Excerpt I: Jonas

September 5, 2007

The soldier standing behind Lutalo grabbed his wrists tightly, pressing his assault rifle to his tanned neck. Lutalo gritted his teeth as the small blade lightly pierced the top flesh of his left shoulder, carving downward, then swiveling to the right. The blade was removed for but a moment, then slashed him again, this time curving around. Hot blood trickled down his arm, covering his hand and dripping off his fingers. The knife was removed and brought down a third time, a fourth time, then a fifth, carving straight lines into his shoulder.

Lutalo let his breath out as the commander wiped the blade on his ripped shirt and then sheathed it in his own belt. The commander then muttered something to the other soldier, who disappeared, then reappeared shortly with a bottle of whiskey. The soldier poured it over the white man’s shoulder, who groaned and tried to swipe at him. The commander chuckled, slapping Lutalo on his good shoulder.

“Good! You will always remember your two years of service to your country of Uganda with this mark on your shoulder.” His voice dropped suddenly, to a low, menacing tone. “Get off of my land in half an hour, or I shall have your white head for dinna!”

He thrust a pistol and a backpack into Lutalo’s bloody hands and pushed him out of the tent. Lutalo stood for a moment, wincing as he turned to look at what was carved into his shoulder. He groaned at the sight, and sprinted away, out of the camp, leaving the whoops and cries of the rebel soldiers in the dust. One voice echoed above all the rest, however, laced in anger.

“Get out of here, mukiwa! Be gone! I wish to neva see you agin!”

Lutalo ran until he could no longer breathe deeply, and collapsed into the dirt under a plantain tree, his chest heaving. He really needed to stop smoking.

Then he turned his head again, to get a better look at his shoulder. The letters were carved as clear as if they had been written with a pen on paper:

LRA