Sony Tansi - The Shameful State

“Merline, quit playing the fool. Stop acting like a child.” He jumps at his throat.

It’s raining this morning. This is the first time it has rained like this during the month of April. And Merline shouts out: “Everything is swaying, everything is swaying.” Lopez gets up and goes out into the rain. No more. No no and no. No more killing people. After thirty-nine years in power. He walks on. The rain drops look like silver pellets on his mustache hairs. No more. That’s what he was saying when he got to us. He pulled up a chair in front of the fire place. He asked for some hot water. He mumbled to himself as he sipped it: no more. He looked up and saw Krachna. Mother of Mom: who does this beautiful thing belong to? He caressed her legs and started singing her this beautiful song:

If what he wants is your body

first we’ll head

over to the palace to pick up my hens

and then roam the crowds.

But if he’s left wanting more

from this bodily fusion

then we’ll go off and sing those profound songs

in a tune that will mine the map of the world

He told him the story of National Voldani who was president-for-life for fourteen weeks. She’s beautiful, Mom, she’s so beautiful. He touches her lips. He feels her breasts: you’re trembling. I’m leaving now, but I’ll be back. He leaves her the money of his hernia that never managed to give me a true love but I’ll be back. He strokes her chin. Stay right here: I’m going to bring you gifts. My God how beautiful she is. She warms my entrails. She ignites my blood. He rearranges his hernia and rushes off.

The next day we saw him come back, bowed down under the weight of a massive pile of flowers, with Moupourtanka close behind pulling a wagon stacked with gifts and Vauban, grinning:

“Where is she?”

“In prison, Mr. President.”

“No!”

“She came here to hide but the infantrymen found her.”

He grabbed hold of his hernia like he always did when he got mad. Maman of my mom, no way! He drops the flowers and tell me, is there a phone in this place?

“No, Mr. President.”

“They’re going to ruin her again, this poor girl that warms me up. They’re going to ruin her. He runs off. Maman of my mother, if they ruin her I’ll blame the nation. He raised the alarm. Get those god-damn TVs over here so that I can address the nation.”

“Mr. President: she was the one who hanged your girl-spouse with the tongue cut off. It was her sending over all that shit. Mr. President, she’s Laure and the Panther we’ve been looking everywhere for.”

“No way. She turns my heart white hot. Where is she?”

He hands him Court order number 425/71/LMZ of November 21, 1971. What’s this bullshit, and he tears up the piece of paper. What a bunch of dumbasses: you really are stupid: the soldiers, civilians, the whole lot of you. My hernia’s the only ones to reason in this country. And Mom’s Carvanso arrives with some good news:

“Mr. President, we put in call to the execution squad. She’s still alive.”

He drops to his knees and starts praying: God is great, God is God. Tears of joy. God is God. Next to his kaki dick his herniated balls have started to swell. And brother Carvanso that had planned everything introduces him to Vermoz Diaz’s other daughter, in the end they are almost identical, and in any case, in front of women, his hernia’s blind. She is covered in gold for the introduction to make her glitter, her breasts laden with diamonds: here she is, Colonel. He takes one look at her and smiles: do you mistake me for the legs of your wives?

“No, Mr. President.”

“Well then where the hell is she? Where is the real girl of my white hot entrails? Are you trying to keep her to yourselves?”

“No, Mr. President.”

“Have you killed her?”

“No, Mr. President. But she has become ‘a stupid soul in a stupid body.’”

“Ah? What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“The infantrymen don’t always behave like gentlemen, Mr. President.”

“I want to see her.”

He couldn’t believe his eyes. Mother of Mom: man has become a butcher. I can see that it’s her, but what on earth have you done to her? Where there had once been skin he now saw bone, and where’s all the flesh gone? He saw bones where there had once been breasts, where’s all the flesh gone? Instead of a vagina all he could see was a big blue gaping hole. She had no lips, no eyes, they had peeled away the skin from her head and back. He spent the next three days in his room staring at her and crying over those bones that kept breathing thanks only to the will of God. All the while a battalion of doctors and assistants did all they could to patch her back together again, attempted to reconstruct her as woman:

“I don’t understand the people around here.”

They grafted some of National Loutanso’s muscles onto her; after all, he was the one who supervised the torture. If you need more muscles take his wife’s, and if that’s still not enough take his mistress Adinonso.

“Yes, Mr. President.”

“Make her beautiful, as beautiful as she used to be.”

“Yes, Mr. President.”

“Her body is a temple for me. Make her as beautiful as the sunset. Make her eternally beautiful. Give her eyes as blue as the ocean is at noon. With long, thick black hair, just like a campfire. Give her the breasts of the most beautiful girl in this town.”

“Yes, Mr. President sir.”

“Give her the longest, brightest, whitest teeth in the world.”

He stayed at her bedside for seven long days. Once she starts showing signs of recovery he gets up: the nation needs me. He kisses her and off he goes, with Vauban right behind.

He has the shameful Colonel Juano Maturias brought in to ask him how much were you making when you were a shameful instructor and how much are you making now that my hernia made you a colonel; I went and dropped sixteen thousand coustrani your way instead of the forty or so pebbles you were bringing in as a sorry-ass instructor. You were born an instructor and you were likely going to die one without National Mom’s pity. And what the fuck are you doing hanging out with those chumps from the union you gather every night at Darlanso’s. He had Henri Delapour brought in, my cousin who’d better think twice before handing me his resignation that smacks of his wife’s juice: but I’m keeping you on in your position and quit your bullshit. And the next time you fuck up I’ll pull your pants down and spank you like I used to when you were twelve years old.

“Yes, uncle.”

“Now get lost and quit betraying your tribe. And don’t forget, the fire next time.”

Then Colonel Dani Jango is spotted coming in with all his responsibilities as Minister of Dough wiped away by his hernia, you can see him carrying his pile of college degrees: “I got them at the University of Paris III, and then there are those I got in California.” He’s all wet and sticky from the tears and snot, Mr. President sir, have mercy on me: because I’ve got a White wife, and how on earth am I going to hold on to her if you deny me your love. Mr. President sir, you’ve had White ones before, you know what they’re like. Stop crying, Dani Jango, he ripped up his diplomas because it’s with those useless pieces of paper that you’re ruining the fatherland, now stop crying: I’ll take your White woman off your hands and I’m going to pass her on to your cousin National Yosua who can take care of her because you don’t want those women thinking we’re poor. He tells him the great story of my late fellow Marco who came to Dilolo when I was still only Regional Lopez: he handed me five thousand coustrani now find me a woman Lopez find me a woman for the five nights I’ll be in this shit-hole of a town where the only distraction is pussy. I look around a bit and come up with Lola Pinto, give her five hundred coustrani and let her know the president needs you. She let him have five nights of gonorrhea and I’m the one who ended up in prison. He adjusted his historic mud. That’s right when Colonel Darso Lopez was introduced, in tears, fly unbuttoned, hair disheveled.