Thirteen: The Power of Death

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For what is it to die,

But to stand in the sun

and melt into the wind?

–Khalil Gibran

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2033 Congo River Valley

Edjembe’s return to the room gave Mwamba just enough time to rush away from the window and its portal into the landscapes of Hell, although he could feel that both the old man and Jorge let him go at last, lest he collapse from the shock of the scene.

Edjembe looked like a ghost, and had apparently become quite sober since setting foot in the basement. Having exchanged glances with the boss-man which released them from further duties, they rushed out of the door, pay slips in hand.

“You want to know what I pay them with, yes?”

Silence.

The old man seemed to relish the absence of words, in the hard eyes that were hazy with rage and violent suffering. “Well, there is much you will come to learn in this place, much.

“I have been searching for you Mwamba, searching for a very long time.”

At first Mwamba was unsure what to do; the dynamic had suddenly shifted, and while he wasn’t sure what changed, he didn’t like it. Somehow it felt better to be a random victim than it did to be a target. Being a target made it personal.

“Me?”

“Yes and no. Not you as in you in particular, Mwamba Okonkwo, the inheritor of the genes that your mother and father donated, born these eleven years ago in a dirty inner-city hospital. No, not you in particular, Mwamba, but yes, you.

“My name is Dingane, and I am quite ancient, Mwamba. I have seen entire generations pass like leaves on the wind, I have seen dynasties rise and fall, empires created and crumbled, great leaders and terrible dictators live and die. Do you know how I have done this boy? Death.”

The old man began to study Mwamba anew, searching over his entire body looking for something hidden beneath the frail flesh, some inner quality that he required so desperately. Turning again towards the splotchy light filtering through the partially obstructed window, he studied the scene developing outside. “What do you know of your grandmother, boy?”

Yet again Mwamba was caught off guard, this man knew too much about him, and furthermore what did he really know about his grandmother? Even worse, why should this evil old bastard even know a thing about her?

“I take your confused pause as implied recognition of the fact that you know little to nothing about her. I am going to suppose that you believe her to be your real grandmother? Yes? Well, if by real you mean biological then no, I’m afraid she has no genetic relationship to you. If, however, by real you mean the woman who raised you and was your protector and guide, then yes, she is your real grandmother.

“Do you want to know who she really was, boy?” The question seemed oddly phrased, as though a great deal of weight and turmoil lay at the end of the answer Dingane was about to give. Mwamba was not sure what he was accepting if he decided to listen to the creature’s deceitful tongue, but his curiosity was peaked and although not accepting the information, neither did he reject it.

“Mmm, yes, you want to know, you do, but you are weak and know not what power your own grandmother had, what she was capable of… what you are capable of.”