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May 1st, in the Highlands of Ethiopia-----------------------------------------------------
"I am crushed. How can I go on?" Nebiyou the farmer spoke through his tears, and Sisay Makari, servant of God, listened thoughtfully.
They stood in front of a pen full of dead donkeys. Rot was beginning to set in, but deep wounds on their necks and the dust blackened by blood beneath their heads, made it possible to determine cause of death. The stench was powerful, torturing the sinuses and making Sisay's old eyes water. The farmer was dressed in a threadbare tunic and gabi - the latter a kind of shawl common in Ethiopia - and he bore the marks of lifelong toil. Sisay wore a longer shawl and a tight turban around his head. In his hand he carried a prayer stick, a five foot cane-like object, which he leaned against when he stood for long periods of time.
"I am a poor man, I cannot bare this." Nebiyou wavered, "I've lost two children. They were just babies and they died in the crib, so only my wife and my eldest son is alive to help me. There are no luxuries for us, everything I have I need. Losing these asses has ruined me. I am not made of asses!"
"Calm down" Sisay put a bony hand on the farmer's quavering shoulders. Whether it was the comfort of a human touch or respect for his station, it seemed to work. Sisay was a Debtera, a wandering priest, half wise-man and half magician in the eyes of the country people. He was unique among his kind because he'd taught the children of the Imperial family after being suggested to them by a kindly nobleman. Life cooped up in a palace did not suit him though, and when the heirs of Solomon were away from their nest, he took to wandering among the local villages, back to the fresh mountain air and his true calling.
They said a prayer on that windswept spot, their voices isolated from the world.
"It was just one the first night, but the next night, all of them..." Nebiyou held his arms to his chest as if he were cold, motioning at the asses with one hand when he paused. "It is a demon. I know it must be. There is no other thing so cruel."
Sisay nodded and drew in a long breath, but he said nothing. He went inside the pen and inspected the scene. The putrid smell of rot was awful, but it was not joined by any unnatural scent, no sulphur or smoke. He crouched above one of the corpses, swatting away a wall of flies. The fluid had been drained from the beast, leaving ratty skin clinging to a skeleton and rot were the mouth and eyes had once been. The wound on its neck was a clean cut, an opening like that made by a knife. A strange crime. There was evil at work here, but was it supernatural? He could not tell. This could just as likely be the common evil of wretched people.
"Be vigilant." Sisay said. His voice went high and sing-songy. He looked out at the wilderness beyond, where distant mountains appeared like blue ghosts against the sky. "Tell your wife and son to be vigilant too. This is a strange doing, and I cannot tell you what it will lead to."
"Can you tell me my future?" the man asked.
"I cannot." Sisay said, "It is not my calling to read fortunes and interpret omens. I will stay here for a while, and maybe I will learn. In the mean time, be careful."
Nebiyou nodded. The two men parted ways.
The path to the village clung to the side of a cliff where the Muger river and its tributaries cut gorges through the plateau, looking like the mighty hand of God had slapped the land and left behind a deep print to be tortured by erosion until it reached its current jagged shape. The wind roared along up here, there being too few trees to break it, the gardens of boulders fringed with thorny bushes and soft green aloes not being enough. Sisay pinned his robe to his body with pressure from his prayer stick. That kept the wind from whipping him with his own clothes. He walked slowly and watched his surroundings.
Was there evil here? In his long life he had never seen a horned demon or any unnatural form. The evil he'd seen resided in men. Devils were subtle things; why dance on cloven hoof when feet would do? He had seen people perform acts so vile that he refused to believe the supernatural wasn't involved. So it was no surprise to him that he didn't see evil eyes peering at him from the rocks. Only chattering baboons perched among the boulders watched him on this lonely road. He was coming to the village though, where people lived, and where evil was most likely to dwell.
The village was made mostly of simple huts clinging to a road too rough and narrow for automobiles. The huts were stone mortared with mud and clay, their roofs thatched. A square building made from mud brick served as the church. Nobody locked the doors in the highland villages of Ethiopia because nobody owned locks, and Sisay entered the church unimpeded. With a blanket and a pillow, he slept on the floor near the back wall.
It was still dark when he woke up. He washed his hands in a bowl of water, and with his hands still wet, he leaned against his stick and prayed.
"
We believe and offer our supplication unto the Holy Trinity
We denounce Satan in sight of the Holy Mother Orthodox Church
And in the presence of Holy Virgin Mary who is Zion forever and ever
Amen."
When he was done, he lingered in this holy place, his eyes fixed on the dusty iconography above the alter, its vivid colors contrasting with the brown stone of the church. Here was a wellspring for his work, and he drank in the energy until sunrise shot red streaks across the floor through the gaps in the door.
The village had come alive. Men and women passed each other dressed in clothing made of the same white cloth, though age had added tinges of brown to the more worn pieces. Everybody who passed by greeted him respectively. Some pulled him aside and asked for blessings, and he did not stinge in that regard, even blessing a skinny cow that was nibbling on the roof of a hut. The smell of sour flat bread being fried in the open air pervaded, and it would have made the place smell like a restaurant if it wasn't for the added tang of animal shit.
A little hand tugged at his shamma. He turned around and saw a little girl looking up at him, barefoot and in a dusty dress.
"Grandmother can't get out of bed." she said, "Come." He followed her into a stone hut, where a younger woman was doting over a bedridden older woman. The grandmother was thin, her eyes watering, and her body as straight as a board. She said nothing, but the younger woman began to plead when she saw Sisay.
"It is rheumatism" she said, "Mother always has it bad. Today it is worse. Can you help? I am the only one to care for the family now my husband is in the city for work."
"It's the Jew" the old woman informed, looking at Sisay, recognizing his station in life. "He has the evil eye. I have seen it. He's cursed me."
Sisay smiled and slipped a charm from his neck, carefully pulling it over her fragile head. He looked up at the younger woman. "There are crocuses growing down the road near the market. Can you identify them?"
She nodded her head.
"Good. Bring the roots. Clean them and feed them to her with her meal. They will put energy back in her limbs."
The woman left. Sisay was alone with the old woman and the little girl.
"Has this Jew cursed you?" Sisay asked thoughtfully. In his youth, the fact of the man's Jewishness would have been damning enough, but he had spent years in the city, he had met Jews on good terms, and his superstition had since softened.
"With the evil eye." the old lady croaked. "He is a menace. He has set up a workshop in his hut and he does not join in our holidays."
"I will talk to him, and do what is necessary." Sisay kissed the woman on her wrinkled brow.
"The buda is here" she said feebly as her daughter walked into the hut. "I know it."
Sisay said a prayer and left them alone. He went looking for the house of the Jew.
He found him in a hut with black smoke coming out of a hole in its thatching. Inside was a man wearing a turban, squatted over a brick of iron on the dirt floor, where he was working a piece of metal heated in a nearby fire.
"I do not need your services, priest." the man said.
"I know. They tell me you are a Jew."
"They are wrong" the man said, looking up. "I am Muslim. All the same, I do not need a Christian priest."
Sisay squatted across from the man, inspecting a finished ax-head lying on the dusty ground. "Have the people been friendly to you?" he asked sincerely.
"They buy my wears and sell me food, but they do not talk to me." the blacksmith said, eyes on his work. "I am lonely in this place, but I can make a living. In Harar the factories have made goods cheap, they have no need for my skills. I can make a living here."
"Have you made any enemies?"
The man looked up at Sisay. "No. I have been yelled at many times. The old people do not trust me. Last Saturday the farmer who rents asses got in a quarrel with another farmer, and they nearly came to blows. I tried to calm them, and they accused me of starting it all! I cannot make friends, but that does not mean I make enemies. Perhaps the
Kentiba is my enemy, since he overtaxes me" the Blacksmith thought for a moment, "Though he overtaxes everyone. I once heard a man shout that he would burn his whole farm away before paying his taxes. I know that feeling."
"Who is this other farmer?" Sisay asked.
"Why the questions?"
"Mmm, I want to know the people here."
"I do not know either farmer's name. They are strangers to me."
Sisay nodded. "Thank you for your time, friend. If you ever wish to find God, tell me and I will help you."
The blacksmith looked like he was trying to say something, but nothing came out, and Sisay took his leave.
"Holy one!" a female voice called out to him. He saw a middle aged woman with a basket of eggs in her arms. She looked uncertain at greeting the priest, as if she feared bad news.
"My child?" he responded. He noticed she was being followed by a teenage boy, but he wasn't taking interest in the conversation.
"I am Nebiyou's wife. He told me you were helping with our problem."
"You are the ass-renters wife?" he asked.
She nodded affirmation. "I was hoping you had good news. Nebiyou is so afraid now." she strained to talk, speaking in a hushed tone and trying to keep her emotions reigned in. "He ordered Gedeyon, our son, to follow me at all times." Gedeyon, the teenager, was stomping around a chicken as if he were herding it, the flustered bird going one way until he threw his foot in its path, turning it around and repeating the same motion all over again so that it looked like the bird and the boy were dancing.
"I have been asking around." Sisay said. "Heard your husband fought with another farmer?"
"When was this?" she asked.
"Saturday."
"He did not tell me this." she looked worried, her pupils dilated in a way that suggested she was searching her inner thoughts for answers to some question she would not tell. "What was it about."
"Prices."
"Oh." she looked mollified, "That is normal. My husband haggles like a
ferenji. Some men get heated when they barter with him. That is not new."
"Do you think he could've made an enemy that way." The idea had been orbiting them while they talked, always out of reach though both were aware of it. It was out in the open now.
"I hate to think so. Do you think this is the case? He has haggled with every farmer who doesn't own transportation. I never thought... anybody in the market could be a threat!" her eyes widened. When it was the untouchable fear of true evil, her religious upbringing made that palatable. But now she had a clue, something to narrow the scope of her fears, and that brought the danger into focus. It made it real.
"Stay with your son. I would not expect trouble in the market, and if you two are together, you make a difficult target. Two wolves will cause caution in the lion."
"Thank you" she said, "It is good that you are helping us. Here..." she grabbed an egg from her basket and gave it to him, "These are trying times, but I can offer you an egg."
"I understand" the priest put his empty hand on her shoulder. "I am working to ease your burden. One more thing then. Do you think anybody might know more about your husband's bartering? Somebody in town with a cool head?"
"No. Anybody could have witnessed it. The
Kentiba might know something. But I think he has it out for us. I've seen how much tribute we pay him. His thumb must go to the scale as soon as we walk in."
"Thank you." the priest smiled, "I needed to see him soon. Go with God, child." They parted ways, the woman's son slowly abandoning his dance with the chicken to follow his mother. Sisay started toward the edge of town and the
Kentiba's house.
It was not strange that so many people saw the
Kentiba as an enemy. When Sisay had been a boy, most of the country was still ruled by petty lords who extracted feudal rents from the farmers in their territory. The Iyasuan Civil War of 1916 changed this arrangement when most of the petty lords rebelled to replace the uncrowned prince Iyasu with his Aunt Zewditu. Iyasu won, and he threw out the rebellious nobles under the guise of reform. The rebelling nobles were replaced with the
Shum: governors, and the
Kentiba: mayors, who had many of the rights of the vanished aristocracy, though restricted so that the Emperor and his government had them on a tighter leash. But this was reform for the sake of the Emperor, not the people. The peasants no longer had to pay tributes. Now it was called taxes. To the rural peasant, it didn't seem to make a difference that the money went to the government in Addis Ababa instead of the pocket of a noble lord.
The Kentiba lived in a house rather than a hut. It was a square building with a flat roof and plaster walls painted sky-blue. Sisay knocked, and a richly dressed young man answered the door.
"I am here to see the Kentiba." Sisay said. The boy recognized his profession and wordlessly let him in. The room was well furnished with items that likely came from one of the big cities. The Kentiba munched on scraps of fried bread in the front room, sharing the company of two women, both making polite gestures before retreating to another room. The Kentiba pulled his fat body up from his chair.
"You are the Debtera of the Emperor!" he said, smiling from ear to ear and wiping his greasy hands on his tunic. The young man hovered over his father, part body guard part uncertain child. "You can call me Sentota" the Kentiba said, "This is my son Gyasi. I was expecting you to come call on us. Here, our bread is your bread."
"You are kind." Sisay responded respectfully. They all sat down.
"How is the capital?" Kentiba Sentota rambled, "I have not been there for years. Too many years. I hear it is looking like a European capital now. I would love to go, but I'm just so busy here. Gyasi will be going there soon to get his training..."
"Your daughter could go too now that the civil service accepts women." Sisay broke in, trying to get a word in about something.
"Yes." Sentota replied coldly. It was the silence of a self-identified noble, contempt for cultural liberalism born out of a dark fear that he couldn't succeed in a world without the game rigged in his favor. "I would rather my daughter not live like that, in the city by herself."
The phrase '
like a prostitute', though unspoken, simultaneously entered everybody's mind. Radio debates had heavily implied that lifestyle was the inevitable result of letting women into common employment, and the Emperor's hedonistic tastes served as the kindling for countless fiery rants after he came out in favor. It was a simple change - the civil service would ensure at least 10% of their employees were women - but it was enough to stir up a storm and give Emperor Sahle a headache. Sisay was aware of the irony in this, being close to the Imperial family and knowing how Sahle truly felt. He had been pressure by his siblings - the undeniably liberal Yaqob and the undeniably female Taytu - into rubber stamping this arrangement.
"This is fine." Sisay said amicably, "Women in our country have put their labors to motherhood since the beginning of time. No harm can come of continuing this way."
"Well said" Sentota replied. "I've said before that the women of our country..."
"I apologize" Sisay interrupted, "But I came here with a specific matter on my mind."
"Of course. I waited for you with a matter in mind too, but I will wait..."
"Nebiyou, the ass-tender, you know of the crime he has suffered?"
"Of course." Sentota said, "It is a horrible thing. Everybody knows about it."
"I was told he got in a heated argument with another farmer about the price of an ass, and that the Muslim blacksmith had to break them up. Do you know anything about it?"
Sentota laughed. "Come now, I keep track of this village, and I think I do it well, but if I remembered every argument ever made about the price of labor, there would be no more room in my head to think! I imagine half of the farmers in the area have had the same argument. Did the Muslim tell you this?"
Sisay nodded.
"Well he doesn't understand the ways of Christians. Maybe the lazy-bones in Harar never bother with business, but we are an enterprising people here."
"That is too bad." Sisay let out a breath, losing height in his seat. "I need to know if this ass slaying was a crime or an act of the devil. If it the later..."
"If it is crime, we will get to it." the Kentiba said dismissively, "I have something to give you though."
"Oh?"
"Come to the back."
Sisay followed the man through his house, admiring the traditional artwork painted on leather decorating the walls. The Kentiba grabbed the doorknob and turned to Sisay. "Are you ready?" He said, and then he opened the door. There waited an ass, and a decently groomed one at that.
"You travel over long and difficult terrain. Is there a beast in this world that could be of more use?"
"Thank you." Sisay replied, "I couldn't have expected it."
"A surprise! That's good! It's fun, yes?"
Sisay smiled politely "Where did this come from?"
"I bought it from a farmer out a ways. Not the man who lost his asses, though I wish I had now, so he would have the money instead of a dead animal."
"That is too bad." Sisay replied. He stroked the animal's mane, feeling the wiry hairs between his fingers. "Thank you". He grabbed the mule's reigns. "You are a busy man, and I'm afraid my tasks are heaped up as well. Actually... do you think Gyasi could run an errand for me?"
"Of course." the Kentiba clapped his hands. His son walked to his side.
"Can you run to Nebiyou's home and bring him to the market?" Sisay said to the young man. The Kentiba looked suspiciously at the priest, but he patted his son on the back and sent him on his way. "This is where we part."
"Do well." the Kentiba spoke less buoyantly. They parted ways.
Before going to the market, Sisay stopped at the hut of the Muslim blacksmith.
"I am not ready to convert yet." the man said, going back to his work.
"I came here for a favor." Sisay replied, "I need you to be somewhere tonight."
---
The Kentiba must have known, because he showed up in the market just in time to witness Sisay regifting the unhappy farmer his mule. The adoration people feel for the traveling Debtera turned what would be an excellent gift into a biblical act of christ-like generosity, and voices rose up to heaven in celebration. The Kentiba did not look happy. He stood halfway down the hill from his house, stonily eying the commotion.
"Thank you! I will say a prayer for you! Many prayers!" Nebiyou said, stroking the fresh ass as blissfully as if it were his newborn child.
"Your God has witnessed your suffering. This ass is his reply."
"Were you not happy with the gift?" The Kentiba was walking through the crowd now, and people gave him a wide birth as if touching the overstuffed bureaucrat would bring them extra taxes.
"I am happy, and so is Nebiyou. You can rest knowing you have made two people happy today."
"It is good seeing Nebiyou happy again." the Kentiba smiled awkwardly, "But I cannot help but feel slighted. Would it not honor the teacher of our Imperial prince to ride the ass of Kentiba Sentota?"
Sisay watched the quick and uncomfortable glances that passed between Nebiyou and the Kentiba. Was this born out of the awkwardness of the situation, or was it something else? In every small village where everybody knew everybody else, social baggage was common. If there was baggage here, did it have anything to do with the asses? That was hard to read.
"The gift has helped me with my work." Sisay said genially, "It would not be a useful gift if I was not allowed to use it as I needed. You have been honored, friend, because you have done the work of God."
There was no more to say. Nebiyou left with the ass, and Sisay returned to the church to pray until the sun went down.
It was twilight when he went outside. He didn't follow the road, but walked straight over the terrain, using his prayer stick like a blind man's cane in order to navigate the rocks and bushes. The braying of an ass gave him his direction, and he headed toward it until he could see the outline of the farmers hut and the fenced in pen where the dead asses had been. Just in sight of that place, in the growing dark, he crouched with his stick to hold him up, and he waited.
Time passed, and soon only the moon and stars served to light the landscape. Somewhere deep in the canyons below, the high-pitched whine of a highland wolf echoed in the lonely dark. He said prayers to himself, under his breath to maintain his stealth, using their familiar cadence to keep the time. It was near midnight when something stirred. To the priest's surprise, the stirring came from the farmhouse.
It was a dark shadow at first, a human figure with no features discernible in the poor light. Sisay waited, watching where the thing moved. It seemed cautious, as if it were stalking its prey, or maybe was uncertain about its surroundings. It climbed into the pen. Sisay stood up. He watched the shadow thing move for a moment, strategizing in his head. Then the ass brayed as a knife cut across its throat, and the shape ducked under the wound and showered itself in the free flowing blood. Sisay started to pray. He prayed loudly, as if he were joining his voice into the thousands in front of the stone temples at Lalibela. To keep rhythm, he pounded his prayer stick against a rock, chanting to the beat. The shadow froze, then looked at him with two very human eyes. Sisay charged as fast as his old legs could carry him. He was elderly, but wirey from years of climbing through mountain villages, and he made good speed.
As he reached the fence, another body vaulted from a nearby bush and grabbed hold of the blood-soaked shape. Sisay was not surprised to see that the third member of this sinister night's dealing was the Muslim blacksmith, who grappled the shape and held it in place. But Sisay was surprised to find that the shape belonged to the Farmer's boy, completely naked and drenched in blood, his eyes wild with an animal-like mix of fear and anger. "To the house" Sisay said. The blacksmith wrestled the boy back to where he had come while Sisay pulled a bottle of holy water from the Blue Nile and started to splash it in the face of their bewildered captive.
"What is..." Nebiyou the Farmer woke up by now, and he rushed outdoors to see his own son being dragged indoors naked and bloody.
"It was him." Sisay said. Nebiyou believed. He helped the Blacksmith pin the boy to the table. The Farmer's wife came out screaming, but Sisay sent her to fetch water, and his calm and kindly voice convinced her to do it without the hysterics.
The room filled with prayers, and bible verses, and calls for repentance, as the bloody youth tried to fight and bite his way out of the predicament he was in.
The farmers wife came back with the water. Sisay wrapped his shawl around the youth's head and began to pour water on it. "Servant of evil, spirit unwelcome, leave this child of God!" The cloth was removed, giving just enough time for the kid to catch his breath before the cloth was replaced and the process started over again. There was still demonic fight in the limbs, "Servant of evil, repent!" Sisay shouted, mixing his prayers as the moment heated up. A few times the youth got out an "I repe..." or something to that nature. It wasn't until hours later, cleaned of blood and exhausted, that the boy stopped fighting and began to weep. Sisay left him alone to sleep.
"He needs to join the priesthood." He whispered to the farmer and the blacksmith, "There is no guarantee the evil will not continue to affect him here."
"I need his work." the farmer whined.
"He will be more work for you if he continues to practice his strange crimes. He will be more work, and his soul will be damned to hell."
"Will you take him?"
Sisay shook his head. "It should be you. You are his father. Take him to Debre Markos, tell the priests there of his condition. They will look after him."
"This is so hard." the Farmer wept. "I have lost my livelihood, and I have lost my son!"
"Be strong for your son." Sisay grabbed the man by his shoulders, "He will make a good priest, and you will know him. God will see you through, and your neighbors will be there to help."
"What about you?"
"I must go" Sisay said, "I have spent more time here than I meant to."
Before he left the hut, he turned back and witnessed Nebiyou embracing the blacksmith, and he felt confident that he was leaving this place better than he had found it.
The sun was rising when Sisay walked to the other end of the village and out into the bush. There, in a hidden crag in the boulders, he found his motorcycle. It was a roughed up vehicle, the sort preferred by military messengers, but it ran good. He tied his prayer stick to his back and retrieved a pair of goggles. It started with no effort. He was soon on a goat path, the cold morning air rushing past him and causing his bloodied shawl to flap.
The path was a rough one, leading through crags and switchbacks, until it emptied out on the paved road that ran south to the Capital. It passed by villages and cows grazing freely in their pastures. This went for miles until the road climbed into the Entoto Mountains, a chain of tall hills shaded in imported eucalyptus trees. He puttered up the climb until he reached the spine of the range. Below this point spread the great city of Africa; Addis Ababa.
(uh, opening credits roll)
