Bernhard StoEver - Medusa´s child

Pamela looked at him distraughtly, "I beg you, O'Maley, no one here wants to impose anything on you. But fact is, you're probably the only one who can help us in this particular case. According to the documents, you served as a mercenary for almost a year in Africa." She was silent, expecting that he would said anything.

He did not do her the favour. He was reluctant to remember that time. A human life was worth less than a glass of water. The ideal preparation for Vietnam.

Realizing that she could not expect any help from him, she continued, "we have liberated the land from Lumumba and led it into democracy. Now there are free elections and the people can live in peace.”

O'Maley's stomach rebelled. This nonsense came straight from the academy. Of course it was not like that. The CIA murdered the elected president, and in return they brought a devil to power, Mobutu Sese Seko, a bloodthirsty butcher, who presented himself to his people only in leopard skins. Lumumba was a socialist. That was his only mistake. Now he was the ultimate evil, arch enemy of every democrat. He had to go. He was in office for only six months before being arrested by paid CIA mercenaries and shot dead just days later. O'Maley's self-preservation was strong enough not to raise objections.

Pamela went on, her eyes glanced with enthusiasm. She believed in the bullshit she was telling him. "And now our agent in Kinshasa has uncovered a conspiracy that aims to assassinate the legitimate president."

That was not true, too. In fact, Mobutu had never been elected, it was the army that had put him in power financed and controlled by the Western world.

"Go on, it's starting to get my interest." O'Maley did not trust his own words. Did he just say that?

"The plot is to be occurred on October 30, during the fight Foreman vs. Ali. Mobutu will leave his saved palace to witness the spectacle live. And the presidential suite is only secured by simple bulletproof glass, an easy target with the right weapon."

"And what role should I play in this?"

"You are a sniper, one of the best, and your critical attitude towards state organs will help us. We make appropriate preparations and smuggle you into the terrorist group as a mole. We just want to know if we can rely on you."

That was of course a tricky question. They would never accept a no. With what they had just revealed to him, they could not let him go. He was absolutely sure, still in the building they would kill him. But he was not willing to die, not yet. So he nodded bravely and accepted his fate. Sometimes cowardice was a guarantee of survival. "I'm assuming that my costs will be covered, and that I do not have to worry about my pension." O'Maley saw the relief in their faces. That was the answer they wanted to hear.

Taylor pulled a bottle of bourbon and four glasses from his desk drawer and poured it half full. O'Maley did not like bourbon, he never liked. And he did not like himself, either. He had just sold his soul.

+

Clouds of mist descended over the silent sea. No breeze stirred, only the pale light of a waning moon reflected dully in the deep blue of the sea.

From afar it could be heard the dull throb of a slowly approaching freighter. The engines continued to rumble a few more times before finally falling silent. A deadly calm seized the sea. The freighter drifted silently out of the protective fog. The rattling noise of an anchor chain broke the ghostly silence for a moment. On the deck, a task force was preparing for their mission. Their brutal leader, a giant of a man, gave a hissing order and the men shouldered their snub-nosed machine guns. They led the dinghies into the water and jumped in. With half strength they chugged quietly towards the coast.

The inhabitants of the small village had no idea of the deadly disaster that would soon befall them. They were sleeping peacefully, only the dogs began to bark restlessly. They sensed the danger, but it was already too late. Without making a sound, the men entered the small round huts and opened fire. The rattle of the machine guns mingled with the horrified cries of those condemned to death. After a few minutes everything was over. From the villagers only the women and children were spared. They were rounded up in the middle of the village and tied together with ropes. The bodies of the men were left in the huts. Like a human caravan, the prisoners were led in a long line to the boats. Her screams pierced the innocent night. The prisoners were barely stowed in the hold, when the engines started up again. Slowly the slave ship disappeared with its human freight in the mist.

+

I had been travelling around the world for several years when it took me to the Seychelles. I wanted to visit an old girlfriend of mine. She lived here since many years.

Before I wanted to look for her, I rented myself to a secluded hotel and enjoyed the overwhelming nature, which in its splendour and opulence intoxicated my senses and my mind. Freed from most of my agony, I walked the next morning barefoot along the beach. Waves rushed up, clawing at boulders and were sucked back into the sea. Nervous crabs ran disorientated behind the dwindling water, while screeching boobies bickered about a carcass that was lonesome and half-gnawed. It smelled of salt, fish and sea.

I ran faster and faster. Fresh endorphins flowed through my brain. I leaned panting against one of the huge boulders, which laid around as forgotten by a Titan. It had darkened noticeably. A tropical storm announced. Dark clouds approached fast, first drops already slapped my face.

Not far lightnings shot threateningly into the sea. Within seconds, the sky was full of water. Palm trees did bent in the wind. The thundered rain pressed the leaves mercilessly down. He blurred the contours and hid everything behind a misty grey. I felt how the whole island bowed to the storm.

The wind was gaining strength, tearing clouds and rain with it and then raged out over the sea. Within minutes, the sun came back and evaporated the left-behind water. Only small puddles that had formed in the hollows of the boulders were reminiscent of the inferno that just had taken place.

Inwardly and externally cleaned, I made my way back to the hotel. I bent down, grabbed a flat stone and threw it over the sea. The stone struck on the water and jumped up, again and again. I counted to seven before he was sinking after a last, desperate splash. For an unknown reason I was proud of myself.

In the distance, I saw a girl in a white dress, playing in the waves. She knelt down, splashed the water over her head with both hands and laughingly tried to dodge the falling drop. The little girl was one with nature, belonged to the sea and the sky. She had no idea of the adversities in which cemented a life. She lived the moment. She was free.

A few days later, I found my girlfriend's small, enchanted cottage, which was laying between palm trees near the sea. I heard a bell-clear voice approaching quickly. "Mama, Mama." It was the little girl from the beach. She was wearing the white dress again. But the young lady who now stood before me was no longer a little girl. I guessed she was in her mid-twenties. She had the body of an adult woman. Graceful legs, a slender waist and her mother's dark eyes. The hair was long and black and a little wavy. The face was even and had a golden tan. It was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen.

I looked at that gentle face with the big eyes that glared at me without suspicion. They were empty eyes. Eyes that only could ask questions, but never gave answers. Questions were innocent, answers were not. Mary was innocent. Her consciousness had never left childhood. She would remain a little girl until her death.