The Shameful State (11 page)

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.

“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.

“Why are you crying my brother same mother?”

He wipes away his tears. He wipes away the snot and buttons his fly. Why are you crying? And answers, a quaver in his voice:

“The rebels have taken National Mom.”

“Oh, shit!”

He fell into the nearest chair and Carvanso go fetch my pain killers. He grazes on them, grinds his teeth. Get me some mustard. He scarfs down twelve jars.

“Our Lord Jesus Christ, what have I done to deserve this? I'm nothing like that Toutanso who pilfered and stashed away all that dough in Switzerland. I'm not like that Carlos Dantès who killed off half the Khas tribe in two years of my hernia.”

“Don't worry, Mr. President, we'll find her.”

“Yes, but they're going to rape her. How shameful for me.”

He gnashes his teeth and starts crying because I'm sure they're going to rape her. And that shame will be part of me. He summoned the ambassador from my colleague's country and told him about this shame they're going to rape her. He summoned the top diplomat from the country that's staring at me over there: you must have heard all about my shame; now it's up to you to do something. He summoned the Apostolic Nuncio so that you can tell Jesus Christ's father-of-the-nation that the fire is now. He has Vauban come in with your three thousand Cubans of Europe and for the first time in the history of my hernia he's wearing his armor, asks the General Treasurer to join him because, in case there's a coup d'état, then let the people eat shit. I headed for the bush. But first he closed the palace gates himself because in this country you can't trust anyone. The gates will be closed on the government and all those in the High Command for the entire time the war against the rebels lasts. He takes the keys with him. And if anyone so much as flinches, National Lavotou, blow the whole fucking thing up. Yes, Mr. President sir.