By: GT

December 1960

Tamrat was leaning somewhat comfortably on the hood of his Volkswagon Bug, a half-smoked Rothman hanging from the corner of his mouth. His newspaper ruffled a bit as the usual cool breeze that marked the onset of the mild December Addis Ababa evening weather enveloped him. His hair had been freshly cut that morning, so short that the wind made his scalp tingle. Within a few minutes, clouds would sweep over the burgeoning city dulling the hellacious afternoon sun that was now bearing down on him. There was something both deceptive and predictable about the weather in the city.

The newspaper was lionizing the monarchy's accomplishments over the past day---which usually weren’t enough for his taste. He flipped through it more absorbing than reading, for its inexorableness tended to distract him. The smudged newsprint on his fingers was the only reminder that the newspaper was for real.

He felt something and looked up from the paper. The office building outside which he was waiting was one of the new white stucco ones about four stories high, surrounded by the braying sounds of wayward sheep and the murmuring of thousands of low-level hustlers which gave this young city its calling. The city's name literally meant new flower, but at that moment, as a healthy herd made its way past his car, it smelled more like cow shit. Next to him some kids were kicking around a ball of aluminum in a makeshift street soccer game, while others ran guiding metal wheels with thin rods on the packed dirt roads through the early post-work traffic. Through his dark sunglasses he saw Tadesse, the building's guard, staring at him intently.

"Gash Tamrat, how are you doing," Tadesse said to him with a salute. His arm streaked out from his tattered khaki uniform he wore, rose firmly and proudly towards his forehead. With razor blade precision, his leading edge of his hand touched a spot dead center on the right half of his temple. The pageantry was misplaced. Feudalism made the top graduate from his excellency's university's twenty-four year life supposedly worth more than the sixty years of diligent work which Tadesse had done to prove food for his family. Somehow, this was supposed to be all right.

Tamrat unfolded his suit jacket which had been laid over his arm and put it on due to the sudden chill. He stubbed out his cigarette and folded away his newspaper. He stuck out his arms, and then tugged at the lapels. It was the first suit he had bought during college, yet it felt more comfortable than the subsequent four he had bought since he began working. A snapshot of him in that suit rested in a small chest in the mud and thatched hut his mother still lived in.

"Fine,Ato Tadesse. How are you and your family," he said with a warm smile.

"The times are getting harder, Tamrat," he said with his head down.

"Well, Tadesse, that’s not what the newspaper I was reading just said," he said chuckling softly.

"What do they know anyways? I'm just an old man and have never known happiness for too long."

"God is with you, Tadesse. You're never far from the happiness found in God," he said lighting another cigarette.

"No, it is you whom God has touched," Tadesse said slightly bowing.

The loud crack of a sheepherder’s whip distracted Tamrat. He turned slightly to his right. He recognized the stern commands which the sheep herder gave the sheep. He’d said them every day of his childhood. He should have said them every day of his life. The life he currently led was not really meant to be his own. Luck was the fine line between what should have been and what was.

He smoothed out the edges of his moustache with his index finger. He almost didn't recognize himself anymore. He figured that this self-awareness was a curse which came with the opportunities he’d had. The symptoms would go away with time. He pulled out the pocket-sized version of Sanctuary he had started reading the previous evening.

"She's late today, huh," he finally said to Tadesse. Tadesse had continued to stare at Tamrat all along.

"Tamrat, there is something I've been meaning to tell you about her," he said coming close to him. He put his hand on Tamrat’s shoulder and whispered, "She has not been behaving properly the last few days."

"Believe me, Tadesse, she never does," Tamrat said laughing. It was a cocky laugh.

"Let me tell you, though. A new manager has come to work in the office. He is known to do bad things with young women. Seduce them and such. Sometimes against their will, sometimes beyond it."

"Sounds like every other habesha man with a decent job in Addis, Tadesse," he said taking a long drag off of his cigarette. Personal knowledge and the comings and goings of his two roommates' girlfriends further reified that point. He exhaled slowly.

"Well, I would not concern you with this if I hadn't seen Rahel going off with him at lunch and after work when you're not around, quite often in fact. I know that you are thinking of sending amalajoch and then getting married and I have come to like you so I had to let you know," Tadesse said quickly. He then started to walk slowly backwards towards the seat he usually occupied by the front door of the office building.

I’m sure the bastard wants some money for this bullshit, he thought. Gossip provides cold comfort for underachievers. The only things Tamrat believed in were God, himself and fact. He was what he was. That she loved him was a tangible fact. The God part was an educated guess.

A strong wind whipped up a cloud of dust, which blew through him like he wasn’t there. He took off his sunglasses to clean them off. When he looked up, she was floated down the steps from the office building towards the car. She was radiant, with her chocolate brown skin somehow glowing despite the late afternoon clouds. She looked deeply at him with her large, widely-set almond eyes. Her full lips were slightly open, ready to be kissed.

She walked over to him running her fingers through her shoulder-length dark brown hair and rubbing her neck. She gave him three alternating kisses on the cheek as she always did. Her white silk blouse smelled faintly of the perfume he had recently bought her. It took him three whiskeys and an hour of bothering his pilot friend Ermias before he agreed to bring him back the Chanel from London. Ermias almost missed his own flight.

"How are you," she said softly, her arm wrapped around his shoulder. She felt warm against him and he welcomed the closeness of her body. It was a welcome respite from the distant interactions which colored his days working at the Ministry. Yet, he always wondered about the specter of disingenuousness which loomed over every relationship he had ever had with women. He often wondered whether the warmth he felt was genuine and whether that even mattered.

"It was a busy day today, but I'm fine. Have you been well?" he asked putting out his cigarette.

"Yes. I was busy as well. I'm famished," she said leaning her head on his shoulder.

"If that’s the case, lets go eat some kitfo," he said with a big smile.

They climbed into the Bug and started off on the rocky road going towards a kitfo beit they both loved. A few minutes later, they parked the car and walked into the mud house without a descriptive sign in front of it. The sat down on a couple of surprisingly comfortable wooden stools in front of a jebena.

"Tamrat," Alemnesh, the proprietor said warmly, "Where have you disappeared to? It’s been too long since you and Rahel last came." She was gloriously overweight and devilishly gracious. Her eyes always blazed when customers dripping with affluence or clearly connected to the Addis literati patronized her restaurant. She herself was inherently beguiling and dazzling, which made up for her lack of beauty. When he came to her restaurant once in college with some of his friends, after four whiskeys he thought he had fallen in love with her for a brief moment. Then he realized it had been the food.

He let himself briefly be overwhelmed by the smell of the rich siga wet piled in front of the two men seated beside him. His mouth watered slightly. He loosened his tie and unbuttoned his top shirt button.

"Too long," he replied winking at her.

"What should I bring you first, the usual whiskey?" she asked warmly.

"Okay," he said. "What would you like?" he asked Rahel.

She crossed her legs. She leaned slightly forward, looked at the bar and then said softly, "A cold Coca Cola."

Within an instant, a half-full glass of whiskey appeared before him, with three cubes of ice fiercely fighting their inclement melt. He took a long, neat sip.

"So," Rahel said turning towards him with a sly smile. "Have you begun making the arrangements yet?"

He shook his head, "I've been busy, and I've been bogged down helping Turunesh with her problem." Turunesh was his cook/guard. Her son had been arrested for smuggling heroin from Kenya a couple of weeks ago, and he'd been trying to get in touch with his lawyer friend Ezra to try and help him out.

"It seems that something always comes up when it comes to our future. First, the so-called mysterious disappearance of your friend Beniyam and now this," she said taking a deliberate sip from her soda seemingly to punctuate the thought.

"Listen, he's not dead. I'm sure of it. Look, I have so much responsibility these days, Rahel. I'm supposed to brief the Imperial Chancellor Wednesday morning about the Ministry’s work." he said taking another long sip from his whiskey. She looked at him blankly but lovingly. She didn’t care much about the Ministry; most people didn’t understand its significance.

The kitfo majestically appeared on a Taba, and they both ate quietly for a while. The first bite made his mouth shudder. The raw meat was perfectly spiced and the slight sting of a bit of mitmita brought him elation.

"You know," she started," you could have been a manager by now with your intelligence if you would just not insist on being rebellious when it comes to the imperial bureaucrats."

Aided by the whisky, he laughed cynically, "Let them rot in a gutter for all I care." He finished his whiskey and within seconds it was replenished. He didn’t say anything further to her. He did not like to waste anything, words included. He just looked at her, thinking that there was an indefinable emptiness in her that he wanted to fill.

And he felt full. He leaned back in the stool he was sitting on. He spun the icy whiskey around in its glass and sipped it. He looked at her beautiful face in the dimly lit restaurant. She was intoxicating, but not to the point of delirium. He wondered if he'd ever tire of her face after they'd been married for a while. He studied her narrow and small nose, high cheeks and small mouth with full lips; she was beautiful. But, in much the same way all the women in Addis were. And he knew these women too well from his recent college days. He let them love him and then flitter off into the sea of superficiality. He never knew whether he'd ever been in love, because he could never let himself take them seriously. Even if he did let himself try, he wasn't sure that he could nevertheless. She had meant more to him then all those women who had come before. At least, her role in his life was more certain. And it was time he got married. He would never let himself tire of that face.

"I've already picked out the shumageley for the amelach. He's an old friend of my father's who claims to have killed 20 Italians single-handily in the numerous battles during the war. He's quite a character. I'm sure he'll definitely entertain your family when he goes on my behalf to ask about our marriage." He said smiling warmly at her.

"Liar, you have been preparing the amelach. It sounds as if you could not have picked a nobler shumageley," she said staring back at him. Her face softened and she gave him a mischievous smile. She turned sharply at the sound of an asmari's masenko playing behind her. The asmari began to sing about an overweight man sitting by the door.

"So," he started," how is your new boss. I hear he's one of the shrewdest business men to come out of the commercial college in years."

"Yes," she said turning back to look at the asmari, "He's really whipping the office into shape."

"Isn't he Samuel Ashenafi? I heard he was arrested as a youth for attacking a young girl in Nazareth," he said finishing his whiskey and ordering another.

"Well, people love to spread rumors here. Is the one about your wife in Arsi true? I doubt what they say about Samuel is true. He seems like a generous man and tough businessman."

"Do you work directly with him?"

"Oh enough about work, Tamrat. It was a long enough day there anyways, I'm tired of even thinking about it," she said staring at her high-heeled shoes resting on the hard mud floor. He was staring at her legs, feeling increasingly warm.

She placed her hand on his and said, her voice deepening, "Lets go."

That Wednesday, after the meeting with some official’s from the Chancellor’s office, he drove by her office on the way back to his home near the Defense Ministry for lunch. He spent several minutes in the car at first; the fact that he was there unnerved him.

"You're early today," Tadesse said saluting Tamrat as he approached.

"I came only to see you," he said pulling some bills from his pocket. He handed them to Tadesse and said," I'm not going to pick her up Friday. If she leaves with Samuel after work, give me a call at my office. This is the number."

"Sure. But be warned. Samuel has been known to carry a gun and has shot people who've interfered with him and his women. I like you too much to see you die over a senseless confrontation."

Tamrat nodded at him and climbed into his Bug and drove off to his house. It was a beautiful and uniquely multi-level house located behind the Ministry of Defense. He pulled the Bug to the gate and honked twice. Within moments, Turunesh opened the gate and he abruptly sent to Bug with its sticky clutch into the driveway and parked.

"You're late today. That means you'll end up ruining my schedule. You boys don't care about anything do you. A little education and a high-paying job and then nothing else matters," Turunesh started. She was wrong, schedule meant a great deal at the Ministry.

He gave her a wide grin and walked into the house. In the living room sat a person who was all too familiar to him. It was his roommate Wolde's uncle Colonel Yohannes. But the last he had heard of Colonel Yohannes was that he was in prison due to his participation in the recent coup attempt earlier that year.

He bowed slightly as he shook his hand and said, "Colonel Yohannes, hello."

"Tamrat, how are you?"

"Well, Colonel Yohannes. You're out of prison already?" he asked as he gestured Colonel Yohannes to the dining room table. They sat down and, after a brief prayer, began to devour the siga wat.

"Yes, they completely stole my assets and then turned me loose for some inexplicable reason. They're insane I tell you. Well, you know me, I couldn't stay far away from Addis or politics even though those were both conditions of my release. So I decided to move in with you and my nephew, especially because you're only a stone's throw from the Defense Ministry. And believe me, on a good day, I'm sure I could take out that Minister of Defense with a solid throw from your balcony." He began feverishly devouring the food before him.

"I doubt any of us would be worse off, Colonel Yohannes. But, I would prefer you led the revolution from somewhere besides my house," he said smiling at the old colonel.

"You intellectuals are cowards ready only to stand behind paper revolutions. The real revolutionaries are in the military, Tamrat."

Tamrat continued eating. He could not say what he thought out of respect. A few moments later, he got up and said, "If you'll excuse me, I have a few minutes left before I have to get back to the office, so I'm going to take a brief nap."

The Colonel nodded. He walked upstairs to his room. The six books which had been strewn across his bed that morning had been carefully piled up on his desk with each page he was on preserved. He looked at his wall, and saw the holes in the wall where the stray bullets fired from the coup attempt earlier that year had made they're way into his room. He had only started sleeping in his room again a month ago. He decided he'd have to fix the holes soon. He laid on his bed and tried to take a brief nap, but he couldn’t fall asleep.

Friday, he spent most of the morning looking over personnel reports. There were countless reports generated at the Ministry. Around 10:30, he put out his third Rothman of the day and picked up his phone.

"Hi, its me."

"Hi. How are you?"

"I got a stack of reports to go over."

"Sounds like you're being overworked like usual."

"Yes. In fact I've got a late meeting tonight. Unfortunately, I won't be able to pick you up tonight."

"Oh no. How am I going to see Miriam? We were supposed to go together. They say the meningitis is getting worse."

"I know. I'm sorry. But, it’s an important meeting. Just take a taxi. I think I've spoilt you by driving you all around"

"Yeah, I guess that is the only way. Are you going to be free later on? Or is this just some excuse to run around with your friends?"

"I wish. I should be free. Just come by our house afterwards if you can."

"Ok, I'll try."

"I love you."

"I'll see you later."

He hung up the phone and turn towards the reports.

About 4:00PM, with three quarters of the reports completed, the phone rang. Tamrat’s ashtray was overflowing.

"This is Tamrat."

"There's a man named Tadesse on the line," his secretary said in her automaton voice.

"Put him on. Tadesse, what is going on?"

"They just left together heading towards Mexico Adebabai in Samuel's green Opal."

"Okay," he said hanging up the phone. He picked up his suit jacket and headed for the door. He entered his car and opened his glove compartment. The Colt .45 semiautomatic he'd gotten from an American missionary in exchange for some answers about a year ago was still there.

He closed the glove compartment and started towards Mexico Adebabai. The hospital where her friend Miriam was laid up was about 2 kilometers from there. He floored it over the rocky roads. He cut his engine around the hospital and coasted by it. Samuel's green Opal was parked in the lot. He let his car roll down the steep hill off which the hospital was located and looked around for cover. He saw a patch of eucalyptus trees a few hundred meters down the road. He restarted the car, backed up between two of the larger trees and cut the engine again . He slipped on his sunglasses and lit a cigarette. He took the gun out of the glove compartment and laid it on his lap.

He looked to his right and saw a man sitting cross-legged right next to his car underneath one of the eucalyptus trees. He recognized him instantly, it was Elias his roommate Desalgn's best friend.

"Elias, what the hell are you doing?"

"Meditating."

"What?"

"Yeah, I found half of this book on Eastern Religions and it talked about the therapeutic effect of meditation. It is actually very relaxing."

"Why here?"

"Where else if not here?" Elias got up and walked towards his car. He looked in and noticed the gun.

"What the hell are you doing?" Elias asked nodding towards the gun.

"I found out Rahel is seeing another man."

"Maybe its you who needs to meditate," he said pulling a branch of qat out of his pants pocket. He started to chew on some leaves. His eyes were already dulled from the qat's narcotic effect.

"I just want to confront them. But I heard the guy is a bit dangerous when it comes to his conquests. So I have to protect myself," he said flicking his cigarette out of the car window.

"Well, I can't let you do it alone. I'm coming with you." he said walking to the passenger side door.

"No, Elias. This is for me alone to handle."

"No, Tamrat. You need a level head, and perhaps I can help provide it," he said opening the passenger side door and climbing in. They both waited silently in the warm Addis December air, the sound of Elias chewing and spitting out the quat leaves occasionally breaking the silence. An very short old man dressed in tattered priest's clothes wandered up to the window of his car.

"Help the church," the man said. His breath carried the strong odor of some sort of alcohol.

"Thank you," he replied waving the man away.

"For God, the Virgin Mother, please," the man asked again, the heavy scent of his tej-drenched breath filled the car. Despite being drunk, the priest seemed almost regal.

"Hey, even I would drink to them," Elias said stuffing more qat into his mouth.

"I said no," Tamrat said staring fiercely at the man, "A drunk like you could never save me or anyone else."

"You are rotten," the priest said staggering back to the roadway. Tamrat felt his hand twitching.

About half an hour later, the green Opal drove quickly down the road heading east.

He pulled his car out from the Eucalyptus grove and followed the car at a distance. They drove for quite a while until the Opal parked in front of a semi-decent hotel just outside the city limits. He waited until they were inside, and then parked the car beyond the window views afforded by the hotel. He jammed the Colt into his back waistband and turned to Elias.

"Just follow my lead and don't do anything." They got out of the car and walked to the hotel entrance. He cursed under his breath as he stepped in a bunch of pellets of sheep shit. He approached the guard standing by the door of the hotel.

He pulled out some heavier coins and laid it in his hand. "Have you seen a couple walking in a few minutes ago?"

"Yes. They're on the back veranda."

He nodded and walked into the bar which had two open windows which faced the veranda. Through one of them, he saw Rahel and Samuel sitting at one of the tables. He felt a burn. They were both drinking large whiskeys. She never drank, supposedly. He found a table near the window and sat down.

"What would you two like?" a hunchbacked waitress asked them.

"Two large whiskeys, " he said his gaze focused on the window. The drinks came instantly and Elias downed his in a gulp.

"Hey Elias," he said, "I thought Buddhists were supposed to do everything in moderation."

Elias flagged down the waitress and ordered another, "Oh really? That must have been in the other half of the book that I don't have. "

Elias finished the second whiskey just as fast.

Tamrat proceeded to tell a series of raunchy jokes, with each subsequent joke getting more and more explicit. His voice rose.

"Hey, more whiskey!" Elias screeched, laughing loudly.

The next round came. The laughter died down. Elias let his whisky get more and more watery and warmer, before finally asking his friend, “So, what are you going to do with her?”

Tamrat let himself be distracted by Rahel. She was looking towards the window. They had heard his and Elias' voice, but didn't seem to see him due to the strong reflection the surprisingly resilient early evening sun was creating on the window. There eyes darted everywhere and nowhere.

Tamrat pulled out the gun under the table. He loaded the chamber. He flagged down the waitress, handed her a bill and said, "This should cover the drinks the couple sitting on the back veranda have ordered. Send them another round on me."

He watched the waitress walk out onto the veranda and hand them two more drinks and say something to them. As he finished his own whiskey, he saw Samuel smile and say something in response. He got up slowly. He walked towards the doorway leading onto the veranda. He smiled at the waitress as she walked by. She smiled, lingered and went back to the bar.

"What does she mean there was a man there? There's no one there," Samuel said in a deep voice.

First, he looked around to make sure no one was on the veranda or watching them. He walked out and leaned against the side of the doorway, the Colt loosely gripped in his dangling arm. He suddenly recognized Samuel's round face and bushy moustache. He had actually met him before on a hunting trip a group of guys had taken seven months ago.

On that trip, Tamrat had shot a Colobus monkey between the eyes at 200 yards.

At that moment, Samuel was seated fifteen feet from him.

Samuel dropped his jaw and started blubbering. He leapt up, knocked the table over as he dove out of the potential line of fire. Tamrat felt his hand shaking. Samuel scrambled towards the railing on the veranda and leapt over it and ran into the bushes, thick thorns tearing away at his clothes and flesh.

Rahel looked up at him in fear. He did not feel broken and for that reason smiled at her. It was a crooked smile because he was still trying to sort it all out. How could he feel broken about something that was never there. He should have been enough. She should have been enough. But, they both weren’t, and that was the only thing that made sense. The gun was still there, gripped in his dangling, spasming hand, and he was standing near the fraying edges of a dream.

She sat frozen for a few moments, then unexpectedly leapt up from her seat. She stumbled towards the railing in her high heels, one of which broke as she herself scrambled over the railing. She fell twice more, once trying to clear the rail and once more as she ran towards the bushes. She followed the trail Samuel had blazed through the thicket. According to her family, she didn’t turn up until a week later.

He placed the gun in his back waistband. He walked back into the bar with his normal gait, where a bunch of wide eyes were watching him. He sat down with Elias. Within seconds, everyone went back to murmurs and laughter.

Elias crossed his legs and played with his empty glass. They both stared at nothing in particular for about half a minute. Elias finally said, “Another whiskey?"

They drank in silence for a while.