The Demon Stone

by Christopher Datta

  “Drop dead,” Kevin said. “I’ll call him the goddamned fairy queen of wonderland if that’s what the son of a bitch wants to hear. What difference does it make? Saying the words doesn’t make them true, but it might just keep us alive.”

  “Is that all that matters?” said Bill.

  “Damn you,” Kevin said. “No, it’s not all that matters but it’s a hell of a lot of what matters. I’d prefer not to die here.”

  Bill looked at him a moment and then smiled. God knows, thought Kevin, he had that dark side, that compulsion to challenge everyone. Kevin had never understood it, but at that moment it seemed to pass from Bill. “Me, too,” he said. “I choose life.”

  As they walked back to camp they passed a cluster of soldiers arguing and shouting. Two of them were nose to nose. One pulled his pistol from his shoulder holster, and in an instant all of their guns were out. Kevin staggered back, glancing for the nearest wall to dive behind.

  Amazingly to Kevin, Diallo stepped up to them. He was shorter than either of the two men at the center of the confrontation, but when he bellowed at them in a language Kevin didn’t understand, the two backed off, their eyes cast down. Diallo harangued them all for another five minutes, and when he finished the crowd broke up, drifting sullenly away. Diallo returned to them shaking his head.

  Kevin asked him what the fight was about. He shrugged and mopped his brow with a handkerchief. “One man was Mandingo, the other from another tribe. There are old blood feuds—who knows anymore why? This happens all the time. I told them Mosquito would cut off their legs to throw to the dogs if they didn’t stop. Without him and their fear and respect for him, this would be no army at all. The very young soldiers, the kids, they are better. They never fight like this. They look to Mosquito as their father and so they are one tribe, his tribe, and no other. It is easier to manage.”

  He laughed. “When Mosquito is president maybe all our soldiers will be children. It will be a model for the world, a new and better kind of army. Loyal and happy if you just feed them. These men with guns get too many ideas. Why is Mosquito our chief? they ask. Why not me? Only fear and money keep them in their place.”

  Chapter 4

  Minnesota

  Morgan was getting too close. They would see her. The trouble was, the canoe was nearly impossible to manage by herself in the breeze, and she’d been blown ahead faster than she intended. She steered to a small island to give her cover while waiting for them to clear the portage, but the wind brought her up hard against the shore. The scraping of the boat on the rocks would be clearly heard, she was sure, and she cursed herself.

  Glancing ahead she was certain, at least, she could no longer be seen.

  Morgan climbed cautiously from the boat, slinging her rifle across her back. Crouching, she edged up through the scrub until she could see the portage. Lying flat and steadying her gun on a rock, she gazed through the telescopic sight. She could clearly make out her daughter Beth and Liz, looking in her direction. As she feared, they had heard her hit the rocks, but in another moment they appeared to shrug it off and continue their conversation. Kevin was nowhere to be seen.

  Even if he had been, this was not the time and place she intended to… to what? She wasn’t sure, at least not yet. Against Kevin and Liz she felt a murderous grudge, but what to do about Beth?

  Kevin had divorced her. Well, why would he do anything else? Throughout her life everyone betrayed her. Every single one. She was a victim at home, at school, in her marriage; in everything. Well, no more. Never again. She had the right to defend herself, and now she had the means, and she swore she would be a victim never, ever again.

  Beth and Liz walked away and disappeared into the forest. Now she could wait, give them time to get out into the next lake so she could continue to watch unseen and unheard. Let Liz think she’d finally succeeded in taking Kevin from her. Let Kevin think he’d taken her life from her and her child from her. Let them think they’d crushed her with their betrayal.

  How long had they planned this? Years, she was sure. Meeting secretly, arranging every detail of how they’d mislead her and abuse her trust.

  Morgan laughed sullenly. How she had loved Kevin. What a fool she’d been to open herself to him. What had possessed her to think he’d be any different from the others?

  There was another time she’d reached out to a man she loved, a time when she desperately needed his support and understanding, and instead she’d been betrayed in the worst possible way. It was a lesson she should have remembered, that long sad time ago when she’d asked her father two innocent questions. Why did others get to be happy and not me? Why does no one like me?

  He had put both arms around her and pulled her close. It felt so good to be held by him.

  She sighed and sat up, wiping her eyes on her sleeve.

  “I’m so pathetic,” she said.

  “What’s bothering you, Morgan?” her father answered her. “Tell me.”

  And she told him. She wasn’t popular, she said. Boys didn’t pay attention to her. No one did. At least, none did until the end of that school year, when one did. His name was Ian Powell and he was captain of the swim team, tall, strong and handsome. He sat next to her in chemistry and didn’t pay attention to her at all, until he came near to failing the course and was in danger of being dropped from the football and swim teams because of it. Then he began asking her for help with his homework. Being the best in the class, as she was in nearly all of her classes, he also asked her to be his lab partner. She did most of the work while he fooled around with his buddies.

  What a fool she’d been. Of course he was using her to get a better grade, but she was thrilled by his attention to her. Smart, but so stupid, that was the story of her life. Never take people at face value was a hard lesson she’d had to learn over and over again. Well, no more.

  Because he was talking to her, the popular girls noticed her, too. Ninth grade girls are sheep. They move in herds. Suddenly, it was cool for them to be with her because Ian was with her.

  He asked her to go to a swim meet to watch him compete, and she was so happy she walked on air. There was a party afterward and she would be his date.

  So she sat in the bleachers next to that stupid indoor swimming pool and cheered her head off. He came in first in the freestyle competition and the cheerleaders went mad, congratulating her as though she’d won the medal. She belonged.

  They went to the house of a friend whose parents were out of town. It seemed half the school was there, as well as many older kids. Ian got himself a beer but gave her a Coke with a little something in it, he said. It was the first time she’d had anything to drink, and what she didn’t realize was how strong he was making them because the Coke hid it. After two or three she was on another planet. She remembered laughing and dancing with Ian, tall, blond and handsome Ian who, of all the girls in the school, had chosen her to be with, and she was feeling a great fog of happiness.

  The more she drank, the less she remembered, just patches, mostly faces and a few words, but nothing clearly until she woke up on a strange bed feeling exposed and disoriented. In a rush she realized her skirt was hiked up, her panties removed and her blouse torn open. Ian’s hands were all over her.

  She desperately tried to sit up and push him off, but he wouldn’t budge. He pushed her arms down and held them firmly as she struggled. She cried, pleading for him to stop, but he didn’t. She didn’t know what to do and she just started peeing. In a moment there was urine all over her, him and the bed.

  It worked. He jumped up, gave her a smack and, screaming, asked what the hell was wrong with her. She was nothing but a disgusting fat cow and he was only screwing her because he felt sorry for her. He called her a pig for pissing on him and then he dressed and left.

  She crawled out of the bed, buttoning her torn blouse, when the boy who lived there came bursting in with several other kids, screaming at her about pissing in his parents’ bed, calling her a pervert and ordering her to cl
ean it up. Everybody laughed, and by the next week the whole school knew the story. She’d done nothing wrong, yet everyone despised her.

  But it didn’t end there. Not at all.

  She tried to stay home, but her mother forced her back to school, and she cried almost every day until her father came to her room one night after she’d gone to bed. That was the night he’d held her, and asked her to tell him what was wrong, and she had. The story poured from her in a torrent of shame and humiliation.

  Her father sat and stared at her, his eyes steely blue and hard as ice. Haven’t we warned you about drugs and alcohol? he said. What did she expect would happen? She had brought all this on herself, pure and simple. She was a bad girl.

  No, she cried, shocked and sobbing. She wasn’t. Ian was the bad one. We should go to the police, she said. He tried to rape me.

  Who’d believe you? he answered. You went to the party. You got drunk. Everyone saw you go upstairs with Ian. It’s humiliating enough as it is for this family. If it went to a trial, it’s your word against his. Is that the way you want to get your picture on TV?

  And hadn’t he warned her about boys? It wasn’t a boy’s fault when a girl led him on.

  But she hadn’t led him on, she sobbed.

  Yes, she had. She’d gotten drunk. She went with him into a bedroom. What did she think was going to happen? She let the boy touch her. The sad truth was she wanted him to fuck her.

  That word, from her father, shocked her almost as much as the accusation. No, she hadn’t wanted that. She’d fought him.

  And did he fuck you? demanded her father.

  No, she said.

  But was she sure? She said she’d blacked out. Her panties were gone. Was she sure he hadn’t fucked her?

  Again that word, so raw, cruel and accusatory. It confused her. No, she didn’t think so, she said.

  But you’re not sure, he said. You cannot be sure.

  She shook her head, unable to speak, weeping hopelessly.

  He ordered her to remove her pajamas. She looked at him, shocked. He had to examine her, he said, to determine whether or not she’d been penetrated. As her father, he needed to determine this. When still she refused, he slapped her, hard. You slut, he said, you’ll go down on any boy who asks you, but you won’t obey your own father? He ripped open her top, pushed her back and roughly pulled down her bottoms. Choking back her tears, she closed her eyes tight as he touched her, looking, he said, as a doctor would to determine whether she’d been violated.

  And that’s when it began. Once or twice a week he came to her room in the night. She could not be trusted with boys, he said, so he would satisfy her. That would help her to control herself. It was his responsibility to see that she could. He was her father. But it was shameful, he said, that he had a daughter who couldn’t control herself. To avoid shaming herself more, she must not tell anyone about her need to have her father do this thing to protect her from her own base urges.

  And on some level she’d believed him. The stupidest smart girl who had ever lived, she thought bitterly again.

  One night she’d locked her door. Instead of her father demanding that she open the door, he sent her mother.

  When she let her in, her mother shook a finger in her face, telling her she was never to lock her door again in this house. Was she doing drugs? What secrets was she hiding that she needed to lock her door?

  In frustration, anger and desperation, she blurted out that it was to keep her father out. He was touching her in bad ways, and she wanted it to stop.

  Her mother slapped her, looking at her in horror, and then slapped her several more times so hard she fell to the ground. “What is wrong with you?” her mother demanded as she lay on the floor, her hands to her burning cheeks. How could she say such an evil thing? What kind of a monster had they raised? She was never, ever to repeat that vile, awful lie ever again.

  “It’s true!” she shouted back at her mom.

  Her mother flew into a rage, slapping and kicking as she called her a filthy whore. When her mother exhausted herself, she spat on her and left.

  She lay on the floor in a numb daze, and then wearily climbed back into bed. Later that night, her father came to her in the dark. She simply rolled over to face the wall, defeated and broken.

  On subsequent nights, she started faking orgasms by crying out. She wanted her mother to hear. It was the only revenge open to her.

  Finally, she escaped the house to go to college. It was a new life, a new beginning. She met Kevin. He was so kind, so good; the best man she’d ever known. For the first time, she was in love.

  What a fool she’d been. Yet again. All of Kevin’s friends turned against her. She knew they would. They all hated her, but especially Bill. And so Kevin had, of course, also betrayed her love in the end, just as everyone else close to her had. Now he was running away with Liz, who she’d always known wanted him. How long had they planned it? How long had she, Morgan, lived thinking everything was right with her life, while she was really only living a lie?

  But what hurt most of all, the one thing that still made her ache, was her daughter’s betrayal. She had left her for Kevin. Left her alone.

  What would she do about that? Even now she wasn’t sure.

  But of one thing she was sure. She was done with being a victim. She had power. She could make those who betrayed her pay for their wrongs to her. There was no escaping her, no place where they could hide and no shelter that could protect them. Already her parents had paid. And Ian had paid. And now Kevin and Liz would pay. She had the stone that Kevin had brought back from Africa. He’d called it the Demon Stone, and with it, nothing would ever hurt her again.

  Morgan looked up at the sun. It had sunk considerably. It was time to move on, before it got dark.

  Kevin and Liz were trapped, and didn’t yet even know it. That made her feel good. Let them linger as she watched and waited, like a spider studying its web. And then, let them suffer, when it was too late, and she took her time paying them back.

  Chapter 5

  Africa

  That night Diallo came by and escorted them to dinner. On the way, Kevin pleaded with Bill not to provoke Mosquito. Bill only nodded. Kevin repeated that he meant it and Bill smiled at him.

  “It’s hard to play nice with the devil, Kevin,” he said. “He doesn’t respect it and he’ll do what he wants anyway. That is the nature of evil. But I’ll try.”

  The dining area must have been a conference room for the school at one time, and a generator drummed just outside, providing electricity. The room was brightly lit by bare bulbs strung crudely around the ceiling. The walls were stark white and unadorned. A boom box in the corner played a rap tune Kevin didn’t recognize.

  The table, however, was opulent, and covered by a tablecloth elaborately embroidered with scenes of rural village life. Beautiful ceramic and gold bowls filled with steaming vegetables, chicken and beef sat waiting for them. The dinner plates were white china embossed with gold trim, the flatware intricately molded sterling silver and the water and wine glasses etched crystal. Mosquito sat at the head of the table wearing his usual mirrored sunglasses. Four beautiful women sat around the table with him.

  Mosquito waved them in, smiling, and told them to take places of honor near him. The women also smiled but their eyes were distant and withdrawn, perhaps frightened Kevin thought. When he sat down the girl next to him placed her hand on his thigh and squeezed it provocatively.

  In the corner behind Mosquito squatted the old shaman Kevin had seen before. He stared at Kevin and at nothing and no one else. There was no fear or hostility in his eyes, just a penetrating curiosity that made Kevin uncomfortable.

  “Welcome, my friends, to my humble table,” said Mosquito. He indicated the woman sitting next to him and added, “This is Asta’s mother.” He put his arm around her and gave her shoulders a squeeze. She smiled but it looked mechanical to Kevin. “We all want to thank you for saving Asta’s life and we want to offe
r you a gift.”

  He signaled to someone behind them and small wooden boxes were placed before Bill and Kevin. Kevin undid the clasp and opened his to reveal several large, uncut diamonds. Bill looked into his, closed it, and slid it toward Mosquito. “I can’t accept this,” he said.

  Mosquito laughed. “Many poor Africans labored long and hard to find those stones for you. Now you insult their labor and turn the gift away?”

  Bill smiled back. “Then by all means,” he said, “please give these stones to the men who found them. They earned them, not me.”

  Mosquito shrugged. “That is the contradiction of my poor suffering country,” he said. “We are rich in many things of value to the West. Gold, diamonds, oil. But none of this benefits my people. What would those men do with these stones? They cannot eat them. The stones will not educate their children. All of those things, gold, diamonds and oil, are useless to a starving man. He can build his house of diamonds and gold and still be a poor man who would trade it all to you for a single loaf of bread. These,” he said, waving at the diamonds, “are nothing to him.

  “And nothing is exactly what our leaders have given to him and to all the people,” he said, giving them a sharp-toothed grin. “The people brought all of these things out of the ground for the government, and did the government reward them? No. Once in a while, if they were lucky, the government gave them bread. Bad bread, bread you wouldn’t feed to your dog.

  “All of these wonderful things before you, the dishes and golden bowls and crystal glasses, these fine, expensive things were all taken from the home of a government minister. A simple junior minister. And he had more. Much, much more. For our leaders, government is not to serve, it is to take.

  “Do you know that at independence in 1960 the average income of a peasant was higher here than in Singapore? The colonial masters exploited us but they were less greedy than our own leaders today. The colonialists left us with scraps from the table, but our own leaders have taken even those for themselves and left us with nothing. They stole all of the money meant to repair our roads. Now the roads are so bad our farmers can’t take their food to market before it spoils. International companies paid big money to ministers to fish in our waters, and then they caught every fish in the sea until there was nothing left for our own fisherman to eat. The teachers never were paid and the schools never were repaired. To go to a hospital you had to pay money. Without money the doctors threw you out to die in the street.