02/07/2022
A BULLET TO THE GULLET
(READING PARTY-CHAPTER TWELVE)
Los-Angeles
In the cloud, fifty thousand feet above sea level, Bran sat tucked in a corner beside an obese man whose seat belt had to be extended and adjusted firmly to his body. He introduced himself briefly as a federal agent.
The Aussie’s mind was in flight as his whole body. He has been trying endlessly to think of a convincing explanation for his journey of no invitation by his host.
‘When he meets Uncle Tom, he has to be articulate on why he was on Delta bound for Los-Angeles. He mustn’t sound daft to say an American tourist talked him into the trip, boom, he was on the next flight, flying many thousand kilometers away from the Continent to a strange land.
God have mercy! That doesn’t sound ethical of a properly bred Aborigine,’ he reckoned.
Engaged and tired of blame game, he let go.
They reached a point when the captain sought permission to land at Heathrow.
Bran noticed one of the air hostesses heading towards him with broad s*xy smile. She poured him a glassful of red-wine and backed off before he could utter a word of gratitude.
“She triggers your lust?” A voice beside him whispered.
“I beg your pardon?” Bran glared disdainfully at the obese agent, “I’m not what you think. I’m an all-round excellent distinctive gentle man.”
“Crap!” Grinned the agent, “Cute little tiny dare devil like you. First time visit to the States?” He stubbed out his gum in a cup.
“No, tenth time.” Bran made a false smile.
“You traffic drug?”
“I beg your pardon!”
“Forget it, chill, enjoy the drink,” the federal agent turned his attention to the small opened window, snooping down at the city of London.
Many hours later, a voice from the cockpit finally announced their arrival at Los-Angeles airport after stopping briefly at Atlanta.
The aircraft soon made a dash on the runway and halted to the relief of its occupants.
Bran’s heart began to pound in an unfamiliar way. His head spun in circle, compelling him to ask himself. ‘Was his fax message delivered to Uncle Tom?’ Would he be waiting at the lobby to receive him warmly?’ Would he still recognize him?’ How large will his family be and what would he say brought him to Los Angeles?”
More questions roam his mind and not a single convincing answer surfaced. He gritted his teeth and glared cautiously through the window.
The tarmac was a large one, looking deserted at one angle and very busy at the others with several expensive aircraft carefully parked.
Outside, the air was fresh, damp and chilly as they disembarked from the plane straight into a cabin and then a complex hall that was massive, clean and noisy.
Bran realized it was just past ten in the morning in L.A, like it’s fondly called.
The obese agent had disappeared.
The custom check didn’t take long, every routine were at the speed of technology.
There wasn’t much talk at the passport control, just lots of eyeing, few smiles and lots of tourist.
After completion of all necessities, Bran stood for a moment in the middle of the hall. He put a hand to the nape of his neck and rubbed soothingly.
In another moment, he raised both hands, hoping someone, somehow, will recognize him.
Minutes passed, it looked certain that no one gave a damn about his presence.
Soon, he realized he couldn’t stand at a spot forever, not wanting to create interest from uniformed officers.
There were several exit doors ahead which he could observe from where he stood.
Feeling slightly frustrated, he started to walk towards a common exit.
He’d mentioned his dress detail in his last fax message to Uncle Tom.
He even told him the color of his hand bag, navy blue.
Unfortunately for him, an unexpected situation seems to be unfolding as no one was in sight to welcome him.
Worse still, he’d no back-up plan. The only sensible thing he could think of right away was to hire a cab and drive up to any cheap hotel in town.
“Lost in America,” he mumbled, as he made his way walking briskly through the nostalgic crowd.
He was more or less feeling cold as a result of the light cool breeze, his body shivered somewhat. He was also vibrating with anticipation and excitement.
Excited about the hundred percent possibility of seeing his Uncle, and vibrating on what to expect from his visit to the United States, a country he once dreaded for it social collapse.
Stepping towards the final exit, he turned to his right for one last sorry look.
It must have been combination of bloodline and instinct that made his eyes fell on the old man in a wheel chair.
On sighting him, there was excitement in Tom’s wrinkled face.
He began rolling towards his nephew in earnest, flanked on either side by two well-groomed ladies, both young and slim with sharp American eyes and cascading golden hair like girls in the circus.
“Uncle Tom.” Bran uttered in obvious delightful surprise and walked confidently towards the old man.
“Boy son, no one knows me by that name, call me ‘Champ or Croco,” he stood effortlessly to Bran’s dismay.
Both men hugged, he turned up his grey bearded cheek for his nephew’s kiss, Ozzie tradition. They murmured greetings in Walpiri, holding on to each other.
Bran held him a little longer, sneaking a glance at the wheelchair.
As delighted as he was, he could not immediately hide his astonishment at the frailty of the man who just rose from the wheel chair.
Bran looked right into his Uncle’s burning eyes, there were hint of tears and sorrow in those red eyes.
He noticed the slacks in the face which he’d never seen before, and his Uncle’s eyeballs that were once like that of a Lion, were now like a toothless wolf. His hair and eyebrows that were once firm shiny black were now almost pale and white.
Bran’s heart bled, it seems only yesterday that he’d left the Island and he’d seemed so strong, so determined to take the whole world all by himself.
Now looking at him, he appears an old warrior, weak and pathetic. Uncle Tom had not aged gracefully like his father.
There was trouble in that shrinking heart of his, Bran guessed.
Misinterpreting his nephew’s thought, “This?” Tom touched the wheel-chair, “I use it to deceive them, my detractors,” he smiled, patting Bran on the back and bringing his face to meet his.
“In America, you’ve got to be conscious at all time, it’s like trading places, it’s a land of conspiracy theories.” He drew some breath, holding Bran’s head playfully between his palms. “If truly there’s heaven and hell, it’s all right here. God and Satan shares dominion evenly around here. Sometimes boy, I strongly feel the devil is having the upper hand, more people on his side,” he burst into laughter at his last statement.
His nephew obviously did not find it amusing by the shock in his eyes.
Bran made a quick mental assessment of the ladies beside his Uncle. They didn’t present to him the picture of dignity and poise. The shadow of immorality seems to radiate from their foreheads. They’re both cute though, he admitted inwardly.
“Are these my cousins?” Bran hugged one of the ladies warmly, then the other.
“Oh no, no, you got no cousin,” Tom frowned, shaking his head. “Won’t be part of such awful act,” he said, flagging a finger. “I’d swore, and I am lucky, I won’t be responsible for bringing one into this nasty enclave, this hanky-panky country, just for them to get laid every now and then by some hopeless punk, no way son,” he grinned and sat back gently on the wheel chair. He ventured close to receive warm kisses from both ladies.
Bran flushed in embarrassment, scratching his head in search of a conversation. He thought of a good one and asked quickly.
“Uncle, did you receive the news about the King’s serious ill health?”
“To hell with the King,” he slammed. “I never liked him, don’t like his type of politics. I wouldn’t have cared if he’s ill or dead. All the while, I tolerated him because of your father. Your father was a gentle man, he loved to take things easy.”
Bran smiled and chipped-in. “I can tell you that long before he was crowned, he’d exorcised the demon of political ambition and was more popular than ever, that’s why he was eventually crowned.”
“He’s a bloody politician for all I know, try as they might, politicians can’t do celeb addictions. They’re too loud and deceitful, he’s a lousy politician and not a King. Screw him!”
“He did his utmost best for the people.” Bran informed calmly.
“He did absolutely nothing for all I care. Most people just didn’t realize that fact. Judging by today’s extraordinary global economy, the common sense to apply during recession is to constantly question your investment strategy, cut your losses tremendously and watch from the sideline. Instead, I read he’s leasing out the mills in town to Chinese investors. He sold the most fertile land to the Indians and he’s now dining with European royals. As***le, screw him one more time. Bullsh*t.”
“Uncle, tradition forbids that we delight in making our relationship with the King and our ancestors an ambivalent one. I am sure you know that.”
“Your King will die, he’s chronically unwell. He bequeaths to his Prince an unhappy heritage. Unlike great Kings before him, he couldn’t stand firm for his people. Such cowardly act could only ultimately generate economic palaver and social discontent as it is.”
“I still think we should pray for him and our community in general.”
“The community your King built is fast crushing and it will die too, sooner or later. Funny enough, we human enjoy the spectacle of a drowning man. For me, I sadistically derive utmost pleasure from pushing your King’s head further down each time he comes to mind. Sonofabitch.”
Bran shook his head in disagreement, forced a smile. “In other words, you’re saying we are traumatized and a disillusioned populace to have a King?”
“I’m saying he has no integrity as a King, he further divided the people. Integrity is the only immunity for leaders in this gadamn country, everyone is equal in America. But back home, it’s a different story. I heard nowadays, apathy and idleness is the order of the day.”
“That’s not true Uncle.”
“Truth is a relative word son, it depends on the circumstance around you and who’s saying it. Why would I lie to you? I’ve got ears everywhere, I never let go of my old contact.”
“Well Uncle, I guess in all, our lives are like rays from the sun. We are at the bottom stage, many steps away from imperfection.”
“What’s that you just said boy son, meaning?” The old-man smiled, pulling Bran’s cheek.
“I mean we are not perfect. As the rays flow down from the sun, life will one day return to God, as if the rays were to return back to the sun. Perfection seldom descends from God in generation, each generation has it peculiar challenges. Many nowadays get more materialistic and less spiritual. Perhaps, that’s the cause of our present predicament at home and the world at large. It’s sad that we’re losing our heritage to modern day’s politics and ideology.”
“So you know?” Tom flashed a broad smile.
Bran nodded at his Uncle, a cute smile light up his face.
“Sir, what of your younger brother, Uncle Tiga, we didn’t see you at the funeral. Don’t you care about him too?” Bran made a face.
“Damn it, I heard about it, Tiganga looked promising of us all, he let go too soon. A success wasted. I’d wished to come to his burial but wasn’t up to it. Life is good, death is cruel. It took such a young intelligent man, sunshine to moonlight.” He shook his head and asked casually. “How are the rest of the people at home, real people not politicians?”
“They’re all fine, the people are not happy about your continuous absence and disregard to the wishes of the masses, especially concerning culture and tradition.” Bran informed, not meaning any disrespect.
“Boy son,” He called, waving a non-committal hand. “Don’t listen to what any godamn person tells you about me. I know I may be controversial and I can see you’ve been fed with trash about your highly successful Uncle in America. It’s expected when you’re holed up in some place like that for too long. But I tell you what, it won’t do you and me any good digging up dirt. I like you and I want you to concentrate on your own life. Face your task, good or bad, long or short, enjoy your life while you can. You only live once and I’m living mine the way I’ve always imagined. In fact, I have just reached the limit of my expectations in life, can’t ask for more.” He giggled and turned the wheel around, facing the pathway that leads directly outside.
“Let get the hell out of here,” he waved.
“Follow up boy son, have got other engagements. Sorry I was late, these cute asses are banger, Damn it!”
One of the ladies pilot the wheel chair, her tendrils of golden wavy hair was falling against her cheek and shoulder.
The other held Bran in the arm as if she’d known him for ages.
Across the road, under a palm tree, a Limousine awaited them, black and tinted.
The driver was a young tan man, rough face. He put on a cow boy hat, sleeveless shirt and an ear ring on one ear.
Bran began to ponder. ‘Christ!’ He’s going to be here for couple of days. He must get use to his new environment and totally detach himself from the Island’s culture if he hoped to survive this journey. He thought he will have to brace-up real tight for endless wonders, the unimaginable and erratic characters in America.
Uncle Tom and his accompanies squeeze themselves behind in one seat, chatting like some fulfilled teenagers.
Through the ride, Bran excitedly watched palm trees glide past and could feel the California sun beating down on his thighs.
The traffic in LA was like every other big city, crazy.
But once they broke loose and cruising towards Santa Monica with the Sun setting and the ocean opening up in front of him, Bran began to get that sense of what may be ahead of him in LA.
He noticed the sandy beach, the boardwalk and the cafes spilling onto the streets, everyone going about their business.
“Have you guys grubbed?” The old man asked the ladies.
“Yap.” Venise replied excitedly, “we had cheeseburgers, bacon baps and bacon with melted cheese.”
“Sleezy.” Tom called the driver, touching him by the shoulder, “The King’s road café, or try the usual spot, its much closer.”
“Very well Champ,” the driver clicked-in.
Bran’s eyes were all over as they took the road, he couldn’t hide his shock from time to time.
Tom robbed a hand on his nephew’s head and informed.
“Shame is in short supply in L.A, always take a deep breath, hold your head high and be yourself, welcome to America.”
TO BE CONTINUED
(CHECK-IN DAILY TO READ NEW EPISODE ON THE TIMELINE)
A BULLET TO THE GULLET
Editorial Board Comment/Conclusion
“……….this is another master-piece from a prize winning international novelist. ‘A Bullet to the Gullet’ is a jaw-dropping, fast paced coming of age, set-up with an explosive ending that will leave readers wanting more.
Having read ‘Graveyard of an Anarchy’ which is remarkably outstanding. I called Bash thrice on the phone as i critique ‘A Bullet to the Gullet’ and twice I was speechless on the line. The third call however, i managed to whisper, “This is extraordinary.” That was my conclusion.
Chairman Book Review (A Bullet to the Gullet)
Mr. Sanjay Punjabi (INDIA)
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SYNOPSIS:
Most people never lived up to their full potentials. That was not the case with Kevin Basten, a U.N diplomat and investigator on country mission to Australia.
Bran Napaljarri Jurrah on the other hand was done playing it down. He left his historical, affluent neighborhood for a joyride to L.A, where life and destiny crossed. Gaining glimpse of dangerous landscape of drugs, s*x and gang brutality.
As fears turn to infatuation, Bran and Kevin, products of fate, found themselves seduced by a dark world, which forever left shinning spots in their lives.
