WeTried Translations

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◈ Incarnation of the Malevolent Star ◈

Chapter 54: Part 1 - Whispers of the Dark Brother (54)

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#54.

As Pastor Kim looked into the eyes of the black fire in human form, the black fire looked back into the Korean Hero's eyes.

Then he smiled.

Ah, a plague. Yellow-skinned honorary whites whose minds had been contaminated by white people.

Devoted accomplices who aided the hypocrisy of white people, helping push the shameless history of white people further from public awareness!

Then the mask had to be stripped away.

The white people's religion used water for baptism.

The first contamination of the mind took place through water.

Contamination brought about by dirty water had to be washed away with clean water.

It was a method that had never failed him. Moweli Karuru's water torture was, in a sense, a pure baptism administered not by a god, but by one person to another.

“Pastor.”

With one hand behind his back, holding a riding crop, Moweli spoke gently.

The metropolitan French accent, rare to hear in this land, lent another layer of softness to his voice.

“You no longer need to serve here.”

“…What do you mean by that?”

“Exactly what I said. I hear there are children you have looked after. Don't worry. From now on, the shock troops of our Congo Free Liberation Front will feed them, clothe them, and give them a place to sleep.”

In this land, an army saying it would feed, clothe, and house children meant only one thing.

They would drug them into submission or indoctrinate them, turn them into child soldiers, and send them onto the battlefield.

The girls would not even become child soldiers. They would be forced into military sexual slavery until they died.

“The same goes for the people of this village.”

Moweli leisurely looked around as Pastor Kim's face stiffened.

The villagers had been driven out and forced to stand there as spectators, like animals hunted down by soldiers.

The air was heavy.

Pale fear showed on every face.

Their skin was dark, but the pallor showed through their lips and the air around them.

Moweli declared loudly enough for them all to hear.

“Isn't it the duty of an army such as ours to protect the people? And isn't it the duty of the people to support and sustain an army that fulfills its duty?

“Your goodwill is admirable, but there is no place here for outsiders to interfere. The Congolese must achieve self-reliance through the strength and will of the Congolese alone.”

Again, Pastor Kim felt his heart go cold.

Supporting and sustaining an army could mean nothing but forced labor.

The villagers were already suffering under unreasonable labor demands, but until now, government and rebel officers who recognized Pastor Kim's usefulness had eased those demands somewhat.

The medical care the Otherworld Hero offered officers and soldiers was worth more than the labor of a whole village.

The army also needed a cultural rear area.

The screen and projector Pastor Kim had set up at the school turned it into a small movie theater after class.

Its audience was not limited to local residents.

Soldiers came to watch in groups, government troops and rebels taking turns.

That was one of the main reasons they did not smash up or burn down the school for fun.

From a commander's perspective, it did much to manage the unit.

Granting privileges to outstanding units as rewards was an effective way to maintain loyalty and improve morale.

Long-established morale-boosting methods like massacres, looting, arson, and rape were not things one could authorize freely.

If permission were handed out indiscriminately, there would be no labor force left to exploit.

Contrary to what people in the outside world vaguely imagined, the warlords of this land did not commit massacres at random.

They had to make money, after all.

They had to make money to live extravagantly and maintain their armies and influence.

“…”

With the ominously flickering black fire before him, Pastor Kim silently considered his options.

‘Surely this man knows all that!’

The Korean Hero had steadily supplied not only medicine, but films and dramas from the Otherworld he came from.

In this region, so underdeveloped it was dreadful even by Third World standards, even old Bruce Lee films circulated with labels calling them the latest releases.

That allowed the Korean Hero to establish himself not only as a provider of medical care, but as a supplier of cultural content with no possible competition.

“Mother! Jang-geum! Jang-geum!”

“Oh! Captain Jack Sparrow! He's so cool!”

“Is that woman crazy? Why would she throw such an expensive diamond into the ocean? One of those could feed our tribe for a hundred years! She should've frozen to death when she fell into the sea!”

He had asked his sons to obtain the movies and dramas.

They struggled every time to find French-dubbed versions in this remote edge of material civilization.

Subtitled versions were worthless to audiences who were mostly illiterate.

That was not all.

Pastor Kim's free smartphone-charging and power-bank rental service was greatly appreciated by both government soldiers and rebels.

The warlord soldiers of Congo, a land where Eastern and Western morals lived in harmony, lost borrowed batteries remarkably often. The existence of a sucker who kept supplying even cheap Chinese power banks was especially precious to them.

After considering his options, Pastor Kim decided to cautiously appeal to the value he provided to the black fire.

“Lieutenant Colonel Karuru? May I address you that way?”

“As you please.”

“I don't know whether your predecessor told you, but I can offer you small forms of assistance. I can supply medicine on an ongoing basis, obtain better crop seeds and farming tools, charge various electronic devices, and procure batteries…”

“Mm, mm.”

The black fire hummed and nodded as he listened, then walked toward Pastor Kim.

His polished boots shone as he came so close it became threatening. Such a shine was difficult to find in the jungles of Congo.

Moweli, the black fire, brought his mouth to Pastor Kim's ear.

He looked as though he were about to whisper, but his voice was nothing like a whisper.

“All material assistance. But Pastor, isn't your true purpose elsewhere? The mission the white people's god gave you.”

Hearing those words, Pastor Kim suddenly realized something astonishing.

No foul smell came from the mouth of the flickering black fire.

No smell characteristic of a drug addict, no smoker's stale breath, not even the unpleasant smell of someone who neglected to brush their teeth. A rebel commander without bad breath.

That was truly rare in Congo, the country of advanced morality.

Pastor Kim answered a little late.

“I have never proselytized. I only eased the troubles of the people who came to me. You are welcome to verify it.”

“Oh, oh…”

The black fire in human form let out a deep sigh.

“Monsieur Kim. Why are you doing this? Do you take me for a fool?

“Don't you know that simply offering aid to people who are weak, ignorant, sick, and starving carries your precious ‘Word’ to them? How long has it been since your religion adopted that strategy? Did you think I wouldn't know?

“Are you going to claim that your actions were not the practice of the Word?”

Moweli stepped back, tilted his face toward Pastor Kim, and pressed him. His voice remained loud.

“You look down on me. You think it's easy to deceive an ignorant native.”

“No. Absolutely not. I…”

“Shut your mouth.”

“…”

“I know your kind well. Disgusting creatures.”

Emotion began to enter the dark-skinned rebel commander's voice.

Pastor Kim could not tell whether it was an act or sincere.

“The paltry goodwill you people offer is a deadly poison that makes our people weaker. The more that poison stains their hearts, the more the anger they ought to carry fades away.

“Their hatred cools, and their fighting spirit evaporates.”

Like a mirage. As though it had never existed in the first place.

Moweli turned his back on Pastor Kim and slowly walked in a circle around the villagers. With a cold expression, he sighed again.

“Do you know what is so foul about mercy, Pastor?”

“…”

“The moment one person gives mercy and another accepts it, a hierarchy forms between them.

“The giver becomes superior, and the receiver becomes inferior.”

On the surface, he was speaking to Pastor Kim, but Moweli's burning gaze was aimed at the frightened villagers.

The arrows of his words were aimed at them too.

“The residents of this village have kept making themselves inferior by begging you for mercy again and again, an outsider.

“They did so without even caring that you are a contaminated man who believes in the god of invading white people… As a patriot of this miserable country, I find that deeply sad.”

The words were somewhat difficult for villagers with little formal education to understand.

The dark-skinned independence fighter did not care, even though he knew that.

A leader's words had to be accepted, whether the people understood them or not.

“A book that gathers such words is usually called a scripture.”

The collected sayings of Mao Zedong, Moweli's role model, had served as scripture for the Chinese people for more than half a century.

That was how the authority of a leader who would break through a troubled age ought to be.

It should not be constrained by whether the masses understood.

A revolution did not need those who asked questions. Revolution was completed by the resolute will to advance while killing those who asked questions.

Revolution is no crime. Rebellion is justified.

Mao Zedong received criticism for all sorts of failures, but whether one liked it or not, China existed as it did today because of him.

Moweli knew how great an achievement that was.

“So I will purify this village, even now. And I will put the children you have gathered back on the proper path as well.”

After completing his circle, Moweli turned and stared at Pastor Kim.

“You, filth that stains the hearts of my countrymen with weakness, return to your own country.

“This is the mercy I grant you. Accept my mercy.”

Accept it, and become inferior.

Become inferior to me, tuck your tail, and run.

Even as he offered mercy laced with such malice, Moweli did not expect the Korean pastor to obey quietly.

‘Now this honorary white will pretend to be noble or heroic!’

Most were like that.

Missionaries, priests, pastors. Aid workers drunk on religious purpose rarely left just because they were told to go.

As though they had resolved themselves to die, they put on solemn expressions and shamelessly begged for even more mercy and generosity.

That was where it began.

The baptism of clean water that washed away filth.

“What are you waiting for? Leave already.”

Despite Moweli's urging, Pastor Kim only stood silently in place.

He turned over everything the black fire had said, trying to decide how he could persuade this madman.

Moweli did not give him time. He gestured to his men.

“Take the children first.”

The moment screams broke out among the terrified children, Pastor Kim bitterly regretted not sending them somewhere farther back much earlier.

‘I should've accepted the risk of being mistaken for a child-eating witch doctor…!’

Magical beliefs still thrived in the far reaches of material civilization.

Many of those beliefs involved cannibalism.

Children were seen as pure sacrifices in a great many magical traditions.

If an unfamiliar outsider gathered children and rumors spread that some of them disappeared regularly, it would not be long before people with spears and torches came declaring they would punish the evil witch doctor who ate children to gain magical power.

It was not an unfounded fear. It had truly happened to someone else.

So he had kept himself in check while waiting for enough trust to build, but Pastor Kim had finally found himself facing the very disaster he had feared might come to pass.

“What exactly do you think you are doing, Monsieur Kim?”

When Moweli, sounding faintly amused, asked the question, Pastor Kim came back to himself and found that he had pushed himself between the soldiers and the children.

His instincts had moved him.

The soldiers glared, but they did not immediately turn violent. Their commander casually raised a hand to stop them.

Moweli asked again.

“Kim. What makes you so confident that you can refuse my mercy? It would be better for you if you left while I'm giving you the chance.”

There was no time to calmly construct a model answer.

Pastor Kim answered on instinct.

“Lieutenant Colonel. Forgive me, but I can't leave these children behind.”

“No. You can leave. You must leave. I have decided that, as the new protector of this land.”

“No. It's impossible for me. I may die here, but I can't leave.

“I promised these children that I would protect them.”

“In God's name?”

“…It was a promise an adult made to children.”

Moweli burst out laughing.

“So if I wish to take the children, I must kill you first?”

“…”

“Do you think I can't kill you?”

“No. You can kill me whenever you wish. And if you kill me, then I will die.”

At that moment, Pastor Kim truly prepared himself for death.

Who could remain calm while looking at gleaming guns and blades, and the glaring eyes of soldiers holding them?

There was a glossy madness in the eyes of people who killed as casually as they ate meals.

The Hero who had prepared himself for death knelt before an officer of the Demon King's Army and looked up at his dark face.

“But Lieutenant Colonel, wouldn't it be better to keep me alive and use me, rather than kill me and make things a little troublesome for yourself?”

The “trouble” Pastor Kim spoke of implied many things.

The village where he lived had remained a peace zone that was not truly a peace zone because the interests of the government troops, rebels, and peacekeepers had fallen into a suitable balance.

Government troops and rebels obtained labor and taxes from this village and its surrounding area.

Neither side sought to claim it entirely because it was a piece of land with too little value to justify shedding blood to monopolize it.

It did not make financial sense.

So the two sides had reached an unspoken agreement. Let the blood be shed elsewhere, where larger profits were at stake.

The peacekeepers played a significant role in maintaining this balance.

The peacekeepers might be an unmotivated army, but they still had to make some show of doing their jobs if they wanted to keep receiving their salaries.

If a large conflict broke out in their jurisdiction, they would eventually have to intervene by force.

That was how they justified their existence to the international sponsors funding them.

Now, suppose a relief worker from the First World was killed at rebel hands under such circumstances.

Even if the killer left no evidence, the circumstances alone would cause many people headaches.

The dreaded “0 days without an accident” that every Korean veteran knew well mattered not only to the Korean military, but to every army.

Peace in this region was an achievement for the peacekeepers.

The more areas that went long periods without incidents, the better performance reviews the UN-employed mercenaries from the Third World received.

But if Pastor Kim's death reset that precious accident-free record to zero days…

Humiliated and reprimanded by headquarters, the peacekeepers would have no choice but to strengthen their peacekeeping activities for a time.

At the very least, they would have to pretend to strengthen them.

That was especially true because Pastor Kim was close to a UN Secretariat investigator and protected by the son of an influential American political family.

Then the government troops and rebels would no longer be able to comfortably drag villagers away for forced labor or requisition supplies as they had before.

They would still do it, but not as efficiently as before.

They would suffer losses.

That alone would irritate the rebel leadership. Why had they needlessly created a problem?

The government-aligned warlords would also be practically bouncing in anticipation.

The chance was slim, but if the peacekeepers fought the rebels and reduced their strength even a little…

Then the government troops would have a chance to drive back the weakened rebels and expand their territory.

All of that was what Pastor Kim had packed, as quietly as possible, into the phrase a little troublesome.

“Heh heh heh…”

Moweli laughed. The efforts of the honorary white pastor were almost touching.

“It is true that killing you would make things a little troublesome. But you say I should keep you alive and use you?

“Did you not hear what I said earlier? I thought I explained clearly enough how harmful you are to the minds of our people.”

“I understood. That's why I'm saying this.”

“And?”

“You said you were concerned about contamination. I will teach the children this land's sad history, so that I may ease that concern.

“I will make sure they do not forget the proper anger.”

“Proper anger?”

“Yes. The proper anger that makes a proper patriot.”

It might have been a rash assumption, but to Pastor Kim, Moweli seemed to be the sort of madman who was highly educated and convinced of his own righteousness.

The best way to appeal to someone like that was to show sympathy for their ideology.

“I will educate these children to become patriots of this country.”

Taking Moweli's willingness to keep listening as a good sign, Pastor Kim drew a breath and continued.

“And I will teach them other useful knowledge that patriots need to serve their country.

“The army is important, of course, but a country can't be run by an army alone, can it? Think of the many things one boy building a windmill generator is changing in Malawi.”

Malawi did not share a border with Congo, but it was known to Congolese people despite the country's low education levels.

That was because it had camps that accepted Congolese refugees.

The boy who built a windmill generator, William Kamkwamba, was praised as a small hero not only in his native Malawi, but among Pan-African activists.

He stood as proof that Africans were not inferior and could build better ways of life for themselves if they were given proper education and opportunity.

Africans who had suffered from feelings of inferiority for a long time were captivated by this extraordinary boy.

Pastor Kim had invoked the boy in the same spirit as someone asking, “Do you know Park Ji-sung? Do you know Son Heung-min?” Cold sweat beaded on his forehead.

‘If he talks about true independence, surely he's at least heard the name!’

Polished boots. A refined accent. Neat clothes.

Madness showed through him, but his speech still made it clear that he had received an education.

Pastor Kim desperately pinned his hopes on the clues he had been given.

The black fire before him would know the windmill boy. He would have encountered Pan-Africanism in one form or another.

“Please also remember that the boy was almost persecuted after being accused of being an evil wizard who stole the rain clouds.

“Knowledge is power, but society is difficult to change when only one person possesses it. Education must reach as many people as possible.”

“And you will help with that?”

“Yes. I will work so that more windmill boys and girls can emerge in this land.

“The children of this village will not be beaten and chased away for listening in on lessons from beyond school windows, as the windmill boy in Malawi was.”

“Hmm…”

“At the same time, I swear in God's name that I will never proselytize. If you wish, I will remove the cross as well. Right now.”

Moweli, who had been flicking the crop behind his waist, smiled gently.

“I have heard you, Kim. Then I will ask you one thing. Swear to your god that you will answer only with the truth.”

“I swear.”

“You spoke of the proper anger that makes proper patriots.

“Then tell me. Is my anger proper, in your eyes? Am I a proper patriot?”

Pastor Kim closed his mouth.

Here, even if he had to break his oath, he should have answered, “Yes.” But the faithful pastor was poor at lying.

Just as he had been when he gave cigarettes to a rebel patrol leader to get through a checkpoint.

And a clumsy lie would only make things worse now.

“I do not think I am in any position to judge that.”

Moweli's smile deepened.

“I admit it. It was a decent attempt. Good enough that I would like to praise you. But…”

He spoke like a judge delivering a sentence.

“An outsider like you cannot be the one to decide what kind of person is a patriot of this country.

“An outsider like you cannot be the one to raise patriots either. That is because we cannot truly recover the self-determination we have lost if we do.”

“Lieutenant Colonel.”

“Listen. Even so, I will give you a chance.”

“A chance…?”

“You said you could die, but could not leave. You said that if I wished to take the children, I must kill you first.”

“…Yes. I did.”

“A commendable resolve. But Kim, in this country, on this land, death is always easier than life.

“You know that too, if you have watched how the people here live.”

Considering how much the rebels contributed to the suffering of those people, Moweli had no right to say such a thing.

But Moweli was confident. He firmly believed that, to recover true self-determination, not only the army but the people had to endure suffering.

“So endure moments more difficult than death. Prove that you deserve my respect.”

At Moweli's gesture, the soldiers moved.

They brought out a chair that no one knew why they carried in their old transport vehicle, forced Pastor Kim into it, and tightly bound his arms and legs.

The chair they tied him to was strangely tilted backward.

Pastor Kim had been tense, but only understood the meaning of the “moments more difficult than death” Moweli had mentioned when he saw the soldiers drawing water from the well.

A normal person did not suddenly leap to water torture in a situation like this.

Without realizing it, Pastor Kim repeated the nickname he had heard from Fraser.

“Waterboarding Moweli…”

The black fire was delighted.

“Oh. It seems you have heard the rumors about me?”

“Yes.”

“That is right, Kim. I will test you with water.”

Moweli continued in a very kind tone.

“And you may refuse this test at any time, even now. You may reject the test and leave this village.

“I will send you away whole. I am trying to test you, not torture you. My test only has meaning when you endure it by your own will.”

“…”

“Now then, the number of children you promised to protect… Let me see… My, there are a great many. If we took them, we could make two platoons.”

There were fifty-five children in all.

The remark about two platoons was only an offhand one. Neither government troops nor rebels gave guns to girls in this country.

Satisfied with the headcount he had estimated by eye, Moweli spoke of a length of time no person could endure.

“One child per hour. For every hour you endure, I will let you choose which child among all those children remains at your side.”

“…”

“If you endure the time allotted for every child over several days, I will entrust this village to you along with the children.

“And I will do my utmost to protect you and this village. What do you say? Will you accept the test?”

The Otherworld Hero Pastor Kim had no choice but to nod.

The black fire clapped his hands sharply.

“Excellent.”

Praying inwardly to God, the Hero closed his trembling eyes.

Footnotes:

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