Choice of Weapon

by Craig Marten-Zerf

  Chapter 6

  Dubula stood at ease. Legs apart, hands behind his back, thumbs interlocked. A small trickle of blood ran down his cheek from the cut above his eye. The master’s rings often opened up the skin when he showed his displeasure. But Dubula did not mind. He knew that the master’s anger burned hot but not for long. Anyway, was it not a father’s job to discipline his children as and when he felt? And Dubula considered the master to be his father as much as if he was related by blood.

  He had taken the bodyguard from the streets and given him life. Clothes beyond comparison. Meals that contained meat every day. And most importantly, power. Power to command. Power to have an effect over his own life. To change his own destiny. No longer a terrified boy living by his wits and inherent viciousness and eking out a living, day to day. Dubula was the master’s dog, and that made him happy.

  ‘Five armed men. He defeated five of my men. Ruined them.’

  Dubula stood. Still.

  ‘Did he have help?’

  The bodyguard shook his head.

  ‘Then how did he do it? This is a fuck up. You were meant to give him a warning. Break a leg. Arms. Send him home. Instead he breaks my men. How could you let this happen?’

  ‘I am sorry, ubawo, father. It will not happen again. I assumed that five would be enough.’

  The master shook his head. ‘Tell me, my son. What exactly happened? You have talked to the men…the ones that lived.’

  Dubula took a deep breath. He was not a man given to subtlety or subterfuge. He tended to speak the truth, to tell things as he heard. An honest man. But he knew that his answer would incite the master to an even more incandescent rage. Nevertheless, he told what he had heard from the three surviving men that had accosted the foreigner.

  ‘I spoke to them after I picked them up. We avoided any problems with the police. Got them home quickly. Samuel was in charge. I gave him a Colt 45 from the stores. He took four men of his choice with him. I told him to hijack the foreigner’s car and damage him severely. Maybe even shoot him in the knees. But when Samuel drew his weapon the man cast a spell on it and it fell apart.’

  ‘What!’ Shouted the master.

  Dubula shifted uncomfortably. ‘The man made the gun fall to pieces.’

  ‘Bullshit.’

  ‘I believe him, sir. When I got there the weapon was in pieces and lying all over the place.’

  ‘What next?’

  ‘The stranger struck Samuel with a fist of steel. Breaking his head. Then he smashed Wellington’s jaw off his face. Then he struck Joshua in the neck and bulala, killed him. Bradford took out his machete and attacked the man but the blade simply bounced off him. Then, once again using his fist of steel he struck Bradford in the ribs and crushed them, causing his death. Never before have I seen such a thing. It was as if a car had run the man over. Finally, he struck down Sipho from afar without even touching him. And then he stood over Sipho and cursed him. Even now, he is dying with fever. Sipho says that the foreigner is not a man. He is Umptyholi, a beast in a man’s flesh.’

  The master felt a thrill of superstitious fear before he cast it off.

  ‘Rubbish. He is just a man. Next time we will not make the same mistake. You see, my child, we cannot afford to let this man raise any more questions about our operation. It is too lucrative. We must stop him at all costs.’ He stroked Dubula’s cheek. Smearing the ruby red blood as he did so.

  ‘I will talk to our man. See what he can do.’

  The Jeep was parked outside the Honeydew orphanage and Garrett sat in the front seat. He lit another cigarette and wondered if he could have played the scenario out differently. He could have simply given the men the car keys. He could have run. But to where? And anyway, the more he went over the incident the more he was convinced that it wasn’t a mere car-jacking. The assailants weren’t after the Jeep, they were after him. When someone wants to steal a car then that is pretty much what they do. But twice the leader had referred to what they were going to do to Garrett after he had given them the keys. In a true hi-jacking situation it works the other way around; a threat of violence and a promise of reward if you comply. This had been all violence. It was made plain that whatever Garrett did they were going to punish him. So it was a warning. That could mean only one thing. Manon was right. Someone was taking the children.

  Garrett slid out of the Jeep and walked over to Petrus who was lounging in the shade, eyes half closed like he was about to fall asleep. ‘Sawubona, Petrus.’

  ‘Sawubona, Isosha.’

  Garrett smiled. The guard had just given him a nickname, the soldier. He nodded his approval and Petrus grinned back at him, his face still a picture of somnolence apart from the flashing white teeth. But Garrett could see, behind the hooded exterior his eyes were actually bright, alert. A man who saw more than he let on. He tapped out a brace of Gauloise, lit them and passed one to Petrus. Then he squatted down next to the man and they smoked in silence for a while, the blue smoke curling lazily around their heads in the windless late afternoon.

  The sun was scheduled to set at around seven o’clock and, already, an hour before, it was only a few inches above the horizon. The low level combined with the dust laden air caused the glowing ball of gas to show as bright red with streaks of orange. Around it the cloudless sky went from silver to the deepest of azure blue. Large flights of mossie sparrows winged their way noisily through the tepid air to nearby farmers’ fields to feed on the ripening grain, the shrill sound of cheerup cheerup accompanying any change in direction.

  Using his cigarette to point, Petrus brought Garrett’s attention to a spot high in the sky above the chattering swallows. A harrier-hawk, riding the thermals without moving its wings. Omniscient. Alone. At first it seemed that the bird of prey was simply flying. Going from one place to another, using the least necessary energy. But then Garrett saw that it was actually gliding around to place itself in front of the sun. A fighter pilot placing himself into a position of the fullest advantage. As soon as he was in position he dove, wings tucked in to his side, steering with tail alone. There was a puff of feathers and seconds later the sound of impact and the Hawk peeled away, his dinner clutched in his claws. The mossies continued on their way. Unconcerned. The flock had survived. The loss of one member was meaningless. Insignificant.

  ‘So, talk to me, Isosha.’

  ‘About what,’ asked Garrett?

  ‘Whatever you want to. Tell me why you are here.’

  ‘I would have thought that you already knew.’

  Petrus grinned, allowing smoke to trickle out of his mouth as he did so. ‘I know. But stories heard second hand are sometimes just that, stories and not facts.’

  So Garrett told him. Of the missing orphans and of more. Of the past. The wars and the killings. He spoke as he had never spoken before to anyone, even Manon. Petrus listened, and they shared cigarettes, understanding and much more. The sun set and the evening grew dark. For a while sister Manon had watched them from her window, and had left them alone, sensing Garrett’s need to talk.

  Eventually Petrus nodded. ‘I know about the missing children.’

  ‘You do?’

  ‘Of course. I wouldn’t be much of a guard if I didn’t notice that the people that I was guarding had gone missing.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And nothing. There are not so many. They normally don’t return from school. Or some slip away on a Sunday after church. I would also run away if they made me pray and go to church every Sunday. We tell the police and the school and that is the end of it.’

  Garrett shook his head. ‘No. There is more. Someone is taking the children, kidnapping them. Until today I may have agreed with you. But those people that attacked me. That was a warning. A clumsy one but a warning nonetheless.’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Definitely,’ stressed Garrett.

  ‘Well then, are you planning to stop looking?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then they will c
ome for you again. Next time ask one what this is all about before you smash them to bits. It will simplify things.’

  Garrett smiled ruefully.

  ‘But before you continue, Isosha, let me ask you one thing. What if you are right? What if there is more to this and someone is taking the children. What then…will you destroy them? Will you do what you did before, in the dark days of the war? Will you do that?’

  Garrett drew a shuddering breath and fought to control his emotion. The question was a fair one. Harsh. But fair.

  ‘I will protect the children.’

  Petrus shook his head. ‘No. You cannot protect the children. There are too many orphanages and they are too far apart. So tell me what you will do.’

  Garrett could make out Petrus’s eyes glittering in the dark, his expression earnest. Firm.

  ‘I will find the people responsible and I will punish them.’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Petrus. ‘Because, Isosha, that is what you do. You punish.’

  Garrett said nothing. There was nothing to say.

  ‘One last thing, Isosha. What if the people who are responsible are the same people who keep the orphanages going? Will you still kill them? And if you do what will happen to the rest of the children? They will be cast out. Homeless. Tell me, my friend. Will you kill the whole flock just to save one sparrow?’

  And Garrett held his head in his hands because he did not know the answer.