Is this True?

Why do they do it? They asked me

To live and breath within the power of Eros, I answered

The power spoke to me

I tried to show it my power too

But it did not understand

I sunk into my own arrogance and insignificance

We should all live and breathe inside the power of Eros.

Mungo & Starkovsky

Martyn John Rainer

Chapter One.

It was the 1830's and colonization was going full-steam ahead. This particular nameless colony was in the grip of three competing nations: The Russians, the English and the Americans. America was a new nation yet to undergo the vicissitudes of their civil war. Russia was moving in an ever closer direction towards the rest of the great nations of Europe. England was still the superpower.

The first nations peoples were being euthanized. Both spiritually, culturally and literally.

And there was a gold rush. So many people from all corners of the world were descending on this particular colony. A fuse of dynamite for a burgeoning multi-cultural society. A real nineteenth century shit-show basically.

There was a town, rapidly becoming a city. Mungo had left this city in search of even more gold. He lived thirty miles to the south-east in a small semi-circled shak with an Englishman named Josh Pyke and an Irishman named Jimmy O'Donnell. Mungo had travelled, without consulting his family, from Australia to search for gold and glory.

They had built the shak together in that semi-circular pattern that looked like a giant D not far from a decent sized river. Their gold claim was not too far away and they worked it hard. Mungo hated both Josh and Jack. He hated Englishmen and Irishmen. He hated Chinamen even more and had a strange contempt for the natives mixed with an equally strange facination. He liked fighting and especially punching things. Heads, posts, shovels, the ground and even the clouds in the sky if he thought he could reach them. He'd been a problem in the city and there were countless people who were overjoyed when he left for a more rural search of the glittering stuff. They say gold and especially the search for gold can make you crazy. Mungo went crazy. Even more so than he'd ever been before; even his mother thought he was a stupid, cruel beast of a man. He had orange hair and orange skin, was overweight but was a strong man physically if not mentally.

Mungo was not a man to be admired; though some did.

Josh Pyke and Jimmy O'Donnell woke one morning with Mungo staring at them. They were still waking up on the straw lined flaw of their shak; Mungo was staring ominously down at them with flecks of foam in the corners of his mouth. They charged him and made it outside and away from their mad partner. Jimmy could not swim well but knew Mungo could not swim at all. He made a dash for the river and paddled unsurely downstream. This gave Josh a chance to dash up camp creek track and back towards the city.

Mungo had not said a word except for the only word he became famous for- 'Mungo.' He screamed it night and day when the madness overwhelmed him. He had become non-verbal except for that one simple word. 'Mungo'.

Chapter Two.

Of the leaders in command of the Russians, English and Americans, the Russians, although having the weakest presence in the colony, had one great advantage; Count Starkovsky. Starkovsky was a man of thirty-two with a medium build, an angular face and a pencil thin moustache. He was accomplished with both the sword and the musket. Starkovsky had been raised by a Prussian family who were part of the aristocracy and as a result he could speak fluent German and English as well as his native Russian. He was courteous, a real hit on the social scene, impeccably well-groomed and an excellent commander of his troops. He was also crazy.

Starkovsky maintained a good relationship with both Reginald of the British and Maxwell of the Americans. As a result, there was a tentative peace in the colony and a certain amount of law and order.

Reginald and Maxwell were both aging dignitaries who were in their late fifties and both, as a ritual, cursed the colony a hell-hole from the first minute they awoke. They were wary of each other but were kept diplomatic by the mercurial Starkovsky. Neither knew Starkovsky was crazy.

Starkonsky's particular brand of insanity was easily hid. Like both Reginald and Maxwell- and most of their troops- Starkovsky was a functioning alcoholic. He could not hide it when he was alone however. That's when the voices came. Like most commanders of his time, Starkovsky kept a journal; but instead of purely prosaic entries of amounts, incidents and meetings, Starkovsky filled his journal with art. Sketches, poetry, short stories, insightful observations of all the people that made up the colony and the tough unyielding land on which it called home. This was how he dealt with the voices and his own sensitivities. They were all a result of the myriad of opinions and perspectives that the voices delivered him.

There was also his Julie. Her real name was Josephine. The wife of an old English Colonel, she too could speak fluent German as a result of having lived in Prussia. She was older than him. They had conducted a clandestine affair that really began the moment they were introduced at some official function. These functions occurred frequently in the city, mainly as a way of keeping the foreign officers sane. They were half the world away from the places they called home and resorted to social functions and rum as a way to stay balanced in an unbalanced world. It was a rum soaked evening when they met; Julie quickly became the closest thing to true love as Starkovsky had ever imagined. Their minds as well as their bodies fitted perfectly together. However, he would never show her his journal.

So the days and nights passed- work during the day and love at night. The voices were kept muted until Josh Pyke arrived back in the city on a certain Thursday. Jimmy O'Donnell arrived the following day on the Friday. Both instinctively sought out Starkovsky. It was the first time Starkovsky would hear the name, if not the guttural appeal to an uncaring God, that was 'Mungo.'

Chapter Three.

The first thing Mungo did was steal Josh Pyke and Jimmy O'Donnell's gold, collect his own and bury it. He did it with his bare hands still frothing at the mouth. He'd punched his shovel and broken it and instead of finding another, he attacked the brown dirt with a ferocity that gave him blisters on his palms and cuts on his fingers. He hardly noticed. To celebrate he punched at the atmospheric clouds high above and screamed at the top of his lungs, 'Mungo.'

After his gold was safe, Mungo was still coherent enough to realize there would be consequences for his trip to the other side of reality. He organized his weapons. Although there was no immediate rush, he scrambled around like a battle was about to happen. He frenziedly found a couple of machetes, a pistol and a musket with enough ammunition to deal with what he perceived to be his immediate dangers.

And then he was off… into the wilderness, still foaming at the mouth.

Chapter Four.

Starklovsky fatally decided to involve Reginald and Maxwell in the issue of Mungo. One mad Australian should have been enough for the Russians to deal with, but something about the way the Englishman, Josh Pyke, and the following day, the Irishman Jimmy O'Donnell, had spoken to him made Starkovsky think twice.

The Englishman, Josh Pyke:

'Count Starkovsky, sir, thank you for seeing me,' he fingered the brim of the cap he had taken off his head when entering Starkovsky's presence, 'I would have taken this to General Reginald's men but I was not sure of receiving justice… in this particular case.'

'Dear Mr. Pyke, sir, I'm sure dear Reginald is in favor of the utmost pursuit of justice as I, or for that matter Maxwell,' Starkovsky said, stubbing out a cheroot that he had finished smoking, 'but please sir; continue.'

'Please Count, sir,' Pyke continued, 'If you'll give me the latitude, I feel I must explain how I came into partnership with Mungo.'

'You have all the latitude you require,' Starkovsky said, he was not meeting with Julie until after midnight, 'but first; Mungo. What type of a name is this?'

'He's Australian,' replied Pyke, hoping this would set things in context. Starkovsky leaned back a let out his breath, reached to his cigar box, lit another cheroot and nodded at Pyke indicating he should continue.

'It was in a, err… drinking establishment', said Pyke, 'You know the ones Count, sir?'

Starkovsky nodded and gestured with one hand. Pyke continued.

'Anyway, I had just finished in the back and was returning to the bar area when I was suddenly knocked off my feet,' explained Pyke, 'the next thing I remember was an orange blur. I looked up and saw Mungo for the first time. He had just flattened the person who knocked me over with one single punch,' he paused as Starkovsky drew back on his cheroot, 'You see,' said Pyke, 'I was carrying a substantial amount of gold that I had just stolen from the madam in the room behind the bar.' He looked around guiltily, not able to keep Starkovsky's steady gaze. 'Anyway, I'm sorry about that,' Pyke apologized, 'but she owed me enough because…'

Starkovsky sat forward and said, 'Please sir, that matter needs attention, but I can deal with it later; for now, tell me more of this man named Mungo.'

'Well I was grateful to him, so I brought him a beer, more than one. He's a big man, don't you know, and can really put them away.'

'So you got drunk with Mungo?'

'Yes Count, sir.'

There was a pause and Starkovsky stubbed out his cheroot.

Pyke was about to continue but Starkovsky halted him with a raised arm. 'And a partnership ensued?'

'Yes, yes sir,' said Pyke. He suddenly realized how stupid he seemed. 'I didn't know…' he began.

'I'll look into this matter,' said Starkovsky cutting him off, 'leave further details- locations amounts, contact details etc…- with my adjutant. I promise you will hear from me.'

'Thank you Count Starkovsky, sir,' said Pyke as he backed towards the door. 'Thankyou.'

'Think nothing of it Mr. Pyke, have a pleasant evening.'

This version of events did not trouble Starkovsky much at all. Grievances between partners were common enough in the colony, let alone in-between the large influx of people looking for an easy fortune on the goldfields. It was next day's conversation with Jimmy O'Donnell that made him think twice. And then twice again.

The Irishman, Jimmy O'Donnell:

'Count Starkovsky, sir. Thank you for your time.'

'No chore, Mr. O'Donnell, I already have some information from your erstwhile partner, a one,' Starkovsky bent forward to look at some notes, 'a one Mr. Josh Pyke.'

'Aye, that's true sir, he was one of my partners, but please sir call me Jimmy. I'm a simple soldier of fortune searching for the harsh mistress that is the most precious of metals.'

This struck Starkovsky as funny. He laughed aloud. 'Well Jimmy, please call me Stark for I too am a soldier of fortune; although mania on the goldfields is not to my taste.'

'Stark?' Jimmy asked carefully.

'An old grammar school nickname whose origins are of no consequence. Please Jimmy continue. Tell me about this Mungo.'

'Well that's the thing sir,' Jimmy said tentatively, 'It's about Mungo. The claim we had in partnership with him is, for me, inconsequential. It's what he's been doing… err… with and too the natives.'

This immediately raised Starkovsky's interest. He lit a cheroot. Starkovsky had been involved intimately with the indigenous cause almost since the day he had arrived in the colony. Much of his time and effort had been dedicated to building relationships and understanding between his European culture and the mysterious, ancient and dignified way of the indigenous.

'Please elaborate, Jimmy,' Starkovsky said softly, 'and be precise.'

'Well, basically sir err… Stark,' said Jimmy slowly,' He's been impregnating the women and killing off the men.'

Starkovsky sat very still for a long time. He'd heard rumors; there were always rumors in frontier cities. 'Do you drink Jimmy,' Starkovsky said finally, 'I do.'

'Why I've been Known to…'

'Good.' Starkovsky interrupted. He moved quickly to a cabinet on the far side of the room, unlocked it and produced a pint of whisky. He poured two large glasses, placing one in front of Jimmy and took a sip of the other. He remained standing. 'How did you come across this information Jimmy?'

Jimmy took his time. 'I believe I can trust you, sir,' he started, 'I sold him marijuana. He liked it almost as much as he liked beer.'

'I'm familiar,' replied Starkovsky without flinching, 'Go on.'

'The only reason I partnered with him and Pyke was because I knew the ground was good,' Jimmy said apologetically, 'I'd been out there six months before and knew it was a good thing. I mean everyone is a bit crazy on the smoke; I had no idea. I'm sure you've heard rumors; well, they were all him. Mungo is out of his mind and has only gotten worse.'

Starkovsky breathed in his cheroot and breathed out, 'Have you got proof?' he said finally.

Jimmy replied quickly, 'Ask anyone out there; it's no secret. The man is a monster… he's a monster of a man. He needs to be stopped. I thought he was stealing our gold- and he was- I followed him. I saw it happen. He needs to be stopped.'

'Indeed,' said Starkovsky, 'As soon as you leave this room, I'll put forces in motion. You were right to come with this to me. Talk to my secretary, Jimmy, and I'll be in further contact. Go now my friend.'

Jimmy left quietly, leaving Starkovsky alone.

Chapter Five.

The Chinese camp was hidden from view; over the hill. Mungo had fled to a local indigenous settlement he knew that was close to the camp he had shared with the Englishman Pyke and the Irishman O'Donnell. The Chinese posted guards around their camp; the indigenous never had and never would. They were open to being exploited by a mongrel. Mungo was that mongrel. He raped the women and the men, killed the men and left the women alive to bear his offspring. Mungo wanted to be the father of the whole human race. After cumming he would scream at the top of his lungs, 'Mungo!'

The Chinese heard this guttural, primal scream and investigated. They found out what was going on but kept it to themselves preferring to continue their search for gold. They did, however, double their guards.

Chapter Six.

Something had to be done about Mungo. Starkovsky knew this but didn't know exactly how to go about it. He turned to the only one his heart would allow him to trust. The idealized version of the one who understood the feelings that cut him so deep they touched his very soul. His Julie. His journal.

'My dear Julie,' Starkovsky wrote, 'Love will tear us apart. Again.'

It was late on that fateful Friday night. The one in which Jimmy O'Donnell had come to visit Starkovsky. There was another visitor he waited for. Starkovsky had been sitting alone for a long time and had worked his way through the rest of the pint of whisky. The temperature was warm and he was keenly aware of the scent from the wisterias in his back yard garden. Julie's husband would be asleep soon, in their separate bedrooms, and Starkovsky knew she would soon arrive through the back gate, making her way through the carefully tendered garden, to his back door. He watched the pendulum of his clock swing gently from side to side, finished his whisky and waited.

Starkovsky was lost in another world, alone with his thoughts, but still heard the back gate creek ever so gently. He rose quickly and moved to the back door. As he turned the door knob he felt the pressure release from the other side as Julie turned the door knob from the outside. The door swung open and Starkovsky and Julie embraced like they had been man and wife for a century.

'My dear, you feel cold,' Starkovsky eventually said.

'I know,' Julie replied, 'I know. Loneliness is a cold emotion; even in this climate.'

Starkovsky knew Julie felt vulnerable. He did too. This wasn't the ideal way of being in love.

'I have something to discuss with you,' Starkovsky said,' but first…'

He gently but firmly pulled her towards him and together they fell backwards onto the bed. They made slow, slow love until the sun rose. It was beautiful and somehow had an ageless quality; something no clock could ever define. Too soon it would be morning and the light intruding through the purple curtains signaled it was time to awaken and face a new day.

Chapter Seven.

They disengaged from each other. For both Starkovsky and Julie, this was the worst part of the morning; the day had begun.

'I've come across some disturbing news…' Starkovsky began, fully intending to share with Julie all the news he had on this Australian, Mungo. Julie interrupted him. 'I have some disturbing news myself,' she said quickly, 'no doubt more disturbing.' She paused, 'I can't think of anything more disturbing.'

'Well,' Starkovsky began again but was once more silenced; this time by the gravity in Julie's brown eyes. 'The colonel,' she said- they always referred to him as such, 'well…'

She decided when she'd first heard this news that the only way to tell Starkovsky was to rip off the band-aid. Quickly and without emotion. 'He's received a transfer.' She knew no words that would lessen the blow and anyway she could not come up with anything better, although she had tried. Julie knew what this would mean to her partner; her real partner. But it was the too early in the grand designs of the universe's incalculable randomness. She was more than vulnerable- as vulnerable as Starkovsky even- and by the favors of the flowing tide, she needed to keep faith with her certainty. Something Starkovsky's situation couldn't offer.

He felt an unbearable wave of jealousy. Starkovsky didn't want to feel that way but, being crazy, had no such form or desire to control his emotions with such rigidity. All he had achieved in life meant nothing and he was just another schoolboy looking at a teacher who had a better hold on the rigors of life than him. He rose, walked to the window like an injured panther and drew back the blinds to look out into the morning. All he saw was dull light and hollow disappointment. He smiled. A bitter ironic smile; he turned around.

'When are you leaving?' he asked very quietly. There was no question if she would stay. It was the nineteenth century. One just didn't do such things; marriage was still a prison.

Julie waited a long time, the words caught in her mind and then her throat. 'Tomorrow.' She whispered and then fell, her face buried in one of the pillows. Her tears flowed freely.

It took all of Starkovsky's discipline not to run to her. He remained at the window listening to silent sobs, silent tears that he could feel, forcefully upon his body. He couldn't look around. 'Goodbye,' was all he could mumble and walked out the front door without seeing and entered into the light of the new day. He set a course for Reginald and Maxwell. Mungo still had to be dealt with and the hole in Starkovsky's heart would only be filled with the cruel obligation of duty.

Chapter Eight.

The voices were hitting Starkovsky hard as he walked past the church on the way to the British compound. He threw thirty pieces of silver over the fence into the church yard. He felt sick; both mind and body. He felt like throwing up and then scratching an itch that was located somewhere behind his eye sockets. He felt afraid that the world would never be big enough to swallow all the love and never be small enough to trap all the hatred. He stopped, sat down behind a groomed set of bushes and wept. It was a graveyard. The tears flowed as he held his face in his hands. The grief controlled him until his body convulsed to the rhythm of the universe. He shook back and forth, screaming silently to an uncaring God. He cried and cried; so hard. So hard that he began to laugh. A deep laughter that resonated from the very center of his being. There was nothing left to do but wipe the hot tears from his face, stand up, and continue.

Reginald was having a cup of tea. He was dressed in full formal uniform as was usual, even for this time of day. Reginald had a bunch of Tudor roses in the back yard of his house. The scent was familiar to Starkovsky as he sat down after being led in by a native servant. Reginald used the indigenous as his house staff. Starkovsky had objected in the past but Reginald was too old and too set in his ways.

The sparrows were chirping and dancing in the jacaranda tree. Starkovsky heard them whispering secret songs that melded with the voices in his head. He wiped the sweat of his forehead with a red handkerchief that he always kept in the right pocket of his trousers.

'Reginald,' Starkovsky began, 'We have a problem.'

'Who, exactly, is this "we", you talk of,' Reginald fired back, finishing his cup of tea and waving to one of his servants. 'I appreciate everything you do in this colony Starkovsky, but remember that you and I are still competing powers. And then there's the matter of the Americans.'

Despite Starkovsky's condition, he replied instantly and without hesitation, 'We're all in this together; out here. I bring you a matter of mutual interest.'

'And just who's mutual interest is that?'

Starkovsky wearily pushed back the hair from his forehead and proceeded to tell Reginald everything he knew about the Australian, Mungo. He finished by saying, 'We'll have to bring Maxwell in on this too.'

Reginald was too old and cynical to argue. 'I'll send for Maxwell,' he said, 'because I appreciate all you do for the colony… if you consider this matter seriously, we're all in this together; as you said.'

Starkovsky was still suffering from his particular form of insanity, so he replied, 'I'll have a short walk while we wait.'

Maxwell was prompt, affording Starkovsky only a matter of minutes to piece together his shattered emotions.

'I'll go after him,' was the first thing Maxwell said after being informed of the situation. 'He's to the south-west?'

'South-east,' Starkovsky corrected, 'I'll come with you.'

Reginald was the next to speak. 'I'll go north to make sure he has no allies amongst the natives in that area,' Reginald paused, 'Well, it looks like we have a plan.'

Starkovsky had no idea why Reginald was going north during, what Starkovsky viewed, as this particular and immediate crisis. At least he had Maxwell. Starkovsky trusted him.

Chapter Nine.

Starkovsky's head hurt. His mind convulsed with thoughts of Julie and Mungo. Mungo and Julie.

While Reginald headed north, Starkovsky and Maxwell marshaled their forces and went in search of Mungo. They rode on horseback together at the head of their combined army. Starkovsky didn't feel like talking and Maxwell was mulling over the problem that this Mungo had created. He eventually leaned forward, looked straight at Starkovsky and asked, 'Mungo; what sort of name is this?'

'He's Australian,' Starkovsky answered blankly. His mind was elsewhere.

They had gathered about four hundred and fifty men between them, all following their lead. Starkovsky slumped in his saddle. Maxwell noticed but made no comment. Maxwell distrusted Starkovsky. That's why he had clandestinely conferred with Reginald before exposing his troops to this expedition. The two old commanders were old and cynical but realistic. Starkovsky was already down but he had no idea how bad things could get. He took a swig from his canteen full of whisky and thought about his future without Julie. The future seemed narrow and Starkovsky wanted to hide; but first there was Mungo.

They found the semi-circular camp easily enough. It looked like the letter D. They found the broken shovel that Mungo had punched. Maxwell had been in the area before and new of the indigenous camp nearby. Starkovsky made the decision to leave the bulk of their troops behind. They took half a dozen men and rode towards the Chinese camp located near the indigenous camp. They found it deserted. All evidence suggested the parasite had been there; Mungo.

They rode over the hill and saw the indigenous camp in chaos. Starkovsky picked out Mungo from a distance. He had fashioned himself some kind of crown and was mercilessly beating anyone who approached him. Starkovsky, not waiting for help, dug his spurs in and charged right at this nemesis that had grown in his mind over the many miles Starkovsky had travelled in his mind, in his life. Mungo had become the personification of all the black bile that Starkovsky saw wrong in the world. He charged directly at Mungo.

Mungo punched Starkovsky's horse and he stumbled then fell. Mungo liked punching things; even horses apparently. Now they faced each other; Mungo and Starkovsky. Mungo had one of his machetes, Starkovsky expertly drew a pistol. Mungo turned and ran. Starkovsky could have shot but didn't. He knew he would never see Mungo again.

Chapter Ten.

Mungo was gone and Starkovsky was relieved. However, he had not reached equilibrium yet. The voices- some harsher than others- still remained. He thought about his Julie.

Maxwell wanted to leave immediately but Starkovsky, even when not functioning at full capacity, wanted to study and make an analysis of the effects that Mungo had inflicted on the indigenous community.

'What's this obsession with the natives,' Maxwell asked. He seemed nervous; Starkovsky ignored him, 'It won't take long,' was all he said, looking in another direction. Maxwell persisted, 'The tribal elders are not a five-minute ride from here; let's go there.'

Starkovsky was not in the mood for an argument and besides, knowing Maxwell knew nothing about the indigenous, he thought he could always circle back to the camp Mungo had polluted with his insane brand of colonization. 'Ok. If we must. Lead the way.'

Maxwell looked obviously relieved and Starkovsky noticed but dismissed it as paranoia on his own behalf. He mounted his horse and followed Maxwell down a path that looked overgrown. 'Five minutes?' Starkovsky shouted to the man leading the way. Maxwell just nodded in his saddle without looking back. He didn't want Starkovsky to see his beet red face. Starkovsky knew there was a mist of deception in the air but was only operating with half a conscious brain; the rest of his mind was trapped in the turmoil of recent events. His conscience mind followed meekly while the other half of his awareness did battle with demons. Starkovsky was in this state of mind when they arrived at the place Maxwell had been leading him to. The place was a cave; an ancient cave.

The full mind of Starkovsky's consciousness was thrown back into reality instantly. He swayed and then fell off his horse. Maxwell didn't turn around, hiding his deception.

'What is this?' was all Starkovsky said. He crawled through the dirt, closer to the cave. 'What is this?' he repeated. Then he repeated it again. He had become as non-verbal as Mungo. Maxwell left him alone in the cave. Starkovsky felt the full force of his loneliness and abandonment. In desperation his sanity sought the memory of Julie.

His sanity lost. 'What is this?' he asked the uncaring God that he had somewhat believed in. He clawed at the dirt… 'What is this?'

The cave was dark but it was clear to Starkovsky what the paintings on its walls depicted. They were paintings of a man brutalizing an ancient culture. A man who raped the men and impregnated the women. A man with an angular face and a pencil thin moustache. Starkovsky.

Mungo would have worn it as a badge of pride; it tipped Starkovsky over into full-blow insanity. He scrambled for his horse and rode at a full gallop back to town. 'What is this,' rang through his mind as he saw a kaleidoscope of images of brutality. Maxwell was left alone; he turned his horse and calmly rode back to his troops.

Maxwell returned to his command and immediately sent for a runner. He dusted off his jacket while waiting. The runner arrived and Maxwell scribbled a short message and handed it to the runner.

'Ride north and give this to Reginald,' was all he said.

The runner departed and Maxwell thought about the words he had scribbled down in his short message to Reginald. 'We have succeeded. Starkovsky is crazy.'

Chapter Eleven.

How was Starkovsky to know that the paintings were a set-up arranged by Reginald months ago. Reginald and Maxwell had long been having clandestine meetings together to talk about their common problem: Count Starkovsky. Empire waits for no-one and Reginald was too experienced and Maxwell too ambitious to let Starkovsky make fools of them. Reginald had arranged for Julie's husbands transfer; he then hit upon the otherwise urbane Starkovsky's weakness. The natives. The indigenous.

Starkovsky was in a canoe with no paddle; a poker player without an ace up his sleeve. The events of the past forty-eight hours were just too much to process. Deception was the last thing on his mind. He stumbled into his house and went straight to his pistol. It was loaded. He held it to his temple and took a deep breath. He could still smell Julie. He pulled the trigger.

Chapter Twelve.

Mungo didn't want to die. Faced with disgrace and poverty, he made his way back to Australia. He had no friends there, he had no friends anyway; only rivals and acquaintances. He went back to mum.

'Mungo,' he said when he saw her. 'Mungo,' she replied.

'Mungo, make me a cup of tea,' a single tear rolled down her cheek.

Mungo turned around, took two cups from the top shelf and went about searching for the tea leaves.

'Mungo, turn around.'

Mungo turned around and faced his mother. She was holding a pistol.

The last look on Mungo's face was one of confusion. His mother shot him in the chest.

He died three days later.