Electronic Gags

by Kudakwashe Muzira

  Chapter 3

  The hundred-thousand-seater Ward National Stadium, named after the president like so many things in the Ten Districts, was packed to capacity. Members of the National Party, dressed in the party’s regalia, cheered as soldiers and policemen performed parades, acrobatics and mock battles to entertain the crowd. Then came the parachute displays in which paratroopers displayed their parachuting skills as they attempted to land in a circle marked in the centre of the football pitch. The air force displays came next. The spectators held their breath as air force pilots showed off their skills in aerobatics. The coordination of the jets was perfect. It was as if the airplanes were robots controlled by one computer.

  This was only a part of the entertainment on the day’s program. Today was the fifth of May, the First Lady’s birthday or ‘The Day of the Mother of the Nation’ as it was officially known. The president and the first lady sat in the VIP lounge with Cabinet ministers and security chiefs.

  Mrs Ward clapped hands and cheered at the aerobatics like a little girl. “This is the best day of my life, darling,” she said, leaning on Brandon Ward’s shoulder. “Oh is that the police band! I love the police band.”

  Throughout the day, Cassandra Ward shrieked with excitement at the entertainment the organizing committee had lined up for her birthday. Then came the time for her to read her birthday speech, which she did with obvious enjoyment. The Ministry of Information had prepared the speech for her and she found it difficult to pronounce some of the words. What she had in beauty, the first lady lacked in brains. Thirty-eight years younger than her husband, she had married him after the death of his first wife. Cassandra Ward believed her husband was a philanthropist who did everything for the good of the nation. She actually believed that electronic gags were antiterrorist tools that protected citizens from terrorists. She always showered Ward with heartfelt praises, something that endeared her to him. The president had married his biggest fan and staunchest political supporter. She was not like his first wife who questioned everything he did.

  The First Lady’s Final, the final game of an annual football tournament, which the government had launched in Cassandra Ward’s honor, started just after she finished reading her speech. When the match ended, she carried the trophy like an excited little girl and handed it to the captain of the winning team, to the cheer of the team’s fans.

  “I enjoyed myself today, darling,” she told her husband. “I wish today was twice as long as other days.”

  “Then you shall have your wish,” President Ward said.

  “What?” she asked, dumbfounded.

  “Wait and see, darling,” he said.

  “You never cease to amaze me, Brandon darling,” she said, leaning on his shoulder.

  “I want to make an announcement,” Brandon Ward told his secretary.

  “Okay, Your Excellence.” The president’s secretary quickly relayed the message to the master of ceremony.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, please be quiet for a moment,” the master of ceremony announced. “I have just received the message that His Excellence, Patriot Brandon Ward, the supreme leader of the nation and commander-in-chief of our armed forces, has something to say. Please come forward and address the nation, Patriot President.”

  The stadium fell silent when Brandon Ward came to the podium.

  “Long live our republic,” he shouted, waving his fat fist.

  “Long live!” thousands of throats responded and a forest of fists shook in the air.

  “Long live our first lady!”

  “Long live!”

  “Down with rebels!”

  “Down with them!”

  “The first lady has just told me how much she enjoyed this day. She told me she wished today was twice as long as other days. I said to myself, ‘Why not give her wish?’ After all this is her birthday.” He paused, waiting for the cheers die down. “I hereby declare that tomorrow is now an extension of today. Tomorrow, like today shall be the fifth of May. I have doubled the length of my wife’s birthday and you, good people of the Ten Districts of America, have got yourselves twenty-four more hours of holiday.”

  The crowd cheered.

  “So tomorrow, I mean the second half of today, we shall all come back here and continue our celebration of the first lady’s birthday.” He waited for the cheers to die down. “We shall repeat today’s program and the two football teams shall play part two of The First Lady’s Final with another trophy and more prize money up for grabs.”

  The football fans cheered, glad of another chance to watch the country’s best two teams playing for a trophy.

  “When you wake up tomorrow, I mean on the second half of today, adjust the date on your watches and cell phones to 5 May.”

  Cassandra Ward hugged her husband when he returned to his seat. “Forty-eight hours of birthday!” she enthused. “This is the best birthday present ever. I will enter the Guinness book of records for the longest birthday.”

  * * * * *

  Sergeant Jennifer Rodriguez believed in survival of the fittest. Growing up, she constantly watched her father batter her mother. Her mother tried to fight back, but her father, the strongest member of the family, always won the fights. In frustration, her mother lashed out at her. Although she didn’t like it, Jennifer knew there was nothing she could do because her mother was stronger than her. In turn, Jennifer lashed out at the weakest member of the family, her young brother, Andrew. And Andrew vented his anger on ants and other insects. He pulled out the legs of insects one by one, dropped their torsos to the ground and watched them wriggle helplessly before he squashed them with his right foot.

  When Jennifer was thirteen, a burglar broke into her home at night. Her father fought the housebreaker, but the invader was stronger. He escaped, leaving Jennifer’s father sprawling on the floor, blood and life oozing out of him. At her father’s burial, as she watched his coffin going down the grave, Jennifer never felt angry or bitter with her father’s killer. It wasn’t the killer’s fault that her father was weaker.

  When she joined the police at eighteen, she never grumbled at the ill-treatment and punishment she and the other recruits got from their trainers at the police academy. The trainers, she reasoned, had power because of their rank, giving them the right to ill-treat recruits. If she wanted to lessen her ill-treatment, she had to rise through the ranks and become powerful. With that in mind, she pushed herself hard in training and came out first in all disciplines. Her shooting was impressive. It was as if she was born with a gun in her hand.

  One day, Superintendent Hall, the head of the police academy put Jennifer in charge of the other recruits. In Jennifer’s logic, she was now stronger than the rest of the recruits and had the right to boss them around. The trainers watched with pleasure as she subjected the other recruits to rigorous training.

  “I like this girl,” Superintendent Hall told his colleagues as they watched Jennifer set the pace in the morning jog.

  That day’s training was the hardest the recruits had experienced in their two months at the police academy.

  “Jennifer!” the superintendent called when the day’s training was over.

  “Yes sir!” she answered.

  “I am putting you in charge of all recruits. I want you to maintain discipline.”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Did you hear that, folks?” the superintendent shouted. “Jennifer is in charge.”

  From that day Jennifer, or the she-monster as she became known to the other recruits, ruled with an iron fist. She was the only recruit without friends. She didn’t care about friends, she only cared about power. When Superintendent Hall asked for sex, Jennifer obliged. He was more powerful than her and she had to do what he wanted. She serviced the superintendent’s sexual needs throughout the remainder of her stay at the police academy. Jennifer’s trainers, knowing she was their boss’ mistress, stopped ill-treating her, making her feel more powerful.

  When her six months of training ended, Jennif
er got a place in the Police Special Branch, thanks to Superintendent Hall’s glowing letter of recommendation. The special branch mostly dealt with political crimes. Jennifer never felt remorse when she tortured suspects. As a cop, she had power over civilians and she was just following the natural order of life―survival of the strongest.

  Jennifer’s eyes lit with pride whenever she looked at the glittering trophy on her coffee table, her prize for winning the President’s Sharpshooter Competition, a shooting tournament open to servicemen and civilians. Jennifer got the trophy for finishing first in the women’s category and fifth in the overall standings.

  President Ward himself and all the security chiefs watched her cruise to victory in the tournament. As was the custom, the president gave the trophy to the police commissioner because Jennifer was a member of the police force.

  “Commissioner Hunt, I congratulate you for producing the finest gunwoman in the security forces,” President Ward said.

  “Thank you, Your Excellence.” The police commissioner raised the trophy. “With such fine gunwomen in our ranks, the public is assured of protection from terrorists and bandits.” The police commissioner pinned the winner’s medal on Jennifer’s uniform before handing her the trophy and a three-thousand lucre check.

  This was the happiest day of Jennifer’s life, not only because of the prize and the publicity, but because her victory enhanced her chances of gaining promotion. She knew that President Ward and his security chiefs would quickly forget about her. The President’s Sharpshooter Competition was one of many events that these powerful men attended and she was one of millions of subordinates under their command. But she knew that if she won the trophy in the next three years, they would remember her. If she won overall first place, beating all male contestants, the president would surely remember her and the police commissioner would reward her with promotion.

  Every day, when her colleagues went home, Jennifer went to the shooting range and practiced shooting for at least an hour. She was going to win overall first place in the President’s Sharpshooter Competition and earn herself a promotion.

  Unlike most overzealous cops and soldiers, Jennifer didn’t hero-worship her superiors; she only obeyed them because they had power over her. She never believed any of the government’s propaganda. Nor did she have any patriotism. Her main goal in life was her survival. In this world of survival of the fittest, she had to gain power if she wanted a better life.

  Jennifer didn’t grumble when the supreme leader decreed that the next day would be the fifth of May. President Brandon Ward was the most powerful man on Earth; if he wanted to prolong his wife’s birthday, everyone had to follow. She would live tomorrow as if it was 5 May. Of course that wasn’t going to stop her from saying happy birthday to her mother who was born on 6 May.

  When she woke up the next morning, it seemed like the start of just another ordinary day but she was to remember this morning for the rest of her life. She pulled out the keypad and display panel of her electronic gag and dialed her mother’s ID number. Since NASP didn’t charge cops, it was wise to use her electronic gag instead of her phone.

  “Hey mom... how are you?”

  “Fine,” replied her mother. “Sorry I took long to answer your call. I’m not used to this gadget.”

  Jennifer and her mother had grown close since the death of Jennifer’s father. When Jennifer left home to join the police, mother and daughter grew even closer. Distance helped heal old wounds.

  “You sound sad,” Jennifer said. “Have you forgotten what day it is today?”

  “What is happening today?”

  “Age is catching up with you fast, mom. Today is 6 May, your birthday. Happy birthday, mom.”

  “Oh it had passed me.” She laughed. “You are right darling... age is catching up with me.”

  “Officially, today is 5 May but we all know the truth, don’t we?” Jennifer said. “I wish you many more.”

  “What do you mean by officially it is 5 May?”

  “Didn’t you listen to the radio or watch TV yesterday?”

  “I didn’t.”

  “The president said today is 5 May,” Jennifer snorted.

  “Why?”

  “He wants to prolong his wife’s birthday.”

  “That’s romantic.”

  “I will talk to you later, mom. I have to go to the national stadium for part two of the first lady’s birthday.”

  Jennifer made herself a cup of tea, which she took with leftovers from dinner. She was halfway through her breakfast when she heard a loud knock on the door. Jennifer knew the knocker was someone with power over her, or someone who thought he had power over her. No friend or subordinate could bang her door this way.

  She sprang to her feet and opened the door. Two CIB agents burst into the room and showed her their badges.

  “What’s the matter,” she asked, believing they had come to the wrong address.

  “Are you Jennifer Rodriguez?”

  “Yes.” Now her heart was beating fast. She didn’t remember committing a crime but one couldn’t be sure these days. There was a fine, dotted line between innocence and criminality.

  “You are under arrest!”

  “You must be mistaken,” Jennifer protested. “I am a law-abiding citizen. I am a member of the Police Special Branch.”

  “We know everything about you. You are under arrest.”

  “For what?”

  “Earlier today you phoned your mother with your NAST, didn’t you?”

  Now Jennifer’s heart was pounding.

  “Didn’t you?” echoed the CIB agent.

  “I did.”

  “Yesterday, soon after the supreme leader announced that today will be the fifth of May, we made the term 6 May or sixth of May a red word for today.” He sounded like Sherlock Holmes explaining his methods to Dr Watson. “When you told your mother that today is 6 May, NASP started recording your conversation. The president said today is 5 May and you belittled him. We checked your trajectory and discovered that you were actually in the VIP lounge at the national stadium when the president issued his decree.”

  “I was part of the security personnel assigned to cordon off the VIP lounge,” Jennifer stammered. She was used to interrogating people, not the other way round.

  “You are a cop, sworn to defend the Ten Districts,” the other agent spoke for the first time. “You are a cop entrusted with the duty of guarding the president and yet you belittle His Excellence. I am not the judge in this matter but I think that aggravates your crime. Come with us.”

  Jennifer knew it was pointless to resist. The wheels were in motion. The state security machinery was now against her. She was no longer one of the regimes trusted hunters. She had become its prey. The CIB agents took her to their car.

  * * * * *

  Like the previous day, the Brandon Ward National Stadium was packed to capacity. After the armed forces finished entertaining spectators with parades and displays, Cassandra Ward mispronounced another long speech prepared for her by the Ministry of Information. Then the two football teams continued their rivalry in a thrilling rematch. District One Raiders avenged the previous day’s defeat with a hard-earned 22-21 victory over District Sixers, thanks to a controversial touchdown call.

  “This has been the best fifth of May celebrations ever,” the master of ceremony said. “It was much better than on the first half of today.” He waved his fist in the air. “Long live Patriot Cassandra Ward, the mother of the nation!”

  “Long live!” the stadium resounded, thousand of fists shaking in the air.

  “Long live Patriot Brandon Ward, the father of the nation!”

  “Long live!”

  “This is time for our supreme leader, President Brandon Ward, to say the last word before we go.”

  The crowd cheered as Brandon Ward walked to the podium.

  “Thank you ladies and gentlemen, patriots and friends,” the president said, silencing the stadium. “Patriots, I thank yo
u all for celebrating this second half of my wife’s birthday with my family. Tomorrow I want you to reset your calendars to 7 May. I thank you all.”

  As always, the president, the first lady, the vice president and the senior minister were the first to leave the stadium. Cabinet ministers and security chiefs were the next to go before members of the public could leave their seats.

  When they arrived at the First Building, Brandon Ward and his brother played card games as Cassandra supervised the making of their dinner. Avid gamblers, the Ward brothers enjoyed card games. They betted on anything: football matches, weather, TV reality shows, foreign wars, foreign elections. When Cassandra Ward was pregnant, Brandon and Christopher Ward even betted on the date of her delivery. Christopher was in high spirits after winning the bet on the First lady’s Final for the second time in two days. In the first cup final, District Sixers outclassed District One Raiders so much that Brandon Ward decided to bet on the team from District Six in the rematch. He had watched with disappointment as District One Raiders came from behind to beat the more talented District Sixers by a point, giving Christopher Ward his second win in two days.

  “Brandon, what are your plans with the fifty-one rebels the CIB arrested many weeks ago?” Christopher Ward asked.

  “Ah... I had almost forgotten about them,” Brandon Ward said, putting a card on the table. “Let’s execute them tomorrow.”

  “That won’t be fun,” Christopher said. “Why don’t we kill them in style? Let’s release them in pairs and send the police after them with instructions to shoot to kill.”

  “And we bet on the lifespans of the prisoners,” Brandon said with excitement. “The player whose prisoners survive longer wins the bet. We promise the prisoners freedom if they survive for a week.”

  “That would be fun.”

  “Let’s do it!” Brandon Ward welcomed the chance to win back the bragging rights after losing the football bets. “Let’s do it next week. This week I have to attend the FAO summit.”

  “Next week it is, big brother,” Christopher said eagerly.