Caryl Phillips - A Distant Shore

“Hawk, I am a good-looking man, do you not think so? A show-man, yes?” Our leader stood and began to pace the floor with rhythmic deliberation. “You can see how I dress, can’t you? In the latest fashions, and always the best. Once upon a time I was a professional dancer in a night club, did you know that? Look, admire me, there is nothing to be ashamed of.” Our leader threw his hands into the air and spun on his axis, and then when he was once more facing me he began to laugh out loud. “I used to dream of going to Europe. Of becoming a ‘been-to.’ But I knew that such a journey would cost me five years of savings and cause me five years of debt. So instead, in the capital, I used to service the wives of the diplomats and the tourists in the hope that one of them would take me to Europe. There I would be the toast of the town. The brown toast. I would never be one of the ‘been-tos’ who come back as a ghost of the man they once were, their African souls crushed by these people. My body and my soul would return to Africa in triumph. Brown toast. Look at these feet.” He pointed to his Nike training shoes. “These feet were not made to suffer dirt. When I go to Europe I will walk everywhere on soft material and they will worship my black beauty. They will fall at my feet and proclaim my power and how handsome I am. I will stamp on their violins and piss on their classical music CDs. I will bring them black Africa.”

At such moments I had learned that it was best to say nothing and simply listen.

“How are the dogs?” By this I knew Colonel Bloodshed meant my troops.

“Sir, they are well.”

“It is hard for the dogs. If they are afraid, you must let them smoke the cannabis and mix it with gunpowder. Then they will have no fear of spilled blood coming back to haunt them. They will no longer see people, only chickens that have to be slaughtered. You must encourage them to harvest the chickens. It is time for the men of our country to reap the harvest and eat chicken.”

At some point, having been provided with a patient and obedient audience, Colonel Bloodshed would tire of my presence and unceremoniously fall asleep, and I would find a jeep or a truck that was available and begin the long journey back north to my men.

Sometimes I would take out my book with its curled cover and mottled pages, and I would try to reread some of the notes that I had made, for I was in the habit of copying out passages from books that appeared to me to be memorable. However, on this particular night, as the light faded, I simply stared into the dark undergrowth. As I passed through a village that we had liberated only a few weeks earlier, I looked at the long line of women waiting at the solitary well for water, and the naked children running around in circles and playing the game of hitting each other with switches pulled from trees, and I wanted to weep for both tribes of my country. My own father had sent me to be a part of this slaughter and for the life of me I could not understand what he hoped to achieve. He meant well, that much I understood, but what did my father know of war?

When I arrived back at our camp I discovered that in my absence Patrick had led a group of men back to the village that we had most recently captured. Apparently the men had heard that the local prostitutes were prepared to go “live” with a man who did not wear a condom. These women liked dry sex, rough, quick and without lubrication, and Patrick and the men were eager to offer up trinkets in exchange for these women’s bodies. I sat by the campfire with the handful of men who remained behind, and I encouraged them to clean their weapons, for too many of them were rusting up in the humidity. I reminded the men that a weapon that jammed might well cost them their lives. They looked at me in silence. I cleaned my own rifle, but said nothing further.

In the morning Patrick and his men had still not returned and so I sent two men to search them out. When they finally appeared, Patrick was dressed in black pantyhose and he was still drunk. The others were high on pills and they continued to smoke weed. The men staggered towards me as streaks of light began to colour the tops of the trees. Patrick smiled his gap-toothed smile and placed a welcoming hand on my shoulder.

“Hawk,” he whispered. “Hawk, you have never tasted women like these. I am sorry, my brother, but nothing like these women. Never. Nothing like these.”

I looked at Patrick and then turned away, for these men were suffering enough in this hellish war without enduring the lash of my tongue. In fact, I had no words on my tongue with which to lash them. These were young men who were fighting because somebody had given their family a bag of rice or promised them a car. For over a year they had simply eaten what they were given, and they had all lost friends. I walked to the shade of a tree and sat and closed my eyes. When I opened them it was evening.

The following morning we moved north and began our assault on the next village, but the mood had changed. As we cut through the bush, Patrick would not meet my eyes, and the other men avoided me. I felt as though I was marching alone, but I said nothing. When we reached the village we stopped and took up our crouching positions. We waited for signs of government troops, but we saw nobody. I stared at Patrick, who was wearing a new shower cap on top of his wig, but he simply looked at Major “Hawk” and laughed, and I could see it in his eyes that he had already taken something.

“Hawk. We are ready. Are you ready? Hawk, we are ready to fly.”

I zipped my forefinger across my lips to encourage him to be quiet, but he simply giggled. And then others among the men began to laugh. I continued to look straight ahead at the village, but I could see no movement at all.

After a few moments, I stood up and beckoned everybody to gather around. I told them that the village was clear and that the government troops must have retreated. I suggested that we pass through, and accept food if the villagers wished to give some to us, but we would just move on. Patrick stepped out in front of me and held up his hand.

“No. The women last night told us that this village is friendly towards the government troops. These villagers are traitors.” I had heard this and I knew that there was a possibility that it was true, but before I could say anything Patrick continued. “Captain JuJu says we take control of this village.”

The men began to nod and to move from one bare foot to another. They were already tired under the weight of shells and the heavy pieces of equipment that were strapped to their narrow backs, but their hearts were strong with amphetamines and dope. I spoke quietly.

“We will leave this village alone.”

Patrick stepped closer so that I could now smell the weed.

“I am Captain JuJu. They will follow me. To stop them you must kill me.” Patrick’s eyes were stained red with blood, and he was laughing at me. “You are a coward, Hawk. Somebody has clipped your wings and you cannot fly. This is war and in war you must kill. You must kill and then eat the hearts of your victims to make yourself more powerful. Come!” Patrick cocked his gun and signalled to the men to follow him into the village. The men removed their guns from their shoulders and made ready for war. Patrick pointed his weapon at me. “If we find you, Hawk, we will kill you, for you are not a man, you are a woman, and you have no place among dogs.” He laughed and then suddenly choked back his amusement and spat. “We mistake your silence for strength.” He then stepped forward and kissed me on the forehead, leaving behind a smear of lipstick. “There.” He pointed for all to see. “You have the mark of a woman upon you.” And then he cackled at his own humour.

I remained rooted to the spot and watched as Patrick led the men towards the village. Some time later, I listened to the rapid firing of their weapons and the chorus of screaming from the villagers. Captain JuJu was right. I did not have the heart for this savagery. My father had sent me to fight, and I could fight and kill if necessary. But only if necessary. Now I had little choice but to make my way back to the capital and warn my family. Everybody knew that these were my men, and it was clear that the government troops would blame me for this massacre and take bloody revenge on my mother and father and two sisters. This was the shameful manner in which we conducted our war. I stood for a few moments in the bush, my weapon by my side, and I listened to Patrick and his men mowing down innocent women and children. I remembered our leader’s words. In war there are casualties and we all do things that we wish we had not done. Long before the last bullets ceased flying, I had begun the long walk north towards the capital. To reach my mother and father and two sisters, this was now the full extent of my ambition.