BUSH-WHACKED
“…everybody’s looking for something. Some of them want to use you…”
Jane’s place by Gombe National Park, Western Tanzania
3 Apr 2003, 7pm
…
..
.
“Glad you could make it Cass, come on in.”
Jane Goodall, 69, welcomes Cassandro into her home with a dram hug and scotch whisky.
He brought freshly baked Baklava.
She has banana pancakes cooling in the oven.
They’re timeless friends, who share similar dreams.
And nightmares.
It’s a tropical evening. There’s mosquito netting lining the outside of the balcony.
They sit together, side by side, facing out, drink table in between.
She holds her soft chimp plushy, Jubilee, as an elbow rest.
His worn out and frayed shirt smells nice.
The air is warm, a smidge humid, it’s a good night.
The jungle surrounds them.
Birds, insects, and animals are competing in the darkness on who can make the weirdest sounds in the background.
The trees and bushes are tactically silent, holding it all together, as everyone plays hide and seek.
The scariest creatures don’t make a sound, and never interrupt the moondrip orchestra.
Cassandro doesn’t know if he’s seen enough yet, and is at a loss for directions.
Wearing the bloody boots of a deceased DRC soldier, he came to Jane for wisdom.
Jane comfortably shares what she knows with her much younger and ambitious peer.
“I saw male chimps from Camp Cartload.
They made it a habit to patrol the borders of their area.
Every few days, their borders would increase.
Eventually, this troop came across a female chimp and her baby from Camp Shrewdness.
She was on maternity leave to protect the newborn from the males, and also females, of her own community.
The threat was entirely real that her own group would harm the baby, so she thought hiding for a few weeks would be the best bet.”
She smokes a bidi, an exception she makes exclusively for Cassandro.
“There was so much screaming that day… …The patrolling troop ripped apart and ate the baby alive, in front of her. She tried to protect it and was mutilated.
The culture of her camp was dog-eat-dog in exchange for privilege. So was the other camp.
She tried to escape that reality, but they ended up getting torn in the middle of it.”
She takes a hard sip of her drink.
“This savagery didn’t stay behind with them, it evolved with us Cass.
It explains so much.”
Cassandro drags his bidi and shares his own observations back,
“..I saw female bonobos lead a matriarchy.
One male thought that because he was bigger and stronger, that he could bully an infant and get away with it.
The mothers and females got together and ended the threat that same night.
They grabbed him by his hands and feet, then ripped out and fed him his own balls until he choked or bled out, to get him to stop moving as quickly as possible.
The threat, the animus of hurting children was violently unacceptable to them.
The savagery communicated… …boundaries. Self-defence. And a safe neighborhood against evil wills.”
Jane squeezes Jubilee, and adds a third spirit to the behavioral layers,
“…Fossey had noted… –Gorillas, don’t compromise.
They fight to the death to protect their young.
They treat all the children in their bands as their own.”
She sniffs, Cassandro passes her his shemagh to blow her nose in.
“And the gorillas that were most nurturing and inspirational to the kids?
They were the most macho and likely to get laid.”
Her laugh comes out broken, and she wipes off a stream of pride and extreme missing her from her cheeks.
Cassandro, somberly, lifts his glass up to Jane in solidarity, “To warrior hearts.”
They share a moment of respectful silence.
They sip, and stare out into the jungle abyss.
“At some point long ago”, Jane reasons, “all the apes had a mother that taught them to weave their own beds, every night.
Thanks to that mother’s lesson, all of us cousins kept the technique going, to our benefit.”
Cassandro thinks on that, and starts to marvel at the depth and impact just one shared technique can have on entire generations of different species.
He reasons that sharing the fruits of critical thinking must be the evolution to instinct. Software, that shapes the hardware.
He appreciates out loud to Jane, “…Thank you, mother…”
“You know Cass, I know someone that’s a few conflicts over I think you could connect with.
He’s near the Maasai Marain in Southwest Kenya, near the Keekorok and Talek regions.
His name’s Dr. Sapolsky.”
A zephyr moves in and out while Jane explains, “Robert had been studying a troop of hierarchical baboons.
The troop caught tuberculosis. All the aggressive males died and they were left with a 2 female to 1 male ratio.
They went from pecking order and stress overload, to just being a fun paradise whoop to be in.
All it took was the removal of some bad actors, and they morphed from a brutal pecking order to a Utopia practically overnight.
Cassandro nods, “Step one, eliminate the threats. Step two, how do you protect from that threat returning?…”
Jane says, “Well, if there’s a way to flip that switch and keep that light on, you’d be just the ape to find it.
You know why?”
She looks at him and he returns the smile,
At the same time, they reach over to give themselves a knuckle-affirmation.
“Cuz Apes together strong”
And laugh.
Jane lectures Cassandro, “Have you noticed Dunbar’s numbers in your studies?
Cassandro hasn’t. He’s listening, open to learn.
“Well, we understand that the communication of trust and reciprocation is a core cohesion strategy, but how far can you extend that?
It looks like our cousins also run into that issue.
Small, inner circle groups of intimate level trust are kept to roughly 5 people.
Because, there’s only so much time in a day and limits on how many relationships we can juggle.
After that, it’s between 6 to 15 for a safety circle.
50 is pushing it.
You work together to do big things and protect each other, that’s the main glue.
The bigger the thing, the bigger the glue.
For the chimps, it seems they found stability in forming their biggest groups at night for protection.
During the day, they break down into the smaller sub 15 groups.
At night, all these subgroups find solace together and form 50, maybe even 100 plus communities.
What about your precious little bonobies?”
Cassandro thinks back, “Now that you mention it, they did similar strats.
The groups pool together when they travel big distances and sleep. But for the most part, the subgroups split throughout the day.
And the inner trust of 5 were prominent, they groomed and shared closely with each other.
These Dunbar numbers are… …very helpful. Thank you.”
Cassandro wonders if these numbers are what’s needed to hold a pure democracy strategy.
Imagining the world population divided by 100 as a much closer number of how many distinct cultures there really are.
“The bonobies vs chimps”, she ponders, “they both seem to be leaning on something.
One uses sex and violence to protect and care for each other.
The other uses sex and violence to control and dominate over each other.
That’s the same hedonism extremes, but two distinct strategies”
With so much nuance, who decides who’s the threat, Cass?”
This wasn’t the first time Jane had challenged him with that question.
This time, he felt better prepared to answer.
“I wouldn’t say it’s a who, but what. The threat is easy to identify. Parasites. Bully behaviors. It demands worship and obedience or else.
The right choices are Peace over chaos, Trust over faith, Protection over abuse. … Xenophilia over xenophobia.
…Positive sum games over zero sum games… …so, if you’re not working towards improving society, the filter doesn’t lie; you’re leeching off of it.
Actions, speak louder than words.”
Jane sits with that dimension.
She swirls the dying ice in her cup,
“All that life inside and around us. Reaching, communicating, fighting… …It’s as if the universe is using all of us to explore itself.
That’s intelligence moving towards something, seeking.”
Cassandro confidently adds in,
“The evolution to intelligence is morals… …what are the superior morals that’ll tie all us alive things together for the next step?”
Jane Goodall answers with the same confidence,
“We do, it’s called, treat others as you would like yourself and loved ones to be treated?”
Cassandro sits with that, looks at his bracelet.
Plays with his golden cross, “The golden rule.”
Drinks the bit left of his watered down scotch.
He keeps the tag of “or suffer consequences” to himself.
Jane teases Cassandro, “You still think there’s no god?”
Smirks, I thought there was none. But time in the congo changes you.
“I see two gods, everywhere I go, all the time.
The ones that answer prayers and advance safe havens for everyone.
The other’s are strangers with money, bibles, constitutions, corporations and guns; that build their heavens off your lands and backs.”
Cassandro sits a tiny bit longer.
Rests his eyes.
He’s spent 3 years living in observation of the area labeled as the Democratic Republic of the Congo.
Specifically, Lomami National Park, the easternmost side.
There were bonobos, yes.
There were also the Mbote and Bantu cultures.
The Mbote roamed together. They were equalitarian with each other.
They practiced humility with themselves as well as the environment around them.
It balanced them. Kept them humble.
They avoided violence and conflict inside and with outsiders.
The Bantu, on the other hand, employed patriarchal and secret societies.
They subdued the people of their villages, using the same money and Abrahamic strategies employed by outsiders.
They consider themselves superior to the Mbote, and used this to justify treating them like cattle.
Cassandro studied who had to accept the role of slave, and who welcomed the role of master.
A point came, where they were going to take even more land from the Mbote.
Something they continuously did slowly and surely.
On the other side, on the Okapi Wildlife Reserve, corrupt national guards were forcing some Mbote people to track rare animals for profit, and slave over gold mines.
Best Cassandro could do was put on a national guard suit and cull leaderships from both sides.
Creating temporary confusion.
It won’t stop them for long, they come back like angry weeds.
But it would afford the Mbote a little more time of peace, and a sense of justice and involvement for Cassandro.
He opened his eyes again.
Jane looks at Cassandro, and feels pity.
Cassandro stretches in his seat.
“It’s been nice seeing you again… …I think it’s about that time for me to go.”
Jane insists,
“Won’t you stay friend. Sit. Rest a little longer?”
“I can’t… …There’s pain. Our children are being hurt, and we’re failing them.
I can’t rest. Have to keep moving, because their prayers don’t answer themselves.”
He would have to go North East, and overcome countless adversity to get there.
At over a thousand kilometers away.
It would take at least a week, maybe even three.
He stands up, she holds his hand…
He adjusts his Chinese type 56 rifle as he looks to the door.
…and his hand slips away.
Cassandro is on the hunt for a new name.
Robert Sapolsky.
He heads outside under jungle stars and jungle tracks.
Onto ubiquitous dirt roads and poverty traps.
Days churn to weeks.
Low crawls in the mud if he has to.
He’d hijack business vehicles.
Constantly recalibrating as he treks through villages, cities, and undergrowth.
He perfected ambushing checkpoints during nights or thunderstorms to avoid permission-checks and tax shakedowns.
He takes what he needs to survive and moves forward.
By inch, meters, or kilometers depending on what the environment dictates.
Wherever he goes, the crows follow.
And feed.
He escapes the dense jungle canopies and crosses onto the Serengeti-Mara in a beat up safari branded land cruiser.
He met 2 hitch-hikers that’ll help him translate in exchange for transportation out of the area.
A young Rwandan-Tutsi woman that was running away from a forced child marriage, and her younger brother.
They come across a village.
The village points them to try another village.
The other village says they’ve seen him, but he mainly visits another village.
The final village says that indeed, they knew him.
A group of 3 women building a house said he visits them sometimes. He’s joined their ceremonies and asks lots of questions.
One of them, heavily pregnant, added, “Also, he doesn’t like to drink blood milk!”.
She made fun of his face and they giggled and kept working construction.
They pointed them to speak to his translator and friend Rhoda.
Who just got back from seeing him.
Rhoda, happily confirmed she knows Sapooooolskyyyyyy.
Of course she knows him.
American. White beard, magnificent hair. Talks funny.
Unfortunately, they just missed him, he left after dropping us off.
The group of women that were with Rhodas start parting ways, they seemed a little shaken.
Rhoda explains,
“Our sister was craazy, we had to get rid of her.
Maybe the government clinic will help her find inner peace, they are professionals.”
Rhoda tells them Sapolsky is heading back home by airplane.
He may be leaving soon, but you can catch him easy if you go now.
If you look later, military road-block stops you.
It starts in a couple of hours today and they take usually 3 days training.
They can be scary sometimes, so pass at your own risk.
Cassandro hesitates. This is a character test.
He wishes to know, how did Robert react to the situation he took part in.
“What happened to your sister?”
“She is a WAZIMU woman!
She a big and strong, always stay inside house, doesn’t like our celebrations.
When she work with us, or when we have relax time, she tells us she hears voices!”
“What did she do though…?
Your tribe brags they communicate with the dead and holy spirits all the fkn time, so–“
–idiot! she was hearing voices at the wrong time!
We communicate with the voices only when in celebration.
Also!
She goes into the middle of the town, and kills a goat!
With her bare hands and teeth!
Everyone sees a woman kill a goat!
That is a bad omen, and make angry the one true god Enkai!
Rhoda insists, getting angry and impatient at Cassandro’s blatant ignorance and lack of respect to culture.
Only men can kill goat. Women cannot touch the goat!
You can only kill goats during ceremony.
Women can not see the men eat the goat, that is BAD-LUCK!
Rhoda claps her hands and enunciates.
“She scares us!”
Cassandro looks agreeable, and agrees with her.
He expresses he’d like to meet her.
Explains he’s no Psychiatrist, but he’d like to ask her the questions that perhaps Sapolsky wasn’t able to.
She disagrees, she’d rather forget about her as she’s possessed by a demon spirit inside and doesn’t want to be contaminated.
Cassandro offers a wad of cash with dried blood on it.
“I don’t have cattle, but I have this money to offer.
With this amount, you can buy all the men of the village new shoes.
That way, next ceremony, they can trample all over you in style.”
Rhoda didn’t understand why exactly she should buy all the men shoes and wasn’t interested in that, but she was happy with money for a quick trip.
If something happens, it’s his funeral. She’ll be the first to call dibs on his safari 4×4 and drive herself back home.
She guided them to the government health clinic.
Cassandro drove over there, a small party of 4.
It was a brick room and a separate, wooden shack for isolation.
Only 2 people were there.
A gov nurse, that had 3 weeks of training and offered only malaria vaccines for any and all patient complaints.
Her assistant, was a young voluntary priest. He would hear patient confessions, and read from the big book any page they chose.
They could pick a number between 1-1775; he would read it once and tell you to meditate on it for a week.
The shack was hammered down shut with the Maasai woman inside..
Everyone can hear the Maasai sister in a frenzy of panic and disorientation.
Screaming. Maniacal. Pleading. Demanding. Swearing.
Full psychosis.
Everyone’s nervous.
Cassandro takes the scene in, and squints.
This room… …the patients don’t come out alive, do they?”
“No, we wait around 3 to 8 days for the body to stop being an active vessel.
The way to trick the sick demon inside her mind to let go of her body is by staying away from what it says and not feeding it.
No matter what it says, we must be strong for her soul.”
Cassandro isn’t pleased to hear.
“The cover story is underfunded clinic.
Behind the curtain though, it’s another type of slaughterhouse for undesirables.”
Nobody dared challenge a self-righteous 19 yr old holding a rifle.
“I’m going to try to talk to her.”
He asks Rhoda and the Tutsi-girl.
“Please translate whatever I say, both of you, as fast as you can.
Clear. And loud.”
Cassandro slings his weapon to the side and starts undoing the hammered door with a crow-bar.
At midway, the crazy woman kicked the door and sent Cassandro flying with it.
A towering Maasai woman lowered a little and stepped through the doorway.
Dried goat blood all over her face, hair and bare chest.
The smell of fierce iron had everyone take a step back.
Broad-shouldered, muscular, and taller than Cassandro by over a foot.
She’s angry and scared.
Cassandro is getting up, she sees the gun.
She rips out a plank riddled with nails from the door frame.
Cassandro, holding down a double shot of adrenaline, is worried that this may end badly if he doesn’t create space immediately.
She goes to club Cassandro.
Taking swings at him while he stumbles to find his balance moving backwards.
His instincts screamed at him to reflex to the weapon and end the threat, as he’s had to do countless times before.
Instead, Cassandro puts his hands up and offers water while shouting as nicely as he can.
The translators pick up after a moment of shock and start echoing what they can to her, jumping up and down in suspense.
Here! Gift! Water! Trust!
Friends. Protection. Breathe. Mercy.
Safety.
good things. sleep. food. hugs. Live. Love. LAUGH!”
Cassandro keeps his hands up and water offer out, clearly demonstrating submission and no will to fight.
She came in close but eased up in time as the translators’ words rang through.
This stranger couldn’t be an enemy, he just opened the prison door for her, and is offering water.
The Maasai woman,
collapses on her knees, and sobs hard enough to vibrate through the Serengeti plains.
The voices in her head shouted her village was tricking her, and she had to do something.
Now she’s lost everything she’s ever known for being impulsive, and not embracing the ancient rules.
They want her dead, maybe they are right.
She should not be alive.
And this pains her to her core.
She lays down fetus position.
Even her mother is ashamed of her, and helped put her in there.
She cries out loud, despite knowing nobody understands nor cares.
Streams of tears and mucus smear across her bloody face.
“..I want to eat meat whenever I want!
Men hunt and have fun and do what they want and use us.
Women work and work and are below them.
I don’t want to be a woman, I want to be a man …”
Moans of pain and sniffles.
Cassandro offers his Shemagh.
Offers to help clean her up.
Tries to soothe.
The two translators keep help him with their echoes of his words.
“You don’t have to go back.
You have time and options. I’m happy to meet you.
We are traveling, we can help you start a new life, somewhere else.
You are… …not alone.
We’re friends here”
The young translator and her brother back him up and share that she’s safe.
That Cassandro is weird but he helps people and shoots bad guys.
He had saved them a week days ago, from their father.
They lifted their shirts to show the welts and lashes that were bandaged and healing.
The girl gives her name as Agnes Pareyio.
The boy as Thomas Sankara.
The Maasai woman takes deep breaths, and asks for help in standing, and getting cleaned up.
Everybody assisted in the humblest way they could.
Except Rhoda. She didn’t know how to process everything.
The nurse fetched water. The priest gave up his lunch.
Casandro had half a mind to order the nurse, priest and Rhoda into the shack at gunpoint and hammer it back up.
But he rationalized that their ignorance, whether real or fake, was the spell he needed to break.
He can’t hate the players without first creating a better game.
As he hands her a fresh set of his back-up fatigues, he asks for her name.
“Nanyori”
Cassandro introduces himself.
Rhoda asks him if he’s going to find Sapolsky, he might still have time.
He rejects the hunt.
“I think he’s taught me enough. I found him wanting.
He lacks, free-will.”
“Free will?”
Cassandro reaches into his pocket.
“The supreme art of war is to domesticate the opponent without fighting.
When you accept owners and violence as normal, and injustice without fighting back, you’ve already lost.
You turn into something… …less than human.
The critical factor to keep evil spirits away, is to have the will to fight.
And if you don’t have the will to fight, you don’t have free will.”
He hands Rhoda her promised blood money, and concludes to her,
“When someone has to pay you to help your neighbors, that’s not free will.”
Rhoda stands a moment, money in hand.
She quickly gives half of it to Nanyori.
Then quietly walks away, back towards her village.
The two youngs siblings, Nanyori, and Cassandro, pack into the car.
He turns it on. The engine runs.
Ready to be dropped in gear at any moment and go.
It’s a round world, the horizon has no limit.
The safari Landcruiser keeps running in place.
Goin nowhere.
Waiting.
Cassandro can read a compass, but is waiting on the universe for new directions.
The girl in the back realizes the issue and asks if they can go to Ethiopia. Specifically, the museum. To pay their respects to mother Lucy.
The boy says “No no, Somalia! Ethiopians don’t have permission to see the ocean. Lucy isn’t allowed to see the ocean. I want to see the ocean.”
Nanyori smiles for the first time in years.
She doesn’t know what’s happening, but if the young ones are excited, it must be a good thing.
And they all said she could come with.
Cassandro drives for a day and a half, and they hit a reinforced military road-block in the distance.
They would have to wait them out for a few days, in the Savanna, amongst the elephants and hyenas and crocodiles and cheetahs.
As the evening starts to come down, they are by the truck roasting a catch Cassandro chanced upon.
A black mamba snake had jumped up and latched onto his bloody boots.
It smells like burnt rubber as it cooked.
Nanyori looks at the meager meat being rationed, and looks at Cassandro like he ain’t sht.
The young boy tells them all to look!
A few lionesses could barely be seen closing in on a nearby waterhole.
Antelopes, Zebras, and Cape buffalo were enjoying an evening drink together.
Nanyori tells them they are going to try for the smallest Zebra.
Cassandro insists to know why.
The girl translates quietly for her.
The Antelope will run away first, they will jump and zig-zag fast and are too much effort to catch.
The Cape buffalo will run, but if the lions catch one, their cry will bring the herd back, and they will mob the lions.
…Mobbing buffalo is death by crushes, so high risk…
But the Zebra, if they take one down, the herd will not help.
So smarter choice is Zebra.
The chase starts.
5 lionesses come down from different angles and the gangs at the water well scattered every which way.
The lionesses go straight for the weakest Zebra.
Knowing that if it escapes into the herd it will be impossible to get it back, one lioness boldly grabs onto it’s rear leg and hangs on as hard as she can.
The mother Zebra comes in and kicks the lioness clean off just in time and the foal bolts away.
Two lionesses jump on the mother Zebra but are also deflected off with bites and kicks.
A large dark mained Lion leap-roars out of nowhere and clamps it’s massive frame and jaws down hard on the mother’s neck.
Crushing her neck bones into bloody dust.
Another lioness joins him to finish off the prey with a bite to the jugular.
They hold the prey down while the mother’s legs kick up and flail less and less.
As her life slips and dribbles away between their teeth.
The youngest zebra, limps as quickly as it can towards its herd, that are standing around at half a soccer field away.
The three lionesses quickly close in and finish it off as well.
The Zebra stay in place and watch. Some of them start grazing again, and eventually they all start heading back to the waterhole together.
All the other animals as well, cautiously return to the waterhole while the lions feast nearby.
Their collective logic is, if the predators are already eating, the threat is no longer immediate.
Nanyori invites everyone to come with her.
You need to let the lions eat a little first, we can’t go right away.
They all said no, she’s crazy!
She gives them a smile and tells them her voices promise it’ll work.
She pats her tummy and riles them up with yum-yum-tum tums.
The kids were fearless and liked her, they were on board.
Not one to walk away from a test of mettle, Cassandro slung his rifle.
They all walk together with their elbows bowed out, appearing as a bigger unit than they really were.
Slowly and calmly walk towards the feasting pride, they each did their own version of warrior chanting, laughing at each other at the weird noises they came up with.
As they get nearer, the lions stop devouring and observe eyes wide.
As they get even nearer, they get up, full alert.
Nearer almost there, the Lions scatter apart and hold their distance together nearby.
Afraid of not understanding what this noisy wide thing was, and how it clearly didn’t fear them.
Quickly hacking a whole rear leg off the zebra with a machete, Nanyori and the team walk backwards and away from the Lion’s dinner while still facing them.
The Lions rush back in to top off on their dinner, growling angrily at having been interrupted.
The new family builds a makeshift spit-roast for the zebra-leg where the old fire was.
They laugh their dinner away with stories and gossip they felt like bringing up.
Getting to know each other better.
Cassandro is enjoying the moment.
And laughs as well.
and laughs and laughs and laughs.
~
~~
~~~~
~~~~~ 2am. 21 Nov 2019 ~~~~~~
~~~~~
~~
~
“What’s so funny Cassandro?
I like to laugh at jokes myself.”
Gunny tries again to get his attention.
“knock kock.
anyone there?”
Cassandro opens his eyes to the big bald Marine from last time.
His smile melts from his face.
His hands are tied to an anchor welded on the table.
He was gassed again. He’s finding that annoying.
As the dream fades away, his mind returns to his reality at Guantanamo Bay.
Cassandro isn’t amused. He wishes to go back to his dream.
“Gunny, long time no see. You don’t call, you don’t write, so I wasn’t expecting you.
I don’t appreciate your unwelcome visit.
Think we can try again tomorrow?
We can agree to both meet at a mutually beneficial time, like respectful people do.
Will the Zimbardo’s let you? Did you want me to speak with them for you?”
Gunny doesn’t want to play his game and is impatient.
“You kidding me? Tomorrow!?”
Gunny does an obnoxious laugh.
“You really are funny. See, we both have a sense of humor, we have so much in common.”
“Look gunny, I’m groggy, the gas has me woozy.
You know, I can transfer myself from one cell to another, what are you so scared of?
Have you ever been gassed before? It’s powerful sht, you wouldn’t like it.
Makes your head spin. Hard to think straight. You wake up to talking heads.”
“fk that. Let’s talk. I’m ready to tell you about myself.
I tell you about me, you tell me about you, isn’t that how you work?”
Look, i’m just a village cook.
I used to squeeze lemonades for a living.
How can I tell you everything and answer all those top secret questions you have when I’m not at my best?
Tell you what. tomorrow, and I will tell you about the boots.
And the whales!”
Gunny’s taken back.
“Huh?”
>>>Take the deal. If he says he’ll talk, we’ll hold him to it. Schedule the meet and get out<<<
Cassandro adds,
“By the way, bring me my boots. Don’t be a petty thief, you’re above that.”
Gunny gets to the business end of the convo,
“So, tomorrow. What time?”
“You choose”
Gunny thinks for a moment,
“1000?”
Cassandro quickly declines,
“What? Nah, make it 1300.
A wise man once said, people behave differently after lunch.
So 1300, we’d both have had lunch and be on our best behavior.”
Gunny stays looking at him.
Cassandro punishes him for taking too long to confirm,
“Oh, i’m going to need your watch again.
I wanna make sure I’m ready for our tea-date.
Plus, you got the face of someone who’d show up 15 minutes prior to the agreed upon time and I’d like to set the alarm accordingly.”
Gunny hands him the watch, minimizing talk time.
“Oh my, what a treat. A Casiooooow F-91W.
This is much better than that other sht you had.
This is a timeless time-peace. Good looking out devil dog.
Gunny nods. “Alright… …Tomorrow at 1300. You talk.
You promise?”
“I’m a being built on universal truths.
Lying is below me.
How about this.
I’ll even shake you on it.
And then, we both go our separate ways until… “
Cassandro looks at the watch.
…”in some time after 10 hours. deal?”
Gunny looks at Cassandro’s extended hand. He’s gleeful inside.
Gunny pumps extreme weights almost daily.
He’s going to give Cassandro the firmest shake he’s ever gotten, make him think twice next time before he gives him lip.
Gunny’s wearing thick yellow Mr. Clean dishwashing gloves.
He goes to shake his hand, he clamps down.
Cassandro calmly matches his strength, and slowly, starts to tighten the vice on Gunny, and twist inwards.
Gunny’s face goes white with fear and pain at the otherworldly strength that’s forcing him closer.
Cassandro nails gunny’s head flat next to him.
Cassandros 3 digit hand has him down, his 6 crosses dangle in front of his face as it’s inches away from the table anchor.
The gas starts coming in. Cassandro speaks to Gunny’s ear.
“I chose not to kill you, because I know who you are.
I’d rather you live long enough to be part of the second coming.
Now, I’ll see you tomorrow.
Don’t. forget. my. boots.”
The gas puts them both asleep.
Cassandro returns to Africa.
It’s been a long day of posing as a lemonade stand vendor in city squares.
Getting to know people. Answer prayers like side quests.
And teach those who are hungry for answers.
He serves water, lemon and sugar to the ghosts of his soulmates.
His greatest teachers.
Maja Zsófia.
(insert name – asdfasdf.)
Jane.
Vovo Tuira.
He wasn’t expecting Dani Zoltan there.
He served him also.
Finished for the day, he retreats to the outskirts.
To a different land cruiser. All white. Working radio.
Nanyori caresses Cassandro’s face before bed.
Her hands, also, smell of citrus.
Because Cassandro was infected since he was 12, they don’t have relations.
The highlight of their romantic partnership involves just this.
The bliss and comfort of spooning one next to the other after another long day.
In shared warmth, their tired aching bodies melt together and rest.
Fogging up the vehicle’s windows all night and into the next morning.
These are the cherished memories Cassandro replays over and over,
to get him through the worst of times.
This is the page number, he picks, every time.