She could not talk, nor was he sure that she had heard him. She looked like a piece of cinder interrupted here and there by red patches and bandages. He brought the children to her and made them hold vigil, promising them to bring the criminals to justice. They had never seen their father looking so distressed. They had always seen him in his glory, in the glow of youth. Now he looked old, harassed, deranged. They knew that his future plans had been derailed, which meant uncertain days ahead. What if something happened before their mother got well? Would she survive a helicopter journey to the north? What if the helicopter was not available?
General Bazooka's mother remained his only rock. She consoled him and urged him to shoulder his burden and move on. She wanted him to take his wife to Arua as soon as possible. He, however, preferred to wait a little longer and see what the specialists could do.
IT TOOK THE QUARTET sometime before they heard who was injured in the last blast. They celebrated but at the same time knew that they would have to be extremely careful. The stakes had risen to incredible levels, thanks to coincidence. General Bazooka had a reputation; he wasn't going to take this lying down. They suspended operations while trying to find out the counter-measures the General or the security agencies were going to take. During that time Tayari suffered bouts of hellish worry: What if Victoria sold him to the General? Wouldn't the General arrest Bat in order to make him tell where he was?
AT A STATE BANQUET a few weeks later General Bazooka could not bear the sight of Colonel Ashes any longer. He went over and confronted him. The white man was holding his favourite cigar while talking to a friend. He laughed loudly, a hacking sound that spread across the room, tipping his head far back to allow the merriment to gush out of him. It was this cocky, self-assured laugh that incensed the General so much that he feared he might have a fit. Ashes looked so inaccessible, a cut above every guest present. He continued talking and laughing even when he saw the General striding towards him as if he intended to go right through him. They were in the gardens of the Nile Perch Hotel, the city at their feet. The sun was going down with a dazzling display of deep reds and oranges set against a pale high sky. Colonel Ashes always made sure that he observed sundown because it was so dramatic and so quick. It made his spirits rise and he toasted it with a stiff drink except when he was at receptions where alcohol was forbidden.
“You will not get away with this, I can assure you, Colonel,” the General spluttered, pointing his finger at his arch-enemy.
“I don't understand. Do you want a drink, General?”
“The cowardly attack on my wife . . .” he hissed, too furious to finish the sentence.
“It was a bloody shame what happened to your beloved wife,” Ashes said, emphasizing “beloved,” hardly able to hide his glee. The fact that fire was involved made it all the more delectable to him. How he would have liked to watch! “But you can take it from me that I had nothing to do with it. It must be one of those pathetic dissident groups you boys seem unable to take care of.”
General Bazooka reached for his gun but remembered that it was empty. Nobody had been allowed in armed, even if it was only Marshal Amin's double in attendance. The Marshal's favourite double had been shot in the stomach a few months before, and ever since, the rules had changed. “You will pay for this, I can assure you.”
“I don't understand you people. Some small guy lays a finger on your tit and you start screaming as if he were cutting off your nuts. My wife's house was attacked some time ago, but I never uttered a word. It is part of the game. You can't play a man's game with that boyish mentality of yours. You should have known that from the beginning, General. As one musician put it, âToo Much Love Can Kill You.' ”
General Bazooka was shaking with exasperation. His forehead was covered in beads of perspiration. He wanted to strike the Englishman, but he knew that it would be of little use. Many dignitaries at the party knew about the bad blood flowing between the two of them, and it would serve no purpose to fuel their gossip machines. “IâIâI . . .”
“If I were you, I would be in hospital holding my wife's hand instead of hanging around here drowning in self-pity. Men who have tasted the power of life and death should never degrade themselves with such sentimental pooh. It all makes me wonder whether you have ever been shot, General. I have, on a number of occasions. It hurt like hell, but proximity to death breeds fortitude. I have pain in my legs, but I don't complain. I love it. Why don't you try it? You could begin by, say, plucking out your sinning eye, as your Bible tells you.” He grinned at the younger man, who looked totally confused.
The things the General wanted to do to this man were indescribable. He had, after all, auctioned his demise a long time ago. But wonder of wonders, the money remained unclaimed. It said a lot about his power and the state of the army. He spat a mouthful of soda in the grass near the Englishman's shining shoes.
“It is people of very crude origins who do things like that,” Ashes said, inhaling a large volume of smoke from his cigar, as if to wipe away the insult. He looked disappointed. He saw how easy it was to destroy him. One word in the Marshal's ear and he would be dead. He realized that these men received too much power too early in life, before they had learned iron discipline and proper detachment. It was the reason why the country had gone to the dogs; it was full of dogs. The very fact that he could come in and take over, and make millions of dollars, showed how rotten the structure was. He was sure of one thing though: he would not be around when the edifice collapsed on these people's heads. He savoured his superior attitude with flair: this was the first time in his life that he worked with people he really despised. These men had given him little to respect them for. They were too predictable, the typical dumb soldiers who reached for the gun even if they only meant to take a piss.
He remembered the time that his wife's house was razed to the ground. He had suspected General Fart, but he had kept his head and said nothing. On that day he just kissed his wife, and they spent the day on the island hunting parrots, roasting fish and later on making love. Now he regretted that it was not his men who had bombed Geneal Fart's wife's car. He would have savoured it more, and the woman would be dead as a doornail. For all the tough talk these men spouted, he knew they were afraid. Of the Marshal, of himself, of Dr. Ali, of the future. There was a rift of weakness in them. A general who allowed his wife to go out unprotected didn't strike him as tough or sensible. In these times a general's wife had to go out escorted by automatic rifles and Shark helicopters.
“One day you will regret this, I can assure you,” he heard the General, medals dancing, face swollen, eyes popping, say pathetically.
“We all have things to regret; it is the human condition, General. Maybe you more than I. I have one rule in life: I don't look back. That is how I have survived to reach this age. Somebody blasts me, I blast back. If I don't, I have myself to blame. If one day you become president, send a whole battalion of your sharp-shooters to arrest me. If you send boys, I will kill them all, and you wouldn't want to begin your reign with burials, would you? Otherwise, I don't give a bloody damn. If you do, then maybe you are in the wrong business, General.”
“One day you will see . . .” General Bazooka uttered, feeling constipated by hate and ire.
“I live by the day, General. If I wake up dead one day, I won't regret it. I do my job chasing and burning smugglers on the lake. If you boys did your work on land, and in your ministries, this would indeed be the pearl of Africa.”
Unable to stand it any longer, General Bazooka stormed off, trailed by his entourage. Few people paid attention; hatred among the top brass was as common as fleas on a dog.
FOUR STINGERS STOPPED at the front and the back of Victoria's block of flats, and soldiers rushed in to secure the corridors. People peeped through their windows to see who had arrived. Many suspected that somebody was being arrested by the Eunuchs, the Bureau or the Public Safety Unit. They waited in vain to see some subdued figure emerge caged in a phalanx of soldiers.
It was around eight o'clock. Victoria had just finished feeding her daughter, who was in a good mood. She was walking about pulling things, laughing, jabbering. She brought her mother a pink doll. She pulled her mother's hair, as if to make it as straight as that of the doll. Victoria's heart sank when she heard the crunching of the boots. The noise seemed to confirm her worst fears that somebody wanted to kill her. It did not help that she had had a big row with Bat. He had ordered her to stop bothering his wife. He had confirmed that their relationship was over. He had shown her the wedding ring. He had told her that he knew who she really was. He had made it clear that her dreams of salvation did not include him; at least not in the role she wanted. He had remained impervious to her offers of everlasting love. She had cried, begged, and tried to use the child as leverage, but failed.
“You don't understand. You performed a miracle. This child is a big miracle. You don't understand, but one day you will,” she had insisted. He had then marched out of the flat.
In the meantime, she had decided to reconcile with her mother and family. She had spent a month looking for them in the villages but had not found them. Every time she found a promising lead, it crumbled. Had they changed names? Had they been swallowed by the endless cattle-rearing plains? Had they fled to Tanzania and joined the guerrillas? Her mother too! Had they died of malaria? The one aunt she had managed to locate refused to cooperate. Sworn to secrecy. Infuriated, Victoria had threatened to kill her, and the woman had said: “You see? That is the reason why everybody deserted you. You wanted to kill them. Your man sent soldiers to them. If they had not bribed them, they would be dead now.” She had left with a heavy heart.
Now General Bazooka stood in front of her, medals glinting in the yellow light, swagger stick held stiffly in his left hand, gently tapping his right palm.
“I am very glad to see you, General.”
“You don't look too happy.”
“I am extremely happy,” she said, kneeling down to greet him in the traditional way. A wench paying homage to her prince.
“Stand up, Vicki. I want to see your eyes.”
“Yes, General,” she replied, hardly able to stand straight.
“Did you hear what happened to my wife?”
“It was a very sad, cowardly act,” she said, echoing the national radio word for word.
“Are you the newsreader? Whatever happened to your brain?”
“I am very sorry to hear what happened to her.”
“As if you didn't hate her.”
“I don't, General.”
“Whatever happened to your sense of duty? I gave you an assignment, and instead of doing your job you fell in love with the goat-fucker. What does that say about you, eh?”
“It just happened, General.”
“Did that man know that I had fucked you?”
“No, General.”
“Stop calling me General as if I were a general store,” he screamed. “Why did you betray me, Vicki? Was it a bleeding southerner conspiracy?”
“I couldn't get him to talk. He was too sophisticated for me.”
“You could fuck him to death but couldn't make him open his mouth! Had he no family? Nobody of use? Where is your bloody brain? Is there nothing in that pumpkin on your bleeding neck?”
“You ordered me to focus on him. You said nothing about his family.”
“I have just been told that there was a man who used to make fireworks shows. Where did he go?”
“I don't know.”
“Do you know what all these negations mean? That we are paying people for nothing, that the Bureau is a smokescreen, a pile of shit. If the Bureau can't find this man, why are we paying you? Why don't we stage a firing squad and shoot you all in front of the public?” He was yelling and advancing towards her as if to ram the stick down her open mouth. “My wife lies in hospital blinded, burned, arm torn off, and nobody knows who did it. Dissidents are running free in the city, known to some of you, and you are helping them bring the government down.”
Victoria kept quiet and stood very still, praying, hoping.
“Do you love that child?”
“Very much.”
“Do you know whose child it is? It is mine. Next time I am going to rename it and introduce it to its true family.”
“Yes, General.”
“Start doing your duty, for the child's sake. Do you hear me? I am keeping an eye on you. Unless you pay your dues, you won't have any peace of mind. Not for one second. You know me well. I have spoken,” he said, echoing the old kings. Dead kings. He suddenly asked himself why he was wasting precious time when he knew who the real enemy was. He would have peace of mind only when Reptile was dead. Without saying another word he turned around, collided with a bodyguard and left.
Victoria remained where she had been, near the thin sofa, the radio, the pot of artificial flowers. She had saved Bat's life once again. She had a crushing conviction that he was rightfully hers, and she, his saviour. She had to act quickly to make him hers, hers alone. There was only one person standing between him and her, and that was Babit. She had to go. From now on there would be no more phone calls, no more threats, no more words of advice. She had to go. The General's problems didn't interest her in the least. She had hers and it was called Babit. She had to go.
IN THE MEANTIME, cars continued exploding in different towns. People did not know what to do about it. There was a general fear of cars, and of shops and of crowded places. Bat wondered what was going on. He had waited in vain to hear the pirate radio broadcasting. His sister had never heard of it. The Kalandas and the Professor thought he was pulling their leg. They called it Lake Radio, meaning that it was a fiction, like the failed lake Amin had tried to make.