Sony Tansi - The Shameful State

“But he’s not dead,” said Merline.

No one believes him. Because, after all, there aren’t a thousand ways to die. In spite of his second eye that won’t close, in spite of the occasional stirring of his hernia, there aren’t eleven ways to die. And brother Jescani divulges the new constitution, beginning with plans for a new palace, and I won’t be like National Lopez who remained a colonel: I’ll be promoted to Pharaoh. He pardons all thirty-nine thousand six hundred and twelve prisoners and sends all the students they drafted as infantrymen back to school. He gave Lopez Belinda to his cousin Sabrossa who’d always fancied her; he gave Oustano his wife back because Lopez had taken her in a shameful and inhuman manner; he distributed all the concubines because he’s no longer here to love you like a pack of animals. He renames the streets, markets, the university, National Mom Hospital, the traffic circle of my hernia.

“My brothers, we’ve been mucking around long enough: now it’s time to get serious.”

Meanwhile, in a heavy sleep, Mom’s Lopez continued to exhibit the splendor of his hernia. Over in a corner of the cathedral National Mom grieved bitterly over her puzzle son, ruler of his hernia, in charge of zippers, savior of legs. Let him parade it before God the Father, God who should have mercy on a poor old lady like me, from whom they’ve taken away all the chauffeurs and official cars, and cast off in the countryside. Poor National Mom, she has become dirty and bitter. Smelly, flea-ridden, blind. Riddled with gout and moth-eaten. Up until this day when the shroud stirred. Both eyes looked up again at the fatherland and at Mom, why are you crying?

She ran all over the village letting out cries of joy and went crazy.

He made for the airport on foot. People fled before him.

“Don’t run away, I’m your president.”

“Don’t run away, it’s the president.”

He shows them his big herniated testicles. You see, it’s really me. But they continue to flee. He boards a twin-engine plane and flies it himself all the way to Zama, where he holds a two-hour meeting: I’m not dead, I’m alive. Then he takes off for Zamba-Town with brother comrade Lobito who brings him up to date on the situation and explains how that gang of scoundrels seized power.

“Jescani made Mom cry, he hanged your son and killed sixty guards.”

“I’ll make him eat seventy versions of my hernia.”

“Outranso went out dancing the day of your funeral.”

“Sixteen versions.”

“Carvanso’s been sleeping in your bed.”

“He’ll eat eleven copies of my dick.”

He told him all about His Excellency the Italian Ambassador who celebrated his engagement the day of your funeral. Yes, Ok, I’ll set aside twenty copies of my prick especially for him. He hands them out right, left, and center. The twin-engine plane landed in Alberto-Sanamatouff Stadium, kicking up a cloud of dust on those brothers and dear fellow countrymen that had come to greet him. He jumps out of the plane, raises his hands, and the crowd goes wild. They start singing and yelling: “Long live Lopez! Long live National Mom!”

“The first thing we’re going to do is exact revenge on those traitors; there will be plenty of time for talk later. We’ll sing later, we’ll dance later, bring them to me. And no death sentences. How many of them are there — pick them up one by one.”

And he heads off to find Jescani who’s supervising the construction project for the new palace: you don’t even watch the news, you dumbass! You didn’t even know I was back. Jescani can’t believe his eyes. He walks over to him, kneels down, places his head against his hernia; he must be dreaming. But then there’s all this historic mud. And that terrible smell and noxious air and that acid burning away on those big kaki herniated balls. It can only be him. What will become of me? Help! Help me my people, help me prisoners! His calls are met with silence and he starts to snivel: please, have mercy on me, Colonel! Spare me, I’ll be more loyal than ever. He licks his hernia and his boots, quakes with fear. He runs his tongue over the tip of his hernia.

“Show me your male utensils.”

He drops his pants. Here they are, Colonel. I don’t want to die.

He licks his medals.

“Please, Colonel, let me live.”

“Fine, but I’m taking your male instruments: it’s for them you seized power.”

He chopped off his bat and balls. Now open your mouth nice and wide: and he ordered him to eat them raw right there and then if you don’t want me to fetch my PA system. Eat ‘em up, old boy. How do they taste?

“They’re sweet, Colonel.”

Thanks to you, Merline, I know who my friends and enemies are. I can’t thank you enough. He gave his shit a good rummage but still couldn’t find the coin. He splashed around, blowing, searching, sniffing: where the hell can it have gone? It’s got to be lost somewhere in my hernia. He squeezes out another turd. Still no sign of it. He calls Merline: “Where has it gone?”

“Don’t worry, Colonel, it’s a good sign: if it’s taking it’s time to come out that means your story is unprecedented.”

He continues searching for it in his historic turds for three years. Ecstatically. With his big old sensible head. All his visitors, minister so and so, His Excellency, the top diplomat, left with the smell of acetylene on them. They suspect it’s the aura of “the one that sleeps in that big old prick.” But you’re mistaken gentlemen: that’s the perfume of his historic dung, but don’t say a word to anyone: it’s a State secret.

“Now, Merline, I want to know how much time my hernia has left.”

“All right, Mr. President. Shall I recall the coin?”

“Well, let’s give it a few more days.”

What you see over there, that glistening layer in the distance, well that’s Lake Oufa. He’s deep in his tropical sleep. God is great! Here comes Vauban: he prefers men. Your women are out of the question. He listens to the badly tuned flute played by the toads on this July evening. You can see the lights from Mom’s village reflected in the thick grass where they haggle at night. Crazy Mom is singing our songs, mimicking the animals. She throws her loincloths at her son: let me show you where you came from. Mom! She calms down. Everyone forgets she’s gone crazy. Except at this moment during dinner when she pokes her hand in her plate. The people witnessing this think that God is great. The television serves up other images of crazy Mom’s face, after Lopez has spat out the yolk of his sludgy saliva, compared with the newspapers from my colleague’s country that make all kinds of wild claims.

“Mom, wait for me, I’m just going to have a quick chat with Liz Traomar, ex-Captain of cruelty Farfaro Mundi’s daughter. He shows her the wound, you can see ah a cat scratched me when I was a kid. That’s why I kill every cat I come across, the same reason why I accidentally killed ex-Captain Vacha Gonzalès who was trying to steal my cat. Chit chat, chit chat, and more chit chat before he finally presented her with his father of the fatherland juices. Then he left, trailed as always by Vauban, down rue Loumaza, rue Ourtani-Gento, across Jescani Place — change that name and get a move on! Ah, Vauban, how hideous ignoble of you to prefer men: men trampled by your penis. Do you think you can create a third sex?”

Merline Amarco, my hernia’s going to jump at your throat if that coin doesn’t come out soon. But Merline’s not listening to him. He’s saying his prayers, but there are no Our fathers nor any In the name of the Son and of the Holy Spirit . Only other names. God Améliana, God Bourkanazar, Cabornica Donso, Vatourios Alimatès, Bonilo de la Cuenta, Mourdiba Fananso…. My hernia’s going to jump at your throat. But he goes into a trance.