The Iron Bridge: Short Stories of 20th Century Dictators as Teenagers Read Online Free PDF Page A

The
dupi
?”
    “Yes, sir,” says the soldier.
    “Are you kidding me?”
    “No, sir, I am not.”
    The major swivels and searches the crowd until he finds the one big man who wears long trousers and a cook’s white shirt. He raises his brow in surprise at the size of this particular
dupi
. Idi is standing at attention like all the other soldiers. The major swaggers towards him and stops, regarding the man with his hands on his hips.
    “What is your name?”
    “Idi son of Amin, Bwana.”
    “Did you break this man’s nose, Idi son of Amin?”
    “Yes, Bwana, I did.”
    “Why?” asks the major, as he leans closer to Idi and blows his whisky-tinted breath up at him.
    “He was fighting with the other
askari
and I was trying to stop them.”
    “So you broke his nose?”
    “Yes, sir,” says Idi.
    “Do you know that it’s a serious crime for you to strike an enlisted man?”
    “Yes, Bwana, I know.”
    “Are you aware that this man fought bravely for the Crown with C Company in Burma?”
    “Yes, Bwana.”
    “And that didn’t bother you any?” presses the major. “It didn’t stop you from attacking him?”
    “No, Bwana,” answers Idi, his calm voice unwavering.
    The major regards the three narrow, parallel lines scarred into either side of Idi’s temples. “Triple ones,” he says, pointing. “You’re Kakwa.”
    “Yes, Bwana,” says Idi, touching the lines with pride. “I am Kakwa.”
    “But that man whose nose you broke is Kakwa as well.”
    “Yes.”
    The major, whose dour brow and crossed arms have made him seem until now nothing but grave and solemn, lets his mouth relax into a smile. “I see you hold yourself above this sectarian nonsense, then,” he says.
    “Yes, Bwana. We are all Ugandan in this barrack.”
    “Indeed, Amin, we are. I was thinking the very same thing.”
    “I did not think they should be fighting,” says Idi, now gaining a bit of confidence.
    “You’re quite right about that.”
    “Yes, Bwana.”
    “And I see you’re not afraid of battle, either,” continues the major, as his drunken eyelids droop for a moment and he seems to stumble ever so slightly on his feet.
    “No, sir. I am not afraid. I am a man.”
    “A rather big man at that.”
    “Yes.” Idi beams. “A very big man.”
    “Part rhinoceros, I would even say.”
    Idi chuckles his jolly, shoulder-shaking laugh. “Except, Bwana,” he says, “I think it’s not very smart for you to say that to my face. I am known to break noses.”
    The nearby
askaris
can’t help but chuckle at Idi’s audacity.
    The major raises his brow in surprise. “Why, you’re quite right,” he says. “I think I shall retract it.”
    “That is very wise of you, Bwana.”
    The major laughs in staccato, an innocent chuckle of real joy, a release he usually only allows himself with close friends and family. He shakes his head, obviously surprised by his own candour with this African underling.
    “You’re a funny chap, Amin,” he says. “And you have very big hands.”
    “Good for fighting.”
    “Yes.” The major smiles. “It seems you’re good at that.”
    “I enjoy it.”
    “Well, then, given your considerable skill in combat, why have you remained a mere
dupi
?”
    “I do not know, Bwana.”
    “Wouldn’t you rather be a soldier in the King’s African Rifles?”
    “Oh yes,” says Idi, smiling. “I would like that, Bwana, very much.”
    “Then come with me to my office and we’ll enlist you anon,” says the major, waving his arm towards his office and residence. “How does that sound?”
    “That is my dream, Bwana. Exactly my dream.”
    “Good. So come.”
    “Yours is the office with all the butterflies on the wall stuck with pins?” asks Idi, still standing at attention.
    “You know it?”
    “I brought you tea and
mandazi
.”
    “You did?” The major squints and looks away, searchinghis memory. “Oh, yes, of course. Last week. I remember. It’s true, Amin, I have many specimens on my walls. I am