She looks at me as if she knows I need a hug. ‘You see those boys in the van, you hear that singing? They are getting impatient. They saw one of their own shot in the middle of the Camp. They have found your plane. They have found you. There’s no way you could have survived that wreck. You lost your men here, didn’t you? Many more than you are willing to acknowledge? Were they ever taken back? I don’t buy it but this is what they believe: their ghosts are roaming the desert trying to find their way back home. They believe you have been sent to take them back. So you were sent on a mission, weren’t you?’
‘Nobody told me anything. I had my coffee. I had my aspirin. I took off. I thought I was doing my last mission.’
‘Well there is one more to go. You got to do what you got to do,’ she has suddenly assumed the authority of a veteran commander.
‘And I am on your side. They think I am keeping you for myself. That’s all men can think of even in the middle of a war.’
CHAPTER 28
Mutt
Momo thinks he found me, he adopted me, he trained me, he kept me and when I ran away into the desert after his brutal assault he brought me back. I let him think that. It’s good for his fragile ego. I think I am the one who adopted him, has kept him out of trouble, seen him at his weakest and still kept faith in him. I was there when Bro Ali caught him stealing petrol and thrashed him. There is the petrol tank outside the Hangar and Momo got a rubber pipe, dipped it into the tank, sucked and sucked and then filled six empty Nestlé bottles and started a home delivery service. Fuel for Almost Free. Bro Ali caught him and gave him a thrashing so severe that I flinched and I yelped and finally managed to rescue him.
Some nights I ran after Bro Ali as he sneaked out and set up his radio thing and started talking to people in the sky. Momo followed us; I pretended we hadn’t noticed. Even Bro Ali pretended we didn’t know he was following us.
But I let Momo think he is God’s gift to humanity and me. Some people might call it a servile attitude on my part; I call it love.
And it’s this love and not greed that makes me go to the Hangar now.
There is the smell of cooking, of butter and sugar. How many times have I tried to nudge Momo to look in here so he might find some answers. But he is stubborn. If it’s abandoned, if all the troops have been withdrawn then who is cooking up a feast? Preparation. Preparation. Preparation. He wants to strike at the right time, he wants the right team, he is obsessed with the right gear. He wants a takeover. He wants to turn the place into a shopping mall with a fountain in the centre. He wants to keep the top floor for his own offices. In his head he has choreographed homecoming celebrations. I agree it’s not like one of his business plans where even if you botch it up you can move on. Here the stakes are higher, much higher; a mother’s heart, a brother’s love and the family lineage and something about my land, my freedom which I don’t understand. All I know is that you have no chance of earning any respect in this desert if you let them take your brother.
Sometimes Momo deludes himself by assuming that they have taken Bro Ali to some place called San Jose. He is having too much fun there, that’s why he hasn’t contacted his family. I want to scream at him: Don’t just make plans, do something. They took away your brother, now you strut around in the jeep that they gave him, so that he could roam around with his transmitter. He always said he was helping root out evil. I thought he was talking about smelly cats before I knew better.
I am circling the Hangar, hoping to catch another whiff of something that will give me a clue to what’s going on inside. Barbed wires are rusting, booby traps have dozed off, ghosts of sniffer dogs still sniff the winds for any approaching enemies. I can smell cinnamon, which is the smell of summer holidays in childhood, and whipped cream, memories of nice things that never happened, I am lost in these smells when I hear steps. I don’t smell anything but I hear footsteps. And she comes at me, almost floats towards me, sits down in front of me, like pretentious dog-lovers do because they want us to believe they are not larger than us, no you idiot you are much bigger, you are sitting down that’s why our eyes are level. She ruffles the hair on my neck and gives me a hug. I am looking at her like who the hell are you? Where is your smell? What kind of person doesn’t have a smell? I think I know someone else who doesn’t have a smell. Where’s your shadow? Why are your hands and cheeks so cold? Whatever the hell happened to you? What are you doing so far away from home? Because she is blonde and has translucent pale skin and blue eyes that seem to look through me. Why aren’t you scared? Don’t you see these teeth? Do you even know who I am?
Then I realize that it’s my turn to be scared. For the first time in my life I am afraid of the human touch. Before I can yelp or put my paws on her, she gets up and starts walking towards the Hangar. And she is not the only one. There are others like her, some dressed in uniform like those soldiers who used to come out in convoys to get their water supply, now a bunch of tired soldiers returning to their base. They are floating over the sand heading towards the Hangar. The temperature suddenly drops. My brain is exceptionally slow. There is a person who doesn’t have a smell. I thought maybe they use some special perfume to disguise their smell. Because if you can’t smell them you can’t scare them.
I can see them now. A ghost army is coming together for a reunion. Momo is never going to believe it. He is a man of science. Even if ghosts come brandishing chequebooks, Momo is not going to believe it. The only way he would believe this is to come and see this for himself. It’s just like the old days but much colder. The gates of the Hangar are open, the floodlights have been turned on, there are no aeroplanes but the windsock is fluttering, the giant machines in the Hangar are squeaking and whirling. Why have they come back? Have they brought our bro back? Suddenly I remember. My fried brains might be slow but they can do the job. I know the person who doesn’t have a smell. I need to go tell Momo that there is a ghost under our own roof.
CHAPTER 29
Momo
When Mutt wags his tail or curls it into a question mark I can usually ignore him. But when he comes with his tail in a tight coil and runs circles around me, he is bringing some important news and we need to tend to urgent business. We get into the jeep and drive and what do I see? The gates of the Hangar are open, the barriers are up, the floodlights are on. We drive around it in our Cherokee, I honk the horn, anybody there? I don’t see anyone on the checkpoints, or the silhouette of a woman, but I am ready to bet that Mutt is right about her too.
You must have heard that God created couples so that his creation could multiply and overpopulate the world. But God also created couples so that they could hound each other in life, betray each other and then haunt each other after one of them dies. I have no idea if there really is a ghost in the Hangar. Who cares? There’s a white woman, and we already have a white man amongst us. He has been going on about his wife. Wanting to go back to her but never really making a move. Now she has come to him. I can tell when Mutt is barking the truth. So Ellie runs away from his wife and his wife tracks him down. A good wife is always gonna do that. Even when your country forgets you, your wife is gonna remember you. What’s not to believe?
I find him in Lady Flowerbody’s makeshift office, studying a file. My tone is celebratory, as if I have brought the good news he has been waiting for all these days. ‘They have come for you. I think there is also someone special to meet you.’ My tone is full of mystery, full of promise. I am gonna entice him gently. When you are outnumbered by a powerful enemy, you can’t rely on brute force. It’s my negotiation skills that are gonna win the day. I can’t really put a gun to Ellie’s head and take him to the Hangar. That only happens in the movies. In real life everybody is gonna talk and talk and only pull out our guns when we have run out of words.
‘You gonna go to the Hangar. Your woman’s come to get you.’
‘Where? How do you know it’s her? Why didn’t you bring her here?’
White man is gonna keep thinking he is smart
until that smartness is snuffed out of him.
‘She’s gone inside the Hangar. You know that I can’t go in. And why would she believe me, why would she listen to me? I am only a little boy.’
What is he gonna do? He can’t say that there is no wife, that I am imagining her. That Hangar is open and letting in white people. What kind of man is afraid of his own people? Someone who thinks he is not one of them. Someone who doesn’t want to be one of them. But what is he gonna do? He is our ticket into that place.
‘Your father said that place is haunted, that there is nothing in there except ghosts.’
Father Dear said that, really?
So Father Dear has been hiding behind the occult, he is trading in ghosts now. I am the one who is not superstitious but Ellie is a step ahead of me. I am gonna beat him with logic. White man is gonna believe in whatever is convenient for him.
‘Use your brains. It’s a warehouse. Full of redundant tanks and aircrafts and artillery. There is a rescue team that she has brought with her. To take you back. She travels halfway around the world to look for you and you are afraid of a short ride? You must really love her.’
I can see that he still doesn’t wanna go but there is a strange glow in his eyes. Suddenly he looks like a crumpled paper bag.
‘I was going to go anyway. I don’t know what I have been waiting for.’
‘Not just you. We are all gonna go.’
As we move towards the Jeep Cherokee, I see Mother Dear rushing out of the house. I can’t remember the last time she stepped out of the house. On her heels, Mutt, proud, a bounce in his steps, even his limp looks like an act of grace. It seems as if his brains suddenly got unfried.
CHAPTER 30
Mutt
When I emerge with Mother Dear’s long-lost white dupatta that covered Bro Ali’s chickenpoxed torso, I am expecting a thrashing. Mother Dear is sitting there putting green gooey stuff in her hair. It’s henna. I can’t stand the smell because it’s the smell of wedding nights and trembling virgins. She hasn’t gone out in a while and this is her way of getting ready for the big, bad world. It’s my turn to tremble though, and nobody has ever accused me of being a virgin. I didn’t really steal the dupatta, I just put it under the sofa because it so strongly smelt of Bro Ali. It brought back unbearable memories. But I know she needs it now. The time has come to stop being fearful of these memories.
I put it at a safe, respectful distance from her and sit still. It’s against my restless nature to stay still but I don’t want to send the wrong message. I don’t want her to think that I have soiled her lost son’s memory or that I have been messing with her personal piece of clothing. Sitting still is not that difficult if you haven’t done anything wrong. I haven’t. Not with this dupatta. She comes and picks up the dupatta, she smells it and in her smelling it I can smell all the love in the world.
I keep my tongue in my mouth. I keep my tail still. When she lunges at me I don’t move. I am not sure what I am in for. A kick or a slap? With Momo I can always tell if I am going to receive a kick in the butt or a kiss on my snout. She slaps me. Gently. It’s not really a slap, it’s the kind of gentle shove in the face that you give someone when you want to say, you beauty.
Then she bends down and nuzzles her nose against my snout. She has never done that to me. ‘My son, I think it’s time to go.’ Nobody has ever called me my son.
There is a clamour outside, and suddenly everyone – and I mean everyone – is talking.
It’s definitely time to go.
To the Hangar
CHAPTER 31
Mother Dear
I am not going to sit here with smoke in my eyes, my chipped nails and a bad conscience and wait for a miracle. I have already waited enough. In the end I have to do everything with my own hands. Miracles don’t happen when your existence is tied to your stove and when you spend your days thinking: Am I a bad mother? When did I become such a bad mother?
Then there is no salt in the house. I might be a bad mother but I am not a stupid mother. I know when it’s time to do something.
I can see the preparations all around me. I can see a journey in Mutt’s eyes. Momo has been stealing oil from the kitchen for his rifle. That deserter Ellie wakes up in the middle of the night and thinks of running away and then realizes that he has no place to run to.
Even Lady Flowerbody has been trying to get me to join the sisterhood. She tells me that I am not a bad mother, that I shouldn’t blame myself. She says that it’s common amongst mothers to think that they are not good enough to be mothers. I tell her to shut up and work on her report and make sure nothing is stolen from my home. How can people make a living telling others not to blame themselves for anything? That good-for-nothing slut tells me that I should wait a bit, let things take their own course, turn my grief into my strength, put my loss into a global perspective. She wants me to be a strong woman who makes her own decisions.
Who does she think makes decisions around here? I made one bad decision; it didn’t seem like a bad decision at the time. Boys need to go out in the world, so I let him. A proper job in the middle of the war, a job that didn’t involve fighting. I swear I thought he’d be safer in the Hangar. They had the guns and the alarms and could decide where to throw bombs. He would be better off, I thought, after a bomb came through our own roof. Maybe I was a stupid, selfish mother but now I don’t need any more strength, I need my son.
I have waited enough. I waited nine months. You know what that wait was like? Every other minute I thought what if he was dead inside me? And then he would kick, I would say, thank God he is not dead. I’d be relieved for a moment and then I would think what if he has no eyes? And I would pray O merciful, O giver of eyes please give him good eyes. What if he is six-fingered? Well that would be OK because I had a six-fingered friend when I was little and everyone thought it was cute. We envied her because everyone wanted to count the fingers on her hand just to make sure.
I didn’t want him to come into this world. I wanted to hold him inside a few days longer. I wasn’t afraid of the pain. I wasn’t sure if he had something missing, a limb, a toe. I couldn’t imagine a face. And when he came out he pulled my whole being out into the world with him. It hurt but it felt good. It was awful and it was beautiful. There was burning in my stomach but stars bursting in my eyes. My nipples hurt but my nipples hurt even more when he didn’t suckle.
Now to sit and wait and not be able to hear him come into the house, banging the door and shouting Mother Dear, I am hungry, I am so hungry I could eat a whole cow. Where is my food, Mother Dear, why is there never any food in the house, why do you feed it all to Father Dear, he doesn’t even do any work at his office? You feed Mutt before you feed me. Come on, Mother Dear, where is my food, I am so hungry.
I was not always a bad mother. There was always food for him; you just could never tell when he would be hungry. By the time you had lit the stove to warm the food he was jumping up and down the house showing you how hungry he was. I did alright there, fed him and clothed him as his limbs stretched and his hunger kept growing.
They should have taken me. Why did I agree to send him on his own? Why didn’t I insist on going with him?
CHAPTER 32
Mutt
Our jeep travels at a steady speed, it makes no sound. Father Dear is sitting beside me, slumped in his seat as if he is being taken to attend his own trial. White Ellie the deserter is sitting beside him, fidgeting. Momo has got one hand on the steering of his Jeep Cherokee and the other one on his M16. The safety catch is off. Momo, can you please put the safety catch on? Let’s not show off. You could kill someone or maim someone without meaning to. Guns smell of idle lust.
I have got my nose in the air. And I see the first red bird and then another and another. I yelp. Momo looks up and nods his head in approval. I don’t know if he can actually see them or is just indulging me. Mother Dear is sharpening a crystal dagger on a little black stone as if she’ll bring the whole army down with it
. She raises the dagger above her head to check its sharpness, it glints in my eye. Momo stops the jeep. We are being followed.
He is only a speck in the distance, a man on a motorbike, but he’s catching up. Here comes the traitor, I think. First we’ll have to deal with the traitor. Momo waits for Doctor to catch up.
Doctor stops his bike at a safe distance from us. As the dust settles, we realize that he has got a pillion rider: Lady Flowerbody. She has got a hand on his shoulder. They’ll make a good pair, two reluctant saviours, if they can save themselves from each other.
Doctor has no interest in our mission, he is non-partisan, he eats objectivity for breakfast; objectivity smells of stale piss. He is not going to take any sides. He is not interested in saving Bro Ali, he is not even interested in saving humanity. He wants to save the desert. He thinks the desert is the source of life and continually reminds us that there are more than thirteen thousand species in the desert. He should try and sample some of this biodiversity for breakfast. Most of these species are poison disguised as life.
‘Why are you following us?’ shouts Momo. You can never expect a straight answer from Doctor.
‘I am most certainly not. You are going your way and I am going my way.’
‘But why are you going to the Hangar?’
‘I am not telling you my travel plans. Is there any place that I am not allowed to go to? You might need me. Your enemies might need me. I prefer it when nobody needs me but I have to be ready when someone does.’
Red Birds Page 18