Young Offender, Part 62:
Chang looked around the desolate Jinhe reeducation camp and shook his head. There hadn't been enough food left for the workers days ago. No Party officials had been by to give them instructions. Most of the people with him carried on, numbly trying to scratch out an existence on the dry, cracked soil. The weaker people, the elderly or sick, lay in huts, mostly close to death. His own stomach rumbled in hunger.
Indeed, Chang felt worn down by this latest famine. Over the years the Party officials had reduced the number of guards, however, their viciousness had increased. There was no end in sight for Chang, and despair had taken over in his mind, driven by the constant lack of food.
He walked to the edge of the camp, away from the others. There was a small tool shack beside a withered old tree. He opened the door of the tool shack and got a crate and rope. He fashioned it into a noose, not seeing any other options for his life. He could no longer live in starvation and abuse.
He flung the noose over a limb and stepped on a create. He gave out a silent prayer before kicking the create aside. He heard a loud bang and then he crashed against the ground. He sat up, dazed. He looked over towards the road behind him.
There were two men standing by a car. One was a tall foreigner with a rifle. The other looked like a driver for party officials. The driver said, "Get up! This man wants to talk to you."
Chang quickly rushed over to the man, and dropped to his knees in front of the foreigner. "He saved my life!"
"This man wants to hire you. You'll go with him. He paid the Party your fine."
Chang's despair evaporated into extreme gratitude. He kowtowed to the man and followed him to the car. His long years of turmoil were over. With any luck, he could try to get his life back after paying back his debt to this stranger. Perhaps he would even be able to cook and taste good food again!
"And what's his story?"
GB didn't look up from where his head rested on the bar. Some Dutchman had been gossiping with the pub owner for two hours now.
"Him? He was an actor. Washed up drunk now," the pub owner said in open disdain. GB knew they were talking about him now. He just didn't care; he knew he'd earned that disdain. Besides, he was too drunk for much of a conversation.
"Really?"
"Yeah, he hasn't had work in five years. His lady friend left with his daughter because he's a sot and too much of a ladies man. I feel sorry for her because their kid is sick. Terminal at the age of seven."
GB jumped up and staggered around his barstool. He slurred, "Shut up about Rose!"
Indeed, she was the reason he was working so hard on getting drunk tonight. He'd gone to visit Sophie and Rose that afternoon. Rose could barely hold her head up, and Sophie was too distracted to say three civil words to him.
"Well, you could be the type of person I'm looking for," the Dutchman said, pushing aside GB's drink. "Come with me. I have some work for you. My name is Van Bogart."
"Work? That won't solve my problems," GB said as the man lead him to the pub's door.
"True, but the men I work for could help solve your daughter's problems."
"What? How is that possible?"
"They're scientists with a great deal of advanced knowledge. I'll make a call. Where is your daughter, by the way?"
"Great Ormond Street Hospital," GB muttered before the man darted into a red phone booth. Moments latter GB found himself shaking hands with a Dr Dressler in the hospital's lobby.
The staff was thinned out, and it was quiet in the wee hours of the morning. He gave permission for Dressler to look over Rose's medical history. He knew Sophie would have a fit, but GB felt guilty for not being able to provide for them. If he had a chance to get Rose a doctor that could save her, it would be worth incurring Sophie's wrath.
After a half an hour of Dressler studying the papers and making phone calls he rejoined GB in the lobby with Bogart. "We can do it. We can repair her heart easily."
"But how? The doctors said..."
"Forget these quacks. Our organization has scientists who are thirty... forty years ahead of common medicine. Let me operate tonight before your wife..."
"Not wife. Girlfriend," GB snarled.
"Accept my offer before the girl's mother gets here. My only interest is in saving lives," Dressler said.
"Yes! Hurry before it's too late and the woman interferes," Van Bogart encouraged.
"Okay," GB said, quickly. Dressler went over to the night nurse. GB was drunk, but not too drunk to see Dressler bribe the woman. The pit of his stomach sank and he started getting ill at ease. "You know, maybe I should call Sophie after all."
"If you do, the deal is off. Don't you want to save your daughter's life?" Van Bogart asked.
"Yes," GB muttered and settled back in the hospital's chair. He felt himself drift off, and he dozed until Van Bogart shook him. "Hun?"
"Your daughter's operation is finished."
"What?" He checked his watch and was amazed he'd blacked out for five hours, but now he was feeling closer to sober. And also a little panicked. What had possessed him to hand his daughter's life over to a stranger? He stood up and followed Van Bogart down the hallway, trying to push aside his trepidation.
"Rose?" he asked entering her hospital room. She was still in a deep sleep; Dressler was writing something on her hospital records.
"It was a success. She'll recover fully with in a few months. Because of the nature of our research, it has to be kept a secret. No one will know. It will be something of a miracle."
"Miracle? Yes," GB said, going to Rose's bedside. He took her small hand and squeezed it. Her fingernails were no longer blue. Her cheeks were no longer an ashy gray. Dressler left, taking the paperwork with him.
"Now let's discuss you paying us back," Van Bogart said with a sly smile.
"Sure, what do I have to do?" GB asked hesitantly.
"Just work for us for two years. Your primary job will be to track down some merchandise we lost aroundtwenty years ago. Are you game?"
"Yes. Let's go." He gave Rose a quick kiss on the forehead and left with Van Bogart, pleased to see a hint of a flush on her skin, now.
Pyunma ran through the dense jungle as fast as he could. The angry voices were growing more distant. His lungs and legs burned with the effort to get away from Umbaba's men. He had lost track of Mamado and his father when they had escaped Umbaba's compound.
He'd created a distraction so the guards would follow him rather than Mamado and his wounded father. It seemed to have worked. Now that Mamado was the father of his two nephews, he wasn't going to let his brother-in-law languish in Umbaba's compound as a political prisoner. Plus, his father was too weak to fight any more, having been a political prisoner for almost six years. And indeed, Pyunma didn't relish the idea of remaining in prison as a rebel.
He ducked into a thicket and flopped down on his belly. He fought to still his breath as he cursed his and Mamado's mixed luck. They had set off to find Pyunma's father several months ago when several of the men from his village gave up fighting Umbaba. It was rumored that Pyunma's father, Kwabena, was being held as a prisoner in one of Umbaba's compounds. Pyunma decided to go find his father, since the men were back, defeated and disheartened. Mamado decided to go along, wanting to prove his worth and itching for revenge.
They found themselves caught in a trap set in an abandoned village and were taken for questioning. They found Kwabena, now lame from infections due to untreated wounds. Pyunma created a distraction by setting fire to the hut they were held in. He urged Mamado to take his father and run. Pyunma was able to get a rifle away from a man and get them to chase after him. The rest would have to be up to Mamado. Pyunma had to focus on his own situation, now.
His heart thudded painfully at the sound of rapid gunfire over his head. It baffled him, because it didn't come from men he was running from.
"Come on out! They're all dead," a man with a Dutch accent called out.
Pyunma started at the hated Dutch language. It was a common European language across Africa, and his home country of Mwanba was no exception. The Dutch had plundered his country of their resources and left heartache and their language in return.
Pyunma rose from the thicket to see a tall Dutchman with a high powered, rapid fire rifle, one of the best in the world. He looked over his shoulder to see the Dutchman had killed Umbaba's eight men pursuing him.
"Why did you save me?" Pyunma asked, unused to kindness from a Dutchman. The man smiled and draped his rifle over his shoulder.
"I saw you fight and I saw how clever you were back at Umbaba's. I think you'll be an asset to an organization I work for. I want to hire you."
"Hire me?" Pyunma didn't trust the offer.
"Yes, bodyguard type of work, searching for goods that went missing twenty years ago, that sort of thing. You're young. Twenties?"
"Twenty-three."
"Perfect."
"But I have things I need to do for Mwanba," Pyunma said.
"I'll make you a deal. We'll go get you father and that other guy and return to your village. I've got something to make the deal sweet. Just hear me out."
Pyunma nodded and they found Mamado and Kwabena hiding in some underbrush. The man introduced himself as Van Bogart and took them to his jeep. Good to his word, he drove them back to Pyunma's village.
There was much rejoicing at Kwabena's return. The night broke out in festivities and much praise for Pyunma and Mamado. After a large feast, he was able to slip away with the Dutchman.
They went to Bogart's jeep. The man reached into a create in the back and drew out the same rifle he'd used on Umbaba's men earlier. "Here's the deal, you work for us for two years. I'll provided plenty of these to your village and any allied villages to fight off Umbaba."
"But I'm much needed around here. I mean, the weapons would be a great help."
"One man is the price for all this protection. Trust me, it'll be well worth the trade. That brother-in-law of yours looks like he can take up for you in the meanwhile."
Pyunma hesitated, inclined not to trust a Dutchman, but he knew Umbaba would be on his way for some revenge. He nodded, knowing the weapons would be crucial. "We'll need them by tomorrow."
"You'll have them within the hour. Is it a deal?" The man held out his hand. Pyunma shook it and turned to go tell his family he'd be leaving for two years.
"Nice work, Bogart," Uranus said, surveying the four unconscious men on the operating tables.
"I aim to please. Besides, I have so much over their heads. They won't rebel."
"I still think we should take their memories, but that's not my decision. Scar wants them as-is. Gamo's death will set us back a little," Uranus replied.
"Well, I'm off to tend the little war I have under the earth. Let me know when I'm needed again," Bogart gloated.
To be continued.