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What was easier to hijack than democracy? Like most things in the world of men, democracy was principally a question of money, and the prince had plenty.
The people had chased him away, and the people had to vote, explained the electoral convoy. They were the people, no rights but plenty of responsibility.
The caravan left as suddenly as it appeared, leaving behind dust and paper, pounds of leaflets presenting the sixty political parties coveting the comfortable positions created three months prior. And nothing to eat. Nothing to wear.
Hearing his own words, the image of his people, the Nawis, decked out in their new getups, leaped into his mind and he had a realization. This hornet wasn’t the product of natural evolution; it was a sign of nature, derailed.
Once again, man, in search of land, gave the plague to his fellow man in the folds of his offerings.
Now they’re telling us how to talk and dress, but soon they’ll tell us how to think. What will be on the agenda for tomorrow?
Despite this fossilized atmosphere and need for renovations, Sidi saw books glinting in the library aisles and felt as if he were beneath the vault of a starry sky, built of words, atop columns of ink and paper. Here was the divinity of man; here was his true temple.
He went back for Staka and took the road to the village, damning in his heart the commander, his katiba, and all the murderers and warmongers prostituting God to their ends. A God that could still console him for the cruelty of man through the gentleness of his bees.
