Beneath the Darkening Sky (16 page)

A distant voice barks orders and Parasite returns with a couple of friends. Covered in dust they walk with their chins high and their chests out, like they’ve shot down the bomber. They
make baboon noises, but I hang my head, keeping back my great secret – I survived the bomber, I’ll survive them.

I find the spot in the cage with the fewest thorns and collapse. The thorns bite into my arm. Exhaustion claims me. A moment later, water splashes over me. I shoot upright,
gasping against sleep and the shower of cold water.

Parasite stands above, jeering. But it’s the Commander’s shadow that blocks out the low sun. ‘Good,’ the Commander says. ‘He looks fine.’

His voice is almost friendly, not kind or welcoming, but as if I’m one of his buddies. ‘Parasite thought you might be dead, and I can’t have my new star soldier dying on me,
now can I? All right, boys, get him out of there. And Parasite, try not to shoot him by accident.’

‘Yes, sir,’ Parasite says with a smile.

Relief washes over me. Parasite opens the cage, careful of the thorns. Two soldiers pull me out into the dirt and untie my feet. They pick me up and help me stretch my legs, so I can stand. Ten
minutes later I still need their help to walk straight. My joints crack every time I take a step.

Parasite hits me with the butt of his rifle, pushing me to go faster. I stumble forward, then stand still for a second and regain my balance, which is hard with my hands still tied. We are
headed for the training field, where I can hear the distant rhythm of orders being given, though the words are unclear.

We round a corner and the field comes into sight, the big empty space between the officers’ huts and the kitchens. The senior soldiers are running through gun drills, a swift and brutal
dance, but still a little funny because of those running to keep up, and the ragged clothes.

One of the lesser officers runs to meet us. He looks angry, and I’m afraid that he’ll make me run, or whip me for being too slow. As he approaches he slows to a walk and pulls out
the long knife at his hip. He’s going to slit my throat. He grabs my arm and turns me. I brace myself. He cuts the rope off my wrists.

‘What is wrong with you?’ he asks Parasite. ‘It’s not his execution. The Commander wants him standing proud.’ The officer shoves his canteen into my arms.
‘Drink, Baboon, we need your eyes bright.’

He grabs my elbow and pulls me towards the field as I drink. We’re still going much faster than my legs are ready for, but I only just manage to keep my balance as I gulp water
desperately. When we arrive at the field, the officer nods to another and a few seconds later the soldiers finish their drill and are ordered to sit. The entire camp is here, sitting in rows that
line the packed earth of the field. The Commander stands at the other end of the circle.

‘Baboon’s Ass,’ he shouts. ‘Front and centre!’

The officer shoves me and I stumble forward.

‘Run, Baboon!’ he orders.

I stagger towards him, as if one foot isn’t sure where the other is. Amid a low chorus of laughter, I stand before the Commander again. He puts his hand on my shoulder. I’m afraid my
legs might buckle under the weight. He turns me to face the better part of the circle, then nods. A dozen soldiers jump up and form a line, holding their AK-47s at their sides. This isn’t one
of the regular formations.

‘Tonight we celebrate two heroes,’ the Commander yells. ‘The first is Gushing Blood.’

It’s Akot. The Comander says Akot will be initiated as one of the Great General’s bodyguards.

They bring out a short log and set it in the middle of the field. Everyone stands around watching. Some of the General’s bodyguards run up and bring Akot to the log, handling him with the
rough affection of brothers.

Behind Akot’s back, one of the officers has a long hoe nestled in the embers of a cooking fire. The kind with a narrow blade, about thirty centimetres long. Two bodyguards pick Akot up off
the ground, laughing in what my brother mistakes for something congratulatory. With Akot’s feet dangling above the ground, another bodyguard pulls my brother’s shorts down. He starts to
shake.

‘Don’t worry,’ one of them says. ‘It only hurts for a month.’

And another, ‘Welcome to the club, kid.’

They balance his backside on the edge of the log, holding his arms out. Two more soldiers hold his legs and pull them as far apart as they will go. His penis and testicles are as exposed as they
can be, lying on the log. Are they cutting off his penis? Another bodyguard comes up with a string and a short stick. He ties one end of the string to the stick and shoves the stick into
Akot’s mouth as a gag. The free end of the string is tied to Akot’s penis, to keep it pointed up at his face, leaving his balls to hang alone.

I have seen cows and goats being castrated. But not a man. Not a person.

The officer comes out with the hoe. The sharpened end of the blade glows red from the cooking fire.

‘Soldiers of the revolution,’ the General declares over the shouting and laughing. ‘I welcome Gushing Blood into the order of my bodyguards!’

A cheer rises and the hoe comes down. Akot screams, the other guards laugh. They press the red-hot blade against the wound where his balls had been, burning it shut. A glass jar appears from
somewhere and the bloody testicles are put inside, then paraded around, like a hunting trophy. I throw up and pass out.

When I come to, Parasite is sitting next to me on the ground, laughing at me. ‘It’s a rare honour. One of the other bodyguards must have been killed.’

‘Where is he?’ I ask.

‘They’re taking him on a special training session. Don’t worry, your precious big brother will be back soon.’

After Akot is taken away, more soldiers, younger ones, bring in five recruits, dirty and bruised, their hands bound behind them. They are lined up facing the armed soldiers, then forced to their
knees. They all cry except for one. It’s the quiet whimpering you hear every day here, all around you. It breaks you, over and over, until it kills you or moulds you into a creature to be
feared.

‘Baboon’s Ass,’ the Commander says quietly. ‘Do you know why these boys are about to die?’

‘No, sir,’ is all I can say.

‘These boys thought they would go looking for that wild wind. They tried to run away, and we can’t have that.’

I see Priest sitting nearby, his face buried in one hand.

‘These little shits,’ the Commander bellows for the entire field to hear, ‘are traitors! They are weak and corrupt and tried to run back to the government that created them.
They want to go back to their villages and get fat and learn to profit from the work of others. They serve themselves! And by serving themselves, they oppose the people! We are the people! We are
their voice! These boys have resisted, abandoned and betrayed us. What do we do with traitors?’

A roar flies up. ‘Blow their brains out!’ ‘Flay the bitches!’ ‘Kill!’ In a few seconds, ‘kill’ becomes a chant, over and over, the army joining in
a single voice. Moments like this make the Commander’s speeches almost believable. He raises a hand and the chant dies away.

‘The people have spoken!’ he cries, and is answered by a cheer.

‘Baboon’s Ass,’ he bellows, to silence the cheers. ‘It was your song that exposed these traitors. Without you and your clever trick, we might still be living with
traitors among us. You are the fire that smoked these snakes from their hole. You are the people’s fire.’

The line of soldiers raise their AK-47s and aim them at the weeping recruits.

‘Give the order, Baboon’s Ass!’ he demands.

I say nothing, but I smell the lion’s scent.

‘Give the order,’ he repeats, ‘and show me that you aren’t a traitor yourself. Because if you
are
a traitor, you’ll have to join them. You and your
accomplice. Because who would ask a traitor to sing, except another traitor?’

I look over at Priest. I can see the pain in his eyes.

‘Say “Fire”,’ the Commander says, ‘or I’ll execute your friend as you watch. Hell, I’ll put the gun in your hand, then pull the trigger for
—’

‘Fire!’ I scream.
Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang.

The Commander’s thick arm wraps around my shoulders, like he is my father, hugging me with pride. Bodies hit the ground and a cheer flies up. The recruits’ blood seeps into me,
staining my bones.

But these boys were going to be killed anyway. I saved Priest’s life, and mine. Besides, a firing squad is the best way to die in the camp.

They make me carry one of the recruits to the pit where we throw the corpses of the dishonoured. We have a proper cemetery for those who die for the revolution, but not for traitors. The walls
of the pit are black from a hundred fires lit inside. Families of vultures poke around on top of it, until hyenas come along. As we approach, the vultures stand defensively, like they’re
guarding the dead. One soldier pulls up his AK-47 and fires a few rounds at the birds. They fly off.

We tumble the five boys over the edge. I stand for a moment, hypnotised by the five fresh corpses, their flesh ripped shreds, barely people. They lie on top of the half-eaten who came before
them.

‘First time, huh?’ one of the soldiers says. He takes me by the shoulder and guides me back to camp. ‘Don’t stare at the bodies. They don’t exist any more. And you
don’t look too good anyway,’ he laughs.

When I arrive back at camp, the Commander tells everyone I’m to be rewarded for my service to the revolution. I played that song under orders, to flush out the traitors, to inspire the
weak to run.

‘We knew,’ he says, ‘that some among you did not truly believe in the revolution. So this brave soldier volunteered to be the smoke in their snake hole. He even volunteered to
be tortured, to make the deception complete. He is the bravest soldier I’ve ever known. He is a hero of the revolution, the smoke in the eyes of traitors, the fire of the people! Cheer for
the People’s Fire!’

Baboon’s Ass is gone.

I’m given my own tent and cot away from the barracks. Alone in the dark, under this green canvas, I feel more exposed than on my nights in the cage, and I miss the
safety of the barracks. No matter how many horrors I see in the camp, I’m still most scared by what I cannot see, but can feel.

I am excused from morning drills. I sleep as late as I want. Every day, I return to the barracks so that a girl from the hospitality house can change the bandages on my arm. The Commander wants
everyone to see how well I’m treated, although mostly everyone’s gone by the time I arrive. The girl massages my legs, or tries to. It doesn’t take long for the massage to make my
penis hard. When that happens I don’t know what to do. If it was Parasite, he would tell everyone about it, or stand up and wave it around and try to get her to touch it, but that’s the
last thing I want to do. I just want everyone to go away, I want it all to stop. It would be easier to shoot someone than to have her here when my penis goes like that. When she leaves, sometimes
smiling, I go for a walk.

One day when the girl arrives, Parasite is there. The same thing happens, and I tell her to stop, and that she can go.

‘What was that?’ Parasite asks, outraged. ‘She was pretty, why didn’t you fuck her?’ One of his hands is rubbing his rifle, slowly up and down.

I have no reply, and he laughs again. ‘Oh man, you’ve never fucked, have you?’ This is hysterical to him.

‘I’m going to take a walk now,’ I say.

‘Good plan, man. Maybe you’ll come across some animals humping and you’ll figure out what a woman is for.’

My tent is painfully hot during the day, so after lunch I spend my day outside. In the evenings, I return and the temperature is just right.

A few days after I move into the tent, the General returns from his inspection of the captured town. When he is told of my noble work in the name of the cause, he comes to inform me of my next
mission.

I have never been anywhere near the General, and now he’s in my small tent, with the Commander too. I feel like I am a baby gazelle between two lions, or just plain grass under elephant
feet.

With the Commander grinning behind him the General tells me, ‘I know you may not think you’re ready.’ He puts his hand on my shoulder. ‘But we’ll make it easy on
you this first time. Tell me, what do you know about lions?’

I have no answer, and hold back the vomit rising in my throat.

‘When a mother lion is teaching her cubs to hunt,’ he says, his voice gentle, ‘she will wound the prey so that it is weak enough for the cubs to kill themselves. So, my little
lion cub, don’t worry. We will teach you all we can here and make sure you don’t get in too deep out there.’

He salutes. I salute back. The Commander and the General leave me in my tent, alone. Black dread fills me. A mission, a real gun. The stories of blood and rape and fire pour out of my memory.
For how long have I fought their lessons? Now there’s no escape.

I go to visit Priest. When I tell him he nods slowly. We both know I must be prepared to kill the villagers or I will be killed myself. He has tried to help me prepare for this day, but now I am
alone.

‘Aim for the head,’ he says.

Later that night, I’m lying on my cot when the tent flap is pushed open. I sit up quickly – is it the General or the Commander? My throat tightens and I can feel tears coming.
It’s Mouse, standing with her hip jutting to one side, chin in the air. I’m so surprised I can’t think of anything to say.

‘The Commander told me about your mission,’ she says in the darkness of the tent entrance. ‘My girls tell me you don’t know what to do with a woman.’

‘What?’

‘They come to bandage and mend the great People’s Fire and you turn them away just as it’s getting good. Or do you not like girls?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean, do you like to stick your dick up other boys’ bums?’

‘No!’

‘All right then, when you hit a village, you need to fuck at least one of the village girls. If she’s smart, she’ll just throw herself at a soldier. If the stupid bitch
resists, you’ll have to fuck some sense into her.’ Mouse says this like she’s explaining how to clean a shirt. ‘Either way, you’re going to need to know what to do
with her. So, Priest sent me.’