Rhodes’ secret helped me to realize that I had fallen into the classical scientist trap. I had been distracted by the seductive challenge of capturing an evasive solution. When I succeeded in detaining the beast I had set out to hunt, my intellectual libido was sated by the conquest. I failed to realize that my supposed solution would not work because it was actually an interim step to my desired goal. Isolating The Determination Gene and infusing it into my flame lily was not enough to motivate the plant.
Remember, the “gene” is merely a fuel. A canister of gasoline is just as capable of driving along the highway as the average clod of dung. To have a kinetic effect, the fuel must be pumped into a vehicle that is designed to harness its combustive output. Still, this combination only sparks movement when a competent driver sits behind the wheel. This logic applies to my flower. The Determination Gene was the fuel that I injected into the flame lily. However, my initial analysis had not accounted for a driver. My strategy did not provide for the force that would harness the flower’s capabilities and direct it towards its destination. Therefore, it was no surprise that the plant meandered with the urgency of a drifter. It was motivated by nothing more than the natural instincts that make all plants grow. Visiting Matopos solved that problem. It led me to the driver I needed. The rest was easy. I made the necessary modifications and tested the plant. The improvement was modest, but noticeable. I planted a few samples in a place where it stirred the attention of people who had much to fear from such a creation.
Using Rhodes' secret, I continued to improve the flame lily. I also developed other varieties using genes from the raw materials I had collected on my travels. Each generation of flame lilies was more aggressive and discriminating than the one before it. The version I sent you was from the third cohort. As you have discovered, it will track and devour the remains of all animals buried in the soil. When the plant becomes desperate, it will also develop an interest in living creatures, including domestic pets! Of course, any living meal would have to be physically restrained for the plant to enjoy its feast. Without such an advantage, the vine cannot even wrestle a house cat to submission like the naked Siberian did with wild bears.
My latest version of the plant is a brute. I combined The Determination Gene with the growth hormone of another fearsome creature that Zimbabwe will come to know and fear. He has several names, but you may know him as EKM, or the monster that killed Moses with such relish. EKM is bigger, uglier, smarter, more irrational, and far more dangerous than the murderer he smashed to a pulp. However, he is blessed with a fantastic sense of humour that was foreign to Moses.
In fact, one of the plants with EKM’s growth hormone was responsible for a recent jailbreak you may have read about. I concede that the escape was assisted by a few design flaws that were overlooked by the prison’s architects. Still, you must admit that it was the most organic solution to a capital incarceration. This, of course, brings me to the death penalty, a barbaric but entertaining practice for which I have developed an incorrigible fascination. I would love to explain but I have a surgery to perform. Expect to hear more from me soon. All I will say for now is that if The Determination Gene is the fuel, and the flame lily is the vehicle, then the gallows are the destination. Cecil Rhodes is the chauffeur, and I am his passenger.
* * *
Suicide By Electrocution
Dear Percival,
I apologize for ending my previous letter in such an abrupt manner. The surgery could not wait. Reversing the direction of a man’s digestive system is much harder than you may imagine. Peristalsis is an old dog. It is unwilling to learn new tricks unless it is re-trained by a skilled master.
Let me return to explaining how my carnivorous flame lily is connected to your gallows. As you know, Percival, I am not a man of inadvertent effects. Everything I do has a purpose. Under my permissive criteria, fun is often a sufficient justification for any pursuit. Most of the time, I am driven by more meaningful motivations. However, in all instances, I direct my genius towards an infamous cause. In this case, my cause arose from the very purpose for which I designed the carnivorous flame lily.
A little history, shall we?
Some time ago, a group of men hired “experts” who specialized in suppressing ngozis through “spiritual diamagnetism”. In the scientific world, diamagnetic objects are repulsed by the magnetic fields of other materials. The spiritual version of this principle allows a killer to place a repulsive force between him and the vindictive ngozi. For a while, this arrangement worked for the men in this story.
Later, paranoia started to creep into their guilty minds. The men began to wonder whether their security measures were adequate. After much discussion, they decided to install reinforcements just in case the diamagnetic barrier failed. This was a mistake. More protections do not necessarily amount to better protections. As a foolish fornicator once learned, wearing two condoms will only increase the likelihood of rupture. Ignorant of this lesson, the men’s fear led them to a similar error. Their search for additional security led them to my door. I happily accepted their assignment.
As you would heartily agree, Percival, a lion would never accept employment by a bunch of mice. Any business we had together would be on my terms. In fact, I orchestrated these men’s decision to hire me; a point they were not aware of at the time. I led them to believe that instead of simply repulsing the ngozis with diamagnetism, their problems could be solved entirely by harvesting the organs and body fluids of a particular man. If they could internalize this man’s materials, his righteousness would protect them against the angry spirits. The ngozis would be unable to distinguish between my clients and the guiltless aura created the donor’s by-products.
I began to make arrangements for both the harvest and the transplants. While the men were waiting, a series of events gave them the impression that their diamagnetic protections had been breached. They implored me to move with greater urgency on the harvesting front. I nurtured their fear while professing to be doing all I could to speed up the process. To spice things up, I sabotaged the plan. Before the clients could receive their transplants, the police received an “anonymous tip” about organ herders who were smuggling courier cows into Zimbabwe. The police intercepted and impounded the livestock.
This unexpected interruption served a greater purpose. People are most desperate when impending salvation is suddenly frustrated at the eleventh hour. With the sudden seizure of the animals, my clients’ desperation built up like an electrical charge in every part of their bodies. When it reached the proper level of intensity, I ordered that the carrier animals be released. The transplants and infusions of body fluids took place thereafter. These products became supercharged with the electricity of my clients’ intense anxiety.
So, Percival, what does this have to do with the baking exercise you are helping with? Think. There is a triad of factors at play here: the flower, the hangman, and the people who hired him (the same clients who absorbed his harvest). The first and third factors are united by the genetic material that was derived from the second. Therefore, after the transplants, all three elements became connected by a mutual electro-genetic charge. Now each time my flame lilies’ roots touch a body that was buried by my clients, justice can come roaring through the triad. A gateway is opened for the wronged to access the culpable.
The ngozis’ “acceptance” into the triad through the plants makes them part of the family, despite the disapproval of some clan members. Once the spirits have eloped their way into the triad, they start by reversing the repellent force that once restrained them from exacting revenge on their murderous in-laws. In such a family feud, the fight is always one sided. In death, the ngozis will prevail in the confrontation that they failed to win in life.
The consequences of the reversal mechanism resemble the surgery I just performed. The human intestines have evolved over millions of years. They are programmed to channel food in one direction: from the mouth to the anus. But if you can fool the nervous sy
stem into believing that one end of the bowel is actually the other, you can cause a crisis of fecal proportions. As an observer, I can confirm that the results are rather comical. Of course, the patient thought otherwise.
My former clients will experience a similar process. They started by enjoying the delicious meal of debauched murder. For a while, the protective intestines of diamagnetism channelled the food in only one direction: away from them. Until I intervened, their buried victims were burdened with the waste product: the stench of injustice and the eternal separation from their love ones. But once my flame lilies start spreading across Zimbabwe, these men will be forced to watch as the reversal of their defences coincide with the reversal in their fortunes. The desperation they felt when their transplants were delayed will only intensify the ferocity of each reversal.
What a pity. My clients thought that harvesting the hangman’s material would strengthen their defences. Little did they know that embracing the harvest was suicide by electrocution. All this happened because they decided to wear a second condom which I had lined with sandpaper on the inside. And so rapture turned to rupture.
My former clients are shuddering. The flame lilies I planted at Great Zimbabwe were just a little nudge to say, “Hello.” Their powers of diamagnetic reversal were modest, but they were strong enough to cause a few warning symptoms. As more rabid varieties spread, the men’s sniffles will eventually descend into more mature versions of the disease. The Bakers are yet to feel the worst of the vexation. They refer to my flame lily as “The Demon Sprout”. I understand. This plant is giving them hell.
Percival, my flame lilies have brought hope to the lives of many who crave to find the remains of their loved ones. Even those who already know where they are buried will benefit from the beautiful lily. I have created new varieties which can direct ngozis to their killers without the need for transplants to connect the murderer directly to the victim. Pre-market assessments tell me that the demand for these plants is high. These new versions can also expose “live wires” that can be manipulated to intensify the voltage of the reversal. There is another group of “experts” who specialize in this field. Once my flame lilies become widely available, their industry will see an alarming resurgence.
So can these men find a way out of this mess? Of course they can! The gallows can solve their problems. Your creation can help them capture the vindictive viruses that my plants are unearthing. The machine can also quarantine the sickness in the human vessel that they have hired for this very purpose. The vessel is destined to be incinerated with the germs that will be trapped in him... Many others will burn along with him.
But will this gallows strategy alter their fate? Is wearing a third condom really the answer? I do not think so but what do I know? I am just a man with infinite powers to evaluate all the permutations of any scenario.
My former clients do not understand the mechanics of the chaos that is upon them. They do not know that the dough they intend to put in the oven is laced with the explosive plague they are trying to contain. Only when the new hangman tightens the noose and pulls the lever will they realize that the neck of the first death-row inmate is actually the match that will detonate their loaf. When that happens, the infection will spread like pollen infused with gun power. Their transplanted organs and fluid transfusions will start burning them from the inside. To stay ahead of the disease, they will double down on their strategy. They will feel compelled to keep sending more people to the gallows. However, the hangman’s execution of his duties will create even more bodies for my flame lilies to find ... literally.
Will The Bakers be able to step off the floral treadmill? Well, they probably believe they can outrun its fastest setting. In my immodest opinion, I do not think it is a good idea for them to get into an arms race with a vine that can dig up enough food to nourish a century of plant infestations. But that is the nature of desperation. It lives by its own logic.
When it all unravels, The Bakers will have no refuge. If they are lucky, they will reap what they sowed. If they are unlucky, what they sowed will reap them.
For once, men who always solved their problems through brutality will be forced to think their way out of their conundrum. It will not be easy. But desperation can be a powerful brain stimulant if one can discipline it. Like the worm above the flame, The Baker’s determination to survive will be entertaining to watch. But they will fail because they are up against a man who has the willpower to remain limp in a fire. A man who is willing to court death for the mere purpose of providing a civics lesson. They are up against me. The Apex Predator.
Good things are about to happen in this country, Percival. Fun things. You and I will have front row seats to the mayhem. It is planting season. See you at the hanging!
The Most Revenant Mr. Chidoma, Esquire.
PS: Greetings to Benhilda. But warmer greetings to Daphne. She is a keeper. Such companions are priceless, especially in stressful times.
* * *
To The Most Revenant Mr. Chidoma, Esquire,
Before I address your intriguing letter, I must say that I appreciate your compliments about Daphne. You never mention her in your communications. I have long mistaken this as a respectful aversion.
Since you have never met her, I can only assume that your comments were based on the adolescent giddiness I often express when I write about her. Daphne is a gem, a solid, resourceful companion during tough times. It is nice to hear someone else acknowledge this, albeit through vicarious experience. Thank you.
Now to your letter. Good grief. It was waiting for me at the hotel reception in Harare. I read it more than ten times. I still cannot wrap my mind around the contorted panorama you painted around many characters I know. Each line connected persons and events I did not even know were related. Quite simply, I am in awe. I apologize for my limited capacity to appreciate the sheer magnitude of your intellect, but insofar as I can express a sense of wonder through the IQ of a regular man, I say: You are one hell of a prodigy, sir!
Sincerely,
Percival
* * *
Apex Predator
Dear Percival,
A prodigy is just a firework that gets laid by seducing the candles into believing it is a star. Do not call me a prodigy, my friend. I am another creature entirely.
* * *
THE END ... OF THE BEGINNING
THE HANGMAN’S REPLACEMENT: BOOK 2
The author has refused to disclose how many books will be in the series. However, he has confirmed to his lawyer that the novel will unfold in between four and seven books. In his own words: “Stories tell themselves. You cannot pre-plan the lifespan of an independent life-form, otherwise you are either guilty of murder or needlessly prolonging a tortured life.” Despite his acidic personality and secretive nature, the author has disclosed that the second novel in the series will be released by December, 2013. The title of Book 2 is based on a concept that is raised in the first.
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Mr. Gejo insists
* * *
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
S.14; S.14.1(1); Art. 15(3)
Taona Dumisani Chiveneko is the author of “The Hangman’s Replacement” series. The Zimbabwean citizen was born either between the Zambezi and the Limpopo rivers, or along the road which runs from Mutare to Hwange. Mr. Chiveneko has refused to confirm which option is true. He is also equally circumspect about his age, which he has pegged at: “More than ten, but less than a hundred-years-old.”
Mr. Chiveneko is widely regarded as the most anti-social African author. He is rumoured to have based the
Luxon Hurudza character on himself. Even as a child, Mr. Chiveneko was not personable. The boy ignored anyone who tried to start a conversation with him. This behaviour won him the nickname, “Hombarume”, the Shona word for “hunter”. According to the village elder who gave him the name, the young Taona was destined to spend his entire life hunting for a sense of social etiquette. The elder’s prediction turned out to be wrong. The boy never embarked on the quest at all. As a recluse, he spent his life hunting for something else: solitude.
Mr. Chiveneko is rumoured to live in a remote location with a hypertensive pangolin, three shrews, and a termite colony (enclosed in a large glass tank). He is also the half-proud owner of two cats. Apparently, he only loves one of them, but is compelled to keep them both. The creatures are inseparable companions.
In fact, when Mr. Chiveneko sold the cat he did not like, the remaining one went on a three day hunger strike. Eventually, Mr. Chiveneko was forced to buy back the tubby feline for thrice the price he had sold it. As a miser, this incident was highly traumatic for him. This unusual sacrifice for another living creature reflects a tender side of this enigmatic writer. Nevertheless, that part of the man is very small indeed.
During the only interview he has ever granted, Mr. Chiveneko confessed that his childhood dream was to become a taxidermist. However, this ambition was shattered when he realized that taxidermy had nothing to do with replacing the bodywork of taxi cabs. In grief, he bought a diary and vented his sorrow on its pages with a feather quill. The experience was refreshing. Through tragedy, he found his calling. The rest is history. To this day, he still writes his manuscripts with feather quills that he picks up along a popular flight path of migrating geese.
The Hangman's Replacement: Sprout of Disruption (BOOK 1) Page 44
