gaze towards me. ‘And you,’ he
reached out a hand. ‘You need to get up and quit running.’
I took his hand and he pulled me to my feet. I brushed the dirt off my clothes as Priest turned back to where he had been sitting. My legs were still shaking, partly from the adrenaline leaving
them and partly from fear of this giant of a man.
‘Running won’t help,’ he said.
‘I’m fast,’ I blurted out.
He turned from his seat on a nearby rock and raised an eyebrow.
‘I was the fastest person in the village,’ I said, encouraged by the lack of anger in his face.
He picked up his gun.
He’s going to shoot me.
I stood paralysed.
‘This,’ he waved the gun, ‘is the only speed that matters.’ I remembered that the soldier on the truck had said the same thing. ‘That, and the balls to vomit on the
Captain.’ He smiled a little and indicated, with a nod, a rock nearby. I went and sat on the rock.
Guns are all around me. Only the new recruits like me are not armed. There is no one in the camp weaker than us.
On my second day, I wake up to see Parasite sitting on the floor, a ratty towel laid out in front of him, and his AK-47 across his knees. As deliberately as a spider building her web, he starts
to dismantle the weapon.
I don’t say anything, I just stare at the gun.
‘You like my disease?’ he asks with a smile.
‘Your what?’
‘This.’ He strokes the half-dismantled gun like a pet kitten. ‘My gun. It’s name is Disease. Get it? I’m the parasite, this is the disease.’ He pulls another
piece off the gun.
With a small oily cloth, he starts wiping down the gun, digging out bits of dust. A little bottle of baby oil sits on the towel. He pours it on his hands, rubs them together, then rubs his hands
all over each piece of the weapon. The way he does it, the look on his face, gives me a feeling like I shouldn’t be watching. Maybe he’s doing it to tease me.
‘I’ll tell ya, Baboon, cleaning a gun is like when you feel yourself getting an erection. There’s that lightness you feel, that little burst of happiness. And then it’s
there, man. It’s you. Big and strong!’ Parasite shifts a little where he is sitting. He wipes his hands on the cloth and starts reassembling the pieces.
‘Shooting stuff,’ Parasite says, with his gun reassembled and glinting, ‘is just like making love, man. This gun has made love to three very beautiful women. Have you ever seen
a woman dead?’
I remember my uncle’s wife, back in the village. They tore away her clothes and tossed her into the dirt. She was so weak from fear that, even on her hands and knees, she had trouble
staying up. Once they were finished with her, they left her dead in the dust next to my burning hut. Looking at Parasite, I shake my head.
He smiles with half of his mouth. ‘It’s amazing. I’ll tell you a secret. Women, they’re so much more beautiful dead than alive. The first time I killed a woman for real,
it was just me and her in the hut.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Two in the stomach, one in the head.’ He mimes the shots.
Parasite sets the gun across his lap and folds up the towel with the cloth and oil inside. He pushes the wrapped towel under the cot, next to his boots. ‘She was still warm,’ he
says. Standing up, he grabs his crotch and adds, ‘And so tight! Only took a minute. World’s best.’
He slings the AK-47 over his shoulder and stands there in his shorts, his erection at the level of my face. ‘Shit, man,’ Parasite whispers. ‘I gotta go to the hospitality
house. Are you even old enough to get it up?’
I shrug. I know what Parasite is talking about, but not really. Akot used to compare the rears of all the women in the village. The single ones, at least. That never made sense to me, how one
was better than another. He was the same with breasts. Hearing him talk, I did figure out that large breasts were somehow better than small ones, but I had no idea why.
‘Yeah,’ Parasite says
reached out a hand. ‘You need to get up and quit running.’
I took his hand and he pulled me to my feet. I brushed the dirt off my clothes as Priest turned back to where he had been sitting. My legs were still shaking, partly from the adrenaline leaving
them and partly from fear of this giant of a man.
‘Running won’t help,’ he said.
‘I’m fast,’ I blurted out.
He turned from his seat on a nearby rock and raised an eyebrow.
‘I was the fastest person in the village,’ I said, encouraged by the lack of anger in his face.
He picked up his gun.
He’s going to shoot me.
I stood paralysed.
‘This,’ he waved the gun, ‘is the only speed that matters.’ I remembered that the soldier on the truck had said the same thing. ‘That, and the balls to vomit on the
Captain.’ He smiled a little and indicated, with a nod, a rock nearby. I went and sat on the rock.
Guns are all around me. Only the new recruits like me are not armed. There is no one in the camp weaker than us.
On my second day, I wake up to see Parasite sitting on the floor, a ratty towel laid out in front of him, and his AK-47 across his knees. As deliberately as a spider building her web, he starts
to dismantle the weapon.
I don’t say anything, I just stare at the gun.
‘You like my disease?’ he asks with a smile.
‘Your what?’
‘This.’ He strokes the half-dismantled gun like a pet kitten. ‘My gun. It’s name is Disease. Get it? I’m the parasite, this is the disease.’ He pulls another
piece off the gun.
With a small oily cloth, he starts wiping down the gun, digging out bits of dust. A little bottle of baby oil sits on the towel. He pours it on his hands, rubs them together, then rubs his hands
all over each piece of the weapon. The way he does it, the look on his face, gives me a feeling like I shouldn’t be watching. Maybe he’s doing it to tease me.
‘I’ll tell ya, Baboon, cleaning a gun is like when you feel yourself getting an erection. There’s that lightness you feel, that little burst of happiness. And then it’s
there, man. It’s you. Big and strong!’ Parasite shifts a little where he is sitting. He wipes his hands on the cloth and starts reassembling the pieces.
‘Shooting stuff,’ Parasite says, with his gun reassembled and glinting, ‘is just like making love, man. This gun has made love to three very beautiful women. Have you ever seen
a woman dead?’
I remember my uncle’s wife, back in the village. They tore away her clothes and tossed her into the dirt. She was so weak from fear that, even on her hands and knees, she had trouble
staying up. Once they were finished with her, they left her dead in the dust next to my burning hut. Looking at Parasite, I shake my head.
He smiles with half of his mouth. ‘It’s amazing. I’ll tell you a secret. Women, they’re so much more beautiful dead than alive. The first time I killed a woman for real,
it was just me and her in the hut.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Two in the stomach, one in the head.’ He mimes the shots.
Parasite sets the gun across his lap and folds up the towel with the cloth and oil inside. He pushes the wrapped towel under the cot, next to his boots. ‘She was still warm,’ he
says. Standing up, he grabs his crotch and adds, ‘And so tight! Only took a minute. World’s best.’
He slings the AK-47 over his shoulder and stands there in his shorts, his erection at the level of my face. ‘Shit, man,’ Parasite whispers. ‘I gotta go to the hospitality
house. Are you even old enough to get it up?’
I shrug. I know what Parasite is talking about, but not really. Akot used to compare the rears of all the women in the village. The single ones, at least. That never made sense to me, how one
was better than another. He was the same with breasts. Hearing him talk, I did figure out that large breasts were somehow better than small ones, but I had no idea why.
‘Yeah,’ Parasite says
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