A DANCE WITH LUCIFER

Pwinga tossed sleeplessly on a wooden plank, blinking the eerie night away, his whole body was aching like someone who had collided with a train. His troublesome companions, the Mosquitoes kept singing irritating tunes the whole night as if they did not know how to land and rest. The buzzing sounds of mosquitoes in the vicinity were punctuated eternally with painful jabs on his exposed skin as if the tiny legged creatures were trying to drain his blood supply. He had no defense against this sly enemy being several kilometers away from his home. There was really nothing he could do on his own because nature was terribly angry with him considering that he had just swindled a dead man. I know by now your fertile cerebral molecules are stimulated to find out just how a dead man can be swindled.

           Pwinga’s problems started in a flash of a moment one hot moonless summer evening as the cool breeze blowing from the nearby Hakaloba Dam massaged his skin. He was returning from a concert and passing by the dam where women get frog’s urine for love portions when he heard a powerful high pitched scream from his home. The peal was coming from the mouth of his father’s eleventh wife who was tearing the night in reckless disregard to the comfort of others.

However, she may be forgiven because her wail resembling a police siren was an official announcement to the whole village that Pwinga’s father, Mr. Hikakuta had died.

       Being the firstborn, the news of his father’s death hit him very hard; it was as if a treacherous landslide had just collapsed under his feet. A whole host of issues suddenly demanded his attention. The first challenge was how to transport the dead man’s body from Macha General Hospital to his burial site in Masompe village some forty kilometers away. The next day he called the family and some village elders for consultation on this delicate matter.

“What do we do now?” He asked looking completely lost. His eyes had the vacant appeal of a young girl lost in the woods. ‘Where do we start solving this problem?”

The way he wrung his hands together reminded one of a thief who people had forgiven but then stripped of everything.

“We bury your father, what else?”Mr. Soobe responded with a tone packing a reproach approaching disdain. “We did not come here to listen to women crying or you talking like a malaria case.”

Being Pwinga’s maternal uncle he had observed serious performance flaws in his nephew and was heard saying disparaging things every time his name was mentioned.

“That is the question uncle, how do we bury someone 40 km away?” Pwinga persisted keeping his anger just below explosion point. He was aware of his uncle’s lack of respect for him and as he grew older the feeling was becoming mutual.

“First go and buy a coffin in town,” Mr. Soobe pushed on his own line of unconcerned attack. “No one expects your father to be buried in a sack.”

The next day, Pwinga started off for town to buy the coffin. At the roadside a Toyota Land cruiser offered him a lift to town. He sat in the back of the truck on his small bundle. There were no seats. The back was very uncomfortable; too many bumps and no windscreen to protect one from the strong winds. In no time his eyes were covered with tears like someone crying. His head was covered in dust making him look like a little desert mound. The journey lasted two hours.

The driver charged him fifty-four kwacha fare leaving him with twenty-two thousand kwacha which he tacked away safely in a brown cotton sock. This was a wallet. This ‘wallet’ was tacked into an inner pocket of the underclothes making quite a suspicious bulge.

By the time he reached town all the shops had closed for the night forcing him to wait for the next day to buy the coffin. He decided to find a place to pass the night.

As he moved about looking for a place to lay his head for the night, the cold hand of fate intervened.

He was passing by a row of night clubs flashing psychedelic lights spiced with big sound music banging the night away. In the glare of floodlights he could see people dancing; young men and young women all looking very happy. Outside some open-air canteens and even bars were active selling roasted meat, cigarettes, and spirits among other items.

But suddenly his attention was arrested by a sight that completely altered his situation for good.

Coming into an opening, he walked towards one man selling spirits to ask for directions to a place where he could sleep, especially the rail station.

“Yes daddy, can I help you?” the young man asked wondering whether the clown-like looking man wanted to buy cigarettes.

“Where is the Railway Station?” Pwinga asked the young man. “I want to sleep in the waiting room.”

Before the young man could answer, Pwinga heard some giggling to his left. When he squeezed his eyes to have better sight, he was able to discern girls huddled together in small groups, cleverly camouflaged by the semi-darkness. And most were almost half-naked.

“Ha...Ha..........” His laws yanked open like a car tailgate and words exploded right in the face of a youth. “If that was my daughter, I would whip her to death...”

“What is the problem, dad?” the youth asked worried that maybe the new customer had seen the danger. The place was rife with riots and fights.

“Look at those stupid girls,” Pwinga pointed. “How can they come here naked...?”

“Oh you mean these sex workers,” the youth explained. “They do that to attract customers.”

But as the girls came into the light Pwinga’s feelings underwent a rapid transformation as he failed to tear his gaze away. His eyes,ballooned to owl size , were ogling this group of girls when another pair dropped from the yellow-painted taxi and came exactly where he was standing, they wanted to buy cigarettes. His confusion worsened seeing young girls not only half-naked but also smoking shamelessly in public; such impudence. He shook his head witnessing a taboo unheard of back in the sacred jungles of Masompe village.

“This is a wicked generation, worse than Soddom,” Pwinga was almost shouting but his eyes stayed on the sights.

“Yes dad these are the killers in town,” the youth replied. “They will only bring you trouble.”

And then there was this girl who grabbed Pwinga's heart on the wrong end altogether. He didn’t know when his revulsion was replaced with a hungry, desperate look like a starving man staring at food. Pwinga’s lower jaw dropped inelegantly to resemble a dog battling to eat a hot egg as he looked at the call girl. Predictably,as time raced on, Pwinga’s shocked surprise crumbled and was ousted by desire. His humanity forced him to admit one thing; the girls were beautiful; deadly attractive, especially with the deceptive glare of psychedelic lights flattering them. The new feeling catapulted him into the twenty-first century with its wicked permissiveness. Unconsciously the animal instincts sprang up to the fore; ‘I must get one of these nice girls,’ he mused to himself. It did not matter whether they were drinking and smoking. It did not matter whether they could be carrying scary diseases. The body would choose what it wanted, the flesh would get what it desired, and caution would suffer eviction. Feeling the sight washing away all values, he suddenly tasted some liberating power sweeping over. He could almost hear Pastor Radius’ sermon on the power of vision;

      “What you see has the power to bind your spirit and control your destiny because the eyes are the windows to the soul“.

He became hypnotized watching such beautiful legs, gorgeous bodies almost as if these were mythical creatures from outer space. The girls possessed all curves, bulges, and steak in the right places. He refused to obey the small voice warning him to look the other way or better still flee faster than Joseph’s marathon dash from the lustful embrace of Potipher’s wife. He was obviously consumed with the same lust that drove King David down the wretched road into Bathsheba’s murderous thighs.

He lingered too much, one of the girls spotted him staring at her short skirt.

   To his surprise, the girl smiled at him, giggling with a man killing smile as if she knew him. Her smiling lips and twinkling eyes seemed to combine in screaming the inevitable word; COME TO BED.  When he hesitated to respond she walked to him, greeted him warmly while rushing to hook her left hand into his hand possessively.

“This one is mine guys,” she started telling her friends.

 Then she turned to him and told him to take her inside for a coca-cola to quench thirsty. That is how Pwinga overcame his primeval fears and entered the night club presumably to buy his new girl a drink.

 “Dad,” the youth tried to dissuade Pwinga.

“I don’t remember asking you for advice,” Pwinga answered rudely.

Once inside the Nightclub Susan, as the girl was called told Pwinga to buy her food.

“I’m so hungry Darling, please buy me food,” Susan said

“But how can a beautiful girl like you be hungry?”Pwinga asked in total confusion.

“Some thugs stole my money that is why I am very broke,” the girl explained tolerantly.

“Don’t worry as long as you are with me everything is fine,” Pwinga declared.” Back in the village they call me Jim Hendricks.” Pwinga decided to use the name he had heard one of the university boys calling them at a concert. He did not even know what that name meant.

“What does that exactly mean?” Susan asked perplexed that this villager could have such a sophisticated name. She also realized that this villager, though with the unmistakable smell of cow dung and the dressing of a clown, had a lot of money. She wanted this money. She just had to get this money.

“Can I go to the ladies; I will be back in a minute?” Susan requested looking at Pwinga as if she could not do anything without his permission.

“Can I escort you, maybe it is dangerous?” Pwinga offered thinking the Ladies was another Disco place far off.

“No you, men do not escort women to toilets,” Susan said.

“Alright then you can go,” he said feeling pride that the girl could do nothing without seeking his permission.

On leaving Pwinga Susan immediately went to a group of thugs, led by a guy called Luke.

“Susan you are finished, dancing with that villager,” Luke laughed at Susan even before she could explain what she had come for.

“Guys, that man is loaded with cash,” she blurted out immediately in answer to Luke’s jibe.

“Really!”Luke asked with his long lips dropping hungrily.

“Yes, his pile stabbed me like a knife,” Susan said gesturing with her hands. Her face twisted in an alarmed grimace.

“That is nice Susan,” Luke said. “We must relieve such undeserving clowns of their money.”

On leaving the thugs Susan quickly came back to continue dancing with Pwinga.

The thugs remained to plot a fail-safe move.

Pwinga welcomed Susan with a long kiss, holding the girl tightly. He could feel his cobra uncoiling in an urgent demanding way. Susan felt Pwinga’s erection stabbing hungrily against her belly, but that was not new to her and in fact she was not interested. Her problem was how to get the money. She moved her hands all over his body until a firm grip on a thick pile confirmed where the universal commodity was and then she quietly nodded for the thugs to come.

‘This pile must definitely contain a huge sum of money’ she told herself, her mouth started watering like a dog anxious to get food from the master’s table...But she was worried about Luke stealing from her as well.

“I am the one to get the money today,” she told herself.

 As Pwinga danced with her possessively, wondering how to take this girl into a nearby bush for a good game, Luke came with the swagger of the wrestling champion John Cena. He approached them pretending to be the husband to Susan and said in a menacing voice;

”Susan, who is this man you are dancing with?”

“He is just a friend” Susan answered as she moved deeper into an embrace with Pwinga.

“How come you are dancing with your crotches grinding against each other like this?” Luke persisted.

“Even if you are my husband you cannot tell me how to dance or who to dance with”, Susan hit back provocatively

 “You leave my wife alone,” Luke turned to Pwinga.

Susan turned to Luke and slapped him saying; “Leave us alone, I am married at home, here in the disco, I am free.”

This infuriated Luke; he ignored Susan as he grabbed Pwinga on the collars violently before unleashing a thunderous Gunduzan punch. Pwinga ducked the punch and moved on to stand behind a row of chairs to protect himself. The thug followed him and before he knew it a hard kick brought Pwinga to the floor. Pwinga stood up and started rolling his sleeves, turning his head to slant at an angle to the normal as he stabbed his tongue between his teeth. Then he swung a hissing left punch to the right jaw of the thug; the thug dodged the punch not knowing that that punch was a dummy. As the thug swung his head to dodge the punch Pwinga unleashed a banana curve which starts from the hip and moves like it will miss you. The punch thumped the thug’s jaw with a savage force making him reel back like a broken ZESCO pole.

Pwinga now removed his cowhide sandals and started trotting around in the ring hastily assembled by the revelers who stopped drinking to start cheering.

“Mumbwa!” “Mumbwa!” The crowd was yelling meaning villager.

Luke recovered quickly and struggled to his feet. By now the fight had created confusion in the night club.

 The other thugs came pretending to be plainclothes policemen. They demanded an explanation for the fracas, which according to them was a public nuisance likely to cause a breach of the peace.

“Bwana this man has stolen my wife, I caught them red-handed dancing sexually,” Luke answered whilst spitting phlegm of blood. He pointed at Pwinga while pleading with the policeman.

“Sorry, but why are you dancing with married women?” he asked while adjusting his pencils on the chest. “Don’t you know that it is a crime?”

      “There is no law against dancing,” Susan said, “if it is there I have not heard of it.”

“You whores don’t even fear your husbands,” the thug police complained bitterly.

“But I am not sinning,” Susan persisted.

 “How do you fight over a woman in a night club? Let’s go outside and talk this out like civilized people,” the officer advised.

That is how Pwinga, Susan, and the thugs left the nightclub to look for a quiet place to resolve the problem. The thugs and Susan went out first leaving Pwinga to come out last. It was a bit dark outside.

 No sooner had Pwinga stepped outside into the semi-darkness, than his head slammed into a stunning blow. He dropped quietly and unexpectedly to the ground like a log. A million stars burst upon him as the thugs pounded him mercilessly before the Egyptian darkness engulfed him.

 When he regained consciousness he found himself lying next to a heap of rubbish and his body ached all over like someone who had collided with a truck. The pair of trousers and underpants was heaped next to his head looking badly torn and covered in blood. Curiously the cowhide sandals that served him as shoes were tucked as a pillow under his swollen head. His bloody shirt covered his manhood obviously placed there by a Good Samaritan who was disgusted by the sight of such nakedness. The sock which just a while ago served as a wallet, were stuffed under his left armpit. It was completely empty. You do not need a degree in Engineering to guess where all the money went.

    An elderly woman with a slight limp in one leg found him lying helpless next to a heap of rubbish. She felt pity and decided to help him.

She covered his waist in a chitenge material making him look like a girl taking a man’s proposal. Then she hooked her hand into his arm and led him to the rail station. That is how Pwinga found himself sleeping on a wooden plank.

He had wasted money for buying a coffint to inter his father.Pwinga had swindled his father out of a decent burial. by dancing with Lucifer