Johnny Mad Dog

by Emmanuel Dongala

  I swear she was the one who made the first move. She pressed her body against mine, her tongue began exploring the inside of my mouth, and her eighty-proof breath filled my lungs. I dropped my gun, slipped my hand under her pagne, and pulled down her panties. My middle finger slid into the damp hole between her thighs. I wanted to fuck her right there, standing up, but this was difficult to manage, despite our athletic contortions. After a few attempts, we wound up on the ground. I gave one good thrust, and just as I was raising my hips to drive my piston in again, an enormous blow landed on my ass. I yelled bloody murder. A dark form swooped down on Abissélékou and pulled her hair—which came off. A wig. The fury tossed it away and began lashing out with kicks. “I’ll kill you, you dirty whore!” I recognized the voice. It was Lovelita!

  Lovelita whom I’d left back at the house, Lovelita whom I’d instructed not to go out, Lovelita whom I’d told to be extremely careful! Even though she was the girlfriend of Mad Dog, the great fighter, she was nonetheless a Mayi-Dogo and was in danger of being attacked by the idiots living in the district. She hadn’t listened to my warnings—she’d followed me. No telling what a jealous woman will do.

  “Lovelita!” I cried, trying to grab her by the arms. But she was nearly crazy with rage. She gave me a sharp kick, and I let her go. Abissélékou stood there for a few minutes, hurling insults.

  “Filthy Mayi-Dogo! What the hell are you doing here? You coming to steal our men because you don’t have any in that shit-hole you live in?”

  “We don’t steal them! They come looking for us because you Dogo-Mayi women are so pathetic in bed! You don’t know how to move your ass, you don’t know how to make them come, you don’t know how to drive them wild with pleasure the way we do—”

  “Lovelita, that’s enough!” I shouted, slapping her across the face.

  At that, she really went berserk, threatening to kill Abissélékou and then kill me. Meanwhile, Abissélékou snatched up the club that Lovelita had applied so vigorously to my ass. She provoked Lovelita, calling her every foul name she could think of. I was trapped between two chicks, and I didn’t know who was to blame. Lovelita, for interrupting my fun? But she wasn’t completely in the wrong—if I’d been the one who caught some guy fucking her, my Kalashnikov would already have blown him away.

  Lovelita yelled another obscene insult, this one aimed at Abissélékou’s mother. Abissélékou leaped at her furiously and tried to club her over the head, but because I was in the way, the blow landed on me and knocked me flat. Damn, those women could really hit hard. I heard Lovelita wailing, “You killed my man! You killed my man!” She picked up my gun over by the wall and fired. Abissélékou turned tail and ran for her life—naked tits bouncing, since I’d popped all the buttons on her blouse. Lovelita chased her, firing the whole time. I got to my feet, intending to run after Lovelita and stop her, but she’d taken my belt, and I couldn’t very easily run and hold my pants up at the same time. The two of them arrived at the main square. I heard shouts and a volley of gunfire. It wasn’t Lovelita who was shooting. When I finally made it to the square, clutching my pants and out of breath, I saw her body lying in the dust, riddled with bullets. Lovelita!

  Everyone said she’d been asking for it—she should have stayed in her own district, instead of coming around to threaten our women. I had no idea those people could be so mean. She’d come to our district because I’d brought her there and because she loved me. Was there some law that said we couldn’t love anyone but a woman from our own tribe?

  “You’re all assholes!” I shouted at them, as Lovelita’s body was being taken away to the morgue.

  The celebration was over for me. I went to bed, and I lay there thinking about Lovelita for a long time, a very long time, before finally drifting off to sleep at around three in the morning. And that’s why I didn’t wake up until noon, when two militiamen began trading shots over some loot they were trying to divide.

  I turned on the radio to find out how the situation was shaping up. Our leader, the president, was in the middle of giving a speech. I’d missed the first part of it, but this didn’t matter. I knew he’d repeat himself at least ten times.

  “. . . fellow citizens, our country is too precious to be left in the hands of those genocidal villains, many of whom have fled into the forest. We will give them no respite! We will hunt them down! We will flush them out, village by village, and exterminate them, even if those villages lie in the depths of the jungle. I assure you once again: this is not a tribal war—as some would like to believe, because this would confirm their fossilized notion that Africa is nothing but a bunch of tribes driven by hatreds they’ve been nursing for hundreds, even thousands of years. No, we are waging our struggle in a larger context: that of democracy, the effort to build a better life, the restructuring of our economy to confront globalization and the challenges of the third millennium. Down with tribalists! Down with the perpetrators of genocide! Long live the people! Long live democracy!”

  Even though our leader was a military man, he spoke like an intellectual. I was happy. I looked around at all the fine things I’d acquired thanks to the war, and I was sorry that Lovelita was no longer around to share them with me. I would have to sell all the pagnes and earrings and necklaces that I’d been saving for her (assuming I didn’t find another girlfriend). And there weren’t only pagnes, jewelry, DVD players, and televisions—there were also the books I’d acquired with the help of the war. I now had enough to fill a library from floor to ceiling, and a good deal more. I was well on my way to becoming a true intellectual.

  In the afternoon, I would have to round up the members of my unit. Then we’d go find our long-lost General Giap, so we could report on the battles we’d fought and he could assign us new missions. In the eloquent words of our president: now that we’d won the war, we had to continue it, in order to establish democracy and consolidate the peace. And for that, I was ready.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Laokolé

  When we got back to the village, I felt tired and rested at the same time—the kind of pleasant fatigue you feel after a few hours of playing sports. Asjha’s mother asked what had taken us so long, and Asjha told her that we’d had clothes to wash and, above all, that we’d been having fun. Her mother looked at her with a broad smile and said:

  “Yes, I haven’t seen you looking this happy since we returned to the village.”

  At ease on the veranda of the house, sitting on a low, round-bottomed wicker stool and leaning against the wall, my face turned toward the setting sun whose rays had relinquished almost all their heat, I savored the colors of the equatorial twilight. I’d never had a chance to do this in the city, and the idea wouldn’t even have occurred to me. I discovered that the sun didn’t take leave of the world all by itself—the entire world around us went with it as it died, or at least paid homage to it, in a whole variety of surprising rituals. Flocks of chattering birds swooped high overhead, returning to their nests before darkness could lead them astray—the same darkness that, in counterpoint, drew swarms of insects of every species from the cool, shadowy places where they’d sought refuge from the pitiless star now fading. Bothersome insects, which penetrated everywhere and droned incessantly in your ears. But also beautiful creatures, like the moths that bothered no one, when their instinct for self-destruction wasn’t driving them into the flames of the wood fire or candle that we lit to keep the darkness at bay. New sounds that didn’t exist in the daytime could be heard on all sides, and the soft evening breeze drifting from the forest was imbued with complex fragrances, a blend of the myriad essences that inhabited the woods.

  Asjha’s mother prepared a fine meal. The three of us ate outdoors in the moonlight, sitting around the fire. There were fewer insects, perhaps because the wood smoke kept them away. In response to her questions, I told them all that had happened to me. As I spoke of Fofo’s disappearance and Mama’s death in the bombardment, my eyes welled up with tears. Asjha’s mother comfort
ed me, saying that she looked upon me like a daughter and assuring me that I was welcome to stay with her in the village as long as I pleased—she could see that Asjha was very fond of me and had adopted me as a big sister. No, I said, it wasn’t possible. I wanted to leave as soon as I could, so that I could give my mother a proper burial. She understood, and declared that she would do the same thing if she were in my shoes. In any case, I could always come back whenever I wished.

  She, in turn, told me about herself. “My husband is a noncommissioned officer in the national army. When the political situation became so unstable that he feared the worst, he sent us to the village, where we would be safe until things calmed down. But the worst in fact occurred: the army split into rival factions, each supporting one of the would-be leaders on the basis of tribal ties. Along with many others, he refused to ally himself with any of the warlords, saying that the army was supposed to defend the nation, not one man or one ethnic group. He and his companions were summarily denounced as traitors by both of the rival factions.”

  Since then, she’d had no word of him. She knew he’d been arrested by the militias fighting for one of the factions, but nobody could tell her which one. She didn’t even know if he was still alive.

  After dinner, we returned to the house. Asjha’s mother went to bed. Asjha likewise retired to our bedroom, and I was left alone in the living room. I fetched my large hag to make an inventory of the contents, for I no longer remembered what it contained. Before going down to the river, I’d put my little purse inside it—the one that held my money and that I always wore under my pants. I took out the purse to count how much I had left. When I opened it, I found the photo of Mama and Papa in one of the pockets. I’d forgotten I’d put it there. They were holding hands and smiling, like every happy couple posing for the camera. I didn’t want to start crying, so I quickly put it back. I had no picture of Fofo—could only hope there was one in the trunk we’d buried before we fled. Next, I took stock of what was in the large bag. A few bills and coins, some cheap jewelry, the remaining sanitary pads that Tanisha had given me, the bottle of acetaminophen, a magazine, and the little radio. Not a very impressive collection. I neatened up the contents of the bag and kept out the magazine, which I wanted to look at before going to sleep.

  Comfortably settled in an armchair, I drew the storm lantern toward me and opened the magazine. On the fifth page, I saw the photo. She was wearing her orange NASA space suit and holding her helmet, her face lit by a radiant smile. Mae Jemison. That was her name. I knew there were women who had ventured into space. I even knew that one of them, a schoolteacher, had perished in an accident on one of the shuttles. But I never knew there were astronauts who had roots in Africa, like me. I read the article eagerly. She had been the Science Mission Specialist in the space laboratory of the shuttle Endeavour, launched in September 1992. She was a chemical engineer, a physician, and a university professor. But that wasn’t all—she was also a dancer and choreographer. Everything I dreamed of being. Furthermore, as a doctor she had spent two years working in Africa and was familiar with our continent. How old had she been when she went to college? Sixteen—my age. If I’d gone to America, I would have been in college now, since my grades had always been good. But no—at sixteen, I’d had to flee the bullets on the very day I was due to take my baccalaureate exam, and here I was, shipwrecked in the middle of the rain forest, with no father, no mother, no brother. What had I done to deserve this? I cursed my country and its politicians. If I ever got out of this, I wanted to become an astronaut and fly up amid the stars, like Mae. But to do that, I’d have to go to a university in America; unfortunately, I didn’t know anyone there. And suddenly I remembered that Tanisha had given me her card. Quickly I went through my bag and my little purse once more, but couldn’t find it. Had I lost it in the confusion as I fled? My pocket! My pants!

  I ran to the bedroom and grabbed my jeans, while Asjha, who was still awake, wondered what was going on. I searched feverishly, and exclaimed with joy when I found the card in my hip pocket. I returned to the living room. On the card were Tanisha’s home address, e-mail address, and telephone numbers. So there I was, sitting by an oil lantern in the depths of the rain forest, dreaming of sending an e-mail to America. Again I looked at the photo of Mae. Not only was she smiling, but I was sure she was smiling at me. Asjha came noiselessly out of the bedroom; she must have been watching me for some time, without my realizing it.

  “You look so happy!” she said. “What’s making you feel so good?”

  I showed her the photo.

  “Do you know her?”

  “Yes,” I answered.

  I wasn’t lying, for I felt that Mae had been with me all my life, and that I’d always wanted to be like her even before I knew who she was.

  “That’s Mae Jemison,” I continued. “She’s an astronaut, and now a professor at an American university. I’d like to write to her.”

  “You want to become an astronaut?”

  “Yes. Or else a great scientist, like her—it doesn’t matter what field. An engineer, so I can build skyscrapers that will defy gravity and astound my father. Or the hard sciences—I’ll make calculations and devise equations so beautiful that the stars will be envious and I can dance with the universe. Or a doctor traveling around the African countryside, developing medicines to fight diseases that everyone says are incurable. And in the evening, at home, I’ll rest my mind and body by playing music, by dancing, and by making love with a man who pleases me.”

  She laughed, thinking that what I’d said was quite funny. And mischievously she asked:

  “Have you ever made love with a man?”

  “Shhhh,” I said, putting a finger to my lips and widening my eyes mysteriously. “You shouldn’t ask a big sister such questions.”

  She came over and snuggled into my arms.

  “Let’s go look at the stars,” I said.

  We went out into the darkness and gazed up at the multitude of luminous diamonds that shimmered in the sky. What would we do without the stars?

  In rural areas, the day begins very early. I thought I was getting an early start, but Asjha and her mother were already up and doing chores by the time I awoke. Asjha was sweeping the yard, while her mother was grinding cassava leaves for our midday meal. Since my panties and T-shirt were dry, I put them on so I could give Asjha’s pagne back to her. I picked up the magazine I’d left on the table the night before, intending to give it to my little sister as a present. When I came out into the yard, she stopped sweeping and ran over to me.

  She asked if I’d slept well. “Like an angel!” I replied, and then said good morning to Mother—I mean, Asjha’s mother.

  “Asjha, I’m giving you this magazine because you don’t have anything to read here in the village. It has some very interesting articles.”

  But before giving it to her, I opened it to the color photo of Mae and carefully removed the page.

  “This is the only bit I’m keeping. There’s another photo of her, a smaller one in black and white.”

  I folded the page in four and tucked it away in my little purse, in the same inside pocket that held the photo of Papa and Mama. And I slipped the whole thing into the back pocket of my jeans. Asjha took the magazine—she was delighted.

  I filled a basin with water and washed up quickly, thinking I’d go back to the river again that afternoon. To brush my teeth, I used a root scented with citronella. Mother offered me breakfast, but I declined, saying that I’d wait until Asjha had finished sweeping and she herself had finished grinding the cassava leaves, so that we could sit down and eat together. I felt awkward, being the only one who had nothing to do, and I asked her if there was some household chore I could take care of.

  “You can help us roll cassava dumplings after breakfast.”

  I was ravenous, and was hoping we would have a large breakfast. While waiting for them to finish, I decided to take a short walk around the village. It wasn’t very big, but it was clea
n. The day before, when I’d arrived, my city-dweller’s gaze had seen only poverty. I hadn’t noticed the mango trees heavy with luscious fruit, the mandarin orange trees, the safou trees whose fruit was turning dark purple and almost ready to be picked. I strolled all the way through the village, to the edge of the forest . . .

  No sooner had I heard the sound of an engine than the first helicopter was looming overhead. Another appeared on the opposite side, and the two of them began strafing the village. They swept from one end to the other, turned around, and came back. They had nothing to fear, since the poor villagers had no antiaircraft guns, not even a simple Kalashnikov. I heard shouts, screams. I don’t know if we were being firebombed, but several houses were in flames. Then the helicopters flew off toward the east.

  I ran back through the village, toward the house. Before I could get there, the shelling started again, this time from the direction of the road. Armored vehicles. And a military transport that unloaded a bunch of soldiers. They yelled at everything, fired at everything. I raced back toward the forest and hid in a spot where I could observe what was going on. I saw the headman pleading, explaining that his people had no weapons.

  “You harbored Chechen militia fighters!” shouted the army commander.

  “That’s not true! We simply gave food to some poor refugees!”

  “Shut up!”

  And blam! he fired at the headman point-blank.

  “We’re not going to take any shit from rats like him,” he said to his men. “Destroy all the fruit trees, the way we did in the other villages. We’ll starve the traitors who are hiding in the forest.”