Bab 10: A Wanted Man- By Steve Muriithi (Kenya)
I feel the cold metal beneath my black jacket. I have slithered a hand in and placed fingers around the 9 mm pistol. They tremble, and in an attempt to fight the shaking, I tighten the grip on the pistol. The metal starts warming in my palm, which gets sweaty and I can now feel it slide. I lumber on through the darkness, like a mad man, and stop once in a while to listen to the conflicting voices within me. "Do it, it's your only way out." "No, don't. A year of transformation, painful transformation into a good man, then this is how you want to flush it down the drain, with one squeeze of the trigger?"
I scream, drawing it from the pit of my stomach. Good enough for me, the street is deserted. At 2.45 a.m. in Ong'ata Rongai, Umoja street, every heart is beating under a duvet. As far as am concerned, am the only man out in the dark. As soon as I end the screaming, I start crying. I then remember from where I come from, it is a taboo for men to cry, and so I let my enormous moans dwindle to snuffles, sprays of saliva coming out as I hyperventilate. I blink back tears. I let go of the pistol and with both palms, ruffle my hair, I swear it's like I want to drill through my cranium with my fingers. My right foot slides into a muddy hole and mucky cold filth gets into my boots. I walk to a verandah. Every step splashes water from my old boots. Back turned against the wall, I slide until my butt is on the floor, and loll my head like a dead man.
It's so cold, it had been raining an hour ago, and it looks like a round two is warming up. I feel goose bumps spread through my skin with a pricking cold, and at the same time my chest sear from within. Sweat seeps through my white Chelsea branded t-shirt, under my jacket. And then a voice echoes in my mind, "You took the job. You signed up for this. Now go get it done, get the other half of your pay and disappear to…to nowhere." With that, I tilt my head upwards, slowly, like a monster awakening. It's like the tears are boiling, for my eyes burn. I pull out the firearm and eject the magazine. It's full of ammunition. I snap it back and it goes in with a click. Help me God, I'm taking someone's life in a few.
Meru town, one year ago
I stagger out of a pub, looking like an old, frayed bag. Just as I am about to take the last step down the small flight of stairs, I get a rough push from behind and fall forward. I can swear I've bitten my lip off. I spit thick blood, and then use the back of my palm to dub at my torn lips. I support myself with my arms, press-up position, and push myself up. It's time to kick some ass, I whisper to myself. I tilt my heavy, hammered head just in time to see a staggering man charge at me. He throws a kick; I swiftly let myself turn to the left and roll, missing his kick. Liquor does the rest for me. With a leg up in the air, the other is too frail to support him. He slides and keels over, backwards with a thud. I crawl over to the groaning and cursing man, sit squarely on him and then with the consistency of a pulse, dig blows into his chin that is full of stubbles. Two men rush from the pub and firmly pull me off the bleeding man. I try to shake them off, and one digs a knee into my groin. Shit, my balls roll up my stomach. I fall on my knees, hands between my thighs, and slouch to the ground. I then puke with a stretched retching from deep inside my throat. My sick is all over the place, greenish and looks like that of a dying man. See, I've been drinking from sunrise, it's now sunset. I bet what I've drunk, a thousand fish can survive in it, were it water. But that's not the major problem. The problem is, when drunk I fight until I'm either conked out, or my enemies turn tail. I fight, until I win, or fall. These guys are lucky we are out of the pub; otherwise the air would be made up of bottles, glasses, chairs, coins, keys, blows, kicks…anything that can be airborne with the force of my thrust behind it. On my knees, I stretch my palms onto the ground and they slide inside my vomit. Shit, this is bad, very bad.
"You think you can fight us? Get up you son of a bitch"
"Yeah, we're men. We don't attack dogs dying on the ground. Get up and let's fight like men."
Stupid dogs, I think. When your enemy is down, finish him off for when he has a chance, he won't heed the 'fight-like-men' crap. He will squeeze your head to the floor, ass up in the sky and make you feel your entrails choke your throat. I crawl towards a corner of the building until my torso, upwards, is gone around, my attackers can only see my legs. My hand reaches for a long piece of timber. I smile, blood drooling. In a few, we are going to figure out who is as thick as two wooden planks, after all.
"Shit, don't say we never gave you a chance to get up and fight like a man," The one with a battered blue cap shouts, I can tell it's him because this isn't the first time we've gotten into a fight. I am the cause of his two missing teeth, and he is the architect behind the scar on my temple. He grips my ankle and pulls me roughly. Stupid man, how dare you pull your ticket to the ground? I sit upright, a two-handed grip on the timber, and swing it with all my might into his face. The hit gets him on the cheek and side of his neck, and he goes crushing down. I support myself up with the timber.
"Fight like a man you said, huh?" I spit, and then wave the timber to the other man.
"Come get me, you asshole. You are sober, two shitty bottles and you cannot fight a man who's downed three-quarters of the pub's stock. C'mon!" My voice is gruff and raised. I want him to attack first, I'm playing a gad-fly. A crowd has now encircled us, and some are helping the other two men up. And then eerie sharp screams of the police siren ripple through and the crowds scatter like ants when hot water is poured on them. The man turns tail too, but I fall on my knees, drop the timber and raise my hands up.
"Come take me home, buddies. Home sweet home." I whisper.
Maua, next day
I wake up from her bed. She is staring down at me, with a benign smile. I am in a pair of shorts, and a blue unbuttoned shirt.
"I'm sorry I dragged you into my mess, Ann." I whisper, eyes squinted.
"It's okay, my love." She leans over and plants a warm kiss on my lip. She lifts her head but I pull her down again, and we kiss.
"Ouch, my lips hurt" I say, pushing her away.
"Of course, you got into a bad fight. Why do you do this to me? You know I love you with everything I have. Do you thrive when you see me cry?"
Ann breaks into sobs, and a guilt-inspired heaviness lands on my chest and doesn't lift. Oh God, what has become of me? How did I get myself into being an addict? Shit, with a loving girl like Ann, what more could I ask for? My eyes get liquid, and I pull her down such that she is now sobbing on my chest. I cry too, silently. With one eye. Isn't that what men are supposed to do? There in her bedsitter, walls gaily painted and illuminated with the dim light, we cry on each other.
"You-you should have rotten in the cells. I shouldn't have sold my new pair of shoes to get cash to bribe the police to let you go. I shouldn't have used the change on me to ferry you in a cab to my house, wash your wounds, warm water for you to shower, and feed you. I shouldn't have…" she gets drowned in tears. I lay still, eyes fixated on the white ceiling, a whimpering and loving girl washing my chest with her tears. Her hair smells sweet, redolent of shampoo. But there I am, washing her sweet scent away with tears from my one eye. God, what did I do to deserve such a love? There were men, every day, forming an ekklesia outside her home, with flowers, promises of heaven and such crap, but she showed them a middle finger and turned. For what? For such a looser like me? A man who drowned himself in liquor as though it was his divine purpose? It hurt me, damn it broke me. See, I am used to handling my shit; I can feel my pain stoically. But when it comes to feeling the pain of those I love, it rips my heart apart.
"I'm sorry baby." With that, I let go of the misplaced notion that men don't cry. I cry loudly, in a mortifying way, periodically gasping for air. "Tell me what I can do to make it up to you, please baby. I'm so sorry am not half the man you wanted, but you still love and take care of me.."
Ann lifts her head and faces me.
"Look at me, my love" She wipes my tears with her thumb, her own dribbling down her cheeks.
"I will always love you. Nothing stands between you and me. I am in you, and you are in me."
That's just it. All my strength goes, and I cry even more. I then make an inexorable promise to her.
"First thing tomorrow morning, I'm walking myself to the rehab. I'll be trapped in there for a year, but for our good. Please wait for me, sweetheart. I will be away to fix this, but then I'll be right back for you."
One year later (Three days before I walk with a 9 mm pistol under my jacket)
Maua, Meru.
The sun is setting. I walk on a deserted path, a bouquet of flowers held in my hands. I stop and sit on a street bench, and say a prayer.
"Almighty Father, thank you. I did it, and you saw me through. The rehab was one sick dungeon, I almost died from deprivation of what my system was used to. Why didn't the tremors and headaches put me down? It was you, God. I know it was you." I pause, to wipe a tear- of joy and thanksgiving. "God, if I say I love you, I'll be lying. I haven't done enough to prove it, have I? But I know you love me, and I need you to help me love you. Amen."
I put down the flowers, then dub at my eyes. I don't want Ann to see a teary damn face with creases of pain when she opens the door. I had done it for her. I had gone through a psychotherapeutic treatment for dependency on psychoactive substances. See? I even know the terms they use! Damn, I'm no longer a sick dog in the frame of a dull-wit. It's happy times. Maybe she'll kiss me and then we'll throw a bash and dance in the gaiety.
I'm in the compound now, all I have to do is walk through a corridor and take one last corner, and there, in front of me, will be her door. My heart is beating faster, it threatens to detonate. I'm in a neat black pair of trousers, and a tucked white shirt. I've gotten a haircut and the after-shave meets my olfactory senses with a glorious scent. I take a deep breath, titivate my collar and then go around the corner.
I never thought that I'll do something like that
When I saw you two it hit me like a heart attack
Oh no, how could you please another man on our floor
How could you bring him home?
(Eamon, Bring him home)
I see them. Ann, beautiful as always, smiles down at a man who is on one knee. She's in a black, buggy t-shirt and a pair of shorts. Even the baggy t-shirt doesn't hide reality from me. She is carrying a child. The man, on one knee, has hands on her brown thighs and is planting countless kisses on her tummy. Like a deflated balloon, I lose my strength. I want to cry but I don't know why I can't. Maybe my tears have been frightened with this sight and they have fled. Then it hits me. I am a loser, and even after the long walk to make things right, I'm still a loser. A cretin. A dog. A smelly piece of rag. Another statistics of men who walk out of a rehab and then drink, until all pubs within a five kilometer radius get closed. I open my mouth to scream, but then shut it. It's not worth a shit, what's done is done. Rubicon crossed. Or as the Latinos put it, alea jacta est. Shit! Everything that had kept me going is gone. All of a sudden, I'm worn to a frazzle, fit for dead. But I regain my strength when the man looks at me. I quickly turn and vanish, hoping they won't follow. I am sure Ann hasn't seen me, and the last thing I want is to face her. I hurriedly go through the gate and run, still holding the flowers. Run boy, until you can run no more. Cry and run so hard that the wind dries the tears. When I stop running, it feels as though vultures are eating up my heart as I pant, hands on my knee caps. I tear the flowers, chew them, throw them up, step on them…
Two days later, Ong'ata Rongai
I am in a beautiful mansion, somewhere near Africa Nazarene University. After my heart got wrecked, I knew just what to do. Go see my uncle and ask him for enough money to disappear…to nowhere. I have not figured it out yet, but I want enough cash to go as far as possible and live alone as a recluse. Nurse my pain alone, probably in a foreign country and try start over. My eyes are blood-shot red, I haven't slept well since that romantic scene Ann and his man pulled in front of my eyes, and the fatigue of the long journey from Meru has sucked my strength.
"You say you need a hundred thousand, or a hundred and fifty, if I'm kind enough."
"Yes uncle." I reply, without blinking or taking eyes off his white receding hair.
He scratches his beards in deep thought, staring at my dirty button-up shirt, half tucked, half un-tucked.
"Boy, I will help you. But you will help me too. Nothing is for free.." His eyes light up in a frightening way, but after all I've been through, not even the devil can frighten me. He rises and walks on the expensive white tiles, tapping them with his walking stick that has a golden handle. We both stay silent as he walks around and stops behind my back.
"I will give you a job. You do it well; I will pay you half a million. You mess up, or turn my offer down, and I will end your life with a snap. I don't give a shit about family, boy. Understand?"
Half a million? It's like I'm in a dream. That will be more than enough to buy me a new life away from everything I'd gone through. But what in the hell does this job entail? Shit, I have never seen uncle this serious. So serious, not a twitch of a facial muscle; nearly as serious as a man doing an operation on his own balls.
"I understand. Give me my assignment, and let's get it over and done with."
"Good boy. Ever fired a gun? I want you to kill for me."
I swallow thick, and freeze. I always knew my uncle was dirty, but not this type of bloody dirty.
"I trust you are the best for this job. After all, you've been in and out of prison a number of times, but you never learn. You walk out and go back to silly bar fights and assaults. You're a…let's see. A recidivist. Embrace yourself boy, you were born for crime." I remain silent, robbed of words. He walks and takes the couch across from mine, lifts a can of beer from a glass table and snaps it open. He lifts it above his head and says, "Embrace who you are, boy," and takes a gulp.
Umoja street, Ong'ata Rongai
3 a.m.
I am now calm. I get up from the verandah, ready to go lodge a bullet in a head and walk away like nothing happened. I have received half the payment, in cash, and as soon as the job gets done I'll get the remaining half. Away, far away, is where I want to be. I know I'm not the full quid, but I need the money and if this is how I'll get it, then so be it.
"The target lives alone. Go in at a time of your choosing. And remember, you fail, you die"
I never bothered asking the bloody old piece of shit who the target was, and why he wanted him or her dead. All I want is my money, and I'll get it easily by squeezing a trigger, once.
I jump over a perimeter wall from the back of the compound. I walk up the flight of stairs to the first floor, walk through a corridor and stop at door F1-7. I am old and fucked up enough to know how to force a lock open with minimum twists of a wire in the key hole. And true to this, it takes me less than two minutes to click the door open. I won't lie and say I'm not scared. Damn, I am. I may be a miscreant, but a small-time miscreant. This will be the first time I kill someone, all for a love gone sour. Shit, everything is just messed up, and maybe I should turn and walk away. I haven't been thinking straight since I last saw Ann, and if only I take time to think straight I'll realize this isn't what I want. It's not too late, is it? I edge the door open and step in. A swirl of a sweet-scented air freshener meets my olfactory senses. I slowly lock the door behind me, and stand there, breathing hard in the darkness. I let my fingers slide on the wall until they rest on a switch and after a flick, the room floods with light. It's a beautiful apartment with grey couches and a four chairs dining table. From the soup-smeared plate on the table, I can tell the target had a sumptuous last supper. I pull the pistol out, dislodge the safety and then give it a two-handed grip and tiptoe towards what I have made out to be the bedroom. Sneak up on the target and end their life as they sleep peacefully, under their quilt. That is my plan. I place a hand on the cold knob and hear myself breathe hard.
When I finally twist the knob and walk in, I hear someone panting hard, scared to death. Whoever it is already knows a stranger has broken in. I see the light of a phone, and that makes me cross.
"Put that phone away, now!" My grip on the pistol hardens.
"Please don't kill me. Take whatever you want and go, please"
Shit! It's the voice of a scared girl, and truth be told, her timbre pierces deep into my heart and I immediately want to die for invading her privacy with the aim of killing her. Her voice reminds me of the one girl I love, Ann, and I break down all over again.
"Turn…turn on the lights," I command, voice on the edge of a moan. And when she does, an unexplainable force thrust me back, in shock, and I lean on the door for support.
It is a young girl- early twenties- so adorable, curled up in her bed, crying and begging me. She is so shaken that her mesh hair cap has fallen, exposing her black hair. I can see strands of her hair shake as she stares at my hand, the one holding a pistol.
"My God!" I whisper in shock, and then stretch an arm towards her with the hope of calming her down.
"I will not hurt you. I promise..I swear…" I want to cry. What the hell? An assassin and his target, both crying!
"Who are you?" she asks, drawing her legs further away, coiled in a corner on her bed.
"Have you called anyone?" I ask.
"No. Please don't.."
"No, I won't hurt you. I promise. See, I'm putting this away." I put the safety back on, and then drop the gun on the floor. I sit on the floor and ruffle my hair like a mad man.
The girl is now confused, she doesn't know what to do. A stranger acting mad in her bedroom; a gun on her floor, and her heart wanting to rip her chest open.
"Who are you?"
I lift my head and face her. She's freaked out and it hurts me so badly. I lower my face into my palm.
"I should be the one asking. Who are you, kid, and why does my uncle want you dead?"
"I don't understand. I-I..am.." she breaks into sobs, and can't talk anymore. Next thing I know, I'm walking, hobbling like a dying man, towards her. I wrap my arms around her and regret everything.
"What's your name, kid?"
"Mercy.."
"Calm down Mercy. Okay, this is one big mistake and I swear I'll not hurt you."
She nods. I ease the embrace and then pace up and down the room.
"Go get some water and drink. But please, don't shout or call for any help." She nods again, and then gets out of her bed. I notice her trembling lips. God, what have I done? Mercy is in pink pajamas. As she walks past me, she looks into my eyes. There's fear in her eyes and they glisten with innocence. At the door, she takes too much time to twist the knob, she has no strength. I stare at her back; she has a gorgeous frame, curves that would drive any man crazy. Goodness! Could she be one of those campus girls old men sleep with, and now my uncle is done with and wants her dead?
She finally opens the door, but I speak to her back before she leaves.
"Mercy, what do you do?"
She freezes on her tracks, wavering like a leaf in the wind. Poor girl.
"I am student at Multi Media University. I live here."
"Okay, Mercy. I need you to trust me. I will not hurt you. Get me a glass of water, too."
Just like that, I let her walk into the living room. Damn, I'm a fool. I have given her a chance to shout for help. But strange enough, I have this feeling that she will do no such thing. She is terrified and I can tell I have her full cooperation. I draw my phone from my pocket and dial my uncle's number.
"I reckon you're calling to say it's done."
"No, you old fool." I squeeze the phone in my palm, nearly breaking it.
"Is this some kind of joke?"
"Joke? The joke is you and your bloody ass, sending me to kill an innocent campus girl!"
"Listen, kid. I have a grudge with her father; he has risen to be a dangerous enemy. Three days ago he paid some kids to burn down one of my matatus, and I want to take away his daughter."
"No. You listen to me, bitch.." He croaks painfully, surprised and equally exasperated by my abusive language and angered tone.
"I will hunt you down and drain life out of you kid, through your balls!"
"Think you're the only one browned off, old man? I've gone through tough shit, but none has cheesed me off like what you've done. Here's the new deal. The girl goes unharmed. You already paid me half, I will disappear."
"You're a dead man!"
"Really? Can dead men make this threat? If you ever track me down to whatever hole I'm going into, I'll cut off your balls and feed them to you.." With that, I hang up.
I know am as good as dead, my uncle isn't the type you mess up with and beat the rap. He is coming for me; it's only a matter of time. But I am intelligent enough to save my skin. I have just recorded our phone call. Mercy comes back, her trembling arm pouring water all over. I take the glass from her and sit her on a chair next to the bed.
"Listen, Mercy. I want you to call the police right now. When they get here, tell them everything, and then give them this phone. It has a recording that will help the police bring whoever wants you dead to book."
I pick a pen and notebook on her dressing table. I jot down every detail I have on my uncle and then give it to her.
"Give them this. It's the address and other details of the man who wants you dead. I'm so sorry Mercy, I will never forgive myself for this"
9a.m. in the morning
I am in a bus heading to Loitoktok, a small town bordering Tanzania. If everything goes as planned, I will be safe, but not for long. After all I'm now a wanted man. With the evidence I've left behind, my uncle should rot in prison, and with the two hundred and fifty thousand Kenya shillings I have in a briefcase, I will be able to start a new life. I intend to cross the border, with this amount I can buy my safe pass. Oh Ann, look at what you've turned me into? Is this what you meant when you passionately said, "Nothing stands between you and me, I am in you and you are in me." Oh, sweet nothings. At what point did you stop loving me? Is it the reason the last four months you never visited me at the rehab? My love, I almost killed an innocent girl. And right now, I'm in possession of a brief case loaded with cash, set for the border of Kenya and Tanzania. It's a long story. Shit, I almost forgot. You always said one day I would be famous, that you believed in me. Well, I am famous now. Every police agency is on the qui vive, I am a fucking wanted man. How are you? How did it feel the first time he made love to you? How far along with the pregnancy are you? Oh, ring me once you give birth, I am good at coming up with cute names. I hope she has your precious eyes, baby. But most of all, I hope, if God allows it, I meet you someday and recount to you how my journey through the first part of hell has been…
Dear God. I know I'm a fool, I lost it when you allowed me lose the one girl I loved. But I still trust in you. Your ways are mysterious, right? Or did you put her in my life, just to help me overcome addiction? Is that it? Was she not meant for me? Is it that her assignment in my life was to help me break the chains of addiction? Oh God, I should have trusted you. I blew it when I ran through my uncle's doors. I should have known it was your plan, and that Ann never happened to me, she happened for me. Father, find me wherever I go, and save me again. Amen.
The bus is speeding, we are somewhere past Sultan Hamud. I put my headphones on, and play Eminem's track; Beautiful. See you when I see you.
But I already told you my whole life story
Not just based on my description
'Cause where you see it from where you're sitting
It's probably 110% different
I guess we would have to walk a mile
In each other's shoes at least
What size you wear? I wear 10's
Let's see if you can fit your feet
In my shoes, just to see
What it's like to be me
I'll be you, let's trade shoes
Just to see what it'll be like to
Feel your pain, you feel mine
Go inside each other's minds
Just to see what we find
Look at shit through each other's eyes
Status Power Mingguan
-- Peringkat
Power 
-- Power
stone