The villagers from just outside Kumasi town had gathered in two lines on either side of the road that gently snaked up the hill. The two lines of people met at a throng on the hill's crest, where Chief Kwaku Dua's grand white colonial mansion stood. Oh, the sight of the waiting crowd alone was enough to stir such excitement that one would have been forgiven for not holding down one's breakfast. I remember watching the hornbills overhead in the cloudless azure sky. Their flight usually regal and relaxed, on this day their movement was oddly jagged, as if they could not keep straight bearings. Was it that they saw two pythons lying on the hill below, in a mating dance? Pythons of sizes large enough to raise their bodies high into the skies and pluck out the hornbills? Pythons with scales of iridescent hues?nana yaa, kwaku dua and the green-gold fire
The hut is waiting for him on the outside of the village, a cramped thing where he either sleeps or masturbates. Dirt floor, wooden walls. Victor picks a nail out of the rotting door frame as he enters. He never bothers making repairs. The family will relocate again soon, hopefully closer to Linz. Mauthausen doesn’t suit him.
Victor sleeps and has bad dreams. He wakes up when the night is sufficiently dark to move corpses.every so often
Tumbleweeds. Prairie dogs. What a shitty trip. He was sure his breath stunk, his swollen feet ached. Would his mother even be at the bus station. Or would he have to walk the mile or more to her apartment. He didn't really want to see her.
"I'm Alice," the woman tried again.
"Kurt," he said self-consciously, a hand across his mouth.
She smiled. "Yer kinda young to be traveling alone, aren't you?"arrival