The Death Toast

The nation's enemy

The nation’s enemy

‘Following the assassination of Minister Chuck Hawthorne, the police have been able to track down and arrest the five gunmen responsible for the evil act’, the TV reporter announced on the evening news. ‘The deceased minister for the defence was killed on the third day of February during a press conference in Reckdette and that’s ironic considering the purpose of the conference was to discuss the rising insecurity of lives across the nation. According to autopsy reports, he had been shot twice in his head while giving his speech and had died immediately. The five killers who were confirmed guilty yesterday at the state’s high court have been locked up, following the adjournment of the court case till next week –’.

General Sawer returned the remote control to the side stool and picked up his coffee cup from which the raw, undiluted smell of non-flavoured coffee could be perceived across the whole room. He took a sip from it and dropped it as he walked over to his working table that took a whole corner of his wide living room. He looked insouciant and less concerned about the news he just heard which wasn’t expected from anyone in Dexter. It was one of the biggest news since the announcement and the video release of the death of the beloved minister of defence the week before.

Unlike many other politicos in Dexter Island, Hawthorne was one of the very few who had more allies than enemies. This was the reason why the news of his death was a really devastating one for the people, the most recent news, therefore, was one to bring great joy to the masses. Sawer, however, was not one of the many usual people who made up the masses. He was once there at the top of the military, leading everything from the wars to the infamous coups. His right-hand man marching on the same ranks with him was Hawthorne, his great arch friend. Only that, relationships could be ruined.

The general reached for his mobile lying next to his most recent award, The Lifetime Achievement Award handed to him as a plaque by the president. He dialled a number and at the next buzz of his phone that signalled the response, he placed the phone to his ear.

‘You have to release those men’, he said and his voice sounded like the repeated echoing of a bear’s howls.

‘Sir?’

‘Release them, let them go’

‘Which of them? The Hawthorne assassin?’

‘Let them go’

‘It’s impossible, I can’t. The government has put a –’

‘Inspector. It is an order.’

‘I’m sorry, I won’t be able to do this one, their case is presently held by forces higher than I control’

‘Of course, you would be able to do it, your job might be on the line here, do it.’

‘Sir, please. You have to –’

‘I will give you thirty-six hours; you don’t want to mess this up. Good luck’, he said and hung up. He returned to the coffee and took another long sip, mute as he stared out of the glass windows into the dark night with his two hideous eyes. As he looked on, with his face seeming as it would blow up in terror sometime soon, the flashbacks rushing at his mind replaced the blackness of the night.

He remembered himself in soldier clothes with a powerful rifle in the grip of his left palm, shooting at the opposition fearlessly, amid an army, sweating profusely not necessarily caring about his own life as he could see bullets flying everywhere and many of his fellow soldiers lying on the floor, not moving at all. The rest of them were lying behind boulders, shooting once in a while when it seemed the coast was clear. Dexter was saved that day from their foreign enemy. That was thirty-four years ago; a long, long time ago, the garrison hadn’t been built around the boundaries of the island then. He was highly honoured and revered, even by his superiors.

His mind went over to the Invardi war, he was doing what he knew how to do best: fighting for his country wholeheartedly, only that this time he had a scar in the process, one that could not be healed or treated. He was shot twice in his groin, one of the bullets had crushed his hip bone while the other had cracked his nuts. The second bullet would render him infertile for life.

Yet, he went to the next big war four years later, a deadly war, he was the top commander this time and never for once quivered. He did his best and saved his country again. He sustained a lot of injuries in the fourth war he fought that left him bed-ridden for about a year and a half.

Four wars! His mind echoed out and then with his face tightened up with bitterness and anger, he recalled the worst day of his life. He was still on the sickbed with his face tilted to the TV hanging on the wall of the hospital room as he watched the appointment ceremony of the ministers. It was soon turn for the president to declare the newly-appointed minister of defence, General Sawer gave a really elated smile as he waited to hear his name called out.

‘Major General Chuck Hawthorne’, the president called and everyone cheered happily, clapping until the smiling general marched up to the stage.

Sawer sighed as he took another sip. He remembered how he had dropped from the bed in utter, startling shock and walked closer to the television.

‘He has proved himself to be a hero for this country, having sacrificed everything for the nation, fighting two revolutionary wars: The Invardi war and The Pelican War. He is by far, the best soldier we have had in recent times’, the president had said as the audience cheered again.

The best soldier! By far! Sawer remembered and shut his eyes. That day at the hospital, he just remained on that spot and unconsciously tears rolled down his cheeks.

He wondered if the president and everyone else at the stage had suddenly lost their memories and forgotten that there was a certain commander-in-chief of the armed forces of Dexter Island who had stayed in the army for thirty years of his life, who had walked and led the army through everything and survived it. It seemed like he had died in the minds of people the moment he had an injury and couldn’t fight any longer in wars. God knew that he merited the position. Hawthorne used to be a junior man in the army under him and he had picked him up. Whatever level Hawthorne ever reached in the military, he had dragged him up there with his very own hands. Now, the whole nation had turned against him and picked someone that was not him.

Each time Owen Sawer had remembered why he had no wife, no family, why he couldn’t; he felt coldly betrayed by the people all over again like it had just happened. So, after years of brooding and ruminating about everything, he swallowed it all in and decided to do things his own way, he turned against the country and without looking back, he decided to break down everything he believed he had built up.

He kept his face out and now that the reminisces had faded, he saw under the street lights the other mansions in the Rainbow City estate of Reckdette. He could visualise the time when the golden roofs of those homes would char into ash and everyone in them would be burnt to their bones. But he wasn’t anxious, he was patient because he wanted the destruction to come slowly.

Even though the assassination of the minister and the former president who had neglected him seemed to be the worst of his handiworks yet, there was indeed more havoc to be plotted. It was like opening an onion; with each layer pulled off it, the smell of the onion got worse and acrider.