Ashes felt sick and dizzy, but he was also proud of his friends. He was beginning to come down off the ceiling; maybe he could even walk around. Armed brothers were still running everywhere, but the shooting had quietened down. It had all been so quick. Everybody was either dead, dying or tied up and face down on the red velvet carpet. Ashes was surprised to find himself standing in a corner of the chamber, next to a wide open window which opened to a view of a samaan tree which spread itself like the green cloud of an atom bomb. He was holding his gun upright, his shirt was damp through and stinking of his own sweat. His spectacles had fogged up. He had been weeping. His entire face was wet with tears. He was still shaking, but he was standing upright. No one noticed him there or seemed bothered with him at all. It was like he had become invisible.
*
One hour had passed. It was 7 p.m. Everything was different now in Sans Amen. One of the ministers tried to talk to Hal. ‘Hey, Hal,’ he said. ‘I remember you from school. Maths class. Remember me?’ Hal laughed and said, ‘Yes. I remember you. But we weren’t friends. Now shut up.’ This was a small place, everyone knew each other. Ashes suddenly felt embarrassed that one of the ministers might know him, or worse, that they might know his wife.
In the corner of the chamber there was a television mounted on a bracket on the wall. Ashes made his way over to watch the seven o’ clock news with the other men. They all gathered round. There was Justin Samaroo, the usual newsreader, looking very tense and serious. Next to him sat the Leader, dressed in his grey robes.
The brothers all stared at him, up there on national television. He had captured the country. No one said a word. It was like they were held captive too; so few of them had known of his master plot. Now they watched, some with loving pride, others with a new self-regard for what they had been part of. One feller raised his fist in a salute of solidarity like he’d all along been on the inside. All the brothers were glued to the screen, as if the Leader, there, dressed in grey, was indeed righteous, an avenging angel. He’d seized power, just like he said he would only hours before. Some of the men clapped. Ashes stared upwards and he felt grateful he’d survived.
A dark woollen cap clung to the Leader’s head. The Leader was always very well dressed and presentable, as was befitting of a man who was going to change everything around in the country. Now there, on television, was a man of the people, a man born to serve, a warrior and a man of God. The Leader, it was known, had many talents. It was said he could actually bake a cake and he did so now and then on important family occasions. The Leader had three wives, nine children and a hundred fostered sons in the commune. The Leader was loved. He was just and fair. Do not underestimate the complexity of this great man, thought Ashes, as he watched the screen that evening. Ashes felt himself regain his strength and sense of purpose just at the sight of him. Now he was relieved he’d been included in the plan, that he’d said ‘yes’, for River and for a New Society. The Leader was reading from a script of some sort:
‘At 6 p.m. today, the government of Sans Amen was overthrown. The Prime Minister and members of the cabinet are under arrest. We are asking everybody to remain calm. The revolutionary forces are commanded to control the streets.’
Sitting there in the newsroom, the Leader looked calm and handsome. It was like a miracle. The revolution had happened. It had happened in an hour. Here they were, the brothers were now in charge, and there was the Leader, announcing the news. A few boys, a few guns – and a New Society could begin. It was so simple and so easy to overthrow a bad government in the middle of governing. Justin Samaroo didn’t look so good, though. He looked frozen, like something had only just started. He looked like he might faint any minute.
Some of the brothers clapped and whooped. Hal, he could see, was visibly relieved. Ashes uttered words of thanks and said aloud, ‘Praise be to God.’ There had been some bloodshed, and yes, there had been some fatalities, but not too many. Ashes had understood this might be part of the proceedings. If words and prayers didn’t work, it was appropriate to take action. The Leader had marched for justice along with the labour leaders, petitioned for the poor; he had asked, pleaded, prayed for a new order – even made direct threats of seizing power. And now he’d taken the last option: force. Ashes wanted to ring his wife Jade to tell her the news; how proud she would be of him, that he had been part of such a thing. He wanted to apologise for his small lie, say that it had only been to conceal a larger surprise. He wanted to say, Kiss Arich and Arkab goodnight, my love. I made history today. One day I will tell them about their Uncle River and the great Fat Clay of Cuba, the other asthmatic revolutionary. Ashes felt for his inhaler and took it out and released two jets of mist into his lungs just for the hell of it, in celebration of this marvellous occasion.
Just then, bullets came in from the dark, like schools of barracuda, ripping up everything in their wake, shredding up wood, lodging deep into the walls. The air around him became smoky and peppery with gunfire and a brother next to Ashes, one of his fellow revolutionaries, was shot straight through the head. His skull split open and his face splattered into pieces and his tongue was shot out of his mouth. The tongue landed on the red velvet carpet. ‘Everybody down,’ screamed Hal.
Hal was on his walkie-talkie again, shouting to the Leader who was no longer in the newsroom at the television station. ‘What the hell is the army doing here so soon?’ Hal shouted. ‘It is Wednesday evening. We picked the day on purpose, they all supposed to be at home, month end, or at the football match in the stadium. Big football match and we already blow up the police headquarters. What the hell they doing here?’
The walkie-talkie buzzed. The army had stationed themselves right outside the House of Power and they must have been using bazookas because suddenly the whole chamber thudded and rocked. Chunks of plaster fell from the walls, fancy cornice work tumbled from the corners. A chandelier plummeted to the ground. Screaming now, a wild hysteria which belonged to every person in the room, the brothers and their hostages. Some of the younger boys wept openly. He saw Breeze throw his gun on the ground and cover his head with his hands and pray. Some of the brothers went to the windows and tried to return fire. Hal was on one knee shooting out into the dark. Arnold had gone mad and was belting out bullets from his rifle, and then it was clear no one had showed him how to reload; he was having trouble putting new bullets into his gun.
Ashes was up on the ceiling again. From there he could see outside. Hundreds of men in army fatigues had surrounded the House of Power. He was stunned. The Leader had said the army was loyal to him, that he had important contacts high up, that there would be no problems with the army. The police? They would all give up and run away. But the army would be supportive of the revolution: that was what the Leader had told him directly. The Leader had explained that on Tuesday night, the night before the coup, more guns would be handed out to well-known criminals the Leader had either paid off or who owed him favours, and these men would ‘command the masses’ in the streets in a popular revolt. He had said that the army too would join in this people’s revolution, as it had done before in 1970.
But these plans had obviously gone wrong. When Ashes looked outside he saw an entire regiment of men, heavily armed, snipers in trees, men flat on their stomachs, army jeeps and trucks and men jumping out of them; the army had very quickly formed a cordon around the House of Power. Soldiers were everywhere, state-trained, expensive boots, soldiers obeying orders. A buzz in the air, a helicopter was circling overhead, and then he could hear a captain from the army on a megaphone shouting orders up at the chamber. But the brothers inside ignored this and kept firing out into the dark.
The Prime Minister was still face down on the floor with his pants down by his ankles. All the other cabinet ministers were still on the floor too; they kept quiet. Breeze looked startled and wild. He’d picked up his gun and he was firing randomly; he had completely lost his cool. He was cussing loudly, saying, ‘Oh, gorsh, damn frikkin muddecunts.’ Arnold had m
anaged to reload his gun and was shooting his ammo out into the night. The hard man, Greg Mason, the man who’d known River from the Brotherhood of Freedom Fighters, was with Hal, firing into the dark; they were like real soldiers, together, steady and focused. They’d been trained for this. Hal’s walkie-talkie crackled and from it Ashes could hear the Leader’s panic and this panic electrified his nerves.
*
The shooting lasted for an hour at least. Men firing and men returning fire and a clatter of bullet-hail and it didn’t seem to matter who was shooting at who, just that a storm was going on and the revolution was still taking place. Bullets were embedded in the walls of the chamber and it was dangerous as hell to stand upright. Most of the boys were flat on the floor with the hostages. Ashes came down from the ceiling and made his way on all fours to the tearoom at the side of the chamber. It was safer there, behind a partition wall. But the tearoom was ruined; every piece of crockery was smashed and shot up. There was a big urn on the counter and he reached upwards and touched it and realised it was boiling hot, full of water ready for tea. He could happily drink a cup of Lipton’s right then, with sugar stirred in. His stomach was a tight ball; he hadn’t eaten since lunchtime and he wondered if there were any plans for dinner in this revolution. On the side there was a small white cardboard box, like you might get from a bakery; he opened it and saw it was full of cheese puffs which were his favourite delicacy. He ate one quickly and shoved another puff into the side pocket of his camouflage pants, next to his inhaler. There was a fridge too; he opened it and saw half a carcass of roast chicken on a plate, a carton of UHT milk, three green portugals.
Then he remembered the man he’d seen from the ceiling, possibly a cabinet minister, who’d stripped and hidden in a cupboard in the tearoom. He turned and aimed his rifle at the row of cupboards which lined the other side of the room. A man, he was certain, had climbed into one. Ashes’ hands were numb and yet he managed to aim his gun. He advanced cautiously. The man was in the middle cupboard, he knew that for sure. Outside, in the next room, he could hear shouting. Hal was giving new orders, more of the brothers were shouting too, ‘Get down, get down.’ Ashes went straight to the middle cupboard and knocked on the door.
‘Hello,’ he said. ‘Come out.’ He tried to sound officious. ‘Come out now with your hands up,’ he said again.
But nothing. The door didn’t open. He realised it had been locked from the outside by one of the tea ladies now escaped.
He turned the tiny key in the lock. He stepped back and aimed his gun and again he commanded, ‘Come out of there.’
The door didn’t move.
Instead, the door next to the one he was aiming his gun at opened, slowly.
A man was stooping sideways inside the cupboard. He was wearing only his underpants and socks and he looked very scared. He held his hands up. ‘Please, please, don’t shoot me,’ he said, his voice choked. Tears in his eyes. ‘I have children.’
Ashes stared. He was almost on the ceiling again, out of himself. He nodded.
‘I have little children,’ the man begged. ‘Two girls.
Please don’t kill me.’ Ashes could see the man was about forty-five, his stomach covered in black hair. He had a neatly trimmed black moustache and he looked familiar.
‘You in the government?’ Ashes asked.
The man nodded in a cringing way. ‘Yes.’
Ashes lowered his gun. He reached for his inhaler and shot a quick puff of mist into his lungs. The minister began to sob. ‘I want to see my wife again,’ he stammered.
Ashes could barely stand up straight; his head swam and he wanted to see his wife too, but he was duty-bound to stay.
‘Go,’ he commanded.
The man looked shocked. ‘Go?’
‘Yes. Go.’
‘Where?’
‘Out there,’ he pointed to the empty hallway with his gun. Beyond the hallway there was a labyrinth of corridors which led further into the House of Power, and out and away from all the revolution, out onto the streets of the City of Silk.
The man didn’t wait for Ashes to change his mind. He stepped out of the cupboard with his hands raised high and then he fled, running down the wood-panelled corridor, and Ashes felt relief for the escaped man and a powerful surge of shame for his own cowardice. In truth he ached to flee. He wanted to leave. He had to pray, needed to pray, connect with the beautiful, the force that would take him away from all this, the heartsource he understood. He needed space and he whispered, Oh, help me, oh Lord. It had been hours now of this battering; he hadn’t been fully prepared for all the noise and chaos. When the Leader had spoken to him, he hadn’t painted this picture at all. He’d said it would all be well executed, straightforward. Everything had been planned for months, planned like professional soldiers, a militia of men. All Ashes had to do was show up. He had assumed it would be an easy takeover, and it had been, to begin with.
Ashes left the tearoom and walked into another large, high-ceilinged room which was also empty and ruined. Telephones lay strewn over the ground, their wires ripped from the wall; chairs were upturned all over the floor. The window was open to the night air. A chandelier gave off a pretty fairground-type light. Under a big wooden table lay the injured woman he’d seen from the ceiling. She was on her side and her stomach was now slick with blood; she’d been shot and was badly wounded. She was barely conscious; she was on the carpet under the table, bleeding to death. He bent down and looked at her and she made eye contact with him, but he could see that she was on the ceiling too, out of herself.
She whispered something and he couldn’t hear what she said. He bent closer.
‘My son,’ she whispered. Blood came up in her teeth and spilled from her lips. ‘The young man who shot me. The same age . . .’
Ashes saw River, then, bleeding, just like this woman, left to die with a hole in his stomach, left to die in the road.
Ashes recoiled and let out a gasp. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, and left the room quickly and ran down the corridor and found himself deep inside the House of Power. All the rooms had been ransacked: papers everywhere, drawers pulled out onto the floor, overturned chairs and smashed-up glass, bullet holes where the army had shot in, and in the corners there was the acrid smell of urine. Some of the younger brothers had been in here and they had shot up the place just for the hell of it and relieved themselves in the corners. Someone had written Praise be to God in white Liquid Paper on the grey wall. Ashes stood in wonder and read these words over and over again. His heart felt sour and heavy: it was wrong to harm women.
The brother called Breeze appeared at the door with his rifle which was bigger than him.
‘What you doing in here?’ Breeze asked. The young boy seemed to have recovered himself from his fit of terror.
‘I came in here to pray,’ Ashes said. It slipped out. He didn’t know that was what he’d come to do. Maybe he was even already deep in prayer, or had been praying all along, up on the ceiling and now in here.
Breeze gazed at him, unsure of what to make of this. He nodded and yet kept his expression neutral. Again, Ashes recognised that faraway look; he sensed the young boy was struggling, as he had been, that he was a little out of himself.
‘What happen?’ Ashes asked.
The boy steupsed. ‘Nothing.’
But Ashes could see this was a lie.
‘Nothing, nuh. Mind yuh Goddamn figging business.’ The boy looked sullen and dangerous.
‘Come and pray too, nuh.’
Breeze looked at him like he was crazy, as if this was no time to pray and the last thing he needed to do. ‘You muddercunt,’ he said and fled.
Ashes was left by himself again. He bowed his head and put the palms of his hands flat together and opened his chest and his heart and waited and hoped. He could feel water falling from his eyes and his nerves were jangling and electrified. There was something about the air, it was too troubled; something about his head, which was too closed up; something about h
is heart, which was all troubled up too and racing; something about the drawers strewn all over the floor. The words on the wall swam, Praise be to God. Nothing came; nothing he recognised, no connection with the divine source, the beautiful. This had been his life’s inner work. This was what had made life bearable for him since his brother had died. This quest for the beautiful. But there was no peace for him here, not now. He shifted position and stood with his back to the wall. He closed his eyes and counted his own breath. But nothing came to him.
*
In the chamber the shooting had stopped. No one had missed Ashes.
Hal said: ‘Right, everybody reload.’
Hal found his walkie-talkie amongst the debris and switched it on.
‘Yeah, yeah, yeah,’ he barked into it. The television station had also been bombarded; the army had arrived within an hour of the revolutionary forces. The Leader and his band of brothers were also under attack. They too were holed up and returning gunfire, but they were making announcements on television to the nation, telling people to remain calm, that they had taken power. The Leader informed Hal that there were a few cabinet ministers on the outside, those who hadn’t been in the chamber that afternoon. They had immediately converged at the army barracks nearby; a small team had pulled together, and somehow a prized hostage, the Attorney General, had escaped from the House of Power. He had been spotted by troops running down the road in his socks and underpants amidst all the gunfire. They had saved him. Now there was a proxy government on the outside.
‘How did the focking Attorney General get out?’ fumed Hal down the line to the Leader. He glared around at the brothers and no one spoke. Ashes almost dropped his gun.
‘The army is here when they were not supposed to be and the Attorney General has escaped. What de ass is all of this,’ Hal steupsed. ‘Big mistakes, man,’ he said, and he walked off down the corridor speaking into the walkie-talkie.
House of Ashes Page 3
