by Gabi Moore
Cut off its feet. Cut off its head. Don’t think too much while you do this. Put a long, thin and sharp knife into its neck and slice cleanly down along its belly like it’s just a steak wearing a rabbit’s costume, and this is the zip. Because that’s what it is. Think about your own zips. When the line reaches the crotch, put the knife down and take off the pelt, firmly, like pajamas. Feel bad that the rabbit will be cold without it. Slice open the abdominal cavity and remove the tubes inside there, all of them. Hang the rabbit long and let it bleed out.
The blood and bones are good for the soil. The skin is now your skin. Its eyes …I haven’t figured out what to do with the eyes yet. The jackals eat them.
While you’re cutting and dressing a rabbit, you shouldn’t think of other things. You should honor the rabbit and fucking pay attention. But today, my mind was all over the place. I was being sloppy. Making small mistakes. The blade was too blunt. Unfocused.
I kept having a thought: it’s time for a fresh batch of missionaries to arrive from the states. If they weren’t here already, they would be very soon. I didn’t need paraffin or anything else. But I could go into town anyway, just to sniff around and see if there were any hot young things floating around. I’m a man with principles. But I’m still a man. And a man has needs.
I finished with the rabbit and poured some fresh water over my hands, my little steel basin singing as the water hits it. A basin is a good thing to have. A basin isn’t bullshit. I smiled and washed my hands, the warm feeling in my head spreading out over my body. The blood never really comes off completely, even after the water runs clear. I shook them off and dried them quickly, then collapsed back on my mattress, legs propped up casually.
The rabbit hung in the corner. Good. I hated that part. But death is necessary, for life.
Now, I could finally focus on this weird thought that wouldn’t leave me alone today. A disturbance in the force, if you like. Every time I closed my eyes, it appeared: a face. I lay back on my mattress and tried to focus on the face. The features were blurred and fleeting. I breathed in deep and released. Felt the tension sinking out of me and into the mattress.
I’ve been living in these forests my entire life. The human face has started to look different to me. I’ll go back into “civilization” just as soon as it makes sense to. But till then, I need nothing that I haven’t made on my own. With my own body, and my own mind. How many men can say that? There’s just one problem though. One thing a man can’t provide for himself.
I adjusted myself on the mattress and opened up a fold in my sarong. Easily, my cock jumped out at me. It had been a while since I’d been compelled to hide this part of myself. I’m often naked. I’m often alone.
I put my hands round the shaft and stroked gently. Forest living was good for the system. While my time in this cabin had whittled my body down to muscle and bone, my cock seemed only to have pick up the slack, getting bigger and meaner. My hands were rough from work. I was a little sun burnt. But morning or night I could easily go from soft to hard enough to cut glass in just a few seconds. When you live in a virile forest, teeming with life, you become potent yourself.
Fine. I’d go into town. Maybe there’d be someone interesting for a change. Maybe not. No big deal.
I rolled my coarse hands over the swollen tip. A woman would be better. There’s nothing soft about me. I liked it that way. But a woman …I could use just a bit of softness. I shut my eyes and saw the face again. In my foggy mind, I saw, and felt, something indescribably warm. Something hot with life. It pulsed all through me, parting my lips. I kept stroking.
I saw lips, a soft face. Something tender there, just out of my reach. Jolts of pleasure were shooting up and down my body. My hand froze, I clenched the mattress and a slow, gooey orgasm rushed over me. Wet globs landed on my hands. My bare hands. Fine, no man is an island. I’d go to town. It couldn’t hurt.
Chapter 4 - Penelope
It was great, actually, when you just shifted your perspective. It was all fine. This was why I was here, right? To learn all about the different ways of the world and how all God’s people go about their business.
I stared down at the brown muck in front of me. The tap had been running for a full minute, I was sure of it, and it still wasn’t getting any clearer. I would never dream of telling the mission leaders this, but the place was a dump. I’m sorry, but it was.
I had a long, fitful dream all on the plane trip here, and was tried as all heck now. Every time I shut my eyes, I saw a face. So I kept my eyes open. Now, they were still red and raw, and I was jet lagged for sure.
Sister Dora had collected me from the airport, if you can call it that, and we had taken a bus here. It made me feel so bad to see my awful heavy bag hoisted up on her frail shoulders. She must have been ninety in the shade, and her shoes looked a decade older than even that, yet she said nothing and just hauled all my stuff off, telling me how excited everyone was to meet me.
I would share my room with Valerie, a girl who’d arrived a few months prior to me and was transplanted from the next town over. She and I would oversee the community garden project. The land was ready, the funds had cleared and now they were all waiting for me.
“Married?” she asked on the bus ride.
“No ma’am, not yet, although when I return home I’ll be marrying my fiancé, Dylan.”
She smiled. “Any children?”
I shook my head. What a weird question. She had on a really old fashioned habit and a wooden cross round her neck, but every time she stroked at my hair (she really seemed to like my hair) I couldn’t help feeling that her fingers reminded me just a little of a gorilla’s.
Now, I know what you’re thinking. If Dylan had told me that, I would have straight up told him he’s a racist, and he kind of is, but I just couldn’t shake the thought, and it was my first thought, and it just sprang up without me even doing it on purpose, you know? And I felt so guilty. Man, did I feel guilty. She was kind to me, and here I was thinking she reminded me of a gorilla. How terrible was that?
“You’re so pale,” she said, taking a strand of my ashy hair in her fingers. “Like a tiny little mouse!” She laughed, a little mockingly, if I’m honest.
I guess that made us even.
The drive to the room was agonizing. Mchinji was …how can I put this? Low key. I had my work cut out for me for sure.
“You’ve never been to Malawi before, have you?” she asked. I shook my head. I’d never been to anyplace, really.
“It’s beautiful, you’ll see,” she said, as I stared out of the grimy bus windows.
It was as I imagined. Kind of.
Dusty. Pretty hot. Not a whole lot going on. More stray dogs than I had imagined. Google had told me that that the population was less than 2000, and that most people here had no running water, no schooling, no nothing.
Bu they had me now. I adjusted my eyes to make out my own reflection in the bus window. I was pale. It was hard to imagine that I was an international lingerie model, not with how the bus was smelling right at that moment, but I let my imagination go anyway. I would be like Jane, and find a Tarzan, and we’d live on a ranch and adopt all the stray dogs and care for them, so that nobody ever had to suffer again…
“We’re here my dear” Sister Dora said, and she sprang up like a sprite and before I knew it she had hauled my bag out of the bus and plonked it down just as the tires skidded off and left us in a cloud of red dust. Home sweet home. More dogs, broken down houses.
“Valerie is out today, you’ll see her tomorrow. But she’s very excited to meet you. I think there are three or four others arriving today and Mama Tembi is arranging a dinner this evening to welcome everyone. Just sleep now. I’m coming this way tonight and I’ll come get you, ok?”
I panicked. That’s it? I would be alone?
“Just lock the door, ok? You came a bit early. Pastor will be there this evening, you can speak to him and arrange everything. I have to go though, it’s getting lat
e. Ok?” she smiled at me.
“Ok.”
And now I was here, looking at this water. It had been two minutes. Still dirty as heck. I turned off the tap. I’d have to freshen up some other way. The room was …not good. And it really was just that – a single room. I don’t mean to be ungrateful, but how could you live in just one room like this? I could see Valerie’s bed …but where were all her things?
With one big motion I unzipped my bag. Thank God. Everything was still here. Losing a few pairs of Toms would have been fine, but I don’t think I wanted to admit that Jeff had been right, just this once. As I looked down into the bag though, I was struck by something odd: the scent of flowers. I lifted a tank top with my fingers and discovered it was laced with white goop. What the…?
Shampoo. My jumbo shampoo bottle had exploded. I rummaged through the bag. Yup, everything was covered in a slimy layer of pearly white. Damn! It was uncanny. Even the clothing right at the bottom layers was drenched. Who knew there was so much shampoo in a single bottle? I examined the bottle. Empty. The Lord giveth and he taketh away. Not only were my clothes dirty, they were dirty with what I needed to keep myself clean.
On some stupid whim, I looked up to see if I could find any sign of a washing machine. Of course there was none. I was in Malawi. Why would they have washing machines when hardly anyone had running water? I imagined Jeff laughing at me, and the fact that I had thought about whether to give the kids here milk chocolate treats, and now whether or not there’d be a washing machine. In any case, he was an idiot. Google had told me plain as day that many people in Africa do, in fact, suffer from lactose intolerance, and my idea to not give them milk chocolate wasn’t a stupid one at all. I had let him have that one, I guess. The man is the head of the household.
I sighed loudly and looked around for a wardrobe. There was no wardrobe. I slid a curtain to the side and found Valerie’s clothes on a few plastic hangers. There were no extra hangers. I picked up the slimy tank top again to check that I wasn’t dreaming, and that this really wasn’t all a nightmare, but it slid out my fingers and landed on the bare flor, splat, picking up a layer of red dust.
And I’ll admit it. I’m big enough to admit it. There and then, at that moment, I wished I hadn’t come. I felt dirty. I was dirty. And there was nobody here to welcome me, and everything was so damn quiet, like, creepily quiet, and I could manage whatever Jesus threw my way, for sure, but did I have to do it in the same crumpled sundress I had been wearing for almost a full 24 hours now?
I wiped away a tear and squared my shoulders. I wouldn’t be any help to anyone if I was a crying wreck. I sniffed my armpits and recoiled. Yikes. I slid my bag to the far side of the room. I’d deal with that later. I fished out the least soiled shirt and ferociously tried to rinse out the shampoo glob down the front of it, using the same brown tap water. Luckily, the shampoo became its own detergent.
I wrung it out, fanned it in the room and slipped it over my sundress. There. Now I was a little more presentable, and probably smelled a bit better, too. No fashion magazine I knew had outfit tips on how to transition seamlessly from an afternoon at home to a nightmare in a strange African country, but I think I was pulling off the look.
Unfortunately, all my underwear was badly soaked. I washed a few pairs, but they were too wet to wear. I hung them over the little sink on a crinkly wire and then gingerly lifted the rim of my sundress for a quick sniff. Also yikes. Now I’m not squeamish, but Lord knows I would need some clean clothes, and soon.
Then I heard a giggle. I froze and scanned the room, my heart in my throat.
Some rustling, the sound of feet. I ran to the window just in time to catch a handful of kids scampering off, laughing to themselves. Little shits.
Pardon me. A lady doesn’t cuss. But as you can imagine, I was feeling more than a little fed up by that point. But it was fine. Right? All of this was just learning. Just expanding my mind. When I returned home, I didn’t just want to be some airheaded stay at home mom who knew nothing. I wanted to be something inspiring to my children, someone with substance. Apparently, I’d have to find that substance here, in this hovel of a room …but God doesn’t give us more than we can handle, does he?
I smiled and waved and tried to yell hello after them. They couldn’t have been more than 5 or 6 years old each, all dusty limbed from playing in the dirt and bare foot. They pulled their tongues out at me and danced and teased and then scampered off, like little monkeys. They were handsome children. They had bright, clear eyes and velvety skin and they were so, so quick. Forgive me father, but I instantly thought about how good they’d look on my Instagram.
Chapter 5 - Viktor
You know that feeling you get when you see some freshly fallen snow on the ground? Some fresh, soft, perfectly smooth snow just waiting there and you get this insatiable urge to just jump in it? Well, that’s kind of the way I felt the first time I saw her bewildered, crumpled little self waltz into Mama Tembi’s.
I can’t even remember the last time I saw snow, but I sure as hell am familiar with that feeling. Call it prey drive, maybe. Lust. I don’t know. I could feel her helplessness, right in the pit of my stomach. And I can’t explain it, but I just had the instinct to …take her. Living in the forest does weird things to you. For one, it sharpens your sense of smell.
But anyway. I’ve seen a few of these types come in here over the years, these holier than thou Americans with white sneakers and bad attitudes and cameras. But she took the cake. I nearly laughed out loud when I saw her: a little rat of a girl, all skin and bones and wearing this thin cotton dress that looked even more fucked up than she did. She was putting on a brave face, but man, the heat did not suit her. She had combed her dusty blonde hair into two pigtail braids, one on each side, and even from my seat at the “bar” I could make out the shiny rock embedded at the center of a silver cross round her neck.
“Well fuck me! Call everything off. Here she is, Mama, here’s your one true savior, all our problems are solved now, you can stop worrying” I said and watched as she entered the far end of Mama Tembi’s general store slash café slash informal town hall. Mama Tembi whipped me with the end of her dishcloth.
“Ay! Watch that mouth, you animal. Not in my shop.”
I leaned back in my seat and eyed her. She was like a baby gazelle, tip toeing through the open plains with no idea of who was sizing her up. Mama Tembi’s might not look like much, but it’s the closest to a community hub this little town has, and whether she knew it or not, how she carried herself here would pretty much decide whether the locals put up with her missionary shit or iced her out until her plane came to fetch her. Something they never seem to understand: when you come here, you’re on the back foot. You’ve never been to Mchinji before. But them? They’ve seen dozens of missionaries, just like you. Hundreds even. They knew the deal.
“But Mama, have you seen her? Actually seen her? Just take a look,” I said and gestured to the crowd that had gathered around the big table, all the new missionaries with the old, plus some sundry village do-gooders. Mama Tembi isn’t my friend, but she’s a breath of fresh air for sure. She takes no shit, not from anyone. She’s built like a wildebeest and has already put two husbands and countless children in the ground. Mama Tembi had AIDS, too, but she never gave you the impression that she couldn’t kick its ass, along with anything else that got in her way. She was focused on rolling some cigarettes and didn’t bother looking up.
“I don’t have to look, Vik, I have work to do,” she said.
“But you’re missing it! She looks like she’s going to burst into tears any moment now.”
She raised a single eyebrow at me and tightened her mouth.
“And if you get involved, she’ll cry for sure.”
She wasn’t wrong. But like I said, something about her looked like she needed a good cry.
“Vik, I’m serious. Leave this one alone, OK?”
Mama Tembi’s eyes flicked to the crowd and then back to me, w
here she frowned, one half rolled cigarette still poised in her fingers. I sighed and slumped down further in my chair. I wasn’t usually this cynical, but something about these people just irked me no end. Like there was some intolerable imbalance in the universe and I just had to set it right again.
“And would it kill you to put a shirt on when we have new people coming in?” she said and flicked me with the cloth again.
Mama Tembi’s is certainly the largest structure in this two-bit village. It was built by some over ambitious British South Africans in the sixties as a sort of club house, but they had long since cleared off and the place was abandoned and then renovated as a general purpose “café”. The long running joke was that you could get everything here – except good coffee. Mama Tembi knew how to turn backyard chard and beans into a feast, and she knew who in the village was “bad news” and when a woman was pregnant and exactly how much paraffin I’d need for my little cabin before I’d have to come crawling back for more. She knew everything.
Around the big central table, they’d hold town meetings or wedding meals or sometimes watch sports. Mama’s “bar” was off to the side and here she sold single cigarettes and Fanta. If your change was less than a few hundred kwacha, she’d give it to you in government issue condoms. The kitchen staff had made some piri piri goat and yellow rice for the new missionaries. Mama Tembi smiled and welcomed them all. She was happy to accept their “aid”, knowing their real help came in the 4000% markup she put on the mini sizes of Omo washing powder they needed, and not in the mass produced paperback bibles they handed out.
I recognized the old Congolese nun that worked closely with the mission leaders, but there were also a few new faces. They fussed around the new girl. Everyone sat and ate. I realized: she was the first blond I had seen in quite a while. She was cute. I was going to enjoy watching this place tear her apart.
