Authors: Monique Roffey
Praise be to God
, murmured the men.
The beautiful had vanished. Ashes was feeling alone and a little awkward in himself. He tried to stand erect and ready for this mighty task but the air was heavier now the doors and windows had
been closed. Then the brothers seemed to know it was time and they all moved as one in a slow swaying movement. They were all collecting themselves.
Ashes felt light in his head. His body seemed to vanish from under him. From the back of the room four brothers appeared wearing green army fatigues. The plan that had seemed so far off was now
underway. Every man in the room stared in a kind of wondrous paralysis, not quite knowing their impending duty, not quite ready for all of this. Some of the brothers had been informed but most
hadn’t, and so a subdued chaos started to arrive in the prayer room; it was seeping into the bloodstream of every man and boy. One of the fighters wore a bandana around his nose and lower
jaw. Another had put on a black woollen balaclava. Ashes could just about recognise them but didn’t really know either of them in a personal way. Both these men were close to the Leader, they
were part of the small group around him, the inner cabinet; these brothers had been chosen by the Leader and sent for training far away, to camps in the desert. That much he knew.
One of these fighters positioned himself to the right and another to the left of the Leader. Now the Leader looked even more distinguished than usual, like a movie star or some kind of cricket
champion. Each of these new bodyguards held a rifle and wore a bandolier of ammunition across his chest. Each had cold eyes and looked proudly intent and serious as hell. They reminded Ashes of
Sylvester Stallone. All of a sudden, he didn’t feel good. He wanted to go straight back to his home, to his wife, their two sons Arich and Arkab, named after the stars they were born under;
he wanted his life of books and medicinal plants which he cultivated in the yard. He had a sense that he was out of his depth, that he hadn’t quite understood what this big plan was, not in
detail. He had said ‘yes’ in principle.
‘You will be useful,’ the Leader had said. ‘You have a part to play.’ The Leader had name-checked his brother, River, and of course Ashes thought of the Phantom, and his
Oath of the Skull, an oath sworn to destroy greed and avarice in the stacks of comics under his bed as a child. Yes, he was there for River and for the righteous notion of being of service and
taking action. If words and prayers had no effect, then it was time to use the body. This was the time to secure a New Society for himself and his sons. He reminded himself of this, even though he
felt uneasy. Ashes patted for his inhaler in his pocket. Quickly, he put it to his lips and pumped two jets of cold mist into his mouth. He held his breath and kept still, counted
one, two,
three
.
Ashes watched as two of the brothers carried in a heavy metal locker and placed it at the feet of the Leader. The Leader bent, unlocked the clasps and opened the lid. Inside there were many long
rifles and he picked up one and held it high above his head.
‘Oh
Gooood
,’ gasped one of the young boys.
Another let out a low whistle.
‘Rambo time,’ someone joked. But the Leader glared and the men and the young boys hushed.
‘There are trucks waiting outside in the yard, just next to the exterior wall,’ he instructed. ‘You will each be given a gun and ammunition. Dress appropriately. We are an
army. Once we arrive, you will be assigned a duty. Those of you with training have been prepared. You will take the lead and you will fight. You others, with no training, will follow orders. You
will defend and guard. I will read out a list of names of those who will come with me to the television station, the rest will go with Hal to the House of Power.’
Ashes’ vision blurred and sweat trickled from his hairline down the side of his face. He wasn’t ready. And yet he
knew
. He’d been told. He had come willingly, and he
had lied to his wife in order to be here. The brothers now guarding the Leader seemed very organised; they began to take the rifles from the locker and hand them out. Some of the young boys
who’d only really come for football seemed accepting of the situation. They had amazed smiles at the sight of the big guns. Others looked disappointed and a little lost. No football. Boys
with no home, no mother or father; they were the foster sons of the Leader. Before they’d arrived at the commune they’d hawked sweets and plastic gadgets on street corners of the City
of Silk or they’d run errands for the badjohns who occupied the pizzeria in the southeastern part of town.
Ashes glanced around him. Many of the older brothers seemed as anxious as he was. The room was full of nervousness. Only the four in the matching army fatigues were in tune with the Leader. Like
him, they knew what was happening. Some of the men were older than Ashes and rougher than him; they had lived on the streets once too. But they were ready now, prepared for action of almost any
magnitude. A few of the older men, Ashes knew, had been part of the earlier revolution in 1970; one, a feller called Greg Mason, had even shot a policeman dead and had done some time in gaol. This
man had been part of the Brotherhood of Freedom Fighters and had known River.
But mostly, right then, seeing all those guns, everything was unreal. The world was hazy and far away and all the men were floating.
You coming, eh
, the Leader had said.
I need good men like you.
The Leader had rung him privately the week before. Ashes had been more flattered than alarmed by the phone call. It meant the Leader counted on his support, had his eye on him for backup in the
ranks. Ashes hadn’t even tried to be close to the Leader.
‘Here,’ said a gruff voice. It broke him from his thoughts. ‘This is yours.’
A rifle appeared in front of him. Long black metal nose, a crutch-like piece of polished wood. The guns, he had known about them; they’d been shipped from Miami amongst piles of
hollowed-out plywood. Hundreds had arrived some weeks ago and they’d been hidden in a warehouse near Cry-Town in central Sans Amen. Guns, ammunition, explosives, all in planks of hollowed
wood. Ashes had never seen a gun before. He held it like he might hold a teapot. He had no idea how to use it; he hadn’t been one of the brothers chosen for training. The gun was heavy and it
frightened him. His wrists were thin and weak and he tried to hide this. His stomach was all curdled up. His armpits began to perspire. The gun grew so hot it seemed to scald his hands. His heart
felt tight and closed up and he stood like a wooden man with a red-hot gun in his hands. One of the brothers gave him a bandolier of ammunition. With stiff hands, Ashes put the large bracelet over
his head and one shoulder so it encircled his body. It was heavy and the bullets felt like sharp teeth. Now he looked like Rambo too. He wanted to call his wife immediately. He wouldn’t tell
Jade where he was or exactly what was happening. He would just let her know he wouldn’t be home for dinner. That would be appropriate, that was all she needed to know.
Then everything began to move quickly. A hundred or so men were leaving the prayer room, wearing green army camouflage pants, big black boots, knitted hats, string vests; some, those who’d
been trained, wore a version of combat fatigues they’d brought from home; all of them were armed with long metal rifles. The brothers began to file out the back door into the afternoon heat.
They were fighters now, soldiers of God.
*
Two trucks were parked by the wall of the compound. More masked brothers stood by them. Ashes thought he recognised them. Most likely these men had also been trained. They
looked fierce, almost like professional soldiers. Hal was with them and Ashes could see he meant business. He had on full combat fatigues and a black beret, neat and tilted sideways on his head.
Hal was Number 2 to the Leader in the community. He was handsome, like the Leader, an educated man. Sometimes Hal gave talks after prayers, and sometimes he coached the boys because Hal was also
good at football; he’d been away from the island to university to study ‘computer science’, something very new. In some ways he was even more qualified to lead than the Leader
himself, but it was like Hal didn’t want to. He liked to be Number 2. Seeing brother Hal gave Ashes a surge of confidence. He gave a brief nod and the two men exchanged looks.
‘You, get in with me,’ said Hal. Ashes was glad of this, that he would be with Hal.
One of the trucks had big white letters on the side: W. A. T. E. R. He knew that a brother in the community had a cousin or an uncle who worked for the water authorities; the truck must have
been borrowed. The other truck looked like the kind of vehicle used to transport horses or farm animals. It had no windows. It was a metal box on wheels.
‘I’m not going in the horse truck,’ Ashes said to Hal. This assertion surprised him. Maybe it was because he had a gun in his hands. Already he had more strength. Hal nodded as
if he had thought the same thing.
‘The trucks are for camouflage,’ said Hal.
Ashes nodded, but he still wasn’t going in the horse truck.
Brothers began to line up, their guns shining in the sun. One of the men, a feller called Arnold, had put on a red Santa hat with a snowy white trim. Arnold was tall and his body was hard
looking, hard as Pouis wood. He wore a green net vest and green army pants and black leather boots. He had bucked teeth. He was an ugly man, ugly like a vampire bat, but with the Santa hat on and
his bandolier slung round his thin torso he looked dangerous.
Ashes stared at Arnold’s hat. He wished Hal would say something. It was not befitting for a revolutionary soldier to dress like that.
‘What you staring at?’ said Arnold.
‘You gonna make history in that hat, or what?’
‘Yeah, man.’
‘But we are not Christians,’ said Ashes.
‘Maybe I am.’
‘
You
?’
‘Yeah, maybe.’
‘And you praying with us?’
‘No. I never pray with you.’
‘What you doing here, then?’
‘I was invited, nuh.’
‘As Santa Claus?’
‘Captain Claus,’ said Arnold, and he made a sharp mock-salute and laughed at Ashes like he was the arse.
Ashes steupsed. He didn’t like this at all. More and more this was feeling difficult. He didn’t want to go to a revolution in a horse truck with a brother dressed like Santa Claus.
But Hal didn’t seem to mind and no one else seemed to care or notice Arnold’s hat.
Men were getting into the W. A. T. E. R. truck. Ashes realised he needed to move fast to find a space. He made his way towards the truck and put his gun inside and then heaved himself up and
onto one of the bench seats lining the sides.
It was dark inside the truck and when he looked around he found he recognised all of the men and boys already sitting there. Most of them he’d seen around the compound for years; all
he’d prayed with. They weren’t friends; they weren’t associates or colleagues either; they were brothers. One of the young boys, a street kid called Breeze, seemed to be delighted
with his gun; he was alert, ready for action. Breeze was about fourteen, Ashes guessed. He got his nickname because he could run fast. He had dressed himself up in black: black pants, black sports
shirt, big black army boots, a knitted hat over his razor sharp hair. The gun he held was thin and sleek and for a split second Ashes could see Breeze running fast with his gun.
Then Hal appeared, and Ashes felt relieved. Hal was like a big bull-terrier dog, strong, loyal, a fighter. He had two gold teeth in the side of his mouth and his eyes were a muddy green. Hal was
a man a cut above the men he was leading. That was clear. Hal sat down on the other side of Ashes and switched on his walkie-talkie. He spoke to the Leader, down into the microphone. ‘Yeah,
yeah,’ he was saying, listening to the final commands. ‘Yeah, yeah, we going,’ said Hal. Then he switched off the walkie-talkie and leant outside the back of the truck and shouted
to the driver.
‘Lehwego,’ he commanded. The truck started to move, rolling out of the compound, straight past the army post stationed next door, the army that was supposed to watch the Leader
closely and guard the country from the Leader’s bad men.
*
The streets of St Jared’s on the outskirts of the City of Silk were busy busy busy. It was late on a Wednesday afternoon, late in the month. Month end, payday soon, and
people were out drinking beer. The W. A. T. E. R. truck rolled slowly past the people liming and the vendors out on the street. A parlour on the corner was blaring soca, and jerk chicken smoked on
the grill at the takeaway next door. Ashes stared out into the world he knew well and it didn’t feel real. Again he was far away. His head had gone soft. His heart had slowed down. He was
barely breathing. The other brothers stared out the back too. They watched people walking across the street. They watched the maxi taxi behind them get a bad drive from another maxi, which turned
in to the traffic. A vagrant with a big raffia bag on his head began to bawl in the street, for no reason but just to bawl. Cars beeped their horns at him, to get out of the way. Ashes felt like
he’d gone deaf, like he’d come down with some kind of confusion of the head. He could feel Hal was nervous too. He was already showing patches of damp through his army suit. He wanted
to reassure Hal:
I believe in you
, he wanted to say.
Everything will go okay
.
Then they were travelling around the big savannah parkland in the centre of town. The truck stopped halfway round, pulled over by the kerbside, and a few brothers, men he’d never seen
before, wearing black robes and aviator sunglasses, were standing there. The men seemed to be expecting them; several boxes of rifles were piled up on the ground and they began to load these boxes
inside the W. A. T. E. R. truck in broad daylight! Ashes rubbed his eyes as if he wasn’t seeing right. Boxes of big guns were sailing into the back of the truck, right there, next to the
savannah. It was like the guns were invisible, like this was some kind of sign or blessing from God. The rifles passed silently through the back of the truck. No one spoke. The boxes of guns piled
up on the floor of the tray. Then they were driving again, and Ashes had a sense of leaving the world behind, of watching the world backwards from the truck which now smelled of gun metal and
late-afternoon sweat.