Extract From Chris Dahi’s BONDED
In the last lap, he pulls the Oji off the ground, takes a horse stance, with the left foot in front, and with two hands holding the short spear, and the tip pointing at the grave; he shouts “Onyenmuoh now come out!”
Slowly the half dry clay soil of the grave started to grade, then suddenly, it is as if it erupts from within, as earth and sand goes flying up in all directions and cascading down in a shower all around Isiburuekperi. He does not blink or move a muscle, as out of the hole climbs out a terrible looking entity. That it was Azu, is wheable, but the catch word is was. It has a bloodless hue only the white of his eyes show no pupils. His teeth are bared and brown. The hair all over the body are flat on it. Its movements are jerky.
On sensing Isiburuekperi, a growl had emanated from the dead thing and it makes to get at him but could not cross the line on the ground. It is like an invisible force line holding it back. The growl this time is most horrendous to hear. A lesser mortal would have experienced fear.
Isiburuekperi then holding the tail of the metal spear Oji, making sure his hand does not pass the circle in the ground, he pierces the head of the living dead thing “You are an forbidden thing” he declares. He holds on to the Oji as the not human thing struggles at the other end trying to pull the lance from its head; growling and making terrible animal noises. Slowly the sound dies as the struggle subsides.
Eventually it ceases, and Isiburuekperi holding on to the end of the Oji swings it so that the thing at the other end falls out from within the circle. Fetching an odd looking knife, with a twisted and curved blade, and carved wooden handle, he cuts off the head of the entity. Then hefting the head with the aid of the Oji still embedded in it, he puts it in a very old calico sac of odd patterns and stains. After pulling out the Oji he ties the mouth of the sac with fresh palm frond leaves.
The chief priest then gathers wood, dry twigs and leaves and makes a pile of these. With the aid of his Oji and some strong sticks he places the headless corpse on it, he puts his Oji on the wood in the pile, and in the dark one could see the Oji glow, as fire flows through it on to the wood which instantly catches fire.
Putting the Oji through a loop in the palm frond knot he had made on the mouth of the sac he picks it up with Oji, places it on his shoulder and heads off in the direction of the evil forest, where the head will be ritualishcally buried. After which he will ritualishcally bathe himself in the river, by dripping himself four times and saying incantations of ablution in the middle of the night. The acrid smoke from the borne fire, spralled thickly skyward, and in no time a heavy rain ensued. Within minutes, the sludge of mind, sand and ashes from the funeral pier all poured into the empty grave. As soon s the hole is filled and flattened, the rain stops.
To say that Chris is mesmerized by the things he has experienced and heard in the past days is to say the least. The man has been walking around in a haze or a daze in the past few days, trying to assimilate and inadvertently make sense of all that has transpired, in what passes for his life. In the past, whenever he finds himself in a situation such as this, he will find some sort of relief in a long and wild ride on his Harley Dadudson 1000 ccHT model motor bike, the only worthwhile treat he has ever given to himself in his life. Almost all his severance benefit from the police had gone into the thing. For a long time now, since he left the police force this double exhaust motor bike has been his pride and joy. It is his lover and his confidant. He tells her everything, from his worries and troubles to his romantic failures or scores. Many a time he has been seen chattering to himself excitedly, laughing uproariously or gesticulating wildly or speaking solemnly, while alone, either riding or sitting on his bike. He calls her Bubbles. When asked about this he says, that she goes everywhere and anywhere he wants her to go with him, no complains, she never has a contrary opinion to his, not even one of herself. She never divulges any confidences he reposes on her.
“Keep me warm in the right places, I tell you” he jokes. Who could ask for a better companion, he usually concludes as he pats her passionately.
As he has done quite often in recent times, his mind reverts to Ada. Granted that his life has taken a major turn sine he met this African amazon, the point however is that he cannot easily say what is going on between them. What he is sure about is that his feeling for this girl is for some unexplainable reason non-coital. It is like they are waiting for a particular time or season. Like a mating season. The whole thing is absolutely animalistic. Whenever he is close to her, his heart starts to bound. He wants
to hold her, squeeze her against his body, smell her hair, possess her, walk with her, run with her, feel her. The whole thing is simply animalistic.
Yes that his life has taken a turn since he met her is just stating the obvious, but this tingling sensation he is feeling about an intending battle is crazy. That the battle is not the usual run of the mill rough up does not bother him. In fact, the more mysterious the pending fight is the more the sensation. For no explainable reason, he feels this sense of upcoming accomplishment, an involvement in something of extreme importance. Like the lady said, this is why we are born. Purpose she had said. He shakes his head in wonderment.
All the construction and reconstruction that are going around the city, some as a result of the devastations of the terrible war about two decades ago has made it not so easy to manoeuvre around the city in his dear Bubbles. So unconsciously he has gravitated to the Groenplaats – to the Caravan. His regular joint in the city centre, the main action spot in the city since they finished building the skyscraper – The Farmers tower. It is said to be the tallest building in the whole of Europe. The pride and joy of his country and the greatest tourist attraction too.
The truth however, is that he is looking for Dukkakis, and he will rather die than go to Charkie to ask him how to locate the fat man. He intends to casually pump his friend Loveth. She is a veritable collector of every bit of gossip in the city. She seems to know everything about everybody in that city. However, he does not want to go seeking him out, he intends the fat man to come to him, that way his intentions will not be revealed; and the horrible man and his group will not have any cause to suspect him, until he bursts their bubbles. He packs Bubbles by the side of the Caravan and walks into the café. One could have heard a pin drop as he opens the door. Discussions froze in mid sentences, drinks going to the mouth stop half way, all heads turn and stare at him.
Chris who has walked tough and dark neighbourhoods has developed over the years of street and police life a natural instinct for trouble. Now whatever antennas that dictate trouble for him are all going haywire. He stands for a while retuning the stares and surveying the room, trying to locate the likely source of the threat that is eminent. Nothing he could place his nose on. And this is one of those evenings that Loveth has chosen not to be there. He enters, and makes straight to the bar.
“Een pintje alstublieft” he orders a beer from the bar man. The man brings a bottle of beer and a glass. Chris picks up the glass as the man is uncorking the beer. He lifts up the cup to the light and checks it for dirt. Then he fishes out his handkerchief from his side pocket and wipes the inside of the glass. He smiles rudely at the bar man and shrugs nonchalantly.
“A natural instinct when one is in a hostile environment. You see I am a born superstitious and suspicious man. I don’t rust you”.
He collects the beer from the bar man and pours for himself. The man starts to walk away “Hey, man, has Loveth been here yet?”
The man stops briefly, then ignores him and continues walking away.
“Burger” Chris says out loud. He mounts and sits on a high stool, picks up a loose newspaper on the counter and starts reading.
Nothing new. The tension that has been brewing all over Europe is old news. The war drums beating across their border is getting louder and louder by the day. That Europe will soon be plunged into another messy war is obvious. He had narrowly missed the first one, but for sue this one will not pass him by. Why his people cannot just sit and discuss like human beings, he cannot figure out. Ada had told him that these bloodsheds are punishment for the pain and torture the Europeans have brought upon her people. Isiburekperi had told her. He sure must meet this mysterious old witch door.
The door to the café opens, and Loveth is standing there. She on seeing him froze. Chris looks up and sees her. They stare at each other, a smile starting to form at the corners of Chris’ mouth. The lady abruptly turns and literary bolts out of the door. Chris jumps up “Hey, loveth wait up” he goes after her.
Coming out of the café door, he met a sight that froze him to the spot, like he has been shot. Two leather coated hoodlum types are doing things to Bubbles. They have broken her headlight, and now doing a number on her seat and tyres. Like someone shot out of a canon, Chris coming out of his momentary torpor, could not feel his feet on the snow covered street pavement in front of the café,
as he flew at the two toughies, with his arms spread-eagled. Everything and everybody goes down, Bubbles, Chris and the two men; all crash down in a shower of snow, broken glasses, metal and flesh. Chris hits the ground hard. He had tried to twist in the air while on the fall, so he had landed on his shoulder and slid a little distance from the rubble, propelled by the snow. Though momentarily stunned, he shakes his head vigorously as he jumps onto his feet. The other two were a little slower, this became their undoing. Aiming a kick, he left his hard leather boot land with a sickening thud on the rib case of the one closer to him. The power kick practically lifted the man off the ground and crashed him against the wall of the Caravan café. Knocking him totally out. His eyes and his mouth gape. The other was almost on his feet and Chris swishing his right foot in a semi-circle, sweeps the man’s feet off the ground. The man crashed on the ground, cracking his head terribly hard on the ground. A spout of blood jumps out from his nostrils and his eyes glazed. Chris did not care if the man is already badly hurt, he drags him up and smashes his face against the wall, drawing more blood from the already bloody nose. He was so enraged that he does not care the hurt he is inflicting, and also did not hear the screaming siren of the approaching police. He knew of their arrival when the blows started raining. Batons, boots and fists were pounding on him from all directions. He simply covers his head with his two arms. He has learnt with his street life and police training not to waste energy when facing such overwhelming odds. Protesting in a situation like this, nor to fight back, as that will elicit more beating, that could get quite damaging. As the beating is going on, he suddenly had an overwhelming urge to laugh. He couldn’t help but to think that this is a set up. He has walked into his trap.
He remembers Ada telling him how hare-brained his plan is. He had told her that they will try not to be seen together again until they accomplish their assignment. He will work his way into the cult and discover the essence of the sport before it becomes strong. We will work out a perfect strategy. When we find out what we are looking for. We need information. The person who has and controls information is usually the most powerful one in a negotiation situation!
The girl has laughed, “the way to obtain power is often rough and usually very dangerous. Your plan is totally without a defence, so, ehm, so plain, it is almost like that of a child.” She laughs without humour.
He on the other hand had laughed happily. His plan is dangerous and he likes it. That is why he laughs now.
