The Atheist's Messiah: Yanif

by Saul Dobney

  Dr Hill took the letter. “How odd. There’s a symbol – two pairs of hands in prayer with a sword between them. It sounds like a crank.”

  “Do you think it is serious? I mean it was hand delivered. They know where we live.”

  “Probably some over-imaginative students. I wouldn’t put it past them to pull a stupid stunt. I can imagine copies all over the noticeboards on Monday next to these newspaper clippings.”

  “But it could be serious,” said Jill. “Shouldn’t we check with the police?”

  “I doubt there’s anything. But let’s leave it until Monday. If it is a prank, even if it’s not a very considerate prank, I’d want to check around college first. If I get the police involved, someone could get end up risking their academic career for a misplaced joke. I think we can hold off for three or four days. We wouldn’t want to see something terrible to come out from someone playing stupid games.”

  9. Tremus

  Yanif sat on the steps of his dormitory next to Eshe and Mosi watching a column of ants march past. He had been at St Peter's for two years, spending much of his time with Eshe or watching the twins playing in the dirt.

  Kwasi was making small channels in the earth with a stick to try to disrupt the ants' line. From time to time he would fill the channels with water and watch the ants trying to swim or overcome the obstacle.

  “Kwasi? What are you doing now?” asked Eshe.

  “I’m testing them,” said Kwasi.

  Eshe screwed up her face quizzically.

  “The ants. I’m testing the ants.” Kwasi looked at the three children whose blank expressions showed him they did not understand. “The ants are trying to get the food back home. They march to move all the food as quickly as they can. So I’m testing them. See what they do?”

  “You’re not testing them,” said Mosi. “You are teasing them. And you’re killing some of them.” There was a pause. “And what will you do when you find out the results of this test?”

  “I don’t know. I’ll know how ants work I suppose. It’s interesting.”

  “You’re killing ants because it’s interesting?” asked Eshe.

  “I guess. There are lots of them so it doesn’t matter.”

  There was another pause as they watched the ants divert around another of Kwasi’s channels.

  “Look at that one carrying such a big leaf. That is a strong ant. I will help it carry the leaf more quickly.”

  The boys watched while Kwasi manoeuvred the stick into the path of the ant with the large leaf. The ant started to climb up the stick and Kwasi carried it to a point further ahead in the queue. The ant though kept climbing getting closer to Kwasi’s fingers.

  “Get off. Get off,” Kwasi started to panic, fearful of getting stung. He shook the stick several times until the ant fell off.

  The ant dropped to the ground and then started scurrying around, no longer holding the leaf, re-orientating itself trying to find its path.

  Kwasi stamped on it.

  “What did you do that for?” asked Eshe.

  “It was going to sting me. I could see it, so I had to kill it. I did not want to be stung,” replied Kwasi, faintly ashamed.

  “You weren’t much help to that ant then,” said Eshe.

  “So,” said Kwasi. “It’s not like it was an important ant or anything.”

  Across the courtyard Beth’s car pulled up. She got out of the car and opened the back door.

  “Who’s that with Beth?” asked Mosi.

  “I don’t know. Let’s see,” said Kwasi and the boys left the ants to their chores.

  They gathered around the car with the other children. Inside a boy of eight or nine years old sat sullenly in the back seat. He had a deep scar that ran from the corner of his right eyebrow to the top of his lip which added to the fierceness of his demeanour. There was a hushed gasp as the girls closest noticed that the boy was digging a hole into the seat with a pen and removing bits of foam. Anxious faces turned towards Beth to see what she would do.

  Beth stood by the open door. “Tremus. You can come out. It’s safe.” Her voice was conciliatory not the shout of disapproval the onlooking children had expected.

  Tremus shook his head and continued to dig into the back seat with the pen.

  “Tremus, come out.” Beth’s voice was firmer, but Tremus still ignored her. She lent inside the car and made a grab for the boy.

  He shifted over the seats to be closer to the far door avoiding her outstretched hand.

  “Tremus, you are coming out now.” Beth stepped inside and hooked her arm around the boy.

  He was large for his age and started hitting and kicking at Beth but she manhandled him out of the car and dropped him in a heap on the dirt of the courtyard in front of the other children.

  “Children,” she said, “this is Tremus. He will be joining us. Please make him feel welcome.”

  Tremus took stock of the children around him, trying to catch the eyes of the onlookers. He climbed to his feet and put on an air of haughtiness, inspecting the children, looking for a weakness. As he walked towards them, the younger ones backed away uncertain about the newcomer.

  Tremus continued to examine his audience, nodding his head like a lord surveying his domain. A little girl cowered behind one of the older girls. Tremus bent down and peered into the little girl’s face. The girl let out a whimper.

  Tremus roared and the little girl screamed.

  He laughed wallowing in his private joke.

  The older girl did not take this kindly and kicked at Tremus. “What you doing? Who do you think you are?”

  Tremus stood so close his nose almost touched hers. “And?” he said.

  She tried to hold his stare, but Tremus snarled and jabbed a short punch that caught her under the ribcage.

  “Aghh,” cried the girl dropping to her knees holding her side, tears on her cheeks from the pain.

  Tremus stood over her, scanning the other children, fists held tight. “Anyone else?”

  Beth snatched up Tremus in fury, bear-hugging him from behind, trying to avoid the kicks from his heels and his attempt to head-butt her with the back of his head.

  “John. John,” she called out as she half-carried, half-wrestled Tremus towards the Principal’s House.

  John ran outside to help her. Yanif and the other children followed.

  “He’s a handful,” said Beth to John as she reached the steps. “The ones from troubled backgrounds always are. And he’s as strong as a mule – you should see my bruises and the damage he did to the car.”

  “Well, we gotta to take him,” said John oblivious to the other children. “He's going to need a bunch of pastoral help to calm down. His father was some kind of gangster who beat him black and blue, even gave him those scars, and there was something nasty about what happened to his mother too. We can’t let him run feral. God knows it’s our duty to take him in. It wouldn’t be Christian not to.”

  “I know,” said Beth. “But that doesn’t make it any less hard work.”

  The next day Yanif was sitting listening to Eshe reading a story when Tremus emerged from the Principal’s House dressed in a new purple St Peter’s t-shirt and new white shorts.

  “Look at him,” said Eshe pointing at Tremus. “Who does he think he is?”

  Tremus strutted across the courtyard, his nose in the air and chest puffed out like a peacock. In the courtyard, boys younger than Yanif were playing football, enjoying the use of the space while the older children were away in the gardens with Beth.

  As Tremus walked behind the pitch, Osca, one of the smallest launched a shot through the goal heading straight at Tremus. The ball caught Tremus in the stomach and he hunched forwards, winded by the impact. He steadied himself and stood up, staring at the boys and the ball, then looked down at his clothes. A circle of reddish-brown dust was imprinted on his brand new t-shirt.

  It was like a spark on gunpowder. All of a sudden Tremus was a rage of arms, fists and feet, chasing after O
sca launching kicks against the other boys and trying to catch them or push them over. Osca stumbled and fell and Tremus grabbed him. He leapt onto Osca, pushing into the younger boy so his head rubbed in the dirt. Osca wriggled and tried to break free, but Tremus sat on the boy and pummelled punches into his chest.

  “Get off him,” screamed Eshe, putting the book down as she ran towards the melee. “Leave him alone.” She pushed at Tremus, but he ignored her.

  Across the courtyard, the door of the Principal’s House had opened and John charged across the playground, his face red with anger. He hoisted Tremus off Osca with a violence that neither Eshe nor Yanif had seen before. Tremus struggled and kicked but John trapped Tremus's arms and held him tight.

  Yanif and the other children joined Eshe, gathering around John to see what would happen next.

  “Go back to what you were doing,” shouted John. “I will deal with this.”

  He carried Tremus, still kicking, back into the Principal’s House.

  Yanif was sitting on his own outside his dormitory when Tremus came out of the Principal’s House the second time that afternoon. Tremus had a comic book in his hands and he seated himself under the tree at the side of the courtyard and started to browse through the pictures. Yanif walked over to sit with him but as Yanif approached, Tremus turned his back and continued to study the book.

  Yanif sat nearby and watched the senior boys of fifteen and sixteen playing football in the courtyard, relegating the younger boys to the outer perimeter.

  The smaller boys had seen Tremus and huddled together in a conspiratorial group, whispering and glancing towards Tremus. After a while, Osca went over to speak to Mulinge who was keeping goal. Mulinge looked at Tremus and nodded. Osca returned to his friends smiling.

  The ball was fired at Mulinge in goal and Mulinge caught it. But instead of sending it back into play, he rolled it towards Tremus.

  “Hey boy. Give me the ball back,” Mulinge called as the ball reached Tremus’s feet.

  The younger boys and footballers were watching and smiling, anticipating what was coming.

  Tremus glanced up from his book towards Mulinge but ignored the ball.

  Yanif got up to get it.

  “Not you Yanif,” said Mulinge. “The ugly one. He can do it. It is his turn.”

  Yanif sat down again.

  “Hey Ugly. I said give me the ball,” shouted Mulinge to Tremus.

  Tremus huffed then got to his feet. He retrieved the ball and lobbed it underarm towards Mulinge.

  Mulinge kicked the ball away and marched over to Tremus. “Hey. Did you just throw that at me?” Mulinge poked Tremus in the shoulder. “You threw that at me. And now you have to say sorry.”

  Tremus faced Mulinge and hissed baring his teeth.

  “Say ‘Sorry Mr Mulinge’, Ugly,” said Mulinge. “I want you to say ‘Sorry Mr Mulinge’ and then kiss my feet. We can’t have a new boy being disrespectful to us can we boys?”

  “No Mulinge. Respect. He needs to learn respect,” the other boys called as they gathered around.

  Tremus looked Mulinge straight in the eye and shook his head, his gaze fixed.

  “Then we’re going to teach you a lesson,” said Mulinge.

  Two of the older boys milled around behind Tremus and bumped him from the back. Without warning Mulinge jabbed a sudden short rabbit punch into Tremus’s kidneys. Tremus winced and tried to lift his hands to protect himself, but the other boys held his arms. Mulinge punched Tremus in the stomach.

  Tremus did not cry out. Beatings were familiar to him and it was better to be quiet.

  With a shove, Mulinge forced Tremus to the floor and sat on Tremus’s chest. “Now we see how you like it,” sneered Mulinge. He lifted his hand and punched Tremus on the cheek.

  Tremus flinched and held Mulinge's stare.

  Mulinge punched him again, this time with the other hand. “You need to learn what's what Ugly.”

  Yanif forced his way through the cordon of spectators and drove all his body weight into Mulinge’s shoulder trying to dislodge him. The older boys tried to shepherd Yanif away, but Yanif shook them off and tried to grab Mulinge’s arms.

  “Go away Yanif, this is not your business,” said Mulinge reaching out to hand off Yanif.

  Yanif grabbed the outstretched hand and pulled, heaving to try to get Mulinge away from Tremus.

  “Yanif, leave it,” said Mulinge. “This is not your business.”

  Mulinge wrestled his arm free from Yanif, and threw another punch into Tremus's chest.

  “Look out, Beth is coming,” called Osca. The door of the Principal’s House had opened.

  Mulinge hammered Tremus’s face into the ground a final time and jumped up. As Beth came onto the steps, Mulinge gathered the football and the group dissolved into the dormitories and spaces between the buildings.

  Tremus lay still on the floor, his nose bleeding and bruises around his cheeks. Yanif lifted Tremus’s head and brushed the grit out of his hair. Slowly, Tremus lifted himself off the ground. As he stood, he staggered a little so Yanif propped him up and led him towards the wash-rooms.

  “What happened? Why are you bleeding Tremus?” asked Beth coming to see.

  Tremus kept a sullen silence.

  “Yanif?”

  Tremus gave Yanif a laser stare.

  Yanif took the hint and stayed quiet.

  “Well get him cleaned up,” she said. “It’s nearly dinner.”

  Yanif washed the cuts and bathed Tremus’s eyes with water from the tap. As he finished, the bell went for dinner and Yanif led Tremus to the refectory in silence.

  The dining room was half-full when they arrived. Seeing the other children, Tremus straightened up and puffed out his chest, acting like no-one could see the cuts on his face. Yanif took him to collect a tray of ugali, some stew and an apple, and led Tremus to the table where Eshe was sitting with Kwasi and Mosi.

  Mosi and Kwasi shuffled up to make space, mouthing words at each other but trying not to say anything out loud in case they upset the newcomer.

  Eshe held out her hand. “I’m Eshe,” she said.

  Tremus examined her from under his eyebrows, nodded, then grunted as if to acknowledge that what Eshe had said was true.

  “And you are?” persisted Eshe. She withdrew her hand as Tremus had no intention of shaking it.

  “I am Tremus Kibaki. My father is a big man in the Kikuyu,” proclaimed Tremus. “You are pretty. You may speak to me.”

  Mosi and Kwasi shared a look with Eshe and sniggered.

  “You should not laugh. I will not be here long,” snapped Tremus at the twins. “But if you laugh at me again I will make your life into hell.”

  “Hellll,” said Mosi extending the last syllable.

  Kwasi and Eshe sniggered again and emphasized the world ‘Hell’ in mock tones back to Tremus.

  Tremus scowled at them unimpressed by their joking.

  They sat and ate in silence. From the tables behind a plate clattered onto the floor. Tremus turned to look. Almost without thinking, Mosi reached out and took the apple from Tremus’s plate. Tremus turned back and spooned the ugali into his mouth ignoring the twins and Eshe. After four or five spoonfuls he noticed something was missing.

  “Who took that?” Tremus snarled at Kwasi.

  “What?” asked Kwasi playing a poker face. “What have you lost?”

  “I had an apple,” said Tremus. “Did you take it?” He stood up and leaned across the table to see if he could see where the apple had gone.

  “Me?” said Kwasi innocently and he turned away to suppress a snigger.

  Tremus growled and reached across the table trying to grab at Kwasi.

  Kwasi backed away.

  “You. You stole it,” Tremus accused Kwasi, his upper lip quivering with menace.

  “No,” said Eshe. “I was watching him. He didn’t take it. I swear.”

  Tremus eyed her up and down. “Then you. You took it. I bet you took it.”

&nbs
p; Eshe and the twins exchanged glances but said nothing.

  Yanif held Tremus’s arm and coaxed him to sit down.

  With Yanif's touch, Tremus grew calmer, but as he sat down he caught sight of Mosi sneaking the apple back to its place. Tremus snapped around and growled.

  To Tremus's surprise, Eshe and Kwasi spluttered, then pointed to Mosi and the apple and burst out laughing.

  Tremus sat back, a look of confusion on his face. Then he forced himself to laugh too.

  They returned to the meal in an uneasy peace but after a few spoonfuls Tremus pointed to the door behind Eshe’s shoulder. “Beth is coming to teach you all a lesson.”

  The others turned around.

  Tremus slipped Mosi’s apple under the table.

  When Mosi turned back he realised immediately, and without a blink, he took the apple from Eshe’s plate.

  Eshe looked at Mosi.

  “It was Yanif,” said Mosi.

  “Liar,” said Eshe. “Yanif never does anything bad.”

  “It was,” said Mosi, “He has the apples under the table.”

  Eshe bent down to check under the table. There was nothing to see under the table but knees but when she surfaced, Yanif had four apples on his plate: his own, the two from Eshe and Mosi, plus one other that Kwasi had placed there. Eshe gave the four boys a school teacher’s look of disapproval.

  “It was him!” said the twins pointing alternately at Yanif and Tremus.

  Tremus saw their grins and pointed back at them. “It was them.”

  The five of them spluttered into mutual laughter.

  “You know,” said Tremus, “when I am king of Kenya, you can be my jesters.”

  10. Johannes

  “Arghh,” Dr Hill slammed down the telephone and threw a ball of screwed up paper at the wall opposite. It almost hit Molly his secretary as she put her head round the door.

  Dr Hill glared at his secretary. “Aren't you supposed to be screening the messiah wannabes?”