The Goodness Ripple

Prologue

Walking purposefully but with seemingly no urgency in his gait the old man finally arrived at his destination, a vantage point overlooking the plains yonder. He checked his surrounding like he usually did before ultimately taking his place on the same spot that he had always sat ever since he started coming to the place some thirty years ago. Then he proceeded with his daily rituals.

First he took out the rucksack from under his tunic and carefully laid it to the ground before him. With half shaking hands he took out a gourd of water and drinking straw. He sipped a little before carefully laying it on the ground directly in front of him. Then he took out old binoculars which by the current standards could have served better purpose in the museum of technology, he placed them to the right of where he sat. With that old man was ready for his evening basking in the gentle vitamin D rich sun.

With his looking glass he peeked through the horizon admiring the river which snaked its way round like an intelligent drunkard who despite the large amounts of alcohol consumed knew how to stagger away from the obstacles on his way.

He focused on the trail of greenery watching swarms of birds as they rose to flee from some trouble from below the trees. He suddenly burst into smile as he started thinking out audibly. "The river is not at all drunk. It is merely doing its job. It has to flow in accordance with the natural law. And as it does that it leaves its impact everywhere. Life thrives on its impact. Trees and bushes grow there. Birds nest in the greenery there finding the shelter and food they need. Other creatures take to its waters while some delight in its bed feasting on the abundance therein.

The river just wanders and has to do it. Some people may wonder why. Well that is because she is pregnant with goodness which she must share with other creatures along her course. When obstacles come on the way trying to stop her from sharing her goodness, she simply changes course while at the same time using her might to bombard the obstacle until some day when it can push it out of its way. She is master of patience and expert in consistent small but effective deeds. I wish human being could learn from her!"

While the old man remained engrossed in his soliloquy, a young man clad in old oversize khaki pants stealthily approached and stood by quietly listening to the old man. Then as the old man stopped the young man announced his presence. He cleared his voice just for the sake of it to draw attention. Then having taken off his straw hat went on to speak. Sorry to budge into your space, old man. I am Hakim.

The old man too has a name Papa Bondet. The old man replied without even bothering to look at who was talking to him.

Hakim went on. I just couldn’t help over hearing you talking to yourself. Why, has someone upset you?

Still grinning with his eureka smile the old man responded. No son. Nobody ever annoys Papa Bondet unless he chooses to do so himself. I am the architect of my own reactions.

Good for you, Papa Bondet, Hakim replied with an obvious degree of sarcasm. You continue to do that. As for me I have things to worry about. He started to walk away.

No you don’t. You are wasting your time chasing solutions to problems which do not exist in reality. You are just being like thousands who think they have problems but never make effort to solve them. In fact most of what they call a problem is no problem at all.

What do you know about my problems? You don’t even know me and you are starting to judge me Hakim retorted.

The old man burst out laughing. The truth hurts, doesn’t it? the old man asked.

What are you on about?

The old man went on in his soft voice. The truth son, the truth can be painful. That is why most people spend the rest of their lives avoiding it, started the old man. Get rid of those toxic thoughts and start growing. The world has plenty for everyone to share but the toxin in your thoughts blinds the eyes, dims sensation and blocks the ears. Embrace the truth and you will discover that life your life’s solutions are right under your nose.

A few hours before Hakim had bumped into an old friend whom he owed money. The latter had wiped the floor with him right in front of an audience which he would have preferred not to know about his affairs. The experience was still fresh in his mind so much so that he felt the old man was about to do the same. This time he was more than willing to flee rather than hear another lecture. I have had enough lectures for one day. So as far as I am concerned you can philosophise or preach your ideology but I refuse to waste my time with you. I have more pressing cares. Hakim stated as he prepared to walk on.

Running away from the truth, that is what you are doing.

Hakim stopped short of being rude but his voice nonetheless was slightly raised as he turned to address the old man. Leave me alone old man.

Please be my guest. Continue on your journey for I have no right to stop you. The old man once again squinted through his looking glass. You can run but reality has a habit of catching up on people. The old man laughed. That running which many seem to enjoy, it is like a drunken canoeist who having had a wonderful time decides to cross the lake in the serenity of the night. He rows all night but when the sun rose he realises he is still in the same place. He had made no headway because he had embarked on his journey without releasing the boat off the anchor. What a waste of energy! He placed his binoculars on the floor next to him but continued to look yonder for some time. He raised his head and took a meaningful look at the young man before him. Son, you ought to realise that the world has no problems but people either make the problems we have in the world or try to find them.

Hakim was not amused by what he was hearing. He just could not help wondering which planet this old man came from. That is what you think. I suppose because at your age everybody is sympathetic to you and besides you do not have anybody to look after, Hakim retorted. Any way I am out of here, he added though he showed no signs of leaving at all.

The old man remained calm and recollected in his response. If you are thinking of wife and children, I will agree with you. My children are all grown up and have their own families. My wife she passed on several decades ago. He looked towards the young man. But I do have many people to look after. He continued. You are one of them. I have lived long enough and learnt quite a lot. But what is the benefit of learning if you are never going to share it with others? The answer is always the same one dies with their knowledge. Then when you have gone, some person will delight to make notes on the tombstone ‘he was truly intelligent and wonderful person’. How ironic, we humans tend to see good things out of every situation only after they have happened! I supposed it is because we are too busy looking far away when actually what we need is right under our noses.

What really is your point old man? asked Hakim in a mellow tone of someone whose anger was wearing out.

With a broad smile, the old man turned to the young man. How can I tell you my point when you are all prepared to run away? Come sit down with me and learn from nature. Sit down with me and I will tell you a thing or two to guide your life.

Let me assure you I have heard many an elder sit me down and yet none of them had anything constructive to say. I remained with no answers to my problems.

The old man argued: It may well be true that you get no solutions to your troubles but on the other hand it could be a step in the direction you should be pushing towards. Besides they say a problem shared is a problem half solved. Once again he looked through the binoculars. This time however, he continued to talk. Could it also be true that you are expecting somebody else to solve your problems instead of you doing it yourself? He paused but not long enough to give Hakim time to respond. I know because once upon a time I was like that. Then I realised that what I was doing was like wearing a garment tailor-made for someone else. It is good but it won’t fit you. It was then that I realised that if I wanted to look and feel good in them, I would have to study the style and modify it the way I wanted it to be. He replaced his glasses and waited.

Reluctantly Hakim took his place on the stone besides the old man. His eyes peered towards the horizon just like the old man did although he did not know what he should be looking for if at all there was anything.

That river over there, the old man started, it has wonderful lessons for all of us. Just study it carefully it might be the one lesson you must learn in order to be the person you so desire to be. It will take away the pains of your heart. In fact it might be a good idea to mentally dump your problems into it. He paused briefly to lift his drink from the floor. Here, take a sip, he said handing the gourd over to Hakim.

Hakim felt good at the old man’s generosity. A stiff drink was just what he needed to quell out all the sad events of the day. Besides, whenever he found himself in a foul mood, a strong drink always did wonders. He did not even stop to ask what kind of drink it was. He concluded from the container that it had to be some strong drink. He held it with due care as his cheeks reduced to dimples so as to create a massive suction force, sucked a mouthful. The taste was far from what he expected. For a moment he found himself forced to decide between spitting it out and swallowing. He chose the latter but almost immediately followed it with a comment. It is water, he said in a tone that was intended to leave the audience to fill out the missing bits.

Oh, yes water is good for life. That is why if you look at the river yonder, it is surrounded by greenery and birds of the air swarm around it. Water is life and your body needs plenty of it. Unfortunately, human beings have trained themselves to believe that alcohol is better than water.

Hakim took another sip out of politeness but nevertheless felt obliged to argue his case. In my world, alcohol is the only real drink I could embrace right now. It cures or at least puts on hold all your problems stated Hakim. When it courses through your gut, you feel the relaxing heat being generated.

The old man responded with enthusiasm: Thereafter you will need water to cleanse your organs let alone wash away the exterior stench of perspiration generated in the process."

You are some kind of funny old man.

I take it that you meant to say I am a wise old man.

More like a crazy old man, yapped Hakim. Let’s face it which sane man carries a gourd of water at this hour of the day?

The old man smiled letting his milk white teeth glow in the golden dusk sun rays. I believe that crazy old man is me. He watched quietly as Hakim’s face bowed in acknowledgement of how his disrespectful his comment had been. Not that he had meant any harm but disrespectful in the realisation that he had been talking to an elder as though they were equal. He was about to apologise when the old man signalled for silence and continued to talk. As I was saying craziness can be a marvellous constituent part of a sane person. It is that little bit that adds spice to life and makes one willing enough to explore new territories. Once again, the old man smiled leaving Hakim surprisingly attentive.

Old pa I am sorry I did not mean to insult you.

Easy, young man, you did not the old man said calmly. His statement had come abruptly leaving Hakim feeling that to be fair he needed to explain himself.

I spoke without due regard for you as my elder and senior. It is all about life’s frustrations.

I used to be like that.

Sorry, say that again, Hakim requested unable to hide his disbelief that the cool old man before had had any imperfections.

Oh yes. I used to very much like that. I blamed everything on some external agents over which I had no control. I would curse everything under the skies, I would call people names and at the height of it all I would bung my head against the wall. Look at the scar on my forehead! he said pointing at the black mark. You see there is nothing wrong being frustrated except in some cases when it is clearly a pure embellishment of stupidity. Specialists will tell you that it is a good thing when frustration finds physical expression as it lets out the steam. Personally I think it is still stupid because at the end of the day who suffers? Well, the same person trying to release the steam. He or she suffers physical and emotional pain let alone the embarrassment of their behaviour.

Noticing that he had captured Hakim’s attention the old man adjusted his cloak to guarantee modesty and to ward off a mosquito or two that had started to fly by as he went on with his allocution. For a good while I led that kind of life until my father sat me down and recited to me a poem he had written. He called it ‘Day is day’. You may not be my son as such but I am going to recite it to you the same way he did to me. However, before I do so, I would like you to know that there is no obligation for you to listen. Feel free to leave at any time. He adjusted his attire and then resumed. "This is how it went:

It maybe wet and windy but it is still called day

It may be cloudy and dark but it is still called day

It may be hot and humid, it is still called day

When the temperature is right, fanned by gentle breezes

It is still called day and that you cannot change

But you can change how you react to the day

Hakim listened, his eyes glued on to the old man who, full of emotion skilfully recited the poem. The words cut through like a sword. As he came to end of the poem, he looked at Hakim in the eye. He could see without doubt the rebellious heart was beginning to break free as feelings of started to overwhelm. Son, the old man said softly. Tell the old man your story. Pour out your heart and let the old man arrive at a solution with you.

Mist formed by the tears clouded his eyes as emotional pain and frustration stepped in. I have all the education and skills acquired from top schools in the area but I have no job. I am advancing in age and I want to start my own life instead of living on my family. Everywhere I go I seem to be the only one with nothing to offer. My friends avoid me like a plague because I borrow from them but fail to pay back. Do you think you can help me make a start?

The old man put his hand over Hakim’s shoulder in a non-verbal empathy state. When he was sure that Hakim was ready to listen he started to talk. I have no answers to your plight. Only you can do that. Nevertheless, I can tell you a story hoping that you can learn from it. Life is like a war zone where survivors live each day as it comes. Survival is their goal and they do not require some form of rubric to follow. In the words of the great teachers of history, they just take whatever means they have at their disposal and use them to achieve their objectives. If you so desire to be successful, you must do something about it. Do not expect someone to present you with some magical fix it all formula. Life does not offer free meals. Successful people like war time survivors are those who take the resources they have at their disposal and transform it into a fortune often by changing and adapting to their strategy with the times. What propels them on is the goal at the back of their heads. For war time people the goal may be as simple as keeping alive. This keeping alive could take many forms. To some it is about making it through one day at a time through the provision of food or accommodation. For others it is about now and the future. In every situation, the goal gives them purpose and courage to do whatever it takes to achieve it.

Once again the old man stopped talking and held his looking glasses into the eyes. With a little smile he placed them into the porch. Now he was beginning to pack away his possessions but he nonetheless continued to talk.

"Life’s failures are people who have no goals. They choose to dwell in the world called ‘I don’t know’ and dwell with friends called ‘I don’t care’ and ‘I can’t do it’.

Unfortunately, these citizens of ‘I don’t know’ world do not know that they already arrived at their destination the moment they learnt that they don’t know what they want. For at that very moment of their realisation, the brain said to the body: ‘mission accomplished. Sit back and do nothing. As for me, the brain boasted I will keep this person thinking that everything is hard. I will make every effort seem boring and painful but I will guarantee them idleness and more than abundant sleep. I will grant them eloquence to blame outside agents for their misfortune; the ability to philosophise about their failures and answers to all question which justify their state. As for the enthusiasm, I shall open its tap and let it run down slowly. Nevertheless, the flame of desire for success will be kept alive albeit dimly until such a time when they choose to fan it back to where it should be.’

Hakim felt the adrenalin course through his veins and as he listened to the fascinating wisdom of the old man from was truly an unlikely source. Without saying a word he urged the old man to go on. There was eloquence and grace in the way he spoke. His voice was soft, powerful and captivating. But above all, everything he said seemed to strike accord with the way he had lived his life thus far.

The old man continued. You see the river yonder? All it does is to flow in accordance with the laws of nature. One can argue and rightfully so, that all the river knows and does is flow for as long as there is water in it. If it meets an obstacle, it changes course because in its mind it must continue flowing. That is what successful people do. They try something a few times and if does not work, they change approach or modify their mission. After sometime they may well come back to the original idea but only because they are better prepared.

I love the way you make everything sound easy. But how does one start? wide eyed Hakim asked."

The world offers everyone many right answers but it is up to the individual to choose the correct ones.

I don’t understand, Hakim remarked. What are you saying?

I guess what I am trying to say is that if one truly wants to, they will find the way. As for my part all I can do is tell you the story of wartime heroes and heroines of this world. Hopefully you will draw some lessons from it. But as they say all good stories require a nice fireplace. Besides, the sun is going down with associated chill will soon be here. I have one in my cottage. Do come with me.

Hakim followed the old man to his house and they settled round the fireplace watching the old man poke the ember. He added some coal before disappearing behind the curtain where seconds later he emerged with two bowls. Then from the basket before the fireplace he picked up a flask. Dinner shall be vegetable soup and bread, he said as he proceeded to share it out. There is plenty if you shall need more. With that they settled down. Hakim was grateful to this hospitality and waited for the old man to start the story. The cottage did not have much in terms of goods. Two wooden chairs and one large framed picture hang on the wall. Whether it was because of less furniture or otherwise, the place was clean and the air filled with the sweet scent of the queen of the night flowers that grew outside in the yard. It was one of those places where you found calmness without making any effort.

Son, I am ready. It is story time, said the old man. Life, like a battle field makes or unmakes heroes. Do not listen to my story with your ears. Listen with your heart. Full of character and grateful for the company which he rarely had the old man started his story.

Chapter One

All she had for protection were the walls and the roof of their house. But for how long was it going to be before the fatal artillery reduced it to a pile of rubble? Nevertheless she nervously clung to it, silently uttering all divine invocation that she could remember hoping that all would be safe for her children.

What will happen to us? Shina thought aloud echoing the same words that only moments earlier dominated the tearful children’s cry. With all reserves of strength she moved tables and chairs in place to reinforce the doors. Outside, heavy artillery continued to rock the nation, sniper fires flew across the sky from all directions their flames and smoke colouring what would have been a peaceful dawn while the mixed smells of smoke polluted the atmosphere. No one could tell with certainty where from the fatal blow would come.

Although this nation had known many bloody wars, they had all taken place cities and urban areas. This particular one was different. It had started from the cities working its way into the rural areas.

Formerly the countryside was the safe haven that every city dweller fled to escape war. There they would stay until the situation returned to normal in the cities. This time the opposite was true; the cities provided the type of refuge that villages once did. This time the villages guaranteed no safety. War had reached even the smallest village as the incoming armies combed through villages in the name of clearing the rebels. Indeed heavy artillery had come with all the vengeance of eschatological times, driving people to places they had never been. Many who were able to took to the relative safety of schools, hospitals and places of worship. The situation was such that even self-confessed heathens albeit only temporarily, looked upon places of worship for salvation and even prayed to the gods they often denounced for help.

In villages the war had created a massive exodus, one hell of pandemonium as men, women and children ran to whatever directions they were caught facing. In the name of survival they trampled over bodies fallen under gunfire and victims of the massive stampede.

Shina and her three children clung on to the temporary security of their country cottage. She would have loved to join the rest in flight but decided against it. She knew that such situations often resulted in the children being separated from their parents. She closed her eyes and found herself mumbling audibly. They are all I have in the land of the living. I cannot afford to be parted from them. Well, at least not yet. Then she looked up and saw her three children. They were all in tears and scared. The fear in their eyes reminded her that, although she too was scared, somehow she had to put on a brave face. Just then a stray bullet came whizzing above the window seal tearing through the wire-gauzed ventilation. Don’t move, she whispered. It is safe where we are, she added with a put on reassuringly brave smile. With those words she confirmed her decision to stay in their home. They were going to stay together to await their fate.

While ordinary people fled for their lives, the army helped themselves to the abandoned homes. They went from house to house plundering. Where they thought they encountered resistance they responded by mowing down the entire village.

Of course resistance was simply a blanket word to cover the atrocities inflicted on the defenceless victims. One of the army units led by Captain Slater was especially known for its ruthlessness. Wherever they passed they left a trail of destruction, so much such that they came to be known as the Hurricane Squad. The captain too, though no one dared to call him so openly, acquired the nickname Slayer.

Unlike other units, the Hurricane Squad did not live in a barracks. They pitched their tents round a secluded villa that at one time belonged a prominent academician and writer, Professor Nothingtolose. The mansion was reserved exclusively for Capt Slater. Besides the iron gates chain-link and razor wire fences, the army provided extra fortification for the mansion.

Captain Slater’s concept of war was a weird one in the sense that it was something he somehow looked forward to it as a means of ego gratification. As far as he was concerned war was the ultimate provider of satisfaction. As he used to put it, ‘war explains and justifies everything.’ Indeed during war everything was within reach and even wicked acts could be explained away with uttermost ease. Apart from the readily available booty, there were women to be defiled. All he had to do was to point his gun and the helpless woman would give in.

Sometimes he had his men bind them for him to satisfy his desires. He never cared about the comfort of his victims at all. In fact he seemed to glory in their pain. No one was safe from his brutality. Not even little children. Several times he lined up little boys and girls at gunpoint only to be sexually molested by his soldiers while he watched. The old and the severely disabled would be stripped naked before being tortured simply to provide entertainment in a style reminiscent of the ancient Roman imperial arenas.

There was property of the dead and of those about to die to be appropriated. His victims would simply watch as Capt. Slater and his team took their pick. Then out of spite of the owners he would thunder what came to be known as his slogan ashes to ashes. With that his attendants would incinerate anything they could not carry. Sometimes the owners were bound and burnt alive with their goods.

Captain Slater considered himself special and treated himself like some form of demigod who was answerable to nobody. In very few situations however, he acted as though he took orders from his chief of staff and head of state. To that effect he had established himself in a luxury home a miles away from the official military barracks, in the part of the city known as Rich Pastures. From there he commandeered his expedition as he wished. His hand-picked ruthless soldiers lived in tents surrounding the villa as bodyguards.

It was nearly 10 o’clock in the morning. While his men loaded machine guns, and rocket launchers on to their jeeps, Capt. Slater paced up and down his house taking stock of the wealth he had so far appropriated. ‘I am a rich man. I have everything’, he told himself. He smiled and embarked on a soliloquy. Can you imagine that all these riches belonged to other people? But that is all history. Now it is all mine. Every bit of it belongs to me. What is more interesting is that everything here was received gratis. I did not steal them but simply took whatever I wanted. Well, it is part of my job. I cannot blame myself for it. I blame my employer, the government. They expect a man who looks after their interests to survive on chicken droppings. Very little money to pay people who have the means to keep them in power! Then again, whose fault is it? Not mine. I choose to use my intelligence and the means at hand. I prefer to pay myself and will always do so generously.

He laughed loud trying to suppress the throbbing remains of conscience. Then he resumed his soliloquy. If I were the Head of State, I would pass a decree that no non-military person should earn more than an average soldier.

He started to grin with eureka smile. Well, since I am not the Head of State he resumed his soliloquy with full gestures. Me and my men will get everything we want our own way. I will make every civilian know that this is a soldier’s world. Indeed with our guns we can do whatever we want. We can accumulate wealth. Lots of it! I mean a lot more than this little that I have right now.

He lit himself a cigar but rather that inhaling the rich smoke remained staring at it with bewilderment. His thick lips once again parted in smile. His mind meanwhile wandered leisurely back to the days of colonial masters. He started to speak loud; the same cigars that our colonial masters once smoked are now mine. I am on the par with those colonial bullies. Actually I am better than them. I do not demand respect like they did, I command it. But we have something in common. We all oppress the poor man. They demanded taxes. I do not. I simply use them as keepers of my purse. Bad stewards have no place in my world and shouldn’t be wasting space anywhere. So I simply relieve them of their misery by killing them. In a way I am like their saviour. He put cigar between his lips and continued his decipherable mumbling. Forget the colonialist. Let us talk about the current system of pay. Under no circumstances should the civilians get more money than a soldier. As for me I should be among the highest paid. I cannot stomach others getting more than me.

Suddenly he stood there grinning as a new plan hatched inside his simple mind. That is it. Suppose I mounted a campaign to kill all the rich people of this country, then everything will be left to me. I will then become the richest man with all choice homes and cars. May be I will even be able to buy me a jet or two; and helicopters for short rides.

He beamed in smile as he spoke to correct himself. I think that won’t be necessary as I will be owner of everything. Anyway we could still play the buying game with all proceeds coming back to me. With my cherry-picked men and women, I would be their leader. He stopped at the window with his back to the wide open door. Imagine me being flown round the world as head of state! He stopped talking when he saw from the window a reflection of an approaching person and waited. It was a soldier charged with making sure that the captain’s vehicles were serviced and loaded ready for any mission.

The soldier came through the open door with his feet making all the right noises of a soldier on the match before coming to stop with a boot thump on the floor as he saluted his boss. With a nervous voice made more difficult to decipher by the stammer and lisp impediment he called out extra slowly: Sir, everything is ready. We await your orders.

The captain came to attention as he walked past without acknowledging the salute. The soldier endured the agonising minute or so waiting for his salute to be acknowledged. His paws began to shake. Inside his uniform he was already drenched in cold sweat. On the third walkabout the captain finally bellowed; Who am I supposed to be talking to?

Private Bug, ever at your service Sir, replied the soldier as he nervously struggled to keep his short muscular paws stretched out in salute.

Capt. Slater continued to pace up and down ignoring the soldier who stood in front of his door. After a little while he turned to him and said, That is good, soldier. We shall soon be on the move. He moved closer to straighten the soldier’s collar. Then he whispered into his ears; Next time you come bolting into my house without knocking I will personally make sure that I screw your rear end before you get lynched upside down. As the poor soldier stood there wetting his pants with fear, Captain Slater gave him a pat on the back and asked in a surprisingly friendly manner. What do you think of my humble abode? Do you think it have everything it needs to keep up to my stature?

The young soldier was surprised that he should be asked such a question. He knew he had to give a positive answer otherwise he faced a lashing. Sir, it looks wonderful but could do with a few more electronic gadgets. Say another television with surround speakers, a good sound system and a computer or two for the good Captain.

The captain was being exceptionally friendly and ready to share his feelings. He went on. Come to think about it. I have most of all that and I will certainly be getting more. The only snag is that, I do not know how to work some of these modern gadgets. You see them sitting there they are just mere decorations which I have to dust for no reason. For all I know I could do with a much simpler television than that one over there. I have tried to tune it but it does not work. I mean it shows no pictures at all. I suspect it is out of order.

He blew a cloud of smoke towards the erect soldier. You see soldier, this world is full of strange people. Idiots pretending to be wise! That particular television used to belong to some filthy rich dude. My men took it not knowing that it was faulty. The question that bogs my mind is why would he do such a thing? I guess he wanted to impress his friends with such a big machine.

He burst into laughter. Any way the poor chap is dead. I slaughtered him like a goat and then scattered his entrails to vultures. He was just another imbecile wasting valuable oxygen. He grabbed a bottle of white rum and swallowed a mouthful or two. He made a loud belch and with back turned to his guest, he resumed talking. Back to that television over there, if it is not faulty then I must say it is a very strange piece of machinery. Look! It does not have any tuning buttons. The captain was getting more and more excited. Why do they do that? Even the instruction book itself does not make sense. They did not even think of putting some pictures to aid users.

Capt. Slater was slowly unravelling the truth about himself. He had never been to school, and could neither read nor write. All he knew was how to write and sign his name. His being drafted to the army came about as an accident. The government in power had been on the brink of defeat from rebel forces within. Out of desperation they appealed for volunteers to join. At that time what mattered were a person’s readiness to be trained and some sense of courage. Young Slater had met all those conditions. He was over six foot and muscular.

As a teenager, he had joined a gang that thrived on robbing people and torturing those that rubbed shoulders with them. By the time he was twenty he had created his own gang and called himself president. They controlled a large portion of their local town forcing all businesses in the area to pay a substantial fee for protection from other extortionists. Even when he joined the army he remained fully in charge of his gang. If anything, being in the army was simply a licence to do whatever he wanted. Using his position he started to arm his gang. Most of those around him were actually members of the same gang.

Captain Slater could not read or write, nonetheless he was an enthusiastic bloke who would go any length to cover his handicap. Every day he had every newspaper that was published brought to him merely to give the impression that he was literate and that he kept informed of what was happening in the world around. Sometimes like a chief executive of a big firm, he let his juniors read them out to him while he reclined on his chair to a cigar. If there was no one around, he would simply scan through pages looking for pictures. It was not unusual to see him pretending to read while the newspaper was turned upside down. He returned to the issue at hand. If I could lay my hands on the inventor of that television, God alone knows what I would do to him. What was he thinking making a telly and forgetting to add the essential control buttons?