(no subject)
"I think your death will be the first real thing that has happened to you."
The unfortunate reality about that particular statement was that the fact that it was uttered from the lips of a madman didn't make it any less true. What have you done, Nicholas? he had asked, and even while Nicholas' conscious mind knew that it was nothing more than a means to shred the tattered remains of his spirit away, a device for emotional torture, beneath it all, in the darkest recesses of his mind, he knew he couldn't have answered it. What had he done, what had he really done? He had gone to a country on a fucking whim, the great British savior to the African masses, and had become Amin's white monkey. Had caused the death of at least two people, had been weak, so damned weak -- He, who had first been courted for his strength of passion and mind.
"I am the father of this nation, Nicholas, and you have most grossly offended your father."
No, no. That was wrong. Completely and utterly wrong.
"You're a child," Nicholas countered, grabbing hold of Amin by his collar and pulling him closer to his battered face. "That's what makes you so fucking scary."
The reaction his impudence garnered felt good, way deep down inside, like being liberated. Even as Amin shoved him away and sent glass splintering around Nicholas from kicking at the rows of liquor in the airport duty-free shop, Nicholas had to laugh. It would be, he was certain, his last. Better get it out while he could.
"In my village," Amin continued, kneeling before Nicholas as if he were imparting some great wisdom. "When you steal the wife of an elder, they take you to a tree and hang you by your skin. Each time you scream, the evil comes out of you. Sometimes, it can take three days for your evil to be spent." Nicholas knew, then. He knew that nearly six years' worth of friendship would not earn him a quick death. "Pull him up."
Nicholas did not scream, absolutely refused to scream, one last act of defiance, flying in the face of everything Amin believed he knew. He didn't scream when Masanga lodged the hooks into his chest, didn't scream even when they hauled him up and he truly felt for the first time that he wished he were dead.
A man that shows fear, he is weak, and he is a slave, Amin had once told him, and Nicholas Garrigan was praying for shock to set in, praying that it would be over soon, but he would be damned if he would scream.
The unfortunate reality about that particular statement was that the fact that it was uttered from the lips of a madman didn't make it any less true. What have you done, Nicholas? he had asked, and even while Nicholas' conscious mind knew that it was nothing more than a means to shred the tattered remains of his spirit away, a device for emotional torture, beneath it all, in the darkest recesses of his mind, he knew he couldn't have answered it. What had he done, what had he really done? He had gone to a country on a fucking whim, the great British savior to the African masses, and had become Amin's white monkey. Had caused the death of at least two people, had been weak, so damned weak -- He, who had first been courted for his strength of passion and mind.
"I am the father of this nation, Nicholas, and you have most grossly offended your father."
No, no. That was wrong. Completely and utterly wrong.
"You're a child," Nicholas countered, grabbing hold of Amin by his collar and pulling him closer to his battered face. "That's what makes you so fucking scary."
The reaction his impudence garnered felt good, way deep down inside, like being liberated. Even as Amin shoved him away and sent glass splintering around Nicholas from kicking at the rows of liquor in the airport duty-free shop, Nicholas had to laugh. It would be, he was certain, his last. Better get it out while he could.
"In my village," Amin continued, kneeling before Nicholas as if he were imparting some great wisdom. "When you steal the wife of an elder, they take you to a tree and hang you by your skin. Each time you scream, the evil comes out of you. Sometimes, it can take three days for your evil to be spent." Nicholas knew, then. He knew that nearly six years' worth of friendship would not earn him a quick death. "Pull him up."
Nicholas did not scream, absolutely refused to scream, one last act of defiance, flying in the face of everything Amin believed he knew. He didn't scream when Masanga lodged the hooks into his chest, didn't scream even when they hauled him up and he truly felt for the first time that he wished he were dead.
A man that shows fear, he is weak, and he is a slave, Amin had once told him, and Nicholas Garrigan was praying for shock to set in, praying that it would be over soon, but he would be damned if he would scream.