Everything was black. Then an angelic choir broke out, creating the feeling of light, though no light was visually present. [i]Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy? Caught in a landslide, No escape from reality Open your eyes, Look up to the skies and see[/i] Unseen piano played as a vision of Sahle's brother appeared, older and haggard, a two dimensional image like that drawn on paper or cut from cloth. He started to sing alone. [i]I'm just a poor boy, I need no sympathy, Because I'm easy come, easy go Little high, little low Any way the wind blows doesn't really matter to me, to me[/i] The piano. Yaqob faded away and was replaced by a handsome young Ethiopian man in a black trench coat. He was holding a smoking gun. A feeling of dread welled up as the man began to sing hauntingly. [i]Mama, just killed a man Put a gun against his head Pulled my trigger, now he's dead Mama, life had just begun But now I've gone and thrown it all away Mama, oooooooooh Didn't mean to make you cry If I'm not back again this time tomorrow Carry on, carry on as if nothing really matters[/i] Piano. Yaqob appeared again, laying on the ground and bleeding next to the handsome man. The impression of colors swirled against the black field. Yaqob's face distorted in pain. Sahle didn't feel his own body, and found he had no way to confirm it in space, but he felt like vomiting. He was nausea as an ethereal force. The bleeding Yaqob continued the song. [i]Too late, my time has come Sends shivers down my spine Body's aching all the time Goodbye, everybody, I've got to go Gotta leave you all behind and face the truth Mama, oooooooooooh I don't wanna die, I sometimes wish I'd never been born at all[/i] Strange music. Yaqob faded, and action in the form of light exploded against the void. White men and black men in military uniform went to battle, stacked on each other in a way that implied three dimensional space in a two dimensional plane, like the epic painting of Adwa in the national museum. Soldiers on both sides traded lyrics, one line going to one man, another to another. [i]I see a little silhouetto of a man, Scaramouche, Scaramouche, will you do the Fandango? Thunderbolt and lightning Very, very frightening me (Galileo) Galileo (Galileo) Galileo Galileo Figaro Magnifico-o-o-o-o[/i] A white kid mutilated by a passing tank cried out. [i]I'm just a poor boy, nobody loves me[/i] The rest of the soldiers on both sides shouted in unison. [i]He's just a poor boy from a poor family Spare him his life from this monstrosity[/i] Piano. The blacks were losing the battle, tanks blowing up, guns running out of ammo and becoming spears. They fell back, fighting desperately, and they began to plead with their white enemy. The whites argued back. [i]Easy come, easy go, will you let me go? Bismillah! No, we will not let you go (let him go!) Bismillah! We will not let you go (let him go!) Bismillah! We will not let you go (let him go!) Will not let you go (let him go!) Never, never let you go Never let me go, oh No, no, no, no, no, no, no Oh, mama mia, mama mia (mama mia, let me go) Beelzebub has a devil put aside for me, for me, for me[/i] The unseen music surged. Something changed. New people showed up waving many different flags, and they stood by the blacks. Some were recognizably white, some asian, and they suddenly outnumbered the aggressor whites. They continued the song. [i]So you think you can stone me and spit in my eye? So you think you can love me and leave me to die? Oh, baby, can't do this to me, baby Just gotta get out, just gotta get right outta here[/i] The whites fled for their lives as the music climaxed. Everything faded away, and rising up like a balloon came Sahle. He didn't recognize himself visually - this Sahle was unshaven and wore his hair in a ragged afro like a mountain shifta. But it was him; he felt it. The dream told him so. The mood in the vision died down and went somber. [i]Nothing really matters Anyone can see Nothing really matters Nothing really matters to me...[/i] Sahle woke up. His head was spinning and he was disoriented. Above him was the blue sky, rushing by him as the wind whistled past his ears. In his arms were two girls, sleeping naked. Beneath them was something metallic. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- [b][u]May 14th, On a Moving Train in the Danakil Desert[/u][/b] ----------------------------------------------------------------------- Two years ago the Sultan of Egypt gave the newly crowned Emperor Sahle a golden train. To the Sultan's credit, real gold leaf had been used in some of the details, but most of the surface was just painted gold. It was, of course, garish. Even Sahle was vaguely aware there was something inappropriate about rolling through poverty-stricken places in such a ridiculous show of wealth. But he was the Emperor, and it was his right, so he did it. There was something almost Gothic about the design of the train itself. Its busy frame was hardly aerodynamic. One of its flaws was a walled depression on top like the widows walk of an old European mansion, which looked impressive, but collected rain water during the monsoon season and had to be drained by hand. But sometime in the past, he didn't remember when, Sahle had discovered a second use for this feature. When it was dry it was an useful place to take women. It was like something out of a Hollywood movie, giving adventurous girls a cheap thrill as they climbed onto the top of a moving train and ducked from the rushing wind. And when pressed into this space, adrenaline pumping, Sahle had time to make a move... He'd led the two of them on top of the train the night before, equipped with a strange new drug Rudolph von Lettow-Vorbeck had acquired for him, from a head doctor of all people. There was nothing around for miles, the empty desert hills outside of Djibouti passing them by. The drug came in the form of small paper tabs, the image of a black man with wild hair, a golden cane, and a Victorian way of dressing printed like labels on the face of each one. Sahle ingested as instructed, and helped the two girls they had picked up in Djibouti to ingest theirs. That was the last thing he remembered before the weird dreams. He woke up disoriented and disturbed. The girls were wrapped with him in the blanket like a threesome kebab. He noticed immediately that they had all lost their clothes at some point, floated away, a gift in the desert for some wandering Afari tribesman to prove to him that the gods must be crazy. The girls woke up with difficulty, and as they knuckled the sleep from their eyes he told them about their predicament. Only one complained. He gave her the blanket to hide her shame from the empty desert and led them both to the ladder. Going first meant he had a good view of the second girl, and he didn't shy away from enjoying it. They all wrapped in the blanket together and went in the car. Rudolph was inside reading, and sipping on a whiskey. He didn't look up at them. "Whatever you gave me fucked me up." Sahle said. "Lysergic acid diethylamide" Rudolph replied, still not looking up. "Sounds like a poison. Did you poison me, Rudolph?" Sahle slipped out of the blanket and walk across the train car. "The Emperor has no clothes." Rudolph said dryly. Sahle opened a cabinet and grabbed three robes. He tossed two at the girls, and they dressed underneath the blanket. "What the hell was that stuff?" "I told you." "You want to know what I saw?" "You can't tell me what you saw." Rudolph looked up, "That's the point. You had a brief glimpse into your inner psyche. All those questions we have as humans, about religion and our true nature within the universe, that tab gives you a little window view into all that. You saw your soul, your majesty, and you can't very well explain your soul to me now that you are sober." "Well if that's my soul, I'm fucked." Sahle took a bottle of wine and took a swig. "Maybe that is the point." Rudolph looked back down to his book. Sahle snapped his fingers in the general direction of the back of the coach where a guard stood. Guards always stood there, to the point they were invisible to their Emperor, at least until he needed them. "I need real clothes. How far are we from Dire Dawa?" "One hour, your majesty." the guard said. "We'll need to find a place for my guests. Get... uh... get somebody on that." The guard went for another car. Sahle tossed the bottle of wine to the two girls, who were clothed in robes that were very baggy for them. Now they had clothes though, they committed mitosis from the blanket and became two separate entities once again. The guard came back with a wave of servants. Some whisked the girls away with their wine while the rest dressed the Emperor. The baggy emergency clothing was replaced with a fitted robe with embroidered detail, and a thicker robe over it, so that he looked presentably imperial. "What is a head doctor doing with those kinds of drugs?" Sahle asked, sitting down, propping his booted feet on an unused chest board. "Experiments I suppose" Rudolph said, "Stress tests for the psyche. I can't say I completely understand the psychiatric profession." "Keep me abreast on whatever weird stuff you find." Sahle said, "But I don't think I want to see that one again. The dreams..." "Perhaps your majesty should stick to cannabis?" "No" Sahle "I get bored of just one thing. People don't realize how boring it is to be an Emperor. If they knew that, they'd feel more sorry for me." "I weep." Rudolph replied. He glanced up at the window in front of him. "It looks like we are coming into Dire Dawa" Sahle looked up and saw the same thing. The Danakil desert gave way to climbing foothills. Plant life returned to the scenery, in the form of scrub brush and wiry trees. Desolation extreme was replaced with desolation in the regular sense, like traveling from Mars to Arizona. A town was cradled in these hills, an out of place garden of green trees interspersed by buildings as dusty as the surrounding lands. Dire Dawa means "[i]Empty Plain[/i]", a name that conjures the image of shrugging founding fathers coming down from the highlands, finding a place with no outstanding features, and trying to make a name for it. It was not put here for any feature attractive to life. Dire Dawa was built only sixty years ago as a mid-way stop for the railroad connecting Addis Ababa to Djibouti. There was a town here now, a mixture of Afaris and Somalis coming up from their deserts to live with the Ethiopian mechanics and merchants. The train slowed down, passing humble churches, mosques, and personal homes. It approached the train station, came to a stop in front of the platform, where a small delegation of officials waited to board Sahle's personal car. Zemichael Hagos was secretary to the Minister of the Pen. He was a stone-faced bureaucrat with a short patch beard. Sahle swung around and smiled when he saw the man come in. "Hey look, the Minister of the Eraser is here!" Sahle said jovially. Zemichael's expression didn't change. "Your majesty." he said politely. Sahle motioned for him to sit down, and he sat. "How is Desta Getachew? Is he ready for his party?" "The Minister is fine." Zemichael replied. "I bet he is, the old dog! Did he send you to hurry me up?" "I'm here to discuss government matters. The minister wants you to review these before he signs them." "Ah." Sahle's smile died. Zemichael had a leather case with him, and he opened it to produce papers, sliding them over to Sahle when appropriate. "Are you ready, your majesty?" "Lets get this over with." Sahle sighed. "First, there is the cost of the party in..." Sahle signed the paper in front of him. "Done. Next." Zemichael paused broodingly. "The ambassador to the Philippines is requesting a metric ton of teff seeds for an agricultural project in their homeland." "Don't they eat rice?" Sahle scrunched up his face. "Never mind, I don't give a shit, send them the grain." Zemicheal slipped him a paper and he signed it. "Ras Hassan of Adal regrets to inform your majesty that he will not be able to attend the Minister's birthday celebration." "Okay." Sahle shrugged. "Your brother has returned home. We have been informed that his meeting with the Rhodesian government did not go well. Your brother preached to the Rhodesian president about the behavior of his government toward their blacks." "Mother Mary..." Sahle cursed, "Why did God see fit to give me a priest and a nun for siblings? I try to live my life without headaches and there they go, making headaches for me. I give them enough to entertain them, they have all the money they need to enjoy themselves, why do they spend their leisure time fucking with me?" "Taytu hasn't caused you any headaches since she left for America." Zemichael said. "Yes, and I am grateful for that, but it is more difficult to send Yaqob away. He is the heir." "You are healthy. If you get married, you can do away with that necessity..." "I don't... shit. I've heard all this." Sahle complained. He put his head on the desk as if he were going to sleep. "I'll think about Yaqob. I can't send him to America though." "Why?" Zemichael asked, "The Americas are already Europe's trash can, why couldn't it be ours as well?" "Be careful." Sahle sat up straight and warned. Warning done, he slackened again. "I don't want them together, working each other up into a noise. Where would I send him if not there?" "This is a conversation for the minister." Zemichael said. "You're right." Sahle replied, "I'll put it off until then."