I’m not going back up that hill to deal with Michael. I’d sooner take my chances on the Tenth Spec Forces than hang my hopes on Michael Adriko, the lunatic comedian.
I should stay sober and alert for the sound of a blue-and-white Isuzu.
Really? Kiss off. What difference does it make? It’s been two weeks since we left Arua and I’ve come altogether about fifty kilometers.
[SAME-SAME, 6:30PM?]
Oh, Davidia! Or maybe I mean
Oh, Tina!
Whichever is your name, I call to you, oh woman of my heart.
The Mawa decants out of 2 five-liter jugs.
The gourd bowl goes round and round.
My flat black silhouette comrades. Right now they stand against the sunset. Behind them it looks like Dresden’s burning. I forget their names. I’ll ask again.
— Oudry
— Geslin
— Armand
Priests of the nectar, ministers to the flock, of whom I am one.
If I can’t buy or think my way out of this by tomorrow, I’ll go back to the Americans and say, Prison? Fine.
* * *
My handwriting may be illegible — let’s blame the dark.
Also my pencil must be dull, but come on, enough — it worries the mind and body to have to sharpen a utensil every half page.
Oudry, Geslin, and Armand have kindled a fire from dried dung on a bed of former thatch, and our laughter flies up into the blackness with its sparks.
Incidentally, Davidia, that’s why they’re tearing the huts apart around here. For firewood.
Davidia, I wish you could meet Tina.
Tina, I’m not sure I’d like you to meet Davidia.
Do I contradict myself? Not to worry. I’ll soon be transcribing these notes in a prison cell, with plenty of time to get my thoughts in order.
Let’s face it. I’ve got to go back to the Yanks.
I’ve improved the plan a bit: take the last of my cash to Bunia, lavish it on a finale of booze and prostitutes, then advise the UN to arrest me.
* * *
Fifty kilometers in 14 days. Per my calculations, a circus clown walking on his hands would have made better progress.
Tina.
You’re sexy, Tina. And smart. But not glamorous in the Michael’s-woman way. Still. You might have had dealings with Michael. I think you might have dealt with him. You know what I mean? I mean, did you fuck him, Tina? I always suspected you did but I never asked, so I’m asking. Did you fuck Michael?
[OCT 28 ca. 8AM]
When next I encountered Michael Adriko, I found him continuing in a wretched state. He looked like he’d been beaten about the face with a bat, but it was just sadness, only misery, it was nothing physical, it was all from the inside. That was last night.
A few words about remorse.
This remorse twists in me like seasickness.
If you’ve been seasick lately you know what I mean. This remorse is physically intolerable.
I climbed the hill last night after drinking with my fellow herdsmen. What are their names? God. I’ve lost their names — and the herdsmen as well, and their cattle. Where are they? I’m alone by the creek.
There’s a reason they call them spirits. They enter in, they take control, they speak and walk around. Wicked, wicked spirits.
Last night I thought I heard Michael chopping with his machete atop this hill. Striking at La Dolce’s tree and calling, Nair! with every stroke, Nair! Nair!
It must have been well past midnight, because the moon rode high and gave plenty of light to see by. I floated zigzag up the hill and now report I was hallucinating. Nobody was bothering the tree.
Michael sat against its base with his legs splayed before him and his machete sticking upright at the midpoint between his feet, his arms limp beside him, his chin on his chest — in Kandahar I once saw a man sitting exactly like that, and he was dead.
I said, “I don’t care if you’re awake, or dead, or what.”
“I’m defeated, that’s all.”
“We need to go, man. What’s keeping you here?”
“Something has to happen that hasn’t happened.”
“What could possibly happen?”
“Davidia might come.”
“Davidia’s not coming. She was disgusted right down through. She didn’t look back, Michael. Not one glance.”
“I put her to too harsh a test.”
“Did you think you’d be the king here, and Davidia would reign beside you as queen?”
“You’re making my experience sound shallow. You’re wrong. This is cutting me very deep. I never meant to keep her here. No, I only meant to bring my wedding to these people as a great gift, and then leave. I always meant for us to leave.”
“Leave how?”
“There’s always a plan for extraction. How many times have I told you that?”
“What plan? Who extracts us?”
“In this case, we extract ourselves.”
“Then let’s do it. For God’s sake, Michael.”
“What are you made of, Nair? Why did you betray us?”
“Will you leave it for another time? Let’s get out of here, if you know a way.”
“I’m not leaving.”
“Come and have some Mawa with these folks down the hill. Let’s relax, and talk this over.”
He wouldn’t respond. I walked away in the hope he’d hop up and follow me, as a dog might.
The truth was that we’d finished the Mawa to the last molecule and sopped up all the dregs. For this reason, if I had an errand in walking away, I forgot it.
My feet turned me around, and I stood over Michael once again. “Very good, sir. What’s happening?”
“You’re drunk.”
“Let’s talk a little bit about betrayal.”
“You’re an expert.”
“There’s betrayal, and there’s betrayal.”
“So far I can’t argue with you.”
“I need your help.”
“Go away.”
“Gladly.”
I repeated the same business — I had no control over my words or my deeds. The spirits possessed me. Down the hill became up the hill, and I’m back at him.
“Before I go, I just want to say goodbye to the biggest idiot I’ve ever known.”
“Goodbye then. You won’t get far.”
“I’m resigned to that. Let the Yanks play with me awhile. I’m headed for prison.”
“What do they care about you, really?”
“Do you think you’re the only idiot with criminal secrets and idiotic criminal scenarios, who does idiotic things?”
“You’re raving. If I had some rope, I’d tie you.”
“I’m going to the bottom of the hill and start waiting for these missionaries. They’ve got a car.”
“Excellent. Maybe you’ll pass out, and they’ll run you over.”
The spirits carried me down the hill once more. Demons. Vandals. Fiends. This time a sense of calm overcame me, a desperate counterfeit sobriety in which I realized I’d better talk clearly and persuasively to this stupid asshole.
Michael was actually on his feet when I returned.
“Hey. Where are you going?”
“Don’t follow me.”
“I forgot what I wanted to say before. It’s just this: there’s some business in Freetown I need to conclude in something of a hurry.”
“In a hurry? Where do you think you are?”
“I’ve negotiated the sale of some material,” I said, “and the handoff’s in Freetown with no fallback, and I’m afraid the deadline has gotten very tight. Thursday afternoon.”
“What’s got you so mad for it? Is there money in this?”
“Until the window closes. Can we get to Freetown?”
“There are UN flights out of Bunia.”
“How can we get on a flight?”
“Money and luck.”
“I think we’d better try. Otherwise I’m in a lot of trouble. Yesterday a fellow promised me hell.”