Read Online Jimfish by Christopher Hope - Free Book Online

these crowds rejoicing at the murder of their Great Leader. We would never allow this in Africa.’
    For the first time since the loss of Lunamiel, the murder of Jagdish and the shooting of Soviet Malala, Jimfish felt happiness rising inside him like the sun and he grasped the other’s hand. ‘My compatriot! I’m from the Mother Continent, too. My name is Jimfish of Port Pallid, a tiny town on the eastern coast of South Africa.’
    The other lifted his sceptre in salute. ‘And I am Marshal Mobutu Sese Seko Nkuku Ngbendu wa Za Banga – which is to say, “The All-powerful, Earthy, Fiery Warrior Who, through His Endurance and Inflexible Will to Win, Moves from Conquest to Conquest, Trailing Fire in His Wake”. I am the embodiment of Zaire, a country twenty per cent bigger than Mexico and very, very rich in diamonds and minerals. You may call me the Great Leopard.’
    Jimfish complimented the gentleman on the size and wealth of his homeland.
    â€˜Far more than a simple homeland,’ said the other. ‘Zaire is my personal invention. The very appellation, along with what my citizens are allowed to wear or name themselves, as well as how my nation’s riches are spent, are all extensions of my dreams. A country that began as a land of slaves and sadness, which greedy European imperialists called the Belgian Congo, is now, thanks to my vision, the glorious, authentic Republic of Zaire. People know me as its Great Marshal, Grand Chief and Messiah.’
    â€˜And you were a friend of the late Nicolae and Elena Ceauşescu?’ Jimfish guessed.
    The gentleman held up two fingers tightly pressed together. ‘We were as close as this. Brothers under the skin. Imagine how I felt when, on Christmas Day, lying in bed in my palace, I tuned into satellite television to find myself witnessing the Genius of the Carpathians being done to death by barbarians. I ordered my jet to be made ready and flew post-haste here to Bucharest, hoping at least to arrange for my old friend a state funeral in Zaire. Too late, alas. Why do those who killed the great Ceauşescu not see they had the leader they deserved? A reflection of themselves?’
    Jimfish reported what he had been told. ‘They called him a cruel tyrant.’
    â€˜Cruelty in a leader is often plain common sense. In my country, for example, some say I don’t bother to feed my prisoners. But why should I, when I can’t even feed my own peasants? However, cruelty needs to be judiciously employed . . . I once had the pleasure of hanging four of my ministers in a popular public ceremony, attended byfifty thousand enthusiastic citizens. It was on the feast of Pentecost, as it happens. Punishment is all the more impressive – I speak as a fervent Catholic – when combined with piety. Murder, tout seul , is a clumsy tool. Better to pay off your rivals or have them done away with discreetly or buy them back into government on your own terms. Genial corruption is the key. Steal if you like, I counsel my ministers, soldiers and gendarmes – but not too much – and not all at once. That way you win more.’
    â€˜What I can’t fathom about those who killed the Genius of the Carpathians and his wife,’ said Jimfish, ‘is their reasoning. They were socialists yesterday, call themselves democrats now and yet they beat those who disagree.’
    The gentleman in the leopard-skin toque shook his head sadly. ‘We will never understand the reasoning of Europeans, if they possess anything of the sort worth bothering with. Western ways have no place in Africa and that’s why I have abolished Christian names. They’re nothing but sentimental western affectations, so I have banned them. And business suits may no longer be worn. They’re symbols of the old imperialism. Not fitting for the tiger-daughters and lion-sons of the New Africa, who deserve real leaders. In our tradition we have room