My Friend Matt and Hena The Whore

by Adam Zameenzad

As it happens, that’s exactly what he has seen.

  And so have the others who went with him.

  They all come out looking like white men. Leastwise like Chinese. Only more tanned. And with large round eyes rather than slit slanting eyes.

  It takes them a long while to explain what they have seen.

  One or two say they actually saw the gun boxes increase in number while they stood in front of them. Others say the cave was full of boxes even as they went in.

  However or whenever it happened, they can’t agree upon; but they are all agreed that the boxes are many times more than they were.

  Other people rush in, one by one and in groups. They all come back with the same story: the cave is full of boxes, right up to the ceiling and along the walls and in the centre.

  One of them says even the walls of the cave have moved in order to make room for more boxes.

  ‘Yes. The cave did seem much bigger,’ say some others.

  The rest are too dazed to say anything.

  Jabbar is the first to recover his cool.

  ‘Does this mean I too cross over to Jesus and Mother Mary?’ he says to Reza, ‘Like you.’

  He looks calm, he is even smiling, but his voice is like a leaf in the wind.

  I am surprised as I didn’t think Reza was a Mother Mary and Jesus believer. Leastwise his name don’t show that.

  Reza is one of those too dazed to say anything. All he can manage is to sway his head, half way between shaking and nodding.

  ‘Now we can take on and destroy all the BASTOs this side of Bader,’ says Jabbar, with a new passion in his voice. It still quivers, but is deeper and stronger, like water in the wind.

  His face is a mating snake; his eyes, glass in the sun.

  ‘Let’s go get ‘em,’ he shouts.

  ‘Don, Mutabe, Kalu, Lebu…’ he carries on, getting more and more excited, ‘go get the boxes out and let’s see what we’ve got.

  ‘And you, Marilu, Andy, Len, Kuru… choose your men. Go as far north, south, east or west as you can and round up all the men you can.

  ‘We’ll launch an all-out attack on the BASTOs.

  ‘I’ll have to start drawing new plans for a three-pronged attack…’

  ‘Wait a minute, wait a minute…’ Reza’s sleepy voice finally wakes up. ‘What about our attack tonight?’

  ‘That would be frittering away our resources… I know I know I know… I know what you’re thinking. About the Tabiris. But we have to see to the greater good of all. Even if it does mean sacrifices…’

  ‘Sacrifices my foot. It’s only too easy to sacrifice others. We decided to…’ Reza’s voice is wide awake.

  ‘And why did we decide what we did decide? On what you told us. How do we know it is true? How do we know you are not leading us into the BASTOs trap, while making us believe it is we who are trapping the BASTOs? We’ve only your word for it.’

  ‘How can you even…’

  ‘I’ve never really trusted you. Leading a life of super bourgeois luxury with the ruling classes. How do we know it hasn’t tainted your vision of working class supremacy. How do we…’

  ‘I think you’d better not say any more. I don’t want to be forced into doing or saying anything I might regret later.’

  ‘How do we know,’ Jabbar carries on as if he hasn’t heard a word Reza has said, ‘how do we know you’re not working for Jak to spy on us, rather than the other way round…’

  ‘I’m warning you…’

  Before Reza can say any more, Don, Mutabe, Kalu and Lebu come running out of the other cave.

  We can’t make out from their faces what they’re feeling. We can’t make out from their words what they’re saying.

  We can make out by their gestures they want the others to go into the other cave with them.

  Reza jumps up and goes. So does Jabbar. I think they are both a bit pleased to get out of the argument.

  Many more follow.

  Golam and I sneak in between their legs.

  Some of the boxes are lying open.

  They contain grain and powdered milk. We can tell for we’ve seen plenty of it in the camp at Gonta.

  Like mad Spirits one and all pull all the boxes down, push open their lids, and look.

  They all contain either grain or powdered milk.

  One of them has apples.

  ‘You and your bloody Lord and your bloody miracles,’ says Jabbar.

  ‘The Tabiris are done for now.’

  ‘A minute ago you were coming over to my blo… my Lord.

  ‘A minute ago you were going to re-draw your whole plan of attack.

  ‘A minute ago you were quite happy to sacrifice the Tabiris…’

  ‘Do not worry for the Tabiris,’ says Matt very quietly in the middle of all the noise.

  There is a sudden silence.

  ‘Do not worry for the Tabiris,’ says Matt again. ‘Miracles have wings. They go everywhere.

  ‘All you need is eyes to see them and minds to use them.’

  Everyone looks at Matt with new eyes.

  Jabbar finds words, ‘Oh yeah! Then what do we do? Sit on our ass and wait for them to happen.’

  ‘No,’ says Matt, ‘get off your ass and make them happen.’

  ‘Oh yeah!’ says Jabbar. ‘So I go about changing boxes of guns into boxes of grain. And how do you suggest I do that?’

  ‘Easy, just change your shopping list.’

  ‘And where do I get the money to shop?’

  ‘By changing hearts.’

  ‘Into what?’

  ‘Back into hearts.’

  Everyone stands in silence; not speaking, not moving.

  ‘It’s time for me to go now,’ says Matt.

  He takes Golam and me by the arms and leads us out towards the big opening. When he is half way there, he turns round and says: ‘It will be good if you follow.’

  ‘God Almighty!’ We hear Jabbar’s voice come at us like a scream as we are nearly at the bush-covered gap, on our way out. ‘Now I know what has happened.

  ‘The bloody idiots who transported the boxes must have got them from the wrong warehouse. The one where Kari hordes the Aid food for police black marketeers…

  ‘Phew! And to think I nearly… Very nearly… Phew!’ Then suddenly, in a different voice, ‘After them. Don’t let them get away.

  ‘I have a fat ransom to collect. For the people… Hurry, hurry. What’re you looking at me for like that? Get going, get going. Fast…’

  We don’t know if the RAFFs hurry and get going or not. But we do.

  Down the trickly waterfall is a thin crack in the rock.

  Only skellies like us can squeeze through it. We do, and wait, hoping for the hoo ha to die down before making a move.

  Three

  The Black Cat

  It is almost dawn when we dare to squeeze ourselves out.

  We walk downhill along the wall of the mountain. Firstly because we think it will lead us to the plains that spread between the mountains and Gonta. Secondly because it is safer: there are many cracks and corners to hide in.

  We have to watch out for BASTOs as well as RAFFs.

  We just want to get back home now.

  When it is light we gather some tender leaves and roots and fungi; and hide ourselves to eat and rest a while.

  Before we know it we’re asleep. Leastwise I am.

  When I wake up it is nearly dark again. Golam is still sleeping. Matt is sitting up hugging his legs, chin resting on drawn-up knees. He looks so much like the thing in The Guardian. Only he’s not all naked.

  We wake Golam up, make sure there are no BASTOs about, and start our walk again.

  We haven’t gone far when we hear this sudden silence.

  Matt stops dead in his tracks and holds us back with his arms. All the noises of the night are completely gone.

  It’s only when we practically stop our breathing that we hear this other breathing. It is heavy and comes and goes in quick short gasps. More like panti
ng than breathing.

  It is the black cat in search of food.

  She is in front of us, not far off. We can see two green stars in the blackness of the earth.

  We hear a twig crack.

  It is behind us, not far off.

  We wonder whether to walk ahead towards the cat, or back to whatever is behind us.

  To the left is the mountain wall; to the right, a long fall.

  We decide to stay where we are. Well, I don’t think we actually decide to stay where we are. We just do. More through not deciding than deciding. Leastwise as far as I am concerned.

  We’re not moving one hair’s breadth, but the cat’s eyes are getting closer, so I reckon the cat must be moving towards us. You don’t have to be a genius to figure that one out. Little wonder I figure that one out.

  We can now just about see the slim muscled form of the animal.

  Blacker than the night, and as beautiful.

  I wonder what the cat makes of us. She certainly gives us a thought, for she stops in front of us and looks us over.

  There is a rustle of leaves behind us.

  The cat’s eyes jerk away from us in half a flash. In the next half she leaps into the air, flies above us and lands on whatever is behind us. There is a scream and a roar.

  Golam and I run the other way. Matt leaps up in the air, like the cat; and follows the cat.

  We stop, Golam and me, look at one another then, very frightened, turn round and slowly make our way towards the cat and Matt.

  By the time we get there the cat is gone, leaving Matt holding her victim in his arms.

  It is another boy like us. Only not skinny like us. Quite fat really. Filled out.

  When we get near we find out it is not really a boy at all, but a grown man. A small grown man. A midget man.

  A midget man we know quite well.

  It is Kofi.

  He don’t recognise us. At first. But when we tell him who we are, he remembers. He remembers very well, though he is surprised. He is surprised to see us, and he is surprised to see us looking the way we do.

  But then he says he shouldn’t really be surprised, seeing the lack of food and the state of sickness in the country.

  Luckily he’s not badly hurt. He says he can’t believe he’s still in one piece.

  It seems Matt rushing over to him frightened the cat away.

  As it happens he’s only got claw marks on his arms and chest. They are quite deep, but not too deep. They are bleeding, but not heavily. We take him to the nearest place where there is some water. We wash his wounds and bandage him up as best as we can.

  He don’t seem to be in too bad a state after we’ve taken care of him.

  When Kofi asks what we’re doing here, we tell him we’ve left the RAFFs’ hide-out and are making our way towards our village.

  He says that’s funny on account he is looking for the RAFFs hide-out.

  We ask him if he was going up or down when the cat got him.

  He says down.

  We tell him in that case he’s missed the place for it is a fair way up.

  He says oh bother and what have you and other words and phrases, some polite, some not so polite.

  We tell him not to worry on account we know where to go and will lead him there, provided he don’t tell Jabbar where we are.

  We say Jabbar is not too pleased on account he couldn’t ambush the soldiers last night – or was it the night before? – on their way to the Tabiri settlement.

  Kofi gives us a strange look and asks us what we know of the BASTOs’ plans for the Tabiris.

  We tell him what we know.

  He says my word and what have you and other words and phrases, some polite, some not so polite.

  He says he was with the Tabiris on the morning the soldiers got there.

  He says a white reporter and his camera team were there at the time. In fact they’d only got there the night before, but they planned to stay some time as they are doing a long ‘documentary’ on the past, present and likely future of the Tabiris – and their relationship with the Tako government.

  He says when the Tabiris see the soldiers they think they’ve come to kill them and to burn their huts.

  But the soldiers say they’ve come to help them, as they’ve heard they’ve fallen on hard times.

  He says at first he don’t believe them, and think they’ve quickly made up the story on seeing the white TV people.

  But when the TV people ask to look into the camp which the BASTOs have set up a little to the north, they find grain and powdered milk instead of weapons.

  The TV people say they’ll be coming again to make a follow-up programme.

  The soldiers say they’ll try to see that the Tabiris get their supply of food.

  The soldiers’ behaviour was very strange, Kofi says. They also looked very strange. Like they weren’t quite sure what to say or do. If it hadn’t been for the grain and milk, Kofi says, he’d never have believed them.

  Four

  The BASTOs

  We’re having this quiet chat with Kofi and making plans for taking him to the RAFFs’ hide-out when we are surrounded by many pairs of big black boots.

  Five

  Spirits of Shit

  We don’t know how many hours or days the BASTOs keep us.

  At last they take us in their jeep and throw us out.

  They spit at us through their teeth as we fall. Some of it gets us, some of it don’t, but it don’t matter as we don’t have no clothes to worry about.

  It is a long fall. We fly through the air, arms and legs spread out, whirling and twirling, the wind cutting through our eyes, blinding us with sharp blades.

  Maybe it is the darkness of the night that blinds us.

  Maybe it is fear.

  Though I don’t remember feeling afraid.

  I don’t remember feeling anything.

  Leastwise I don’t remember feeling a feeling for which I have learnt a name.

  We whirl and twirl, like shit caught in rushing winds instead of flushing water; going down, under, sucked into the gutter of the Earth.

  Any minute I expect bits of me to start falling off, melting in the clammy night air.

  I can feel them falling off, but I don’t think they melt away.

  I hear an owl hoot. My head drowns in the joy of it. I want to live.

  With the want to live comes the pain, thumping in every drop of blood.

  I fall with a dull thud onto something both soft and hard, both wet and dry.

  I hear another thud. Is it Matt, or Golam? I can’t be sure.

  Something falls on me. It is heavy and wet. A part of Kofi, maybe.

  The black of the night turns stark white before turning to nothing.

  The stark white returns.

  It burns its way through my lids into the core of my eyes.

  I try to see but can’t. It’s not easy to see through eyelashes thick with dried blood.

  Kofi’s blood? My own? I can’t say.

  I try to rub my eyes but can’t, on account my hands don’t move. I try again. Harder this time. Praying with all my Spirit to the Spirit of Grandma Toughtits.

  She answers my prayer and comes to me.

  I’m happy to find out she’s not in Pasadena, California, USA.

  She lifts my right hand and brings it to my eyes.

  Even she can’t move my left hand as it is under something, or somebody, and she was never very strong.

  She gently breathes on my eyes, like she used to when I was a baby, blowing the good Spirits into my heart through my eyes.

  My lids tear apart, slightly. It hurts. The pain brings tears. The tears soften the dried blood.

  I can almost see now. I see red. I see white. I see black. I see all colours of the rainbow.

  But I don’t see shapes.

  I open my eyes more. They hurt more. They bring more tears. They loosen more.

  It is funny. I can’t see Grandma Toughtits now. Not with my eyes open, w
hen I saw her clearly with my eyes shut.

  The colours I see begin to separate themselves and form into groups and take on shapes.

  The blue is the most far away, yet somehow the nearest. It is like a spot. A spot that grows bigger and turns smaller with every throb of the heart, every beat of the head.

  The green hangs about here and there. The brown and black juts out everywhere.

  Black moves against black. This time much too close, bringing it warmth and comfort.

  It is the black form of Matt.

  He rolls a weight off my arms.

  I look up at his face.

  I can see now.

  His hands and face are covered in blood.

  There is more pain in his eyes than there is in the world.

  I wonder why. Matt wouldn’t let some blood on his face and hands worry him like that.

  I can move now.

  Matt sits down by my side. He raises my head and puts it on his thigh.

  I am a bit surprised as I felt his thigh on the other side.

  I jerk my head to look that way.

  It is a thigh, but not Matt’s.

  I look up, not understanding. I see another thigh. And another. And another. Loads and loads of thighs. And arms. And torsos. And heads.

  I am lying on a silent wave of bodies. Matt is sitting on a shaky mountain of bodies.

  Out there, in front of me, Golam is standing in a sinking pit of bodies.

  To my left is Kofi is a body.

  The scratches made by the cat are now wide enough and deep enough for boots.

  It is not easy to walk on rotting bodies. Even if you are in the best of condition.

  It is worse trying to walk on rotting bodies with your own body cut about and burnt from feet up to asshole up to head.

  It don’t smell too good either.

  Golam don’t say a word.

  Matt and I don’t say a word either, but it’s different.

  It’s like we don’t want to speak so we say nothing. Golam looks like he wants to speak but says nothing.

  We are trying to climb out of the living bog of the dead that circles us on all sides, onto the dead rocks of the living that circle us on all sides.

  We’re in a huge cave. The only way in, or out, is at the top where the roof has come down, or cracked, or perhaps never was.