Kitafe

by Michael Ray

  ‘No, I think you should withhold it because of the suffering he’s caused. I want him to realise what a bastard he is before he dies, as well as when he arrives in hell.’

  ‘Well I can’t and I won’t. If he asks me to take his confession and give him the last rights, I’m duty bound to do so. If that means giving him some sort of peace before he dies then so be it.’

  ‘And so you’ll pass the responsibility on to God?’

  ‘Only God can judge us but I don’t think Henry will die. I’ve had a brief look at the wound; there’s no bullet there, it passed through. I’ve dosed it with antiseptic and given him penicillin. I think he’ll survive.’ He got up from the bench. ‘Besides, I have a greater problem than Henry. Come with me.’

  They left the main courtyard and headed off to a group of a dozen square huts, a small village and like any small village there were a few women going about their business, pummelling grain and draping washing over bushes to dry. ‘This is where the families that look after the mission live.’

  He entered the first hut. A dozen children were huddled in one corner. ‘The first group turned up here two weeks ago, traumatised. There are more in the other huts. Every day they arrive in greater numbers. We aren’t set up to deal with this sort of thing, we have only a limited supply of food, and they need more than that. They need medical as well as spiritual help.’

  He continued to a brick shed and undid a padlock. Stacked up against one wall was a pile of assault rifles. ‘They brought these with them.’

  ‘Who’s looking after the children now?’ Paul asked.

  ‘Three of the women who work here. They’re doing their best, they can feed and clean them but that’s all. They can’t get them to talk and they certainly can’t deal with any deeper problems.’

  ‘Well you’d better make sure David doesn’t know they’re here. He doesn’t does he?’

  ‘No … no, of course not.’

  ‘And how are you going to stop him finding out?’

  ‘He’s only recently arrived … I hadn’t really thought about it.’

  They returned to the refectory as Mary came through from the kitchen. She glanced at Graham then ignored him.

  ‘Brother Sebastian, I have food for Henry.’

  ‘Of course. While you’re there, ask David to join us.’

  She stared for a second at Graham then left with a bowl and some bread.

  ‘What are you going to do about David?’ Paul asked.

  ‘I must find out what his plans are. They can’t stay here.’

  ‘Those kids you just showed me,’ Graham said. ‘David was responsible for that. He’s the one who’s screwed about with their minds. You’re going to send him away and let him carry on doing that?’

  ‘I’m a priest not a policeman.’

  ‘Fuck that, you’re a priest with responsibilities. What are you going to do about David?’

  David entered the room and took the revolver from his belt.

  ‘Yes, what are you going to do about David?’

  ‘David, put the gun away,’ Brother Sebastian said.

  ‘Why are you here?’ David asked, ignoring him.

  ‘To see Brother Sebastian,’ Paul replied. ‘More to the point, why are you here? Haven’t you heard there’s been a truce? The British have capitulated, you’ve won.’

  David put the gun back in his belt but kept fingering the top of it, looking from Graham to Paul and back. ‘We were betrayed, the British betrayed us, an ambush on the way from the airport. We escaped then you turn up. I ask again, why are you here?’

  ‘You should get Henry to a hospital,’ said Graham.

  ‘If God chooses to take him then that’s his choice and not the choice of one of your white doctors. Why are you here!’

  ‘I think God would prefer you to’… a cry came from across the quadrant … Mary. David rushed from the room, quickly followed by the others. She was by the bed, staring at the pillow that she pressed down on Ngai’s face. She gave out another long scream then fell across him, sobbing, pummelling the bed with her fists. David pulled her away, throwing both her and the pillow to the floor. Ngai’s eyes were wide open, staring, his mouth confused, his smile gone. David lifted him up from the bed, cradling him like the Pietà and cried. Brother Sebastian fell to his knees by the bed and started mumbling, the Latin covering his confusion.

  ‘Goodbye David,’ Paul said, taking out the Beretta from his jacket.

  Brother Sebastian looked up from his praying and screamed out ‘No!’

  David turned from Brother Sebastian to Paul but didn’t attempt to defend himself or plead for his life; he didn’t seem interested in the gun pointing at him.

  Paul pulled the trigger and a sharp explosion filled the room. The bullet went through David’s temple and he collapsed forward on top of Ngai’s body. Paul calmly walked over, checked his pulse, closed his eyes and put the gun back in its holster.

  The explosion continued to ring in Graham’s ears and he took a few moments to get over the shock of such a clinical execution. Unsure whether to admire Paul or to be horrified by the cold way he carried it out. Somehow, it didn’t seem so bad at the end of a telescopic site, more detached than someone standing just a few feet away. Brother Sebastian still knelt by the bed, silent, as if a stream of Latin wasn’t enough to cover up what he’d just witnessed.

  Paul looked from one to the other. ‘You didn’t see that Brother Sebastian and neither did you Graham. We will now bury them, pray for them, if you must and clean up.’

  *****

  ‘I thought that only happened in the movies,’ Graham said, as they stared at the remains of the Daimler. They’d taken it a mile out into the bush before setting it on fire. The petrol tank had just exploded, and it was difficult to tell what glories the burnt out pile of metal, smouldering wood and leather had once represented. ‘Do you think her Majesty would be upset?’

  ‘Hasn’t she given up Daimlers for Royces?’ Paul asked.

  ‘No idea mate, I don’t move in the same circles as you.’

  They continued to watch as the final flames flickered and died, leaving a residue of smoke and a foul smell.

  ‘We’d better pick your car up before the light goes,’ Paul said.

  *****

  ‘I don’t think I’ve ever felt so peaceful … or so empty.’ Graham said as they headed off.

  Paul glanced at him and smiled. ‘So, Superman one minute and the Dalai Lama the next. That’s more than can be said of Father Sebastian.’

  ‘Poor sod’s got his hands full.’

  ‘I have contacts who can help him out.’

  ‘How’s your aunt getting on with Rachel and Benjamin?’

  ‘It’s a big jump from being soldiers with guns to schoolchildren with pencils but she appears to be coping.’

  ‘Has Rachel got over her wayward husband?’

  ‘She asks after you but is very confused. She still thinks you sit on God’s right hand.’

  ‘I should go and see her and try to persuade her that I’m more likely to be found at The Stardust.’

  ‘Maybe leave it for a while, I’ll go with you in a month or so and see how they react. Will you write anything about today?’

  ‘A piece about the mission, how it’s being overwhelmed by refugees from the North and desperately needs help. I’ll send copies to as many NGO’s and government officials as I can think of, maybe even the UN.’

  ‘I shouldn’t bother them. By the time they’ve finished setting up committees, had steerage meetings, published assessments then argued and voted on them, the kids will have grown up and be starting their own revolutions. No newspapers?’

  ‘I’ll try to get it syndicated, maybe even send Bradley a copy. After that, no more newspapers, I’m finished with journalism.’

  ‘It’s not all bad, the fourth estate and all that. Some of us even try to keep over-enthusiastic or corrupt governments in check by keeping the general public informed.’

&n
bsp; ‘Better make sure you take control of the rest of them before you take over then.’

  ‘Will you write the truth, one day?’

  Graham laughed. ‘About you executing David? No mate, I think that’s information the general public can do without. Anyway, I told you, I’m finished with newspapers. I’ll leave that sort of thing to journalists like you.’

  ‘Not for much longer. Now Ngai has withdrawn his candidacy, I’ll be putting myself forward as a potential president.’

  ‘What! I thought you didn’t stand a chance, wrong tribe and all that.’

  ‘I don’t but we’ll need to legitimise the elections. James will win after a bitterly contested and hard fought campaign then, in an act of reconciliation, I’ll be offered the post of Prime Minister.’

  ‘So, old sins will be forgiven and a bright new future awaits. How long have you had that arranged?’

  ‘For a while. We never believed that Harding would let Ngai’s name anywhere near a ballot box.’

  ‘And what will you do with him? He can’t still be part of the triumvirate.’

  ‘Good God, no. We’ll dissociate ourselves as quickly as possible, probably have to come to a deal though.’

  ‘A retirement home in exchange for no more meddling?’

  ‘I was thinking of an air ticket. There’ll be more than enough evidence of his interference to persuade him to make an early exit.’

  ‘Good idea. He once told me he’d love to retire to Tunbridge Wells. Maybe you could stick him next to the Governor when he flies home? They could discuss house prices in the Home Counties.’

  The End

  Addendum:

  The Army of Christ’s Inquisition is very loosely based on the Lord’s Resistance Army which grew out of racial tension between the Acoli (Nilotic) people in the North of Uganda and Baganda (Bantu) people in the South. It derived from an army formed by Alice Lakwena, a Joan of Arc figure, who attempted to protect villagers in the North from government sponsored terrorism by the Ugandan Army. Having received messages from the Holy Spirit, she formed the Holy Spirit Mobile Force and marched against Kampala, armed with sticks and protected with phials of oil. It didn’t work. She fled to Kenya and the army was taken over by Joseph Kony, a mix between Stalin and Rasputin. He has subsequently been blamed for the death of at least a hundred thousand people and of kidnapping at least sixty thousand children. He appeared on one of the first arrest warrants issued by the international Criminal Court and is regularly in the top ten of the FBI’s list of the worlds most wanted. He is still free and the LRA is still functioning.

  Although the LRA didn’t start up until the nineteen eighties, twenty years after this book was set, children have been exploited in war since men first started hitting each other over the head with clubs. For instance, the use of powder monkeys by the Western Navies continued until sails on warships went out of fashion. There are currently thought to be three hundred thousand child soldiers in different parts of Africa.

  I’m attempting to give away this book, so if you enjoyed it, please tell your friends and feel free to click on the link and make a donation to WarChild, it’s a very good cause. If you downloaded from Amazon, please click on the “tell us lower price” button in an attempt to force the download price to zero. Any profits I get from Amazon or anywhere else will be donated via Just Giving.

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  Other books by the Author:

  Watching The Waves

  The first book of Alec Gordon, a tale of crime, bad science and the ghost of Shostakovich.

  It’s 2006 and the banks haven’t yet learnt the repercussions of easily obtained credit cards and cheap loans. Alec has resigned his job in investment banking, causing his wife to jump ship and him to relocate to Zanzibar. All is about to change though, as declaring the start of a new life, he returns to London to take on the banks, whilst avoiding a litigious wife, the ghost of Shostakovich and a psychotic thief. In the process he attempts to become a half decent pianist, invents a new form of alternative healing, watches far too many episodes of “The Avengers” and learns to love squirrel pie.

  *****

  Chaac

  The second book of Alec Gordon, in which he wakes up with a month of his life missing and a number of unsavoury or at the very least, unpleasantly smelly people shadowing him. On the plus side a beautiful though slightly mad violinist is also after him.

  *****

  Sync

  The skivvy of an Old Testament prophet, an eleventh century slave, a retired Victorian engineer and a twentieth century science student, all meet to witness Armageddon … the final war … the end of time … in a pub in Kilburn?

  *****

  For more information about other books written by the author and where to get them, please go to:

  www.wildthy.me