It was really cold outside, I wanted to activate my mask/helmet (whatever), but I would look like some sort of malnourished Iron man alien in Border Tribe fabric Jedi cloaks. We said nothing to each other as we walked down the street but I could no longer hold it.
Jk: Ta-hawa? what is wrong with you!?
Makela: what!
Jk: are you like in some murderous period?
Makela: have you counted how many Munssu you have assassinated thus far!? You threatened him with a flask that contains an acquired immune deficiency syndrome.
Jk: with an objective! And c'mon everybody knows that the virus cannot survive without a human host!
Makela: and so, had Timothée Forget.
Jk: really? Ta-hawa, you enjoyed killing him…
Makela: so, what it's not like it affects me!
Jk: oh yeah, I forgot, the Kongo feel no remorse for their enemies.
Makela: try not to forget that the next time you bother me with your Saint Kufu tendencies.
Jk: Ta ̶
Makela: I beg… no give me stress!
Jk: forget!
We walked silently, ever since the Rotana Hotel, Ta-hawa started assassinating every Munssu on sight. This has been the basis of our arguments. The Kongo indeed feel no remorse for their enemies but that doesn't mean you have to turn into a murderous raving lunatic, just because.
The streets of Etienne Marcel were extremely quiet at midnight, rarely anybody in the right mind would walk these lonely silent streets at witching hour except for a bunch of French girls who were ahead of us making a racket, probably club divas. I was feeling cold at that point, I wished the armour suit came with a heater. At some point, we had to fly but if walking was this cold, imagine how cold it would be up there!
Luckily for us, there was an info sign that indicated a hotel about four blocks from where we were. "Eat and sleep or do you want to carry on?" I asked Ta-hawa. She looked at me no longer displeased at my presence, "eat and sleep", she replied, "but I'll race you there. Low flight", she said the last word already a meter off the ground. I immediately spread my wings and took off. A few seconds later I flew past the club girls who were taking pictures of Ta-hawa, who, was slightly ahead and they had done the same as I flew past them while crying the word Angel in French "Ange!". I thought to myself "no one in the right set of minds will believe these girls".
Ta-hawa might have been faster than me in combat though I was faster in flight, in seconds, I had reached her. "You look hungry, eat my wind!", I said laughing as I sped forward.
I had won the race though I didn't want to boast about it because she would have started the silent treatment again. As we entered the main entrance the guards were flabbergasted, I compelled them in French, which again, did not affect my health. Was somebody behind this? I thought to myself, "we are at the presidential villa", the guards smiled at us as they ushered us to the reception area.
The reception was nothing too fancy mostly red and gold, Marandi wood floor, and stairs, the furniture was brownish-gold. The employees were moving about with their jobs while being shouted at by their supervisor, a short bold chubby paled man with an odd voice that reminded me of Mickey Mouse. Wait, Walt Disney was French, right?
A chubby blond reddish boy was sitting on one of the sofas playing a game on his PSP, he had probably lost again because his reddish face was filled with disappointment and without thinking he looked up at us and gasped as he stared at us, motionless.
The receptionist, a long-nose horse face slender blond woman was gossiping to her friend over the telephone about something unimportant. I stood there like a polite ignoramus, waiting for her to finish her conversation but Ta-hawa was not that patient nor had she the proclivity of a polite dimwit.
"Hey long nose can we like, get a room!", said Makela sarcastically discourteous. The receptionist hung the telephone, stood up from her chair, and pointed her index finger at Makela, a malignant mistake. "I don know who you sink you are ̶ ", she stopped herself, I noticed the fear in her eyes expanding as Makela gave her a murderously savage gaze.
"Pardon, she gets cranky when she is hungry", I said, breaking the murderous glare Makela was giving the receptionist. "très bien but keep your wife away from me plaire and ooo'lalah! what is zis metallic outfit you are wearing it is so chic. Is it Gucci?" she said in amazement as she now focused on me.
"she's… Not… Never mind. We would like the presidential villa", I said in annoyance. "Always ze good men who end up wit ze bad girls", said the receptionist attempting a comeback, "listen, mate, I'm gonna take that phone, roll a cloth around it, wet it with sulphuric acid, drop it in a can of toxic compound powder and shuffle it up your ass!", said Makela as she stepped forward placing her right hand on her Ark pouch. This girl was about to be killed just for having a big mouth.
"Listen Miss huh…", I quickly looked at her name-tag, "Abella?", I asked as I tried to defuse the tension. She returned her focus to me, "monsieur, sadly ze presidential villa is occupied but I have something comfy zou it is small compared to your size…", "we'll take it!", said Ta-hawa. "Hmmm! Monsieur I shall escort you to your room" said the receptionist as she ignored Makela.
There it was again, that foreboding feeling I got months ago, the day after graduation. As I and Makela followed the receptionist to the elevator the foreboding of something inevitable was getting stronger. It was behind me like a repulsion force pressing against me, we entered the elevator and as the elevator doors were about to close a blind man walked in.
Well, I could tell he was blind because no one in the right set of minds would wear shades inside a building past midnight and the dude had a walking stick specialized for the blind, "pardon me. I hope you do not mind but I would appreciate if you could press number 6", said the man politely so I obliged, the man had an American accent, probably an American with a Motown vibe. I looked at Ta-hawa, though, she was dead still, I looked at Ms Abella, she too.
I looked at the blind man, he was also still. The blind man, probably in his mid-fifties, tall, African American, bold headed, grey and black beard covered his face something like Rick Ross's older well-conserved brother and he was dressed all black; black shirt, tie, tweed suit, and shoes. The Blind man had that old-school swagger, like, some of that "papa was a Rollin stone" flavour going on.
Blind Man: you can stop calling me blind man, son. [smiling at me], darker shades add to him; this is why I'm hot.
Jk: I didn't call you Blind Man, sir.
Blind Man: but you were thinkin it, ain't that right?
Jk: what? What happened to them. Makela?
Blind Man: they can't hear you son; you might as well assume that I froze this moment.
Jk: why?
Blind Man: so that we can talk man to man, I mean besides Mami and the Maditau I am the only entity… hahaha, the deity who has your best interest at heart. You can't trust Mami nor Lubaya… the Maditau or Sekhmet, whatever she wants to be called these days.
Jk: and you are?
Blind Man: I am the one and only, Anansi.
Jk: I thought you were an African god.
Anansi: are you telling a brother that an African American ain't African? What's wrong with you? Besides only dem Afro Americans be telling my story to dem kids these days. And, we are only called "African gods" because Africans were the first to own the planet, you dig?
Jk: what do you want? [I was rather hostile at this point]
Anansi: I want the box, yes, the same box that Mami wants.
Jk: look, you and Mami can leave me alone. What's wrong with you!?
Anansi: you know who I am and you know what I can do. Bring me the box, I only need it for a moment then take it to her.
Jk: do you have the key?
Anansi: now why would I be here if I didn't, you will find a girl screaming, so in your quest to kill the problem remember that you are a Bantu Kongo who by the way, is merciful and forgiving even to the descendants of those who have struck your family. If you show such kindness, I will not make your life hell.
Jk: you are the god of Trickery so how do you expect me to trust or believe you?
Anansi: because Kemet and Africa depend on it, son.
Jk: so?
Anansi: who do you think whispered in the ears of the Bantu to break the bond between Alkebulan, now known as Africa, and Kemet? and that was only out of amusement. I feed on chaos. Chaos himself is prey to me. If you do not bring me the box, son, I will evaporate and whisper a cry that will break into a continental civil war and you know what happened in Angola for 27 years. I do, I was the one who started it. Das'right, I fooled your priestess or oracle (it was better when she was just a goddess. Didn't bother anyone), whatever she likes to be called diz'days.
Jk: if you are so powerful why can't you get the box yourself huh? Not so tough, are you!
Anansi: get me the box!
Jk: do it yourself!
Anansi: hmm… Let's get personal, I'll start with Joleen Sahir, Madalena Mazayi, and then your brother Malachi. [smirking in triumph]
Jk: fine…
Anansi: what?
Jk: I recall reading about you from a child's book I stole, I thought you were the good guy.
Anansi: there's no such thing as Anansi being good or evil for trickery [he gave a cold laugh] clearly depends on the practitioner. You dig?
Jk: fine! I'll do it…
Anansi: ma'nigga. [Smirking hysterically]
Jk: just so you know, I don't care if you are a god, mightier than Chaos, if you threaten me again, I will find you and kill you.
Anansi: Mmm…hmm… You pass for an Odum, anyway press the 6th button twice and you shall continue living your miserable life. Peace out, nama-seh Nama-sah namaku-sah. [fading away]
It so happens that by the time I had to click the sixth bottom twice I ended up in the hotel room but everything was moving slow, the external noise sounded as if I were moving underwater and someone was pressing the forward key to rush to normal speed. "Why are you so quiet?" Makela asked me, "how did I get here, did you see the blind man, what happened to the receptionist?", I asked only realizing my surrounding, mahogany floor, white painted wall, everything was white, the door that led to the balcony was made out of glass and a mirror for a ceiling.
Makela: this is the best Mademoiselle Longnose could do.
Jk: there was a blind man…
Makela: where?
Jk: in the elevator…
Makela: and how come I didn't see him?
Jk: [I stood up from the bed]. He made it so. His… His Anansi.
Makela: you can't be serious!
Jk: I wish I wasn't.
Makela: this is the second time you have been visited by a deity, that's not good. When a deity, especially an African deity has found an interest in you, that ain't good. Anansi and Mami have been beefing for aeons and sparking conflicts and wars all over the world.
Jk: and now I'm in the middle of it.
Makela: what do they want?
Jk: a box…
Makela: a box?
Jk: yeah, that's not African-made.
Makela: a box… [Makela stood up from the bed and began pacing back and forth] Jk: you on to something?
Makela: The Box of Bindusara!
Jk: yes, but Emperor Bindusara lived between 320-273 BC.
Makela: so, the box is not African-made.
Jk: the box is older and the Asians seem to be far from this conflict. It's an African/Kemet versus Europe conflict. I guess it has always been like that.
Makela: you are right. I'm going to sleep. The right side of the bed is mine.
Jk: yeah sure, women are always right…
The life of an Apostle is accustomed to orchestrating death that all enemies want revenge. You can never fully sleep, I mean to say, I partially sleep and I have been doing so since I became an Apostle.
As I partially slept the idea of anything Indian being involved in the beef was implausible but if I wanted to conceal myself from my enemy, I would hide within my enemy for that is the last place my enemy would find me. I partially slept well for the first time in a long while, no dreams, no oblivion, no limbo, and certainly no African gods.
By the time I woke up, it was five o'clock in the morning which was the perfect time to fly. I woke up Ta-hawa and gave her about five minutes to prepare herself though she felt the need to take an extra twenty-five minutes. It was risky taking the armour suit off for it took about twenty seconds for the armour suit to extract from its breastplate mode plus, the breastplate was a problem putting on. "Are you done yet!?" I cried to her, "yes dad!", she replied as she closed the bathroom door behind her.