My Friend Matt and Hena The Whore

by Adam Zameenzad

  The tall man with the fat stomach and the tall lady with the fat ass are both carrying guns. Same as the two men we saw first.

  The man in the dirty white robe is being pushed and shoved by the other two. The tall man with the fat stomach gives him a strong kick between his legs and the tall lady with the fat ass gobs him in the eyes.

  The one with the light and his mate go towards them and join in beating up the man in the dirty white robe.

  They are also shouting at him. Not loud, but still shouting.

  Not the lady though. She isn’t shouting. She is hissing and spitting, words as well as gob.

  I do not understand what they say for it’s not the language my Dada speaks. That is the only one I know except for a little bit of English. Matt can understand most of it. It has words in it of the speech of the north which Matt knows. Also they mix their speech with words of another white man’s language which Matt understands a little. Whatever they say scares Matt stiff for his bony fingers grab my arms and drag me into the bushes.

  ‘Don’t move,’ he says in a tight whisper, ‘and don’t say a word,’ which I find odd for he is the one who is moving me and he is the one who is speaking. Slowly and smoothly he folds himself and crouches beside me, both tense and relaxed, like a cat.

  He brings his mouth so close to my ears his lips tickle my lobes.

  ‘They’re saying to that man he has some others with him not far from here. They say they know for they’ve heard about them from very reliable sources. They say when they find them they’ll make them wish they’d never left their mother’s womb. They’re saying if his mother was here they’d force him back into her…’ Matt is talking fast and low and what he says makes me wish I was back in my Mam’s arms. I feel like crying but I know any noise and we’re as good as dead. I don’t know why but that don’t matter. All that matters is that I want to get out of here.

  Matt knows what I am thinking.

  ‘It’s best to wait till they get back into their hut.’

  ‘What if they don’t?’ I finally bring myself to speak. ‘It’ll be light soon. They’re sure to spot us then.’

  ‘There’s that,’ agrees Matt. It’s not often Matt agrees with me. Or anybody. ‘Let’s give it a little while. If they’re still outside we’ll start back,’ he says.

  I think this is the best time as they are arguing and won’t hear us. Matt says nothing which is greatly unusual. I then understand why he isn’t back-tracking straight away as any normal person would. He is curious to know what is going on.

  One day he’ll get us all killed. Or worse, get us into trouble.

  Which reminds me of Hena and Golam. I only hope they’re still sleeping and not looking around for us. If they do they’ll end up making enough noise to get themselves caught. And us too.

  Golam I know never wakes. Hena, on the other hand, never sleeps. Leastways that’s what I believe. She can’t rest from scheming long enough for sleep. I’m worried what she’ll do if she finds us gone. Matt is too busy bending his ears and squinting his eyes to see and hear all he can see and hear.

  The four spotty green ones are being really cruel to the poor man in the dirty white robe. Even I forget thinking my troubles and start thinking his troubles.

  They tear the robe off his body and kick him in the chest and stomach and between the legs. The lady sits on his face so he can’t scream or shout. Every so often she lifts her fat ass off his face as if giving him a chance to tell whatever they want to know. But he don’t.

  ‘Why don’t he tell them?’ I say.

  ‘How can he? He don’t know. Leastwise that’s what he says.’

  ‘He could be lying,’ I say.

  ‘That don’t matter,’ Matt goes. ‘He don’t have to tell them just because they’re beating him up.’

  ‘He must have done some bad,’ I say.

  ‘I don’t know if he’s done some bad or not,’ he goes, ‘but I can tell you for nothing they’re doing some bad.’

  Suddenly they stop their kicking and beating. We are happy for the poor man on the ground who is no longer wearing the dirty white robe. But we also wonder why. We don’t wonder for long.

  There is another man coming towards them. He must’ve come out of the hut as well for we’d have heard if he’d come through the bushes. The three men who’ve stopped kicking and beating the poor man who is no longer wearing the dirty white robe stand all respectful waiting for the new man. The lady gets off the poor man’s face and joins the men.

  ‘He must be the king,’ says Matt.

  When Matt says king he does not mean king as the husband or the queen or nothing like that. He means the big boss.

  I always say that when Matt says ‘king’ and everybody goes ‘ain’t he clever’ or ‘well I never’ and makes faces at me as if I’m a real dumbo jumbo. But I still say it for I never understood when Matt first said ‘king’, so I think it best to explain for if someone had explained to me I’d have understood right the first time instead of going on thinking wrong as I did. But no matter. I best stop for breath.

  Anyway this man comes and the beating stops. I am happy. I think maybe he’ll let the poor man off and tell the bad men off. And the bad lady. Maybe then we could start on our way back.

  But I think wrong.

  When this new man comes and the other men stop kicking and beating and the lady stands up; the poor man on the ground also makes a try to raise himself on his elbow as if hoping to stand up too, or at least to sit up. As soon as he moves, the tall man with the fat stomach lifts up high his right boot studded with shiny nails on its sole, brings it straight above the poor man’s middle, and stamps down hard between his legs. Direct on the poor man’s one and twos. I die with fear. Matt grips my wrist strongly enough and I feel him shake.

  The new man is now with the others and they have a quiet talk. They light cigarettes and throw burning matches on the poor man below. All this time the tall man with the fat stomach is crushing the poor man’s dooda and things with his big boot. The lady has put her fat ass back on the poor man’s face for a bit of peace and quiet for he started shouting rude words. We can’t hear him any more but we can feel his body shouting in pain as it twitches and gasps for air.

  Something the new man says makes them all laugh. All except the poor bugger on the ground on account his face is sat on. It is difficult to laugh or be cheerful if your face is sat on though I can’t say for sure on account I’ve never had my face sat on and jolly glad I am of that.

  They laugh so much that the tall man with the fat stomach lifts his boot off the poor man’s crossroads, raises his leg and slaps his thigh. As he does so the poor bugger decides it’s time to do something. He bites the lady’s fat ass. She jumps up screaming like she’s been bitten in the ass which of course she has. As she jumps up, he aims a double kick with both feet straight up the crotch of the tall man with the fat stomach. He still has boots on even though he is buff naked otherwise. The double attack of these boots does no good to the man’s balls. He doubles up over his fat stomach and groans something awful.

  The naked man then jumps up on his boots and runs.

  We both get excited and cheer him in our hearts.

  The lady forgets her bitten ass and shoots after him. After a second to take in what’s going on the men do too, except for the one holding his balls.

  If the naked man makes it to the dense bushes and thick trees behind the huts there’s a good chance he can escape.

  He don’t see a tree branch that sticks out so a blind man could see it. But fear blind is worse than real blind, Grandma Toughtits says. It catches him in the neck and he is back on his back.

  The four jump on him and this time the lady with the fat ass sits on his stomach. Two men hold him down on each end and the third rushes into one of the huts and comes back with sharp wooden pegs. They hammer four of these into the ground. Two men pull off his boots and tie his ankles with a twisted rope to two pegs. They then start to beat the soles of h
is feet with the hammer while the third man ties his wrists.

  He is now lying spread apart on the ground, arms pulled up above his head, legs stretched and wide open.

  The lady with the fat ass has now got off his stomach.

  The two men have stopped hammering the soles of his feet.

  All are standing calmly round him, saying nothing, doing nothing.

  Nothing at all.

  I think I can hear Matt’s bones crackle as his whole body gets harder and harder.

  I, on the other hand, am turning to butter.

  I say the poor man is now going to get the beating of his life.

  ‘Of his death more like it,’ Matt hisses back.

  But they do nothing.

  Just stand round him calmly, saying nothing, doing nothing.

  Nothing at all. I find that more and more scary.

  ‘What d’you think the poor bugger must be feeling?’ Matt goes.

  The poor bugger don’t shout or scream or anything like that. I would have. I would have shouted and screamed the woods down.

  The new man now does a strange thing. He makes the lady turn the other way and pulls her trousers down, and her knickers. He bends at the knees and the lady’s fat ass is now staring him in the face. He is looking, I think, to see the teeth marks on the lady’s fat ass.

  He kisses it better.

  It must be worse than I think for it takes a lot of kissing to get better. That, I think, is the reason why he takes the lady’s trousers down. To kiss her better.

  But it is not. There’s more to it.

  He straightens himself up, lifts the lady up by putting his hands under the back of her thighs which are open. Her knees are almost up to her ears.

  He moves her until she is on top of the poor man’s face. She sort of giggles in a girlish way, then lets her dirty water spill below on to the poor man’s face.

  It must have been a long time after her last go for she goes on and on. It sounds like meat frying.

  The new man then jerks her up and down to let the last drop fall. I look at Matt’s face. I don’t know why I look at Matt’s face but I look at Matt’s face. I feel ashamed of myself for being so interested in what’s happening. Matt does not look interested. He looks strange. Strange and angry.

  The new man now stands the lady on the ground, her trousers round her ankles. He makes a sign and all men unzip their trousers and pull out their dinguses which are big and strong and hard, except for the tall man with the fat stomach, his is a bit wimpish. They press these down with their hands, down towards the man’s body, and let flow their dirty water. They shake their dinguses about to soak him all over.

  The poor bugger neither struggles nor swears, just closes his eyes and mouth. The lady with the fat ass kneels down and pinches his nostrils so his mouth is forced open. The tall man with the fat stomach and the smallest dingus aims straight in.

  The man chokes.

  They all laugh which shakes their jets about and luckily does no good to the aim of the tall man with fat stomach and the smallest dingus. It sort of shoots up and hits the lady’s face. She jerks away cursing but soon starts laughing again.

  The poor man neither struggles nor swears, just closes his eyes and mouth. Once they have shaken the last drops of their dirty water out, they put their dinguses back in their trousers, but quickly pull them out again. They pull them out again for the lady with the fat ass makes a fist with her left hand and shakes it about, pointing to her naughty parts. With her right hand she pulls her trousers and knickers off her ankles.

  Before straightening up – she was bending over while pulling her trousers and knickers off and fist-pointing her parts – she stuffs her knickers into the poor man’s mouth, so hard and deep I think his breath’ll stop.

  The men now start taking all their clothes off till they are naked as the man spread about on the ground, except they keep their boots on.

  For some reason the lady kneels to have a closer look at the new man’s dingus. The other three men start moving towards them, all grinning, but the new man pushes the lady away and makes a sign to the men to stop. They all look at one another sort of puzzled and wait to see what he does. He makes towards the smaller hut, his dingus beginning to hang its head down, in shame – leastwise I hope that’s why. When he comes back his dingus is up and about again, strong and ugly, wobbling greedily in front of him. He has a tin of some sort in his hand and a funny kind of twisted knife.

  I get so scared I start to cry. Matt puts his hand firmly on my mouth to stop any sound but tears trickle down my face faster than our local stream and I can hardly see what’s going on which is just as well. It must’ve been real bad for Matt breathes real heavy and takes his hand off my mouth and puts it on his own.

  I dry my eyes with the back of my hands and look up. It is coming to dawn now and easier to see.

  Strangely the four men and the lady are now pinning each other on the ground. It must be hurting for they are groaning.

  The poor man is spread as before except that there is some sort of stuff sitting on all parts of his body. The tin the new man brought and the twisted knife are lying close by along with the poor man’s boots.

  The others are well away, this side, almost in front of us.

  I stare at them with my mouth open. They start playing a game called ‘Find the Hole’ or ‘Make a Hole’ or something silly like that. They are opening and closing each other’s bodies with each other’s bodies – or parts of bodies.

  I feel a strong fear enter my blood and pierce my spine and tingle the tips of my fingers and tickle the soles of my feet and burn the tip of my tongue and set fire to my brain. It is a strange fear for I do not want to run away from this fear. I like it. I like it when I feel I shouldn’t like it. My tears start again.

  I look at Matt again. He is not looking at the four in front of us. His eyes are fixed on the man further away, spread out on his own.

  ‘D’you know what they done to him?’ he asks in a choked voice.

  I go, ‘What!’ only half listening to him.

  He goes again, ‘D’you know what they done to that poor man?’

  ‘Oh that,’ I say, taking my eyes away from the four in front to the one further away. ‘Course I know what they done to him.’

  I get stirred a bit. What’s he think I am, a complete dumbo jumbo or something!

  ‘Then tell me,’ he goes, cocky when he hears my stirred-up voice. I tell him.

  ‘Not that. Any dumbo jumbo can see that.’

  I hate him when he goes like that.

  ‘Then what, smart-ass.’ It’s not often I call him smart-ass to his face. For once he don’t seem to mind.

  ‘They’ve killed him, that’s what.’

  ‘Go on,’ I say, ‘he’s not dead.’ But he will be if they go on like this, I think to myself.

  ’They have killed him. Leastwise as far as they are concerned. And in a real bad way, too.’

  I don’t understand.

  He explains. He explains to me like I am a little child. But I don’t mind for what he says frightens me too much to worry about putting on the hump.

  ‘The smell of their piss will bring the big red ants out of their holes. Millions and millions of them.

  ‘More so as their piss gets into his wounds and mixes with the blood. It’ll give out a stinking rotten stench.

  ‘To make sure, in case the piss smell fades away in the dawn air, they’ve put meat or some other food from that tin all over him.

  ‘The ants will come for the smell and the blood and the food. They’ll eat the food and then get into his wounds and into his blood. They’ll eat his flesh. Bit by bit. Nibble nibble nibble, with their sharp bites. Nibble nibble nibble. So fast his flesh will go before you are three hours older. There’ll be nothing left of him but bones. Not even eyes.’

  Before I can stop myself I am sick. It is a quiet choking sick, not noisy but not altogether silent either.

  Matt puts his shawl on my mo
uth.

  He looks up sharpish to see if the four have heard anything but they are too busy groaning to notice.

  Very softly he wipes my face. Then he says, ‘Let’s start moving back. Like the black cat. Like me.’

  I try to but I can’t.

  My feet are stuck to the ground.

  My eyes are stuck to the scene.

  My heart is stuck in my mouth. Along with little hard chunks of sick.

  Matt puts his left hand on my left shoulder and his right hand on my eyes. We remain like that, silent and still, for a long time.

  ‘I’ll take my hands away now. Don’t open your eyes, just move back.’

  I feel that I can move again. It’s a great relief for I had begun to believe that I’ll never move again and birds will build their nests on me thinking I’m some sort of a tree. After all, we come from the Spirits of trees, our family.

  We move back.

  When we are gone a few metres Matt tells me to stop moving like a cat and start moving like a crab. Sideways.

  I don’t understand.

  We’re in a position to make a run for it and he is telling me to move round the bush circle!

  ‘We’ve got to get that poor man out of there,’ he goes in a harsh whisper. I understand but I’m still not sure.

  ‘Hurry up,’ says Matt, ‘we don’t have much time. It’ll be light soon.’

  He looks at the clock. It has stopped.

  Just like Hena not telling us when to wind it up. Not that we’d have remembered, being in the position we are.

  For once I wish I was with her. Right this minute.

  ‘It’s light enough already,’ I say.

  ‘It’s dark enough still,’ says he, ‘besides, the poor man hasn’t much time.’

  We now move sideways, round the bushes till we’re on the opposite side, close to where the man lies. Near the two huts.