“Hmm,” mumbled Mr. Gejo, leaning back in his chair. Vaida continued.
“In fact, why don’t you ask one of the death-row inmates to execute all the others? In return, that inmate’s death sentence will be commuted to life in prison.”
“I like what I am hearing,” said Mr. Gejo.
“It’s a great plan, no? It allows you to delegate the dirty work to hands that can be soiled no further.”
Mr. Gejo laughed.
“That is an excellent idea, Vaida! I’m surprised no one has come up with it. In fact, we could make it more interesting. For example, we can throw all the death-row inmates into a large pit and force them to beat the hell out of each other. The last person standing gets an amnesty and can leave Mazambuko Maximum Security Prison that very day!”
Mr. Gejo’s voice was rising with excitement. Vaida tried to interrupt.
“Tongai, that is not —”
“Oh wait, Vaida. I have another idea! Instead of making all of them fight at once, we could simply force them to fight in twos. That way, we could arrange more fights and make the excitement last longer!”
“Tongai,” said Vaida as she tried to interrupt again. Mr. Gejo would not be stopped.
“Please, Vaida. Indulge me,” he said. “I am not known for my creativity so I would like to ride this wave of inspiration until it drops dead from fatigue.”
Vaida crossed her hands and watched Mr. Gejo with mild amusement.
“We could televise the whole drama in fifty-nine exciting television episodes. Oh! We could also auction off the rights to determine the weapons that each fighter would use. Of course, children under the age of eighteen would not be allowed to buy such rights, though at sixteen they could be allowed to watch the glorious slaughter. The public will love it! I know I would. But more importantly, the state would earn a lot of advertising revenue. That would be a blessing in these times of budget cuts.”
Mr. Gejo leaned back in his chair. The sparkle in his eyes faded as the tragic reality dawned on him.
“Unfortunately, Vaida, I do not have the power to make that decision. I am also convinced that those who do would not accept such an approach. Besides, its sensational quality invites the wrong type of attention. Imagine the headline in Zuva Redu: ‘Mass Murderer Spared Death Penalty for Agreeing to Kill More People!’
“I am sure most of the general public won’t care. However, the ‘human rights’ groups would kick up such a fuss. We would lose much of our foreign aid. No, Vaida. I don’t think your plan will work. Like you, I am crushed.”
“Tongai, the simple point I am making is that Abel Muranda should not be the man to do this job. That’s all I ask. Do whatever you want with the people on death row, but leave Abel Muranda out of it. Please, do this for me?”
“Vaida, you know I care for you deeply, but I cannot do this for you. It’s too late.”
“You mean he already got the job?”
“I don’t know. But he has momentum. Please let this go, Vaida. I know you want to protect Abel, but he does not need your protection.”
“Then give him yours, Tongai. Kill his candidacy.”
“The process has advanced beyond my influence, Vaida.”
“Come on, Tongai. You are the head of Consolidated. No decision is beyond your influence.”
Mr. Gejo pushed his chair back and planted his massive feet on his desk.
“Vaida, have you ever heard of the digging vultures of Gwenzi?”
“Aren’t they a rural legend?”
“They were. But mythical creatures can mature into reality if the proper conditions arise. The vultures in Gwenzi took millions of years to evolve into scavengers. A mere decade of harsh conditions turned them into grave robbers. They unearth the corpses just like miners dig up gold from the soil. Gwenzi is a place where the dead can only be protected by being buried in a rock quarry. Now keep this in mind: Abel Muranda survived that place. He does not need your protection. He would not benefit from mine.”
Mr. Gejo planted his feet back on the floor.
“Even in an age ruled by lions, the vultures are always the last to die.”
“What does that mean?” asked Vaida.
“It means that you should stay away from the world of vultures, lions, and stone quarries. There is nothing good to be found there. Continue to invest in your war against knowledge.”
Vaida crossed her hands defiantly. Mr. Gejo sighed.
“You know, Vaida, sometimes people find themselves at the helm of a speeding train. Only then do they realize that they don’t know how to drive the damn thing. Right now, the train is in the station. The engine is idling. Please, do not be tempted to think that you can drive it.”
Vaida stood to leave. Before she got to the door, Mr. Gejo stopped her.
“What did he do when you stripped?”
“Tongai! How could you ... He—there was nothing to say. I did not strip. Besides, my scar has barely healed from the surgery. I would feel too uncomfortable doing anything with a man right now.”
“I thought women healed faster?”
“We do. But not for all purposes. I am enjoying my sexless vacation.”
“Vaida. Remember what I told you the first time we slept together?”
Vaida said nothing.
“I told you that you were unique because you had a gift for making people feel like they were special. In your business, that is a valuable asset. It makes you intriguing. Loveable. People just want to open up to you. But do you remember what I said after that?”
Vaida had no intention of responding.
“I told you to protect yourself. Back then, I saw a savvy businesswoman who knew how to squeeze the last dollar out of a man’s pocket. But I also saw a woman who was protecting a tiny part of herself that would never be accessed by any man. To this day, you have never let me into that place. That’s good. You are following my advice. Now please apply it to everyone.”
“You mean, Abel Muranda.”
“Especially Abel Muranda. If you open up that core to anything or anyone, you may let in an infection. The rest of you will fall apart.”
Vaida looked down at the carpet.
“I am the only person you cannot lie to, Vaida. Tell me. What did he do when you stripped?”
“He told me to dress. He took out a Bible. We prayed.”
Mr. Gejo nodded with compassion.
“Vaida, it’s too late in your life to succumb to adolescent emotions. It’s one thing to let a man pay his way into your bed. But never let a man pray himself into your heart. Especially the sort of man who has no intention of living there.”
“So why did you send him to me?”
“You are not the only person to face temptation, Vaida. I could not resist my own.”
“I will leave you now.”
“Let me know when you recover from your surgery.”
“The doctor advised me to avoid clients for six weeks. In your case, I will have to wait for eight. You make quite the impact.”
“I don’t know any other way.”
“No you don’t. Goodbye Tongai.”
“I will always be your friend, Vaida.”
* * *
Zacharia
The next morning, Abel Muranda woke up at daybreak. He had slept under a bridge along Mutare Road. After a minor turf war with a man named Zacharia, the two men agreed to share the bridge for the next three weeks. However, Zacharia insisted on one condition: Abel Muranda could only stay if he agreed to keep Jokoniya away.
At first, Abel Muranda thought that Jokoniya was a fellow squatter. He soon realized that only Zacharia could see this elusive enemy. Apparently, Jokoniya had three ears, spoke through a hole in his forehead, and ate through his backside.
Abel Muranda agreed to the pact. He threw a few stones in the general direction that Zacharia was pointing. Then he whipped the air with a large stick while yelling stern words of discipline. Finally, Jokoniya fled, but only after he promised to never return and
bully Zacharia.
Later that night, Abel Muranda was getting ready to sleep under the bridge. Zacharia walked over to him and asked him if he wanted to go to the disco. Tonight, they were playing classics from the eighties. The women would be epic. Especially Edith Mago. Watching her walk was enough to freeze one’s eyes open forever. All the men in the disco wanted to dance with her. But Edith was hard to get. Maybe Abel Muranda could try his luck? After all, he had a special advantage: the novelty of a newcomer. Abel Muranda considered the offer before politely turning it down. He was tired. Zacharia shrugged. He understood. He would go alone.
After rummaging through his mountain of belongings, Zacharia unearthed a shiny purple shirt. It was lined with a string of broken Christmas lights around the collar. Zacharia held the garment at a distance. He smiled in approval. After placing it carefully on a concrete slab, he continued rummaging through his heap. This time, he emerged with a pair of bright yellow trousers. It was adorned with neon green stripes that ran down each leg. The garment was in surprisingly good condition.
Abel Muranda watched Zacharia with a mixture of concern and fascination. Where was this disco? Zacharia was a good man, but what sort of establishment would let him in?
After eyeing the outfit to confirm that the colour combination was acceptable, Zacharia disappeared behind some bushes by the stream. When he reappeared, he was wearing his outfit in all its glory. Zacharia looked like a scruffy rainbow. It was disco time.
“Have fun!” yelled Abel Muranda.
Zacharia turned back and replied by sticking both thumbs into the air. He took a few casual steps to the edge of the stream. Then he stopped suddenly and looked to his left. Zacharia began waving enthusiastically. Had another friend come to pick him up so they could go together?
No one emerged from the direction Zacharia was looking. Zacharia suddenly turned in the opposite direction and waved again. Another friend coming from the other direction?
Abel Muranda sat up. What was going on here?
Then Zacharia looked straight up into the sky and waved at the heavens.
Abel Muranda slapped his forehead with the ball of his palm. Why him?
Zacharia started swaying gently. The wave began at his shoulders and moved towards his hips. His right hand rose slowly from his side fixed on an invisible point on the horizon. As the tempo of his excitement rose, his wrist began to wriggle in small circles. The left hand also rose and started moving in the same manner. Soon, Zacharia was writhing from head to toe. A man on fire could not have been more animated. The scene became difficult to watch when Zacharia began thrusting his pelvis.
What on earth was this?
Abel Muranda could not hear the music, but he knew it was getting louder. Zacharia’s dancing became more frantic. The pelvic thrusts returned. Zacharia curled his arms around an invisible figure in front of him. His hand moved up and down sensually. Zacharia was dancing with the legendary Edith Mago.
Every man is an emperor in his own mind, so why not treat himself to the best?
The song had reached its peak. The chorus was too good: it had to be shared out loud.
Ndochi! Ndochi! Ndochi! Ndochi!
Abel Muranda turned away when Zacharia and Edith’s dancing took an irreligious turn. Though he could no longer see the spectacle, Abel Muranda could hear excited feet displacing the rocks by the riverbank. Even without the visuals, the sound was vulgar.
The party ended an hour later. Zacharia walked back under the bridge and took off his clothes. He folded them and walked over to the stream. After splashing around for a minute, he returned to his spot under the bridge. Zacharia was butt-naked.
“You missed the fun, Abel Muranda!” said Zacharia from his perch.
“I am glad you had fun. Good night, Zacharia,” replied Abel Muranda.
“Good night, Abel Muranda!”
In less than ten minutes, Zacharia was snoring.
Abel Muranda rolled over onto his back and looked up at the underbelly of the bridge. Life had a way of humiliating people by injecting humour into cruelty. In three weeks, he had almost evaporated in the sun. He had nearly drowned and come close to being eaten by a crocodile. Then there was the fornicating slug who tried to remove him from his room in the brothel. Yes, a brothel. And of course, to make up for the insulting behaviour of the patron, his host had offered him infidelity. Now he was sleeping under a bridge near a madman who danced alone and slept in the nude. And why had he endured all this? Because he wanted to win the job of killing people on behalf of society. Abel Muranda never had grand ambitions, but how had life come to this?
At some point he fell asleep. Zacharia had given him a bundle of tied-up clothing to use as a pillow. Abel Muranda had politely taken the bundle, but he did not use it. The makeshift pillow was in a furious state of decay. He could still smell it from where he had placed it ten metres away.
The ground was rocky and uncomfortable, but Abel Muranda slept well. Sometimes the body numbs itself to physical discomfort so that the spirit can rest under any conditions. Abel Muranda had long reached that level of hardship. Besides, what could a bed of rocks do to a man of awakened ambition?
Abel Muranda woke up just before sunrise. As he was getting ready to leave, he looked over at Zacharia. His companion was sitting on a small rock by the dirty stream.
“Good morning, Abel Muranda.”
“Hello, Zacharia. Thank you again for agreeing to share your bridge.”
“You are welcome. I hope you are well rested.”
“I am,” replied Abel Muranda.
“Good,” replied Zacharia. “May I ask you a question?”
“Of course.”
“What brings you to Harare?”
“I am not a visitor, Zacharia. I have lived here a long time,” lied Abel. “I am just going through a period of transition, that’s all. If all goes well, I will have a proper home for my family.”
Zacharia nodded respectfully and looked away.
“How did you know I am not from Harare?” asked Abel Muranda.
“You have hope in your eyes.”
“I must,” said Abel Muranda, taking a seat beside Zacharia.
“So what are you hoping for?”
“A job.”
“What type of job?”
“A difficult one.”
“But will it be rewarding?”
“For my family, yes.”
“And for you?”
“My family’s well-being shall be my reward.”
Something in Zacharia’s eyes changed. The clouds of madness cleared to reveal two yellow moons with well-defined pupils at the centre. Zacharia was lucid.
“Then it must be a special family,” he said with a forced smile. The clouds drifted back over his eyes. Their foggy consciousness returned.
“Why are you sad, my friend?”
Zacharia shook his head.
“Where is your family?” asked Abel Muranda.
“Dead. So what will you do if you don’t get the job?”
“I haven’t thought about that.”
“Maybe you want to spend time thinking about what you would do if you got it?”
“That’s easy. I would celebrate with my family.”
“I admire people who do not fear success. That’s why Zacharia hides here. There is no chance of bumping into it in a place like this. I am safe.”
Zacharia nodded his head so vigorously that Abel Muranda feared he would injure his neck. When he had convinced himself of the truth, he turned to Abel Muranda.
“So did that man wake you up last night?”
“What man? Jokoniya?”
“No,” replied Zacharia. “Jokoniya is afraid of you. He would not return after you chased him away like that. I am talking about the other man. The one whose face I can never remember. He whispers like a lonely wind passing through a cave. He lives alone in a world where only he understands the depths of his own evil.”
Abel Muranda tried his best not to sound
condescending. Zacharia’s invisible nemeses caused him great distress. The most important thing was to focus on the impact of the unseen bully, and not his inexistence.
“What did he want?” asked Abel Muranda.
“To make me an offer.”
“What did he offer you?”
“To kill Jokoniya.”
“How did you respond?”
“I turned him down.”
“Good. You are not a murderer, Zacharia. Neither would you sell your soul to bargain with one.”
Zacharia looked at Abel Muranda and smiled.
“Jokoniya’s murder was not part of the bargain. It was supposed to be a sign of good faith. Proof that I can trust the stranger.”
“So what was the bargain?”
“If I asked you a certain question, he would tell me how to find my family’s remains.”
“He wants something from me? What is the question?”
“I refuse to ask it. I want to find my family more than anything in this world. But I will not endanger the living to reunite with the dead.”
Abel Muranda was tempted to argue that there was no danger in asking a question if the answer would help Zacharia find his family. He was about to say so, but he held his tongue. Zacharia lived in a world where false hopes should not be encouraged by people living outside the chaos. It would be cruel to stoke his expectations of finding a family, which Abel Muranda knew nothing of.
“Such men cannot be trusted, Zacharia.”
“He said the same thing about you. But that only confirmed my belief in the opposite.”
Zacharia was about to say something further but stopped himself. Abel Muranda could see him searching for the right words. His cloudy eyes fluttered in the still air.
“He said you were the key ingredient in the fates of so many people. Your answer to his question would ‘save lives’. He persisted but I refused to change my mind. Then he changed tactics. He told me that the answer to his question itself would lead me to my family. Therefore, his assignment was not just a condition for my reward. He made it the reward itself.”
“I am sorry, Zacharia, but I have no idea where your family is.”
“I know. He also admitted that. But he insisted that the road to their burial place leads through your past.”
The Hangman's Replacement: Sprout of Disruption (BOOK 1) Page 7
