Two birds of prey were whirling in the sky. The false majesty of their circling did not augur well. On a bare hillock, a group of vultures were swarming around a shapeless form. Was it an animal or a human being? The vultures took turns dipping into their prey, as calmly and shamelessly as partygoers savouring a well-deserved meal. The largest of them turned to the convoy, in no way bothered, even though the track was very close. I clearly made out its hairless neck and blood-smeared beak. Suddenly, I thought I saw an arm move amid the wings.
‘There’s a man there,’ I yelled at the driver. ‘Stop, there’s a man being eaten by vultures, and he’s still alive …’
My kidnappers woke with a start and instinctively grabbed their weapons, expecting an enemy attack. Joma just kept on driving.
‘Stop, please! I tell you there’s an injured man …’
Joma glanced at me in the rear-view mirror and tapped his temple with his finger.
‘I’m not imagining things. I saw him move. He’s alive … Stop right now …’
On the hillock, the vultures moved their wings in a dance of death, and again I thought I saw the arm move. I threw myself at the back of the cab, and knocked on it.
‘You have no hearts. You’re monsters. Stop, stop, you bunch of savages …’
Joma braked so sharply that the jeep behind us nearly crashed into us … The word ‘savages’ had slipped out. I couldn’t take it back or downplay it. I only became aware of how serious it was when it rang out over the noise of the pick-up, bearing as it did centuries of tragedy and trauma. I didn’t think it for a second but, through some dormant mechanism, I had said it. And Joma had heard it … He jumped out, ran along the side of the vehicle, grabbed me by my shirt collar and pulled me over the side. I fell on my stomach, face down. He took me by the hair and lifted me up. His face was distorted with anger and hatred.
He pushed and kicked me towards the hillock, without saying anything.
‘What’s going on, damn it?’ Moussa asked, coming to a halt by the side of the road. ‘Where’s he taking him?’
When we got within twenty metres of the hillock, Joma crushed the back of my neck between his fingers.
‘Where do you see an injured man? Where is this guy we savages are abandoning to the birds?’
The shapeless form in question was the carcass of a jackal. As for the arm I thought I’d seen move, it was only the jackal’s paw, which one of the vultures was busy tearing to pieces.
‘So, who’s having visions now?’
Joma fired a shot into the air, and the vultures flapped their wings but didn’t fly away — they were far too hungry to give up their feast.
‘Is there the body of a man in there, mister doctor?’
‘No.’
‘I didn’t hear that,’ he said, putting his hand to his ear.
‘I’m sorry. I thought …’
‘You thought what? That there was a man being eaten by birds or that you were surrounded by heartless savages?’
‘I was wrong.’
‘All down the line, cretin, all down the line. You don’t understand a damned thing about our continent … You’re in Africa now, and in Africa, you’re the savage.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Too easy. You can apologise to me on your knees. I did warn you: if you don’t want me to walk all over you, become invisible. Now get down on your knees and beg my forgiveness.’
I didn’t do as he said.
‘On your knees, you son of a bitch, or I’ll blow your brains out.’
The chief’s jeep left the track and came towards us.
Joma stuck the barrel of his rifle under my chin. I didn’t give in. I had no desire to give in. I heard Moussa shouting orders; Joma wasn’t listening. His eyes bulging, his mouth wide open, he was trembling with anger. The jeep came level with us and stopped. The chief jumped down, and put his arms out to calm his subordinate.
‘Don’t be a fool, Joma.’
‘The son of a bitch has to realise that the days of colonialism are long past.’
‘Put down your Kalashnikov.’
‘Not before he’s on the ground.’
The chief didn’t dare come a step closer. Joma’s finger was on the trigger. Sweat was pouring down his forehead.
‘On your knees!’
‘Do what he asks,’ Hans yelled at me in German. ‘The man’s not in his right mind.’
I couldn’t blink or swallow. But I wasn’t scared. I think my nerves must have given way, because I no longer had any awareness of the danger I was in. Let him get on with it, I said to myself, resigned. The situation was beyond my understanding, and I was tired, convinced that, sooner or later, this madman would shoot me. Everything in him condemned me. He had promised to cook me on a low heat until I melted in his mouth. And he would keep his word. His hatred was a programme he would not deviate from.
‘Please, Kurt!’ Hans cried. ‘Do as he says!’
The chief tried to approach, but Joma pointed his weapon at him and forced him to retreat.
‘Don’t interfere, Moussa. This is between him and me.’
‘Let me remind you he’s my hostage.’
‘I don’t give a fuck about that. I took up arms to defend principles, not to line my pockets. I guarantee that if he doesn’t grovel at my feet, I’ll settle his hash right now.’
The chief urged me to comply. I shook my head. The barrel this time was aimed at my forehead. A deep silence fell over the hillock. The men in the pick-up were standing, waiting to see my skull explode. Hans was petrified; his cries had exhausted him. Further down, on the track, the rest of the gang were motionless. Things were clearly getting worse and they were waiting to see how it was all going to end. In the sky, the two vultures circled in slow motion, their shadows skimming the ground like a bad omen.
‘I’ll count to three,’ Joma boomed. ‘One … two …’
Blackmoon, whom I hadn’t seen come up behind me, kicked me hard in the shins and forced me to kneel. The irregularity of the procedure didn’t seem to bother Joma. All he cared about was seeing me on the ground.
‘You see?’ he said. ‘It isn’t complicated.’
‘What’s got into you, Joma, damn it?’ Moussa exclaimed.
‘I’m teaching this bastard about Africa. He needs to know that things have changed.’ He grabbed me by the throat, squeezed hard and said, ‘No one race is superior to any other. Since prehistoric times, it’s always been the balance of power that decides who’s master and who’s slave. Today, the power’s on my side. And even if to you I’m nothing but a stupid nigger, I’m the one who calls the shots. Knowledge, social rank and skin colour don’t mean a thing when you’ve got a gun shoved in your face. You thought you were God’s gift? I’m going to prove to you that you’re nothing but a little runt like the rest of us, born out of the same arsehole. Your university qualifications and your white man’s arrogance don’t matter in a place where a simple bullet’s enough to do away with all your privileges. So you were born in the West, were you? You’re lucky. Now you’re going to be reborn in Africa and you’ll understand what that means.’
He pushed me away and walked back to the track like an ogre vanishing into the shadows.
‘What’s your problem with this man?’ Moussa yelled after him.
‘I don’t like his blue eyes!’ Joma shouted back.
Arms grabbed me round the waist and lifted me from the ground. I was paralysed. Everything seemed insubstantial, grotesque, improbable. I had come close to disaster, just like the hitchhiker the other day, except that I don’t think I’d even realised how bad it had been. It was a strange feeling that scared and overwhelmed me: it was as if my mind was numb.