DEATH IN THE BUSH

 

I wanted to be the angel of death. It was my biggest dream. I aimed high, ambitiously, but that's exactly what I wanted. Why be average, just one of many? I was ready for anything to get that job. And they gave me stupid wings, a stupid hat, some stupid stick with a star on one end that didn't light up anyway because there was no connection. And colorful clothes, like I was marching in some fucking lesbian parade. And finally, a bag of coins that I was supposed to put in kids' teeth at night. Yes, yes, that's it: they made me the Tooth Fairy. They shook my hand and handed me a short pamphlet: 'What every fairy should know.' And I flew from window to window at night, like a whore with two jobs! Who the hell needed those teeth? Who would tell me? And I was aiming so high...

But it's hard to do. Work is work, one must live...

* * *

- Wait. Don't leave yet. Since you came here for me personally, stay a little longer.

- I can't. I have to go now. You too.

- Why? You said time had no meaning to you. So stay.

- There. But here, if I stay in one place too long, I might become... hmm, too visible to those around me. And that's definitely against the rules and...

- Just a moment. I'd like to ask you about so many things...

- Really, I shouldn't.

- There's no one here. Who are you afraid of? Who can see you here?

- You're forgetting who I am. I have nothing to fear. I'm at the end of fear, right after it, if you were to look for any connection.

- Stay. I have a few more questions. Literally a few. Not about what happens next, don't worry. There's no point in asking about that; everyone will find out eventually. Besides, you don't often get the chance to talk to anyone either, do you?

- Hmm... That's true. Maybe I will find a moment.

* * *

The bush wasn't sleeping. Not at this hour. Nightlife wasn't a Parisian invention at all. It was already well-developed long before the future Parisians stopped hitting themselves with coconuts and climbed down from the trees. And though the Parisians might not like it, it was still true.

Here, far from the lights of Paris—or any other—the night was so black that coffee turned brown with shame, and the stars sparkled so brilliantly that all the diamonds in the world gave up their careers as jewelers and willingly submitted to being turned into drills and grinding wheels. Yes; here, in the heart of the Dark Continent, bathed in the shimmering light of a myriad of stars; absorbing the warmth escaping from the earth; resonating with a thousand sounds of the bush's nightlife, imbued with the elusive scent of authenticity—this night was unparalleled. It was permeated with a mysterious energy, as if it were aware of its uniqueness. And she was right, because something special was about to happen that night.

The old shaman was dying.

He was over a hundred years old. He possessed knowledge that ordinary mortals would never have suspected. They wouldn't even have suspected that such things were possible.

And now he was dying. Of course, he had anticipated this and had prepared himself. He had taken care of his earthly affairs, said goodbye to earthly places and beings. He had performed ritual prayers and drank an infusion from the root of the ritual plant. He sat in the tall grass, beneath a huge, spreading tree, humming the ritual song of farewell, merging into the frantic song of the cicadas. All around, hiding in the grass, lions circled, night hunters. But he knew the animals would do him no harm. His friends had come to watch over his peace. Their eyes gleamed in the darkness among the grass. They would not touch him. Not him. He continued humming the monotonous song.

Suddenly, he stopped.

The cicadas' song ceased. A frog croaked in a nearby pond, but it too subsided and quickly fell silent. Everything fell silent, as if cut by a knife. Even the air seemed more still than usual.

The night held its breath, as if Death himself had graced the area with his grim presence.

And though some claimed it was terribly ugly, they couldn't deny it at that moment.

The old shaman smiled, for something he knew perfectly well was happening.

"I felt in my old bones that you would appear."

Death stepped closer. Silently. The blade of the scythe, black as night, gleamed faintly in the starlight.

"In person," the shaman said. "How do you manage to appear in so many places at once?"

"Over seventy percent of your clients ask me that question.

" "And the answer is...?" the shaman continued, undaunted. Death was silent for a moment. Perhaps he wanted to sigh dramatically; we'll never know, for he had no nose.

- Czas nie ma dla mnie znaczenia. - odrzekł. - Czy tak trudno się tego domyślić? - przerwał na moment, po czym podjął: - Zresztą, ukazać się mogę tylko tym, którzy we mnie wierzą. To znaczy, w jakąś personifikację. Ale ja zawsze zjawiam się w tej samej postaci. Nie uwierzyłbyś, co niektórzy mogą wymyślić.

- To wciąż dosyć spora grupa.

Cisza. Na jedno mgnienie oka.

- Z niej wybieram tych, którzy chcą mnie zobaczyć. Potem tych, którzy na to zasługują. A z nich wreszcie tych, którym ja się chcę ukazać. A wtedy już… wtedy już naprawdę czas nie ma znaczenia.

- Ciekawe - uśmiechnął się szaman. - Czuję się wiec zaszczycony. Tym słuszniej podejrzewałem, że się zjawisz.

- Jako szaman w zasadzie rzadko myliłeś się w sprawach związanych ze mną. Z zawodowego punktu widzenia.

Szaman zaśmiał się. Ba, pomyślał, trudno się mylić w takich sprawach kiedy ktoś naje się niewłaściwych grzybów albo podepcze go słoń.

- Tak... chociaż czasem wykazywałeś się swoistym poczuciem humoru...

"You mean the zombie phenomenon? I have nothing to do with this trick. Until, of course, they overdose."

The shaman stared into the distance. The bolder cicadas timidly resumed their concert, cat eyes glowing in the dark, glinting from the grass like lost spirits. The lions seemed to be approaching closer.

"I don't regret anything I've done," the shaman finally said, "or that I'm leaving; I've been here long enough. But I wish I knew more.

" "You'd never know everything you want to know," Death replied.

"I never knew I already knew!" the man smiled.

A faint breeze rustled through the tree's branches. Lazy murmurs drifted from the grass, closer again.

"Let's go," Death said. "It's time for us.

" "Wait. Don't leave yet. Since you came here personally for me, stay a while longer.

" "I can't. I have to go now. You too.

" "Why? You said time had no meaning for you." So stay.

"There. But here, if I stay in one place too long, I might become... hmm, too visible to those around me. And that's definitely against the rules and...

" "Just a moment. I'd like to ask you so many things...

" "Really, I shouldn't.

" "There's no one here. Who are you afraid of? Who can see you here?

" "You forget who I am. I have nothing to fear. I'm at the end of fear, often right after it, if you were to look for any connection.

" "Stay. I have a few more questions. Literally a few. Not about what comes next, don't worry. There's no point in asking about that; everyone will find out eventually. Besides, you probably don't get the chance to talk to anyone often either?

" "Hmm... That's true. Maybe I will find a moment.

" * * *

The old shaman took one last deep breath of the earthly air he had become so accustomed to. For a moment, he savored it, savouring it like the most exquisite delicacy. He closed his eyes.

And died.

Death approached this with professional detachment. The lions approached quite close, as if to guard the cooling body. He waved them away with a wave of his bony hand.

"There's nothing for you here," he rumbled, feeling the human life slipping away. And it's all over, he thought.

How wrong he had been.

The angry growls were directed at him this time. The big cats circled the body, glaring at him with their lanterns. Damn it, Death thought, the dunder is whistling. I've been too late.

"Run!" he roared, his face bristling. The effect was completely opposite to his intended one. The beast leaped at him with a roar and tore most of his robe. Death cursed viciously in a language unknown to the inhabitants of Earth, words with no equivalent in their language. It was the last straw. When the next tomcat aimed at him, he slashed with his scythe. And he was very surprised. He knew cats had nine lives, but this time it wasn't that.

These cats' time simply hadn't come yet. Death suddenly realized how utterly flawed the latest official regulations regarding his duties were. And he felt terribly foolish.

* * *

Tooth Fairy number 47-303, thought Feniue. That's the number they gave me. Beautiful, isn't it? Like some machine in a cannery or something. Oh well. Work is work. You have to get used to it. "You have to be tough, not soft." And I aimed so high, she thought to herself.

She was just sneaking out another window in a small African village when she suddenly felt an impulse. Damn, she thought. I don't like this either. I don't like it when Central tries to communicate with me without asking my permission, with an impulse like a kangaroo jumping around my brain. But, she had to admit, it was the most discreet and effective form of communication she'd ever heard of.

Feniue, can you hear me? This is Central.

I hear you, she thought. How can I not hear. What is it? Some extra brat for tonight?

No, something more serious, she heard. We've lost contact with Death.

How can that be?

He grumbled at the shaman he was going to see today. He must have mentioned him to you. And now I can't contact him.

Feniue flew into the shadow of the hut, away from the henhouse, next to which the dog was dozing. Her right not to stay in one place for too long also applied. It wasn't that she was afraid of dogs. She was simply the only white person around.

Maybe she still talked to him? Or he'd moved somewhere. He can take care of himself; he wasn't born yesterday.

I'd know if he was still there, or if he'd wandered off somewhere. But I have nothing. So please, check it out. You're the only one around.

Do I have to?

Yes.

"Of course I have to," she muttered as the Central Station shut down. "I'm the Tooth Fairy, after all, and any Tooth Fairy can transform into a Mk III patrol unit if necessary." So she tucked her wand into her belt and dashed off to meet Death.

* * *

When she arrived, she hung in the air for a long moment, mouth agape, unable to believe what she saw. But she couldn't deny the facts.

She flew closer. The lions looked at her, hissed, and showed their fangs. They did not want to share their loot.

She couldn't believe it. The lions were crunching white bones, bones that seemed so familiar. It was impossible, she thought. But still. Those calves... Some of the bones were already gone, the rest were scattered here and there. She couldn't see the skull anywhere. But even without that, she was sure.

She waved her wand once, twice. A shower of sparks drove away the predators, who had certainly taken a few bones with them. But that wasn't what mattered to her. She looked closely. She watched. And smiled triumphantly when she finally saw the solution. The only solution appropriate to this situation.

The black robe was torn, but that didn't matter; a few minutes of work and she'd have a new, better one. But the scythe, a blade as black as night mounted on a mahogany handle, the only one of its kind in the universe, was intact. She picked it up and bit by bit, unable to believe what had happened. The scythe was as light as a feather.

I aimed so high, Feniue repeated to herself. I'd dreamed of this for so many years. And after what happened today, the regulations are definitely changing. And they can't ignore the progress of emancipation. All the more reason... I won't let it be snatched from me.

She wanted to scream with joy. So she screamed. She screamed for a long time, clutching the scythe, and finally added,

"I won't let it be snatched from me!"

And she laughed madly.

She always wanted to be the Angel of Death.