Peyton moved toward him. Guillaume aimed his huge pistol and shot at Peyton, grazing his ear. The sound of the bullet made a buzzing sound in his ear. Peyton yelled. Guillaume aimed and shot again, narrowly missing Peyton’s head this time. Peyton had only one escape. He ran and jumped out the window then fell across a small awning then down onto a heap of garbage which somehow broke his fall. He rolled unto his feet, almost unnoticed in the street turmoil. He brushed himself off and limped off down the street, bloody and cut but still able to move on his own. He retreated to a back alley and waited until he could move back to the hotel where he crouched in a doorway across the street, searching for Elisa and George in the windows. He closed his eyes and listened, hoping to catch the deep baritone of George’s voice or Elisa’s sweet voice. Villagers walked past him but for some reason, he seemed invisible to them. Maybe it was because he looked like he’d been beaten and robbed. What else could be done to him except to put him out of his misery and kill him. As night progressed, groups of U.N. jeeps with troops in blue beanies rolled into town parked in all fashion on the dusty street. They quickly made their way to the hotel, drawn like a magnet to the dull yellow light of the hotel sign. Other men from the town and the surrounding bush slowly trickled into the hotel, some drunk, some sober, most newly paid and ready to be entertained.
After three hours, Peyton finally saw George and Elisa walking up the street toward the hotel, both looking like white gossamer in the sea of darkness, yet somehow untouchable, almost as if they were spectres that haunted a cemetery and could only be seen by a certain few. They entered the front door and disappeared. He peered inside to see Guillaume busy with a customer. Peyton waited for the right moment then ran over to the hotel and slipped inside, right past Guillaume. There were four floors to the hotel and he began walking the first floor, searching for them. He had not visited these lower floors. They seemed very different than the higher one where the higher-paying customers were put. The bare light bulbs that lit the hallway rhythmically got brighter and dimmer as the voltage surged from the river dam, like the guttural sighs and moans that emerged from behind the crooked doorways to the rooms. Some of the rooms didn’t have doors, just pieces of ripped cloth hung up to block the view. Other rooms were barren of doors. Just yellow mattresses on black floors with women sitting on them with their legs spread wide open. The women on the bottom floor looked to be mostly in their mid twenties and older. There was a blind woman with no teeth who sat in a wicker chair, legs spread like the other women, her scabbed and chancred labia more of a warning than an invitation. A sign lashed to the chair below her vagina advertised her price. One dollar. She was for the poorest men or the one who were old like her and syphilis was more of a blessing than a curse. She could hear Peyton walk past. She called to him.
“One dollar pussy. Best pussy. One dollar only—”
Peyton walked on quickly and went up to the second floor. These rooms were full of young boys, all stripped naked, many stroking their penises with palm oil into glistening semi erections. Many of the boys held plastic Coke bottles to their mouths. Peyton thought they were drinking the soda but then he saw that they were huffing some sort of glue or solvent. A man with huge eyes was suddenly there. He was light skinned and effeminate and seemed to be their pimp.
“NGO. You want Chokora? Good price boy pussy today.”
Peyton shook his head. The man thought he didn’t understand the word he’d used.
“Chokora. Glue boys—they make you happy all night. Twenty dollars for two.”
Peyton stumbled, shaking his head and ran down the hallway. The man laughed at him.
“Please come back, NGO.”
At most of the rooms that weren’t already occupied with men, the word “NGO” emerged in a soft voice. It was his choice, whatever flavor he wanted on this night. He walked the first two floors but there was no sign of George or Elisa. When he got to the third floor, he saw a half-dozen U.N. troops with their blue beanies, all standing outside a particular room. They were talking and laughing, waiting for something from inside the room. He started to approach, but something stopped him. He took a breath. Could there be something more disgusting and inhuman that what he had already seen. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know what was behind the door. A U.N. soldier walked out of the room, adjusting his belt, a broad smile on his face. When he was done cinching his belt, he grabbed his crotch and heaved upwards, signaling to the other soldiers of the pleasure that had just come his way. The other soldiers laughed. One of the young girls came out of the room and grabbed one of the soldiers. The young girl with no ears emerged from the room and grabbed another soldier—a 300-pound giant. She climbed on him, attaching herself to him like a leach, and started to dry hump him. All the soldiers stood back and watched as if they were enjoying a fine stage performance by gifted actors. The young girl looked at the men with a big smile. The soldier who’d just been serviced informed the others of what was in store.
“Aucune oreille et elle baise toujours comme un chat d'allée.”
The translation was “No ears and she still fucks like an alley cat.”
The soldier laughed and opened the girl’s mouth. She had no tongue.
“Pas de langue. Elle peut prendre toute ma bite,” the soldier said quickly.
The other soldiers laughed. The translation was “No tongue. She can take your whole cock.”
He grinned back at his buddies as the 300-pound soldier and the earless and tongueless girl disappeared into the room. Peyton moved back toward the stairs so they couldn’t see him. A wave of nausea suddenly came over him. He wanted to puke but he heard sounds then footsteps and voices coming up the stairwell. Suddenly, there was yelling, then gunfire. The U.N. soldiers drew their guns as hostiles appeared.