The Bay of Foxes Read Online Free PDF Page A

suddenly from beyond the cell walls.
    For a moment he thought he was hallucinating, lying there, hands and legs attached to a heavy chain, his body nothing but bruised flesh and swollen joints.
    Dawit had grown up with Solo, the son of one of the palace servants. All Dawit’s childhood memories were inextricably linked to him. They had made slingshots together from elastic bands and wooden handles and hunted doves, cuckoos, and cranes at dusk in the freedom of that vast garden; they had climbed trees, picked loquats, half naked. They had hiked together in the hills around Harar, which they had been warned were dangerous. Solo had been his first love—there was no other word for it. He had never forgotten how Solo would come to him in the dark of night, slipping into his room and holding him fiercely, sleeping by his side, their limbs entwined.
    Nor had Solo forgotten Dawit.
    When the door closed again, Dawit pulled apart the lump of hard bread and was not surprised to find the sharp file. It took him hours and hours, shackled as he was, and constantly fearing someone might come to drag him out, as they did periodically, but eventually, desperation making him suddenly strong and persistent, he was able to free first his hands and then his ankles from their shackles. He stood partly up, for the first time in months without his chains, leaning against the wall and waiting for the door to open.
    He is not really sure if he is dreaming or remembering, but he repeatedly replays the film of the moment the young guard came into his cell at dawn: he leans trembling against the wall, listening to the thick military boots stomping along the corridor; he sees himself behind the door as it swings open, holding the chain that had shackled him in his hands.
    He had hoped it would be the guard who had tormented him so viciously, which as it turned out it was not. Perhaps it made no difference which guard it was at that moment. As with a sexual encounter, it is probably the first time that you remember best. He sees the guard’s surprised stare as he catches sight of Dawit behind the door. There was no time to hesitate. He recalled the names of warriors his father had told him about, Aregay, Merid, Amaha, Alemayehou. He watches again and again, strangely distanced from himself, yet remembering how feeble he felt, his arms and his legs weak so that he could hardly stand, as he threw the chain around the guard’s neck and pulled as hard as he could, suddenly filled with a rush of strength. He watched as the guard lifted his hands, searching desperately to free himself, gasping for breath, his eyes protruding from his flat face. He listened tothe final throttled cry that came from the guard’s swollen lips. At that moment Dawit was able to close his eyes and to conjure up all the rage he had stored in his wounded body over those months of helpless captivity. Every insult and indignity, every torment, was avenged in that moment of violence.
    He held on for longer than was necessary or prudent, squeezing every bit of breath and life out of the body. The guard wore a khaki cap that fell back from his head, exposing his dark hair and black eyes. Then Dawit let the body slip down onto the cement floor, though he was not completely sure the guard was dead. He kicked him a couple of times in the groin, where they had put the electrodes that had made him jerk and burn and freeze at the same time, making his body split apart. He had recalled the old method of pulling a body apart with horses; this was more efficient; they had split his mind and body irreparably.
    He pulled first the shirt and then the trousers from the guard’s body. Quickly he pulled off his own filthy clothes and donned the starched, clean uniform, tucking in the shirt and pulling in the belt to hold the trousers up on his emaciated form. He angled the cap down over his eyes. He pulled on the heavy boots, loosened the keys from the belt, and made his way quietly down the narrow