating fast. She didn’t remember committing a crime but one
couldn’t be sure these days. There was a fine, dotted line between innocence
and criminality.
“You
are under arrest!”
“You
must be mistaken,” Jennifer protested. “I am a law-abiding citizen. I am a
member of the Police Special Branch.”
“We
know everything about you. You are under arrest.”
“For
what?”
“Earlier
today you phoned your mother with your NAST, didn’t you?”
Now
Jennifer’s heart was pounding.
“Didn’t
you?” echoed the CIB agent.
“I
did.”
“Yesterday,
soon after the supreme leader announced that today will be the fifth of May, we
made the term 6 May or sixth of May a red word for today.” He sounded like
Sherlock Holmes explaining his methods to Dr Watson. “When you told your mother
that today is 6 May, NASP started recording your conversation. The president
said today is 5 May and you belittled him. We checked your trajectory and
discovered that you were actually in the VIP lounge at the national stadium
when the president issued his decree.”
“I
was part of the security personnel assigned to cordon off the VIP lounge,” Jennifer
stammered. She was used to interrogating people, not the other way round.
“You
are a cop, sworn to defend the Ten Districts,” the other agent spoke for the
first time. “You are a cop entrusted with the duty of guarding the president
and yet you belittle His Excellence. I am not the judge in this matter but I
think that aggravates your crime. Come with us.”
Jennifer
knew it was pointless to resist. The wheels were in motion. The state security
machinery was now against her. She was no longer one of the regimes trusted
hunters. She had become its prey. The CIB agents took her to their car.
*
* * * *
Like
the previous day, the Brandon Ward National Stadium was packed to capacity.
After the armed forces finished entertaining spectators with parades and
displays, Cassandra Ward mispronounced another long speech prepared for her by
the Ministry of Information. Then the two football teams continued their
rivalry in a thrilling rematch. District One Raiders avenged the previous day’s
defeat with a hard-earned 22-21 victory over District Sixers, thanks to a
controversial touchdown call.
“This
has been the best fifth of May celebrations ever,” the master of ceremony said.
“It was much better than on the first half of today.” He waved his fist in the
air. “Long live Patriot Cassandra Ward, the mother of the nation!”
“Long
live!” the stadium resounded, thousand of fists shaking in the air.
“Long
live Patriot Brandon Ward, the father of the nation!”
“Long
live!”
“This
is time for our supreme leader, President Brandon Ward, to say the last word
before we go.”
The
crowd cheered as Brandon Ward walked to the podium.
“Thank
you ladies and gentlemen, patriots and friends,” the president said, silencing
the stadium. “Patriots, I thank you all for celebrating this second half of my
wife’s birthday with my family. Tomorrow I want you to reset your calendars to
7 May. I thank you all.”
As
always, the president, the first lady, the vice president and the senior
minister were the first to leave the stadium. Cabinet ministers and security
chiefs were the next to go before members of the public could leave their
seats.
When
they arrived at the First Building, Brandon Ward and his brother played card
games as Cassandra supervised the making of their dinner. Avid gamblers, the Ward
brothers enjoyed card games. They betted on anything: football matches,
weather, TV reality shows, foreign wars, foreign elections. When Cassandra Ward
was pregnant, Brandon and Christopher Ward even betted on the date of her
delivery. Christopher was in high spirits after winning the bet on the First
lady’s Final for the second time in two days. In the first cup final, District
Sixers outclassed District One Raiders so much that Brandon Ward decided to bet
on the team from District Six in the rematch. He had watched with
disappointment as District One Raiders came from behind to beat the more talented
District Sixers by a point, giving Christopher Ward his second win in two days.
“Brandon,
what are your plans with the fifty-one rebels the CIB arrested many weeks ago?”
Christopher Ward asked.
“Ah...
I had almost forgotten about them,” Brandon Ward said, putting a card on the
table. “Let’s execute them tomorrow.”
“That
won’t be fun,” Christopher said. “Why don’t we kill them in style? Let’s
release them in pairs and send the police after them with instructions to shoot
to kill.”
“And
we bet on the lifespans of the prisoners,” Brandon said with excitement. “The
player whose prisoners survive longer wins the bet. We promise the prisoners
freedom if they survive for a week.”
“That
would be fun.”
“Let’s
do it!” Brandon Ward welcomed the chance to win back the bragging rights after
losing the football bets. “Let’s do it next week. This week I have to attend
the FAO summit.”
“Next
week it is, big brother,” Christopher said eagerly.
*
* * * *
Freddie
enjoyed taking his mother round the wildlife refuge so much that when she left,
he felt devastated. Tonight, the second night after her departure, Freddie sat
alone in the living room, thinking about Michael. Was Michael still alive? Were
security agents torturing Michael and his comrades? He switched on the TV but
quickly switched it off when he discovered that most of the television stations
were churning out government propaganda. He opened a John Grisham book. He loved
Grisham’s books. They talked about a time when there was rule of law in
America, a time when ordinary citizens could take the government to court and win.
Not even John Grisham could take his mind off his worries.