SATAN’S HAND

Tsilizani was oblivious to everything except the small packet held tightly in his fist inside the pocket of his tattered trousers. He was soaked to the skin, the worn-out T-Shirt clinging to his body as it rained like a leaking pail.

He walked fast. He had to arrive home before his wife returned from where she had gone to do piece work together with his two children that morning. This thought made him angry. Barely two years ago he had been one of the richest businessmen in the city Liongwe. But a number of serious business reversals had made him bankrupt.

It all started with that accursed Nigerian. He had suggested they go into a business partnership. He went in as a millionaire and came out of it with half his capital gone and the Nigerian nowhere to be seen. Then he had tried to consult a witchdoctor who was said to have medicine that multiplied money. The witchdoctor ended up being a fake who ran away with whatever cash he had left. From there the business plummeted like a stone down a cliff.

He sold his house in the elegant Area 3 suburb and rented a house in the high-density area of Biwi. Disaster followed him there, too; thieves broke into his house and cleaned it of all its contents. Penniless, he was forced into the crowded slums of Chinsapo.

Now, he, a man who had driven in the City in a Mercedes Benz was going home on foot failing even to pay for a bus fare as it rained cats and dogs. His wife and children were out in the foul weather doing pieces of odd jobs in order to help in feeding the family.

This was the last straw. He had failed. Failed miserably. His wife and children had taken over his role. He was no longer needed. That’s why that afternoon he was hurrying home with a packet of rat poison stowed in his pocket.

He was going to commit suicide. A man has to face reality no matter how harsh it is. He had already written a note, which explained to his wife the reason why he was going to kill himself- he had failed and was just a burden to his family.

As he was passing by Lilongwe Golf Club, big black car splashed him with muddy water from a big pothole. He took no notice of it and steadily walked on. Why should a man who is going to die in thirty minutes care whether he is clean or dirty?

The car screeched to a halt ahead of him and the driver waited until Tsilizani was abreast with the car and rolled out his window.

“Sorry, I didn’t see the pothole,” the driver apologized, flashing a five hundred-kwacha note. “Have this. You can take a bus at…” he broke off suddenly, a look of recognition in his eyes. “Wait a minute, you are Tchalo Tsilizani, aren’t you?”

Tsilizani stared at the driver with the vacant stare of those that nothing no longer matters to them. He had heard the voice before. But it had belonged to another man, a thin tall youth who had been his best friend. Yet this man was as large as a hippo. He couldn’t be Chitekwe.

The man proved him wrong. “I’m Chitekwe.”

Tsilizani couldn’t believe his eyes. He looked at the big Toyota Prado and then its fat owner in an expensive suit. This couldn’t be true. Chitekwe had always been a struggling businessman. Tsilizani had always been lending him money in his never-ending business ventures that always came to nothing.

The last time they had seen each other had been some four years ago before Chitekwe had trekked to Kasungu to begin ivory smuggling.

Well, they had met at the wrong time. “Ah, it seems things have been going on well for you. As for me, you can see for yourself that I am finished.”

Chitekwe grinned. “Not finished, man. This is you lucky day. Hop in.”

Tsilizani got into the car. As they drove away, he told his friend his misfortunes. He didn’t even hide the fact that he intended to commit suicide.

“Man, you’re back. Today you’ll be rich,” Chitekwe said. “Forget about killing yourself.”

Tsilizani laughed. “If you’re talking about consulting witchdoctors, I’ll have nothing to do with them. The last one I met milked me of whatever money I had left.”

Chitekwe shook his head. “I’m talking about consulting the god and prince of this world. Satan himself!”

Tsilizani stared at his friend with pure shock. “What did you say?”

“Didn’t the devil tell Jesus that if he worshipped him he would give him all the kingdoms of the world and their splendour?” Chitekwe answered casually. “If he could offer all that to Jesus, how could he fail to give you the little wealth you are craving for? You consult him, you get rich.”

“Man, I’ve heard of terrible things that are committed by Satanists,” Tsilizani said with raised hands. “I’d rather die poor than have blood on my hands. No, thanks.”

Chitekwe clapped his hands. “All the things you hear about Satanists are not true. People say Satanists kill people and use their blood to get rich. Does blood make money?”

Tsilizani shook his head.

‘Satan is a supernatural being. All he wants is for you to worship him. In return he makes you rich. He doesn’t want blood. For what?”

“But I’ve heard of strange rituals where human blood is used…”

Chitekwe cut him with a wave of his hand. “You heard. I’ve been there. I’m one of them. Who is in the right position to know the truth?”

Tsilizani did not answer.

“OK, let me offer you this deal. Actually, I’m on my way to one of our gatherings. I’ll take you there. If you see or just hear of blood or murder being mentioned, you pull out. No strings attached. Isn’t that fair?”

Tsilizani thought for a moment. “What will I be required to do to get rich?”

“Simple. You just declare you allegiance to Satan. Just the same way you do when you’re being baptized in Church. Lucifer will take care of the rest.”

Tsilizani thought for a moment. He wasn’t naïve to think that it would be easy to pull out the moment he attended one of the gatherings of the devil worshippers. But Chitekwe had assured him that there would be no murders. He had known Chitekwe long enough to trust him.

“The only thing you would have to worry about is going to hell,” Chitekwe said as if reading his mind.

Of course, in his present predicament, fear of going to hell was the only thing that could stop him from joining the Satanists. He knew he would be damning his soul if he did so. Damn his soul? He suddenly laughed loud. He was already damned.

As a good Christian he aware that taking one’s life was a sin. So if he declined Chitekwe’s offer and went ahead to commit suicide, he would still go to hell. If he joined the Satanists the result at the end would be the same but with one big difference. He would go to hell rich. So what was he waiting for?

“Alright. You got yourself a deal.”

The big car stopped outside the gate of a house with a very tall fence. Chitekwe pressed on a small pad and the gate swung open on its own. They found themselves in a large yard full of cars. Tsilizani was surprised to see the car of his pastor in the sea of gleaming cars.

“Don’t be surprised. This just shows that you’ve made the right decision,” Chitekwe said indicating the pastor’s car. “Since this is your first day, you won’t attend the main ceremony. “You’ll only meet the High Priest who’ll initiate you into our group.”

He led him into a small room and told him to kneel down. The room had no windows and the walls were painted black. The only light in the pitch-black darkness was a feeble light coming from a small snake shaped candle.

As Tsilizani’s eyes became accustomed to the groom he realized that he was kneeling before an altar. Behind the altar he could make out the figure of a bearded man clad in a black frock.

“Tchalo Tsilizani, are you prepared to serve and worship our master the Prince of Evil, Lucifer?”

Tsilizani answered in the affirmative.

“Then say after me-I Tchalo Tsilizani hereby swear to serve and give my soul to the Devil forever with no chance whatsoever of redemption.”

Tsilizani said the words after the priest like a hypnotized man. The priest placed his hand on Tsilizani’s head. “I now hereby anoint you as one of Satan’s servants to do as the Devil commands you. You may go with the evil of Satan.”

“What did I tell you? No blood. Nothing. Just allegiance to Satan and you’re rich. The next time you come here you’ll be driving a car of your choice,” Chitekwe said as they went out of the room. “As the High Priest warned whatever you have seen or heard here is for your eyes or ears only.”

The rain had stopped. Chitekwe gave Tsilizani some to take a bus home as he was staying on to join the main ceremony. Tsilizani did not take the bus. He walked home slowly agonizing whether the decision he had taken was good or not. Would he really be driving a Mercedes, the car of his dreams?

It was getting dark when he arrived home. The first thing he noted was a white Mercedes Benz parked outside his house. No one dared park expensive cars in the crime-ridden slum. Had he already started getting rich? As he got closer he heard wailing from his house. Something was wrong. He quickened his step.

He found a man in a blue suit sitting outside his house together with the headman of the location. His wife was weeping uncontrollably and some of the neighbours were trying to comfort her.

“I’ve bad news Tsilizani. Your children were involved in a fatal accident. As they were trying to cross the road,” the headman paused and indicated towards the stranger in the suit. “A car hit them. They died on the spot.”

“I’m Tchayi, owner of Mafuta Industries,” the man in the blue suit said. “I’m distressed by what happened. The children just went into the road without checking. There was nothing I could do.”

Tsilizani stared dumbly at the stranger, his numbed brain refusing to register what had happened.

“I know this is a big blow to you; children are a great asset,” he took out a cheque book. “I know this won’t compensate for the loss of your children but I feel I must do something. I hear you were a businessman. I’ll give you ten million kwacha for you to start a new business. I’ll also send you a Mercedes to ease your transport problems.”

The words of Chitekwe hit him like a hammer. “Man, you’re back. Today you’ll be rich…”

“One thing however shocked me. Your children were er… badly hurt,” Tchayi said with a confused look and added in a frightened whisper. “But there was no blood. Not even a drop.”

“No blood. No murder.” Chitekwe’s words

Like Eve in the Bible he had been deceived. He had forgotten that the devil is a liar. Satan had still claimed his pay in blood. The sudden realization of the enormity of his betrayal strained his heart. There was searing pain in his chest. He screamed, clutching at his heart.

He collapsed and was dead before he hit the floor.

END