Scar Stories

TEN YEARS AGO

Ushundi was a newborn city, the capitol of a newborn land. Metal framework and half-finished buildings reached out from the heart of the city, which had just been completed. The half-built metropolis was already home to thousands, and they were growing accustomed to a life free of sickness, misery and fear. A tall wooden fence separated Bandari from the outside world, a nation with its back to the ocean. There were still gaps in the fence, places still under construction, which were guarded by the Bandari Security Force, the peaceful country's substitute for an army. There was a whirring of labored engines, and a mass of steel flew just over the fence. Smoke trailed in its wake, and the vessel swayed side to side, unable to remain level.

The boxy, battered hover cycle touched down not so gracefully on a landing pad atop the capitol building, nearly careening off the ledge and exploding in the street. The pilot managed to bring it to a stop, sparks spraying out in all directions from its underbelly. His knuckles cracked as he loosed his iron grip on the handlebars. He waved his hand through the dark smoke billowing from the front of the cycle and staggered off the landing pad, collapsing on the rough surface of the rooftop, still hot from hours of exposure in the sun.

"Akube!" cried a woman, rushing to his side. She knelt down and rolled him over on his back. His black fatigues were tattered and stained with blood, as was the thick kevlar shirt of the same shade. Plastic pads were bolted to his shirt at the shoulders, cracked and broken.

"Linda?" he asked, still somewhat coherent despite the blood spilling out on the roof above his office.

"It's me, Akube," she answered, putting her hand beneath his head to keep it elevated, "I'm right here. What do you need?"

"I need..." he wheezed, "I... need..."

"What is it, Akube? Tell me."

"I need you... to take off my mask. Stuck- KAFF!- Stuck to my face. Blood... can't breathe."

She reached down and gently peeled the black mask, stuck to his skin by blood and sweat, off of his face. He drew in a long breath and gave a sigh of relief. "Thank you. That's much better." he said, immediately appearing far less injured than he had a moment ago. He rose up, still weak, but able to stand on his own as he wandered back toward the smoking hover cycle.

"What the hell happened out there, Akube?"

"I planned for machetes and pistols. I walked into machetes, pistols, and assault rifles." He kicked the flimsy metal hull of the cycle, "And this flying lawn mower needs a few upgrades before I take it out again. First and foremost, armor. My engine block nearly exploded after one hit."

"Where are your elbow pads?" Linda interrupted.

Akube cocked his eyebrow and raised his elbows, examining the tattered cloth and bloody scrapes. "Hm," he shrugged nonchalantly,"I suppose I misplaced them in the conflict."

"You need to be more careful how you go about this, Akube." she said, her voice heavy with concern.

"I did not see you questioning my methods when you were attacked!" he snapped.

"Listen to me, Akube!" she snapped, matching his intensity with ease, "You may not care whether you make it back, but those people out there do! And... I do. Throwing yourself into danger like this isn't an option for you anymore. Please... stop doing this to yourself. It's not just killing you."

Akube was silent. He reached out and held her close. "I'll be careful. I can't afford to take stupid risks anymore. You're right, Linda."

"Of course I am," she laughed, "Somebody has to be around here."

The door of his apartment drifted open and they wandered in, his arm slung over her shoulder. She never questioned why the president of the country lived in an apartment building along with ordinary civilians. She had come to accept many things about Akube. This was the least peculiar. "All I'm saying is that I don't think Ms. Mendinao likes me." she said, "Every time I go out in the hall, she's giving me the stink eye."

"I'm sure it's nothing," Akube replied, "She probably just looks at you that way because you're American."

"Ah. Yes. Nothing." Linda groaned.

"I'm the President," said Akube, "She'll just have to learn to deal with it." He limped into the bathroom and the shower began to hiss through the closed door. Blood swirled down the drain and he winced as he cleaned out his wounds. Some time later, he came back out, throwing on a clean shirt and pants over his freshly stitched wounds. Linda was standing at the end of the room, beneath the wall of floor-to-ceiling windows. So mesmerized was she by the growing city that she didn't even hear Akube approaching until his arms were around her.

"I just can't believe it." she said.

"What?" he asked, looking over her shoulder at the same sight.

"I just don't see how a place like this could exist. I couldn't believe it back when you were in the courts fighting for this place."

"This is starting to sound a lot like the interview you did when we first met."

She took hold of his hand and whispered, "That was when I met the first half of you. You just get crazier the deeper I look."

There was a long silence between them. They looked out on Bandari, this miracle of brotherhood and charity, this unbelievable accomplishment.

"Linda Blake..." he sighed with a smile, running his fingers through her auburn hair, "You came to Africa in search of impossible things. Did you find what you were looking for?"

She closed her eyes and whispered, "I found a good man with no concern for himself. I didn't find something impossible, Akube. I found something extraordinary."

She turned to face him and, bathed in the pale moonlight over Ushundi, they kissed. She helped him into his bedroom and a long, restless night came to an end. Tomorrow would bring its own troubles, and Akube would face them all, finally certain that he could.

JOHANNESBURG, SOUTH AFRICA, PRESENT DAY

The bright mid-morning sun left the city's skyline shimmering. The air set a fire in a man's lungs, so intense was the heat. In the courtyard of a large, pristine marble building, people gathered in rows of chairs. Not a single one of them was left empty, not after the announcement of who was speaking at this fundraiser for the Daybreak Foundation, Akube Mahatu.

Hailed by uproarious applause, the President of the refugee nation, took the podium. He adjusted his bifocal sunglasses and the brim of his straw hat to cancel out the blinding sun.

"Things do not last forever." he stated plainly. Anyone in the crowd could confirm the fact that he hardly needed a microphone to be heard, even in the back row. He looked out over his audience and continued, "This is a fact that we mortal men have come to accept. It is only made more poignant when the shadow of apocalypse falls upon us, as it has so frequently in recent days. We assess the damage. We bury the dead. We live on. When living on the brink of extinction becomes day-to-day, we sometimes lose sight of those left behind, those who are left with the rubble while we rebuild. It is simply a habit of the human mind, but there are those who intentionally turn a blind eye to the misery of others. We need to counteract that. We need to overcome our flaws and become the best of humanity. Things do not last forever. When all falls to dust, and no one is left to remember our deeds, does that render them meaningless? Does it mean that being honest and just is for fools, and that life is unavoidably worthless? Or does it define us, even when we are gone? We held true to our beliefs, and we did not forsake the less fortunate when the time came that we were needed. I ask you, when you receive the call to prove the merit of morality, will you answer?"

He sighed, shoulders tense, brow furrowed as he stared at the ground, "We give ourselves to the cause. When the years fall away, we are left only with the knowledge that what we did was right, that the choices we made saved as many people, and improved as many lives as we could, even at the expense of our own happiness. That's our reward. And when we look out on a better world we helped create, that's all we need. Thank you." He bowed his head and, with the cheers of the people at his back, he walked away in silence.

Some time later, Akube walked into his hotel room overlooking Johannesburg. Amala, his adviser, followed him inside. "You were excellent, Akube." she said.

He wandered through the luxurious room, muttering dismissively, "Yes, yes, do you think they were applauding me or my speech? I can't stand it when people applaud me."

"Excuse me?"

He began stirring and pacing aimlessly around the room while she stood in the center, perplexed by the man she had known for years. "My name is meaningless. My face is meaningless. It's my words that carry purpose. It's maddening when people applaud me before they hear a single word out of my bloody mouth!"

For lack of a better word, Amala was afraid. Perhaps all the responsibilities of his jobs had finally broken him. He wandered into the bathroom and flung his hat out at Amala, tossing his glasses down on the counter. He slouched over, looking through tired eyes into the mirror. He turned his head and brushed his fingers along his temple, whispering in amazement, "Good lord, I'm going gray. When did that start?"

"Your visit to Nairobi last year." Amala replied nervously, "I didn't say anything then because, well..."

Akube rubbed the dark circles around his eyes and murmured, the reflection staring back at him, "I'm getting old, Amala. I didn't need my hair to tell me that. Just a reminder. I'm... not the man I was ten years ago. In some ways, that is a good thing."

Amala stood awkwardly in the doorway. He simply looked at his sullen reflection, eyeing the scars of his exposed forearms, carefully concealed by makeup. "Well," said Amala, pulling out her pen and leather bound pocket book, "You have a few more things on your schedule before we leave on Saturday. There's the banquet this afternoon, a photo-op with Thabo Mbeki tomorrow morning, oh, and there was a man who requested to have lunch with you."

Akube's eyes narrow and he looked up to face Amala. "Who?"

Dressed in a fresh suit rather than his usual, more casual attire, Akube strode into a restaurant at the ground floor of the hotel. The mandatory security detail assigned to him was gracious enough to at least stop at the front door. He wandered between crowded, bustling tables and reached a table alongside the window, the strikingly white tablecloth reflecting the sunlight straight into his eyes. He approached the man sitting patiently and called out to him, "Mr. LeBeau, I presume?"