Jimfish by Christopher Hope Page B

to handle a gun and to kill. Essential skills. And career opportunities. Promising fighters can become cooks to the officers, or drivers and bodyguards. And we never discriminate on grounds of sex. Some of the best fighters in my Small Boys Unit are actually girls. It’s the wigs that confuse the issue. The more talented girls have anadvantage over the boys because they become companions to the big brass in my brigade.’
    â€˜Why do you take off your clothes?’ Jimfish asked Brigadier Bare-Butt.
    â€˜Tactics. In my role as magical leader I mix the military with the mystical. And if you want to turn enemy bullets to water, then not just any old magic will do. It takes a very powerful sacrifice.’
    â€˜Sacrifice?’ Lunamiel trembled.
    â€˜Before a battle we choose one of the boys,’ said the brigadier, ‘cut him into pieces and dine on his heart. All those lucky enough to belong to the Small Boys Unit know the ropes. We choose for the sacrifice a boy who has not been fighting well. It strengthens morale in the unit and concentrates the minds of the others.’
    Jimfish thought this over. He recalled in Matabeland how the North Korean-trained troops of General Jesus slaughtered anyone they assumed were dissidents, as well as the old, the ill and the young. He remembered how remote the dead looked; how so much noise and the heat of the killing gave in return such pale, cold, still results. But he had never seen children trained to kill adults. How he missed, all over again, the counsel of Soviet Malala, who would have been able to explain to him what to make of this murderous rage, when kids as young as ten or twelve, carrying automatic rifles taller than themselves, led by a stark-naked man, slaughtered all who opposed them. Was this another example of the rage that stoked the fires of the lumpenproletariat? And which side of history were these hopped-up young killers on?
    He was so confused that he blurted out a question to Brigadier Bare-Butt, which he quickly regretted.
    â€˜Surely, sir, you don’t believe all that mumbo-jumbo about magic charms turning bullets to water?’
    Brigadier Bare-Butt bristled. ‘Mumbo-jumbo? It’s clear to me that you understand very little of the traditions of Liberia. Ever since the Americans arrived in our country we’ve been a highly religious people and faith is our lodestar. Without this firm spiritual foundation my boys would not be the terrifyingly effective fighters they are. My sacred duty is to fortify their belief in the arms they use and in the magic charms that protect me. So I also prescribe cocaine before a battle, with marijuana to follow, by way of rest and relaxation.’
    But then the brigadier was called away to lead another charge of his Small Boys Unit. His niece suggested to Jimfish and Lunamiel that they all move on to her home village and Jimfish was very happy to do so, as the cries of the dying unnerved him, and, besides, there was something in the way the brigadier stared at Lunamiel that he did not like.
    His suspicions were confirmed before long. No sooner had they arrived in the Krahn village, where the family of Lunamiel’s loyal and kindly attendant had their home, than she whispered to Lunamiel that the brigadier was deeply in love with her and wished to marry her.
    â€˜I am very flattered,’ Lunamiel answered bravely, ‘but I love Jimfish and want one day to marry him.’
    â€˜You must be crazy!’ her servant told her. ‘You’re a girl from a traditional, white South African family with thehighest ethnic requirements. Your father was a policeman, dedicated to keeping everyone safely locked in the prisons of their skins. Your mother employed so many maids she put one to work on each hand when her fingernails needed attention. And yet you dream of marrying a man as pale as a fish in some lights, pale prawn-pink in others, and he sometimes shows an unearthly blue tinge. A