Frank Schätzing - Limit

‘That’s—’

‘Different? Just because you lot don’t want to discuss it?’

‘Nonsense,’ said Yoyo, irritated. ‘Taiwan belongs to mainland China, that’s why it’s different.’

‘Well, you lot are the only ones who believe that. And no one is overly pleased that you’re threatening the Taiwanese with nuclear missiles.’

‘Fine, smart-arse.’ Yoyo leaned forwards. ‘So what would happen if, all of a sudden, let’s say Texas, the Cowboys… if they suddenly declared their independence?’

‘Now that really is different,’ sighed Jericho.

‘Oh sure. Completely different.’

‘Yes. And as far as Tibet is concerned—’

‘Tibet today, Xinjiang tomorrow, then inner Mongolia, Guanxi, Hong Kong – why can’t you Europeans grasp the fact that a One China policy is best for security? Our huge kingdom will fall into chaos if we allow it to fall apart. We have to keep China together!’

‘With force.’

‘No, force is the wrong way. We didn’t do our homework there.’

‘You can say that again!’ Jericho shook his head. ‘Somehow I just can’t figure you out. After all, you’re the one who’s so passionate about human rights. That’s what I thought, anyway.’

‘And it’s true.’

‘But?’

‘No buts. I’m a nationalist.’

‘Hmm.’

‘That doesn’t compute with you, right? That the two can coexist. Human rights and nationalism.’

Jericho spread his hands out acquiescently. ‘I’m happy to learn.’

‘Then learn. I’m not a fascist, not a racist, nothing of the kind. But I am absolutely convinced that China is a great country with a great culture—’

‘Which you yourselves have trampled all over.’

‘Listen, Owen, let’s get one basic thing straight. Give it a rest with all the you , you lot , your people ! When the Red Guards were hanging teachers from trees, I wasn’t even a twinkle in my father’s eye. I’d rather you tell me how the whole thing with Bubi Fang carries on, if that’s even relevant.’

‘Fang,’ Jericho corrected her patiently. ‘The Bubi lived on their island. They didn’t care two figs about the coast until Spain united the mainland and islands into the Republic of Equatorial Guinea. And the Fang dominated on the mainland: another Bantu tribe, who greatly outnumbered the Bubi and were less than pleased at being thrown in a pot with them overnight. In 1964, Spain gave the country full autonomy, which in practice meant that they fenced two groups who couldn’t stand each other inside a state border and left them to their own devices. Something that could only end in disaster.’

Yoyo looked at him with her dark eyes. And suddenly, she smiled. So unexpected and untimely a smile that he could do little else but stare back at her, confused.

‘By the way, I wanted to thank you,’ she said.

‘Thank me?’

‘You saved my life.’

Jericho hesitated. The whole time, while he had swum so bravely through the hot water that Yoyo had got herself into, he had contented himself with his own sense of reward. Now he felt taken by surprise.

‘No need,’ he said feebly. ‘It’s just the way things turned out.’

‘Owen—’

‘I didn’t have any choice. If I had known—’

‘No, Owen, don’t.’ She shook her head. ‘Say something nice.’

‘Something nice? After all the trouble that you’ve—’

‘Hey.’ She reached out. Her slender fingers clasped around his hand and squeezed firmly. ‘Say something nice to me. Right now!’

She moved closer to him, and something changed. So far he had only seen Yoyo’s beauty, and the small flaws in it. Now, waves of unsettling intensity washed over him. Unlike Joanna, who controlled and regulated her erotic potential like the volume dial on a radio, Yoyo could do nothing else but burn seductively, relentless, a bright, hot star. And suddenly he realised that he would do everything in his power to make sure that this star never burned out. He wanted to see her laugh.

‘Well.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Any time.’

‘Any time what?’

‘I’d do it again, any time. If you ever need saving, let me know. I’ll be there.’ More throat-clearing. ‘And now—’

‘Thank you, Owen. Thank you.’

‘—let’s carry on with Mayé. When does it get interesting for us?’

She let his hand go and sank back in her seat.

‘Difficult to say. I’d say that in order to understand the relations in the country, we need to go back to independence. With the change to—’

Papa Macías.

In October 1968, the same damp and humid climate reigned in the Gulf of Guinea as on any other day of the year. Sometimes it rained, then the land, islands and sea would brood in sunshine that made the beaches glisten and brought all activity to a standstill. The capital city, located on the island and little more than a collection of mildewed colonial buildings with huts gathered around them, was seeing the advent of the first State President of the independent republic of Equatorial Guinea, chosen by the people in a memorable election campaign. Francisco Macías Nguema of the Fang tribe promises justice and socialism, and forces the remaining Spanish troops to retreat, an action which had already been agreed in any case, although they had imagined a slightly more conciliatory end. But ‘Papa’, as the president named himself out of his love for his people, is accustomed to having a good and hearty breakfast. The defeated colonialists were horrified to discover that he was a cannibal, with a tendency to eat the brains and testicles of his enemies. You couldn’t expect a teary goodbye from someone like that.

And yet that’s exactly what happened.

A sea of tears, a sea of blood.

The young republic was defiled almost as soon as it was born. No one there was prepared for something as exotic as market economy, but at least they had enjoyed a flourishing trade in cocoa and tropical woods. Macías, however, enflamed with glowing admiration for Marxist–Leninist-supported despotism, was interested in other things. The last units of the Guardia Civil had barely cleared their posts before it became clear what was to be expected from testicle-eating Papa and his Partido Unico Nacional. The army reinforced Macías’ claim to god-like absolute dictatorship with clubs, firearms and machetes, prompting the remaining European civilians to flee the country in terror. Numerous posts were taken by members of his Esangui clan, a sub-tribe of the Fang. The fact that the island, the most attractive part of the country, seat of the government and economic centre, was Bubi territory had been a thorn in the side of the numerically superior Fang for a long time. Macías fanned the flames of this hate. At least he had had the decency to annul the constitution before breaking it.

From that point on, the Bubi felt the full force of his paternal care.

More than fifty thousand people were slaughtered, incarcerated, tortured to death, including all members of the opposition. Anyone who was able to fled abroad. And because Papa didn’t trust anyone, not even his own family, even the Fang became a target for the president. Over a third of the population was forced into exile or disappeared in camps, while hundreds of Cuban military advisors were given free rein to prowl around the country; after all, Moscow was a reliable friend. By the mid-seventies, Papa had managed to annihilate the local economy so thoroughly that he needed to bring Nigerian workers into the country. But they too soon take to their heels and flee. Without further ado, the country’s father enforces compulsory work for all, thereby unleashing a further mass exodus. Numerous schools are closed, something that doesn’t stop Papa from calling himself the Grand Master of the People’s Education, Knowledge and Traditional Culture. In his delusion of divinity, he also bolts up and barricades all the churches, proclaims atheism and devotes himself to the reinvigoration of magic rituals. The continent is now experiencing the heyday of dictatorship. Macías is referred to in the same breath as Jean-Bedel Bokassa, who also had himself crowned and was utterly convinced he was Jesus’ thirteenth apostle; he is likened to Idi Amin and the Cambodian Pol Pot.