The guys digging the hole signal that it’s now deep enough. It breaks my heart. I can’t do this.
“You gotta be brave. We’re all the same. If it were me I would have gotten it over with quickly. Most likely would have botched things up. Make sure you do a good job. Be brave!”
He climbed up onto the mound. I thought he was going to turn his back on us as his uncle had done, shouting out, “Shoot me in the back now, you bunch of cowards!” He stared down the firing squad. Do you want a blindfold?
“No, gentlemen.”
“How about a blessing?”
“Why do you insist on disrespecting God in this way?”
The guys are ready. All they’re waiting for now are my orders. I can’t get the words out.
“Attention! Ready: aim!”
Everything’s ready, my God everything’s ready. Goodbye Esperancio. I want things to be over with quickly. But I just can’t do it. I’ve lost my voice. Esperancio can see I’m choked up and smiles. He was the one to shout “fire” and the guys fired. He fell down. Blood everywhere. We’ve all seen blood before. But not this blood. All the bullets hit him in the heart. What an exercise! They left a big opening in his back. I closed his eyes. So shameful. So vile. I’ve killed in Algeria with Leclerc, I’ve killed in Lorraine, I’ve killed in Vietnam: that’s our god-damn job: to kill over and over again. Look at the blood disappearing. And now which war will you wage, old buddy? You’ll be old one day. They’ll send you packing with anachronistic medals. Your body riddled with gout. Unless they kill you like this: aim, fire! And you drop to the ground face down in the dirt. He feels like he’s about to puke.
“It’s almost cowardly to come into the world when the die is cast. Most of you were still breastfeeding when the real business went down. Those of us who are older asked for and obtained Independence, and you have no idea what sacrifices we made, and as thanks all you want to do is execute us. Take a good look at history. I’m the last of a dying breed. There should be a ban on people under fifty holding public office.”
Ah, on this September morning. He was having his morning dose of Bénédicta mustard, straddling his little French woman Evelyne Ollayat with his big kaki privates, as furry as ever, and those shiny white teeth we were all so fond of poking out. They announce the arrival of Colonel Juano Jeriano Ombra.
“Tell him to wait a few minutes.”
“Mr. President, he says it’s urgent.”
“He’s not the president, I am.”
Without warning he enters the room. And there he is: drenched in his hateful and angry sweat, no longer wearing his eternal uniform, his eyes bloodshot just like his father’s were when he was alive, disheveled hair, buttons undone, Colonel Ombra, a disgrace, standing in front of me with lint from his bedding and smears from last night in his beard, I don’t understand, and, Mom, his fly wide open but what on earth has gotten into you? You’ve even managed to put your slippers on the wrong feet.
“Mr. President, here’s my resignation letter.”
“But what’s going on Jeriano Ombra; why are your eyes bloodshot, but Mr. President, here’s my resignation letter.”
“But what resignation? I trust you, hold you in esteem and you have everything you could possibly hope for at your disposaclass="underline" money, cars, villas.”
“There’s no going back, Mr. President, I’m here to hand you my resignation because one day, we will have to leave the country to the children of the children of our children.”
He sets the letter down and leaves. Fine: I’ll find someone willing to…. Then they announce the arrival of Colonel Fonsio, National Minister of Infantrymen, and I’m handing you my resignation because we will have to leave the country to the children of the children of our children. Then they announce the arrival of Colonel Tounga, and I’m handing you my resignation, and he sets down his letter and takes off without even turning around to check whether my hernia is about to leap on him, at which point Lieutenant-Colonel Vansio Fernandez enters to hand in his resignation because we will have to leave the country to the children of the children of our children but not in this shameful state, and even you my son Giovanno Lanza, followed by my son Fentas Manuello Couba, and you my son that I appointed general only the day before yesterday, and you, and you and you? One by one the whole government appeared before my hernia to leave the country to the children of the children of our children of my shame, what a woeful lot! And all the military leaders who want to leave the country to the children of the children of our children, same for my fourteen fortune-tellers, my twelve cooks, Aunt Outézo Jelia, both uncles, and my sixty-seven illegitimate children. His office now looks like a garbage can, every kind of paper, every color, crumpled, crossed out, chewed up, anxiously torn up, grubby, but we want to leave the country to the children of the children of our children. His throat swells with anger. I don’t understand the people around here. National Mom came to comfort him. But he sees Jescani enter: they close their eyes.
“No, anyone but you, Jescani.”
“That’s right, Mr. President. Anyone but me. You and I gave birth to the nation. I am with you.”
National Letanso appears holding onto a piece of wrapping paper dripping in sauce, stinking of butter and onion, covered in scribble done with an eyeliner pencil, and Mr. President I’m handing you a collective statement of resignation from the guards who’ve decided to leave the country to the children of their children. He pulls up his zipper so that his twelve mistresses can pass before him with their kids tightly wrapped on their backs, Glézani leading the way, her face flushed with anger, drooling, haggard, as if she hadn’t brushed her hair in years, hands shaking with contempt, a resolute look in the eye, she couldn’t stop the tears from running:
“Why are you crying, Glézani, my love?”
“Mr. President, here is our resignation. Here it is.” Soaked with snot, all chewed up by the rats that have infested the palace, she hands it over to him with the same hand she washes her genitals with. “Can’t you use the other hand?” No question of changing hands. This says what it says. And just like that, he was handed one resignation after the other all day long, and National Jérica came and threw a letter right in my face, but don’t worry, I will take revenge. Do as you please, I’m the one in a position of strength. If fifteen thousand guys have to be shot so that another fifteen thousand can live, so be it! “And you of all people, Jérica, that I picked up on a street corner. Alas, on this earth, no one owns anyone. You would have died of hunger and scabies out there in the bush.” Toutansio hands him the resignation from the mayor’s office. And Savouansi Luigi Portes comes in with the resignation that’s preventing us from getting electric power tonight. And yet, that’s also right when Carvanso came in with a handful of infantrymen who’d joined forces with Vauban’s men.
“Colonel, we’ve remained loyal to you and together we will subdue the traitors.”
“Ok.”
We’ve retaken control over the radio station Ok we’ve retaken the prison Ok we’ve retaken the armament store Ok we’ve retaken the June 11th camp.
“God is with us.”
We’ve retaken Gatansi Bridge we’ve retaken the train station and the capitol building.
He places his hand over his heart. Slowly moves it toward his herniated balls that are arousing his fleshy pole. But it’s time to go and see my people, and we saw him head over to District 45, guided by the sound of drums. He goes to bang their daughters to celebrate the triumph of his hernia over the forces of evil. He brands the fiancée of our poor old brother Yohassi Loma with his sour juices. And as he passes, the people ask:
“Mr. President, I haven’t eaten for three days.”