50 Years (4)

Mr. Sony is what we called him. But it surely wasn’t his name, which he did not ever disclose. “There are not many gweilo here on the islet are there? You call gweilo and I come. That’s much easier," groaned he when I pursued.

That white guy kept staying with us for several weeks before he left, for his recuperation.  He recuperated fast though.  One evening, when I came back from my dinghy business, 20 steps to the door did I hear his low-pitch grunting and puffing, that I had no doubt he was fucking June.  No agony or rage. What for? As I have said, everyone on the Islet fucked June. She was nurtured for fuck sake after all. Stepping into the house, I saw the back of him planting his leg wider than his shoulder a bit, stuttering violently by my table next to the window. His left hand fiercely latching on the table corner.  His right stretching further to clutch June’s left breast, I guessed while I couldn’t see clearly because of the evening sun glow blazing the fuck.  His jeans were full down, laying him bare except a pair of woman legs shielding his bum.  But the loose denim jacket was still cladded on top.  The floor around was dropped with bowl shards and sticky ChaGuo (dessert made with steam rice pudding filled with black bean and wrapped in leaves) I always put on that table.   Irritating evening sun glow surrounded that gave this fucking god in denim jacket an aura.  The low-pitch grunting and puffing did stop after I came, of course I had no doubt not because of me standing behind.  He just laid June’s legs back on the table and dressed up and turned, glaze snapping my eyes not without a slit of guilt and walked his way out.  Then saw I June who sat up, tugging her blue one piece wrap hanging on her nipples to where it should be, glaze snapping my eyes showing exhaustion and nothing else, and walked her way to the stove.  There left the table like those butcher benches that beasty lust just laid June on like a pig how long ago and how often I never know, and did his thing. No agony or rage. What for?

Step by step he told me what an evidence hunter was. “Do you know who started the destruction?" he carelessly breathed out the question, eyes fixed on his PCM-M10. Destruction? I asked, trying to get some clarification. A minute without a word from Mr. Sony, me and June by the stove. Letting the silence filled by crickets. “What you people call the Event, was actually the most catastrophic destruction in human history by nuclear attack. Funny is what started it was nothing but a prank.  Your government called the military from the North to exterminate a fleet of intruders that wasn’t even exist!" Those old people who was there then say it’s a tragic accident I said. “In line with the North government. No conspiracy. Just an heroic tragedy that hints at nothing but pure remembrance. Earning your leaders take a boat trip to that big hole every year to throw those fucking wreaths for solemnity." My English was not good. But still I knew he was mocking us.  You think it’s not true I asked. He gave in to cricket chirping again, head up tracing the moth around the light on the wall for another minute. “True or not isn’t what I care.  I care about keeping my belief and passing it on. My job done." His eyes attuned back to his PCM-M10 after his soliloquy.

The always listener June stirred up at that point, “You are Joshuas. You are those terrorists who try to ruin our country." “Your leaders air it all day long yeah? You knew it the first day yeah? So why rescued me? Why, you know my wound was down to no one but your government’s agent yeah? Why didn’t you kick me out now yeah? You know you need terrorists. You need it badly. Yeah, I’m to ruin your country if Almighty allowed it yeah. To tear your country apart yeah. To put your people into peril of chaos. It’s all true. It’s my duty. But let’s face it you aren’t happy here are you yeah? Having peace here yeah? Why? Because you don’t satisfy deep in your heart. Rage in your heart. Grieve in your heart. Desperation in your heart. You know you are right in the middle of the hell here peaceful in eternity yeah. The torment. The fire. The fuck. The eternity. The stability. You crave for a crack. A crack that lets someone break in, to give you that change yeah?  That’s what Rahab craved. That’s why she lied to those Jericho Kingsmen for those two foreigners like me now yeah? Let them scarlet cord to climb through the window to plant their bomb. To fucking bomb her own country, her own very fucking dam. To let her Joshua in that she didn’t even know is there.  Joshua, the terrorist! The first terrorist ever in human history! And she let him fuck her the first day they met.  And fucking marry him  Did Joshua then bring anything that make life better? No. Did she know that Joshua the terrorist wouldn’t bring anything better to her yeah? Absolutely. But Rahab was satisfied then, by what she craved for, that something finally clenched her desperation. That something finally answered her prayer! Yeah? That crack of getting out of her hell!"

After his oratory, he plugged his earphone into our ears, and played the music. Along he quoted the lyric. That I thought was indoctrination. That I thought it sort of worked.

The birds they sang
at the break of day
Start again
I heard them say
Don’t dwell on what
has passed away
or what is yet to be.
Ah the wars they will
be fought again
The holy dove
She will be caught again
bought and sold
and bought again
the dove is never free.

 

No border No chaos No annexation Hence peace Long lasting peace Long fucking hell of peace

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