Moses Isegawa - Snakepit

“How will the other prince take the loss?” he asked resignedly.

“Don’t worry about him,” his host said, smiling smugly. “I will straighten him out myself. It has always been like that. It would be good though to hire a bodyguard back home.”

“I intend to hire ten,” Bat said to hide his unease.

“I would not worry if I were you. Everything is under control.”

Bat decided to make no further inquiries. What was the use? The deed had already been done. It was better to accept and if possible enjoy it. Suddenly, he was aware of a beautiful floating sensation, as if he were sitting on a very fast motorcycle. He also experienced the transparency of guilt, as if his secret were ringing bells. More than ever he became aware that great fortunes were made and lost in Africa. It was the biblical land where riches got eaten by locusts. The present did not last, the future got rancid before you touched it, blighted by the looming past: the stultification of slavery, the humiliation of colonialism, the debilitation of neo-colonialism, the raging war between capitalism and communism. The colonials, the Asians, the royals, the dictators, had all tasted the bitter truth. Amin and his cohorts knew it; they had their luggage ready. What will be my fate? Bat wondered.

After his return Bat met General Bazooka and handed him the briefcases stuffed with dollars and briefed him about the details of the deal. Separated by the vastness of a mahogany bureau on which stood the Ugandan flag, a battery of golden Parker pens, three telephones and in whose drawers were guns and bullet clips, Bat looked like a junior teacher reporting to the headmaster. There were enough guns in the General’s office to arm a hundred soldiers, and Bat felt that they were trained on him, ready to go off. The General nodded up and down with his handsome face, like a blue gecko sunning itself on a rock, appreciating the windfall, happy that his stash of dollars was going to increase spectacularly. There was a growing dearth of foreign exchange in the country, and anybody with dollars in cash was in a very privileged position. Now and then, the corners of the General’s mouth pointed downwards and, in harmony with the continuous up-and-down nodding motion, created an expression of supreme smugness of the school of “I am the king of this hill and there is nothing anybody can do about it.” The General, who had only recently put down a rebellion in the army, needed this cash reward to augment his sense of self-importance as a counter-measure to the humiliation he had suffered at the hands of Robert Ashes. As long as the General kept nodding with satisfaction, Bat knew that the rival prince had not sought his revenge by informing the General about his brother’s tactics and Bat’s role in the drama. The General was not very interested in the technical details, and Bat could see that whenever he started in that direction his boss stopped nodding. After half an hour of explanations Bat stood up to go, leaving behind the briefcases.

Bat’s anxiety expressed itself in his increased intake of alcohol. He also tried to steady his nerves by thinking about Babit who, when he really came to think of it, would not be able to help him if things came to a head. But the knowledge that she would be there for him calmed him. In the end, his conscience would not leave him alone. It fertilized his imagination with all kinds of threats: abduction, imprisonment, torture, blackmail. If he walked to his car and heard somebody coming behind him, he would stop, turn around and see who it was. If a car followed him on the road and he could not shake it off, he started to worry. If a car was parked at his neighbour’s house with people inside, he wondered if they were after him. If at night a twig fell on the roof or a bat knocked on a window-pane, he would panic, afraid that they had come for him. He asked the police department not to change the guard whom he was used to, but even then he wondered if the man had not been given instructions by the General to let killers in while he slept.

Bat had bought Babit costly jewellery, things which were no longer available in the country, most of the items in yellow gold, the most popular colour. He enjoyed the genuine appreciation Babit exhibited as she tried on the necklaces, the bangles, the rings, the watches. Spread out in heaps in the Saudi shops, they had been useless objects, baubles; sliding or fitting snugly on Babit’s neck or wrist, they were transformed into special objects, an enhancement of her beauty, a sign of the love between the two hearts. Her parents had welcomed him back with a feast, and the Kalandas and the Professor had come along to celebrate with him. Surrounded by his friends, who knew nothing about the deal, he felt safe. Even if something happened to him, they would not go under with him. It was the way one protected friends these days. On that day, Babit’s parents allowed her to move in with him, with the understanding that within a year they would get married. He was glad to have her around to share the big house.

After three months of living together Bat decided to organize a party for Babit. He watched as she moved among the guests. She seemed too aware of herself, afraid to make mistakes, like an apologetic caretaker explaining herself to the residents. The Professor’s wife had made a rare public appearance and looked well, if only a bit too skinny. The Professor kept her at his side all the time, as if afraid that she might develop a renewed attack of the disease at any moment. The Kalandas mingled with everybody, and Mrs. Kalanda looked very seductive in her expensive clothes, which two of her sisters sent from Kenya and Britain. Bat followed her with his eyes on a few occasions, remarking on how she resembled Victoria. Her athletic body triggered langourous fantasies in his mind, especially when he thought about how infrequently she and her husband made love. She was aware of his attraction to her, but it never bothered her. She enjoyed admiration from the right corners.

Sister had come the day before, belly swollen, feet burdened by the new pressure of pregnancy, her face beaming with the approaching joy of motherhood. Her husband looked even fatter. He had given up planning towns doomed never to leave the drawing board and flower into real houses with walls and roofs and had gone into the cattle trade. He travelled a lot, and Bat wondered if he was faithful to Sister, who looked very much in love, following her husband’s wide body around with adoring eyes, speaking of him as if he were a prince on a royal visit.

Bat’s younger brother had put in an appearance and Bat was glad to see him, although he was worried about his excessive drinking.

“Why do you drink so much at your age?”

“It is an act of resistance. I am resisting the violence of a regime drunk on blood and chaos.”

Bat did not know whether to take him seriously or not.

“How long are you going to continue exploding fireworks?”

“If you mean that I should take a job, forget it, brother. I earn enough repairing cars. If I need more, I know where to get it.”

“Do you still want to drive in the East African Safari Rally?”

“I am not fast or steady enough to drive. In fact, there are many better drivers. All I can do is navigate, but I hate map-reading under such pressure. I decided to wait. I am happy with what I have,” he said nonchalantly, as if he were talking about somebody whose prospects did not interest him a jot.

At the party he exploded some spectacular fireworks which climbed the sky in a noisy rush, unfurled and dominated the air in short piercing intervals. Bat couldn’t get enough of the sight, even if Babit was worried about drawing attention.

Amidst the explosions, a Euphoria 707 full of Bureau agents parked one house away from them. The men got out and spied on the proceedings. They anticipated action, the turning of tables, emptying of wallets, maybe even the abduction of a woman. Unfortunately for them, they had to stop their salivating; it was one of those untouchable houses, with untouchable guests. They swore and cursed. One of the most frustrating aspects of Bureau work was having to show restraint, and being careful not to get into shoot-outs with the Public Safety Unit or the notorious Eunuchs, even if you were in the mood. With gallons of adrenaline and testosterone to jettison, the men drove away looking for some fool to fall into their itching hands.