Dave Eggers - What Is The What

The old man shook his head slowly.

— You're the one who should worry, he said.-You have the gun. We're unarmed. They won't harm us. We have no allegiance to you.

— God help you, said the man in orange.

— I trust he will, the old man said.

Muttering to himself, the man in orange walked away and in the direction we had come. Our group continued along the path for a moment, until the soldier's voice came from far down the path.-You'll see them in one hundred yards. You will die one hundred yards from where you now stand.

At that, the cattle group stood still and the elders argued. Some were of the opinion that we would not be bothered if we were passing in peace, that the only reason there was trouble in Marial Bai was the town's affiliation with the SPLA. If our group denounced the rebels and indicated their intentions to walk to Khartoum, we would be allowed to pass. Another faction thought this senseless, that the murahaleen had no loyalty to the government or grievance against the SPLA-they only wanted the cattle and children. The group remained like this for some time, on the path, the elders arguing and the cattle grazing, when finally the debate was settled by the rumbling of hooves and an advancing veil of dust.

In seconds the murahaleen were upon us.

The group ran in every direction. I followed the man who looked the fastest as he dove into the grass and crawled under a dense bush and settled behind a thatch of logs and sticks. The man beside me was older than my father, very thin, his arms roped by protruding veins. He wore a large soft hat that shielded his eyes.

— Army, the hat man said, nodding at the men on horseback. There were seven horsemen, four in traditional Baggara clothing, three wearing the uniform of the Sudanese army.-I don't understand this, he said.

A large portion of our cattle group had stayed, had not run from the path. They were now being guarded by two of the soldiers in uniform. The group stood, saying nothing. There was a long moment when it did not seem like anything at all would happen. Or perhaps all involved were waiting for something to happen. And it did. Suddenly one of the old men ran into the forest, awkwardly and far too slowly. Two soldiers leapt off their horses and raced after him, laughing. Shots followed and the men returned without the old man.

One of the government soldiers turned and seemed to be looking at me and the hat man. My breathing was again too loud, my eyes too big. We both lowered our heads.

— They see us. Let's go, I whispered.

Without warning, the hat man stood, arms high in surrender.

— Come here, abeed! the soldier said, using the Arabic word for slave. The hat man walked toward them. I watched the man's back, and saw the children and women and cattle herded between the horses. I thought of Amath and the way she stood, accepting her fate, and I became angry very quickly. I should not have moved at that moment but my anger overtook me. Damn you , I thought, and ran. I turned and ran as they yelled to me.-Abeed! Abeed! Damn you , I thought as I ran. I damn you with the power of God and of my family . I expected to be shot at any moment but I ran. Damn you men. Damn you all . I would die while damning them and God would understand, and in eternity these men would hear my curse.

They shot twice at me but I escaped and continued to run through the thicket. They did not pursue me. I ran through the waning pink light of the afternoon and into the evening. I ran through the bush, looking for my people or a well-traveled way, finding none, and when the darkness came I had no hope of seeing a road or footpath.

But then, finally, I did find a path. When I found the path I sat behind a tree nearby, resting, watching the path, listening for voices, waiting to make sure it was clear. After some time, I heard the heavy breathing of a man. Even by his breath I could tell it was a large man, a suffering man. From my tree I saw him, a large Dinka man who seemed to be walking with purpose. His back was straight and he seemed young. He wore white shorts and nothing else. I thought I would be saved by this man.

— Uncle! I said, running to him.-Excuse me!

He turned to me, but his face had been ripped from his skull. His skin had melted. It was wet and pink and the whites of his eyes were protruding and unblinking. He had lost the lids that covered them.

He brought his face close to mine, his raw skin crossed everywhere by red veins.

— What? What is it? Don't stare at my face. I turned to run but the man grabbed my arm.

— Come with me, boy. Take this.

He gave me his sack. It weighed as much as I did. I tried to hold it, but it dropped to the ground. The man struck me on the ear with the back of his hand.

— Carry, it, boy!

— I can't. I don't want to, I said.

I told him I wanted only to get back to Marial Bai.

— For what? To be killed? Where do you think I got this? Where do you think I lost my face, stupid boy?

I now recognized the man. He was the soldier, Kolong Gar, who had deserted the army before the first attack. From the tree of Amath, we had seen him running below, the flashlights following.

— I saw you, I said.

— You saw nothing.

— I saw you when you ran. We were in the tree. He was not interested in this.

— I want you to stare into my face, boy. I need you to do this. You see this face? This was the face of a man who trusted. Do you see what happens to a man who trusts? Tell me what happens!

— His face is taken.

— Good! Yes! My face was taken. That's a good way to say it. This is what I deserve. I said I was the friend of the Arab and the Arab reminded me that we're not friends and never will be. I served in the army with Arabs but when the rebels rose up the Arabs no longer knew me. They were planning to bring me back north to kill me. This I know. And when I left the army they tracked me down and found me and threw my face into the fire. This face is a lesson to all Dinka who think we can live together with those people-

I dropped the sack and ran again. I knew it was not polite to run from the faceless man but finally I thought Damn it all . I had never before cursed aloud or silently but now I did, again and again. I ran as he yelled to me and ran as he cursed me and as I ran I cursed him and everything I could name. Damn the faceless man and damn the murahaleen and damn the government and damn the land and the Dinka with their useless spears . I ran over the grass and through a stand of trees and then over a dry riverbed and in the next stand of trees I found a great acacia, like the one I shared with William K and Moses, and in its roots I found a hole and in this hole I crawled and stayed and listened to my breathing. I was now expert at finding sleeping holes. Damn the dirt and damn the worms and damn the beetles and damn the mosquitos . I had not turned around as I ran and was not sure until I was in the tree that there was no one behind me. I looked out from the dark of the hole and saw nothing and heard nothing and soon the night's black wings beat down from above and I was in the dark, in the tree, with my eyes and my breath. In the night the animal sounds filled the air and I stuffed my ears with small stones to block out the sound. Damn you forest and damn you animals, every one .

I woke in the morning and shook the rocks from my head and got up and walked and ran and when I heard a sound or saw a figure in the distance, I crawled. For a week more I ran and crawled and walked. I found people of my tribe and I asked them the direction to Marial Bai; sometimes they knew and often they knew nothing. Damn you directionless, helpless people . Some of the people I found were from the region and others had come from the north, some from the south. Everyone was moving. When I found a village or settlement, I would stop there and ask for water and they would say, 'You are safe here, boy, you are safe now,' and I would sleep there and know I was not safe. The horses and guns and helicopters always came. I could not get out of this ring, this circle that was squeezing us within, and no one knew when the end would come. I visited an old woman, the oldest woman I have ever known, and she sat cooking with her granddaughter, my age, and the old woman said that this was the end, that the end was coming and that I should simply sit still, with them, and wait. This would be the end of the Dinka, she said in a voice hoarse and reed-thin, but if this was the will of the gods and the Earth, she said, then so be it. I nodded to the grandmother and slept in her arms, but then left in the morning and continued to run. I ran past villages that had been and were no more, ran past buses that were burned from the inside out, hands and faces pressed to the glass. Damn you all. Damn the living, damn the dead .