“All of the money went to the government and disappeared. All of those diamonds brought the people nothing but misery. They are better off without them. If there had been nothing to steal, our people would have been left alone.”
Mosquito took a long drink from the glass he was holding, then absently waved it. A young man darted forward and refilled it with Johnny Walker Blue Label scotch.
Mosquito looked at the glass a moment. “We found one hundred cases of this whiskey in the same minister’s house. All blue label, no red label or black. Only the best for our leaders.”
Mosquito looked at Bill and sneered, “But your government called us a democracy and they call me a butcher. I know this. We are not so simple and unsophisticated as you believe.”
Bill started to speak, but Mosquito cut him off and continued, “I see the New York Times, I read your magazines and I see your statements in the United Nations. You support this government I described because you say it is elected.
“Elections mean nothing. Sometimes the face changes, but that just changes the hand taking the money from our pockets and the bread from our mouths. The government and the opposition are all from the same families, the same elites. There is no choice except to change who steals from us. But now,” Mosquito thumped his chest, “I will change that. I will build hospitals and schools. I will build roads. I will give the country back to the people.” He downed the scotch and the glass was filled again.
“That is why my people love me and fight for me. I am one of them and I will remember them when I am president. Now I am a soldier, but you know what I was before the war?”
“I heard,” said Bill, “that you were a hairdresser.”
“That’s right,” said Mosquito, pointing at Bill. His speech was beginning to slur. With any luck, Kevin thought, he’ll pass out before long and maybe they’ll get out before Bill really pisses him off.
“I am a good hairdresser. I could do you right now.” He pointed at Bill again. “You too,” he said, pointing at Kevin. “You both look like shit.” He laughed hard at that. “Sorry,” he choked, “but you do. Terrible hair. No style at all.
“I was also a dancer.” He gazed at Kevin, nodding solemnly. “Diallo over there, he had a bar, and I danced in it. For money. That’s how I met him. He treated me well and I never forget a friend. He takes the diamonds I give him because he is my friend, right, Diallo?”
At the other end of the table, Diallo stopped groping the woman sitting next to him long enough to raise his glass in salute. “Let’s all drink to our friendship,” said Mosquito. He raised his glass. Kevin did the same but his heart sank when he saw that Bill did not.
Mosquito stared at him, waiting, his expression insect-like with his eyes covered by the large mirrored lenses of his sunglasses.
“You’re not my friend?” said Mosquito, his voice level and quiet.
To Kevin’s relief, Bill picked up his glass and took a long drink.
Mosquito laughed and called for all their glasses to be refilled. “Yes,” he said, “Diallo here is my old friend. I was a good dancer just like I am a good lover. The one goes with the other.” He gave Asta’s mother another squeeze around the shoulders and kissed her cheek loudly.
“Was the minister home when you came calling?” asked Bill.
Mosquito chuckled. “Yes, he was home. Very foolish. Most of them fled the country, you know. They have money in Switzerland, in France, in Japan and in America. More than enough, so when they couldn’t get any more and saw me coming, most ran like old women. But not this one.”
“What did you do?” I asked. “Did you kill him?”
He shook his head. “No,” he said, “he was more useful to me alive. You see, first I cut off his ears and then I cut off his nose. Then I cut off one leg and stuck nails in his eyes. By the time I was done he begged me to kill him, but I wouldn’t. His family I killed, but not him. He is an example. People see him and they fear me.” He looked straight at Kevin and held his eyes for a long moment. He knew Mosquito was trying to intimidate him, and it worked. Seeing that it worked, Mosquito grinned. “It is good to be feared,” he said.
“Your own men fear you,” said Bill. “Your people fear you.”
Mosquito nodded and took another drink. “Yes, they all do. It’s good. You see, I learned that from my brother Qadaffi in Libya. I got to know some Libyans and they sent me to Tripoli. Brother Qadaffi runs a school for revolutionaries there. We studied his little green book and I learned about revolution. My brother has a great vision of a united Africa, with his brothers working together to bring revolution to all the countries of this continent. He taught me many things.” Mosquito looked from Kevin to Bill and then waved them to lean in closer.
“First, he taught me that there are those who do. That is me. I am a soldier and I will always be a soldier because I am a man of action. When I am finished here, I will go somewhere else and lead more revolutions until all the people of Africa are free. Or I die. But so long as I live, I will never rest.” He shook his head.
“My brother Qadaffi also taught me that there are those who watch.” He looked from Bill to Kevin again, waving his glass at them. “That, I think, is you. Especially you,” he said, pointing to Kevin.
“And then there are all the other people who only wonder what has happened to them. They are the victims of events, not the makers, not the watchers. Those are the three kinds of people.
“And the other thing brother Qadaffi taught me is the power of fear. When you are feared you have power. And you must have power to make change, to make revolution.”
“All you need is love,” said Bill.
Mosquito looked at him a moment and then burst out laughing. “No, no,” he choked, taking another drink. “Only a fool thinks that. Love can change. If a man is hungry enough he’ll kill you even if he loves you, if it means he can eat. They love you today and they hate you tomorrow. You cannot trust it.”
He thumped his chest. “I know this. But if you are feared, that lasts. Anyone will think twice, even three times before he crosses you. If he does not succeed he knows what will happen. That is why the minister is of more use to me alive than dead. People see him and they are afraid. The enemy soldiers pick up and run away if they know I am coming. Do you think they would do that if they loved me?”
He laughed again. “No damn way,” he said. “No damn way. Fear is my most powerful weapon. I love my people and will sacrifice myself for them if I must. They know this and they love me for it.” He looked at them and nodded vigorously. “It’s true. But they also fear me. Like a child fears his father and loves him, too. Because the child knows the father must punish him when he is bad, and the child fears the punishment and obeys. But the father punishes because he loves the child and knows that discipline is for the good of the child. The child understands this and loves the father even while he fears him.”
“And that is why you amputate the arms of women and children, to show your love?” said Bill.
Mosquito looked at Bill a long minute. Kevin wanted to jump across the table and wring Bill’s neck. The stupid bastard, he thought, the damn stupid bastard. Why couldn’t he keep his damn mouth shut?
“I don’t like you,” Mosquito said at last. “You think you’re superior, but you are just weak. I hold the power and that means I bear the weight of responsibility. I make the difficult decisions because I am a man of action. You are nothing.” Mosquito stared at him, waiting. “Hear me?” he exploded. “Nothing!”
He took a drink and slammed his glass down. “Yes, I have cut off arms. We said don’t vote in the charade they call an election. The true people, the revolutionary people, will boycott because it is a sham. Those who vote are traitors to their people and we warned them.” He pointed a finger at Bill. “A clear and fair warning.”
He seemed to think for a moment, staring at the table. Then he nodded and looked at them again. “To vote,” he said, “you put your thumb print on the ballot and the ink st
ained your hand. So we knew who voted. We knew who supported the illegal government. They were traitors who sided with the thieves and liars. So, when we found a man with ink on his thumb, we cut off the hand. It permanently marked him as a traitor and it made the traitors fear us. The next election, no one voted. So you see, it worked. It makes discipline and every country must have discipline. And you only have discipline when you have fear.” He shook his head from side to side. “Love will not give you discipline. Only the fear.”
“But it didn’t stop there, did it?” said Bill. “There were also the children. None of them voted. Why cut off the hands of children?”
Mosquito snorted. “You white man,” he said. “You think you’re so fucking superior. You think your shit doesn’t stink. Brother Qadaffi told us all about you. I invite you to my home and offer you gifts and you insult me.”
“No,” Kevin said. “We don’t insult you.”
Mosquito glanced at him. “You,” he said, “don’t matter. You bend in the wind. I like that. That is useful. But him,” he waved at Bill, “he thinks he’s so damn superior.
“I succeed because I am the master of hate. I have the power.” He reached into his shirt and withdrew a pouch on a leather cord looped around his neck. He clutched the pouch and shook it at Bill. “This is the power,” he slurred. “The spirit we call Agbado, he serves me. My juju man brought the power to me. He is the slave of Agbado, but Agbado is the slave of me.”
Kevin glanced in the corner where the old man squatted, still staring at him.
“I am a revolutionary and I always will be,” Mosquito said, slipping the pouch back into his shirt. “To be a revolutionary you must use hate. Hate for the enemy. Hate for the exploiter. Hate for the oppressor. There is no shortage of hate in this poor country. Everything was taken from my people and nothing was given back. Everyone who has money got it by stealing. All the people needed was me to direct their hate and lead them. What do these peasants know? Only hardship and starvation. So, they see a wealthy man and they kill him. They know where he got his money. They see the son of a wealthy man and they see their next exploiter. So, they mark him, cripple him, reduce him to less than a man who can never hurt them again.”
“You’re no damn revolutionary,” said Bill. “You’re just their next parasite. You promise wealth, schools and clinics but all you give them is more misery. You kill and maim innocent children.”
“Bill,” Kevin hissed. “Are you fucking crazy?” He was used to Bill speaking his mind but Kevin couldn’t understand why he didn’t see the danger they were in. Why was Bill saying this? Kevin could see the rage in his face. He seemed almost possessed by anger. Later, Kevin would come to understand that was exactly what he was, possessed by anger.
Mosquito saw it, too, and he laughed, his dark lips drawn back over his pointed teeth in a sneer. “You have the hate. You feel Agbado’s power. He’s touching you.” Mosquito patted his chest where the pouch hung. “You see how strong he makes you? He brings out your hate and makes you use it. You feel you can stand up even to me. You are like me. Exactly alike. You would kill me now, if you could. I see it in your eyes. You would even cut off the arm of a child, I think, to get to me.”
“Never, you sick fuck,” said Bill. “We are nothing alike.” He and Mosquito stared at each other. Kevin had never seen Bill so worked up. It was as though he could see and feel nothing except the anger he held for Mosquito. Kevin sat dumbfounded, literally frozen with fear, watching it happen.
Mosquito looked at Asta’s mother and motioned with his chin for her to leave. She jumped up, frightened and relieved, and ran from the room followed by the other women. Diallo looked grumpy and sighed, helping himself to the food which had gone completely ignored by everyone except him.
“No time to eat, Diallo,” said Mosquito. “Bring in little Joku.” He grinned at Bill.
Chapter 6
Minnesota
The forest slipped quickly into night, and Liz shivered in the evening chill. She took a long drag on her cigarette, arms wrapped tightly about her knees. Tonight they were in a heavily wooded camp near the water. She sat between Beth and Kevin on a log facing the lake, her back to the fire.
“I thought there’d be mosquitoes,” she said.
“Early to midsummer there are clouds of them,” said Kevin. “But by the end of August they’re gone, along with most of the people.”
Liz watched their elongated shadows twist and jump away from them in the light of the shifting flames. “Is there such a thing as a mosquito vampire or are mosquitoes by definition vampires?” she asked.
“If there was a mosquito vampire,” said Beth, “and it bit you and you didn’t die, then you’d turn into a vampire. That’s how the curse works.”
“So Beth, why the popularity of vampires today?” said Liz. “It seems kids just can’t get enough.”
Beth shrugged, but Kevin answered, “It’s not just kids. It’s all about the rise of the romance novel. It’s eroticism without sex, juvenile and naughty. I mean, what woman doesn’t crave the surrender of a bite on the neck, powerlessness in the face of the handsome cursed man who drinks her life essence? And in return she receives eternal life in the service of naughtiness she can no longer control, a metaphor for her unfulfilled sexual urges finally achieving overpowering climax.”
“You don’t know anything about it,” said Beth. “I like the stories. Today, there are good vampires, too.”
“Good vampires are pussies,” scoffed Kevin.
“What?” laughed Liz. “Don’t be crude.”
“It’s true,” said Kevin. “They’re like Casper the Friendly Ghost. Biggest wuss of the supernatural world. Casper and good vampires lack the balls to embrace who and what they are.”
“Good vampires resist temptation and refuse their deadly urges,” said Beth.
“You see, it’s another sexual metaphor. Indulging urges is what makes bad vampires so sexy, so dangerous, so appealing. You want to be saved from him, but you’re so pleased he wants you, wants to make you as naughty as he is. But then Casper comes to the rescue, so disappointing and so pale by comparison. It’s like a vampire wearing an abstinence ring who promises not to do the naughty.”
“Because he doesn’t drink blood?” said Beth.
“We all drink blood,” said Kevin.
“I don’t,” said Beth defiantly.
“Unless you’re a green plant living off sunlight, water and dirt, you consume life to live, just like the vampires we all are. That is our real curse. Vampires are shadows of evil. We’re the bloodsuckers. The evil we do, vampires don’t even come close to. If anything, vampires would fear us. We are deadly, powerful and savage in ways no ghost or vampire will ever match.”
“You are such a fucking asshole,” muttered Beth. “Is there anything you don’t despise?”
Liz sighed. Being trapped with these two in the middle of a forest was becoming her own personal Nightmare on Elm Street. “If mosquitoes are vampires, how do you drive a wooden stake into their hearts?”
Beth and Kevin looked at her so blankly it almost made her laugh. Damn if they weren’t enjoying their spat and annoyed at the interruption.
“I suppose you could use a pine needle,” said Liz, picking one up off the ground.
“You’re silly,” said Beth, finally smiling.
“Not often enough,” said Liz.
“Quiet,” Kevin broke in, staring across the lake.
“What is it?” said Liz, startled. She could see nothing outside the circle of their campfire light.
“He’s just being a jerk again,” said Beth, sounding bored.
Kevin walked quickly to the water’s edge. Liz didn’t think he was joking and followed behind him.
He gazed across the lake. In the distance, a loon’s haunted, high-pitched cry echoed between the surrounding hills.
Liz shivered. “It sounds like a lost soul,” she said.
Kevin started.
“Whoa, boy,” s
he said, patting his arm. “I wasn’t trying to sneak up on you. Did you see something?”
He shrugged, tapping his leg impatiently. “Maybe. I thought there was a flash of light across the lake, but I’m not sure.”
“Maybe just more campers?”
“No fire,” he said. “They’d light a fire.”
“I didn’t see anything,” said Beth from behind them. “And I still say he’s trying to spook us.”
As Liz turned back, she shivered and the skin on her arms rose up with goose bumps. She could not clearly describe what she sensed, but felt as though something literally passed through her, something unfriendly, even hostile.
Kevin was right that these woods were old. That was also nonsensical, she knew, since all parts of the Earth are equally old, but San Francisco was a place people had made their own, unplugged from the past and altered to suit their needs and dreams, not those of the land. Here was a place that had not changed in millennia, where the past lived and the land breathed. Kevin liked it, but she felt unwelcome, an uninvited stranger in a land that was complete without her, and for whom she was only a threat. Were there the ghosts of Indians up here, she wondered? Had one just walked through her? That was crazy, but she felt agitated, like having a severe itch without knowing exactly where to scratch.
Liz looked at Kevin. Despite the chill air there were beads of sweat on his forehead.
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