Catch him! That one! Panic spread in expanding circles. He yelled at his colleagues at the back of the crowd. The one beside him stepped forward and raised his own pistol, but then knelt abruptly, holding a bloodied shoulder with a pale, shocked face. Another shot flew, and a second policeman dropped. Beside the stage, the bullet struck a policeman. For years after this her hearing would trouble her. Her scream, like a stone thrown into the ocean, rippled forward and outward. She clutched her fingers to the side of her head and fell to the floor. But I want to imagine that the gunman considered his life, as I have considered mine.īefore it found its target, his bullet whizzed close to the ear of the woman standing next to him. Am I imagining or am I remembering? I no longer know. At least that is how I imagine it, as I have imagined so much violence in the years since I lived inside it. As this so-important person began speaking, the gunman lifted his weapon, considered his life, and fired. No one in my family who tells this story remembers who this prominent politician was either. The speaker, sweating profusely and wiping his forehead with a handkerchief, introduced another man, who introduced another man, who introduced the chief guest. The gunman stood and waited as the first speaker offered a long and tiresome introduction, and the crowd fidgeted, shifting from foot to foot, looking at their watches, muttering to each other and trading judgements on his performance. The groups had not yet begun to murder each other, so the person telling me the story did not mention which one, only that the militants wanted to make clear their dominance over the politicians. Perhaps there was more than one because my brothers went without me, I can only tell you what I heard over the years. Just beyond that, a gunman from one of the Tamil militant groups lurked. Just beyond them, at the edge of the crowd and also at the edge of the stage, stood several policemen.
The hall, which was almost in Jaffna town proper, barely contained the people who had come old men and young men and a few young women spilled out onto the edges of each hallway and entrance, craning their necks to see the TULF speakers.
Ganeshananthan is the author of “Brotherless Night.” (Sophia Mayrhofer) Book excerpt: ‘Brotherless Night’
0 kommentar(er)
