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A/N:
Spoiler! :
Spoiler! :
King
Out there, the food was sparse, but God had handed King a zebra only a few days ago, and although the vultures swirled with sappy grins, King knew he was safe. His ribs almost broke the skin and his gut seemed to recede to his spine, but he knew the next bounty wasn’t far away.
King was walking to Europe and Malu, the hyena, was tagging along for now. He didn’t mind Malu. Europe was too far for a hyena to travel; he knew he would say good-bye to him somewhere along the way.
King knew God was helping him. Even here, in the Sahara, God told him things that no one else knew. He would always be safe because God was with him. So, when King finished talking to himself, he would say Amen because he was talking to God too.
Amen.
***
“Malu, just let me know when you need a rest, and we will rest, alright?”
Malu wore a crazed grin, his mouth was lined with ivory razor and his jaw was slung with an under-bite. He glanced up at King then his head dropped back between his shoulders. He kept moving forward, neck bobbing, hips rolling side-to-side, and tail swishing.
King pressed on, his gaze hard set on the swirling horizon and with every step, the sand shifted beneath his cracked feet. The sun was moving like warm butter into the red earth. King thought this was nice. He thought about hot bread and milk. Closing his eyes as he walked, he imagined the farm. His wife was there. Her long midnight hair undefined against silky black skin. Wrapped in cotton, a small package sat in her arms, and its black lips clutched to her brail bosom.
Then the men burst through the door in lockstep. Clad from the neck down in camouflage and each capped under fair blue helmets. One had a colourful array of stamps uniformly fixed across the left side of his chest; his shoulders were set square like a matchbox. He took Kings wife and the baby. They were taken with all the others to escape the Tutsi’s, and King was a Tutsi so he couldn’t go.
King held his wife, but they dragged her, bracing her arms and legs and hair. The matchbox man held the baby with one arm, and with the other, he lifted two fingers stiffly to his forehead and away. King screamed, he was young then and his mouth was full of white teeth. He blinked out a tear in each eye. But, King would see her soon.
Amen.
***
King’s grin was wholly and yellow. His stilt legs folded precariously at the knee as he moved across the sand. The last embers of twilight were fading. King’s feet were no longer his feet. They were just blocks of wood strapped to his ankles, but when he caught a small cactus on the toe, his leg stopped. God had delivered. He opened the cactus and crunched down tearing out its guts. He threw half to Malu and let a wild toothy grin stretch, his eyes round and mad.
“Eat up, Malu.”
Malu laid on his side. He looked up as the discarded half cactus slapped against the dust; his gaze moved from the cactus to King. Then he dropped his head against the earth.
“Malu, don’t sleep there boy. Sleep in a hole, Malu. Oh Malu, you are a crazy mutt.”
King began scratching at the warm earth. He moved the sand systematically. First, he would dig one side. Then moving to the left he would shovel from another side and move to the left again, and so on. When soil lifted his fingernails, and his wrists were tortured, he stood upright and found himself before a square, wide enough for both himself and Malu.
Malu jumped to four feet when King reached to move him. His tail bolted up like a rattlesnake and his teeth were bare. He looked staunch for a pup, but what a dope he was.
“Malu, you silly mutt. You put those fangs away. I built you and me a bed, Malu, you crazy mutt.”
King backed away, white palms bared.
“You sleep in the heat then Malu, you silly hound. Have sweet dreams in the heat, Malu.” King said with a dry tongue, and his eyebrows almost converged over his long nose.
“Don’t you come into my hole when you get too hot to sleep Malu.”
Before King closed his eyes, he pictured the map of Africa that used to hang on the back of the door in his childhood schoolroom. He wondered where he was on the map; he had walked for three days and figured he was probably half way there or maybe he would reach Europe tomorrow.
Amen.
He wasn’t always King. He wondered if his wife would like his new name. Maybe he should change back.
***
Malu was working his snout over King’s unclothed back when he woke. He let out a low growl when King moved.
“Malu, what are you doing? You stop sniffing me, Malu.”
The sun was high and King blinked against the heat as he sat up. His dreams were so real. He was in her arms and his body was smarting for more of her touch. He had squeezed but she wasn’t there. That is when he woke.
King climbed from his hole and Malu’s growls faded. His ivory razor grin tucked away, and he left the hole; front legs first, and then with one lethargic hop came the rest of him. King bent his back and reached out to the half cactus, and then he buried his face, pulling strings of cactus guts out with his teeth. King's eyes longed for food, longed for water. Sometimes he saw things that would disappear by the time he had rushed to them. The sly vultures spiralled high above.
“Don’t you pay those stupid devils any attention, Malu,” King frowned, glancing up.
“Oh, Malu, I wanted to ask you something? Do you like my name?” He paused and eyed the black hyena, “Which do you like better Malu? King or Habimana? Oh never mind Malu, you don’t know about anything.”
The heat was nothing; King had seen hotter days, ploughing the fields just weeks ago. He had worked harder escaping the flames, tailing him from the open shed. Years ago, he would run for days from the wide mouthed Hutu. This wasn’t hard. He had nothing back there; farming on the desert was no life for King.
Amen.
And he would soon be back in his wife’s grip, kissing and touching her. She was lucky, lucky to live through it. King had heard about the murder of the matchbox sergeant. Some of the trucks that took the Hutu to Europe that travelled near their home had been ambushed, and the people killed. But not her. God told King she made it to Europe, and then afterwards he had told him what his new name would be.
***
King could only imagine how his wife had changed over the last 20 years. He wondered if she had changed her name too. Maybe God had changed her name to Queen. King grinned and his black eyebrows moved high up his hairless head.
Amen.
“You ever been in love, Malu?”
King stopped, wide eyed. He pivoted and faced Malu. Malu’s stare was empty and dark. They locked eyes, King’s beady black pupils on Malu’s.
“What did you say, Malu?” Malu stood, watching King with a dumb stare. His tail stopped.
“I could have sworn you said something, Malu.” King moved his body forward but his eyes stayed fixed sideways on Malu.
King’s feet were no longer wood blocks but concrete slabs. His chest sucked hot air and heaved out dry breath in throes. Scribbles moved in his vision. Everywhere he looked he found the same scribbles, and his knees no longer bent. He looked down at the dark stilts, which quaked, or maybe his eyes quaked. He curled his back and rested his tarantula hands on his bony knees. His cadaverous gut tightened and his ribs protruded and wrapped his lungs like fingers in leather gloves.
Malu watched, tail still, tongue hanging and his breath rose in sharp heaves.
Finally, King’s knees bent and hit the earth hard. His spine hooked and his fingers spread in the red sand. Looking to the swirling horizon, he couldn’t see Europe yet, but he could see a dark figure rising, running closer. In her arms was a wrapped baby, its black lips clutched to her brail bosom.
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