The Trial Of The Beast…

AARON ANSAH-AGYEMAN

THE TRIAL OF THE BEAST

EPISODE 1

The tranquil afternoon silence was shattered by the horrific sounds of a huge car skidding off the stony, untarred road.

The only people walking on the road that particular moment were an old palm wine tapper and his son. The young man was carrying a huge drum on his head. It contained the day’s harvest of palm-wine.

Walking the long distance from the farm to the village in the blazing heat had almost fermented the sweet liquid, and it would be hard selling it to the women sellers now. Of course, the drunkards would like its ‘hard’ taste, and then they would sell the remainder to the akpeteshie distiller. But having it fresh would have fetched more money, and so they were in a dour state of mind that afternoon.

They had been walking briskly down the small hill toward the next village when they first heard the engine of the car approaching from up the hill behind them.

“That must be the cocoa truck,” the old man said wearily, and spat on the brown ground, wiping the hot sweat from his face with the back of his hand.

The young man looked at his father disdainfully.

He was almost bent double under his load and this had made him very bad-tempered at the moment. He needed both hands to hold the barrel and thus the sweat ran freely down his face and stung his eyes.

“That’s not the cocoa truck, Papa!” he said irritably. “Your ears are getting old too! The truck makes too much noise. This must be another car!”

“Oh!” the old man said and turned to stare up the hill.

Cars rarely came to the village, and whenever one did, the old and young people in the village always trooped to ogle it, most of the time wishing for a ride. There were many people in the village who had never sat in a car in their lifetime…many.

Suddenly they heard a screaming metallic noise, and then the car appeared on the crest of the hill.

“Nananom Nsamanfo!” the old man screamed with horror.

The car that was shooting down the hill was totally out of control.

The engine whined as it skidded and hurtled down the hill.

It zigzagged crazily for a moment, and then one of its front tyres burst with an explosive blasting sound.

“Awuradeeei!” the young man screamed as the huge vehicle came barrelling down toward him. He pushed the barrel off his head and dove headlong into the bushes.

The terrified old man was so shocked that he was rooted to the spot, gazing at the car with a gaping mouth as it charged down at him.

“Papaaaaa!” his son screamed with fear. “Get off the road, Papa! Get out of its path!”

But the old man was transfixed with acute horror, and although a part of his mind told him death was certainly eminent, he simply could not move!

He stayed rooted in the middle of the road!

And then, just when it was certain that the car would run over the old man, it skidded off to the right and overturned once, and as its bonnet hit the ground, there was the harsh sound of shattering glass.

It somersaulted twice and smashed against a huge boulder on the other side of the road. It landed right on its roof, and fuel began to pour from its burst tank immediately.

The old man lifted a trembling hand to his face and felt the tears running down his coarse cheeks.

He knew without a doubt that all the people in the car were dead; surely, no one could possibly survive such a horrible accident!

The young man rushed out of the trees and stood gaping at the overturned car with a mouth so wide open that his chin could have hit the ground if it had been long enough.

The old man and his son approached the car fearfully.

Suddenly, the driver’s door swung open, and the upper part of a body tumbled out.

The old man gasped when he saw blood pouring all over the face and chest of the driver, who couldn’t have been more than eighteen years old, or even younger.

His head tossed weakly from side to side, and then he seemed to sigh…and became still, his eyes closing slowly.

He’s dead, the old man thought with horror.

He was such a young man, so very young!

How could one so young be driving a car so big and luxurious?

“Papa!” his son whispered stridently. “Papa, come look at this!”

For a moment, the old man could not move.

His eyes could not tear themselves from the bloodied form of the young driver. He peered into the car shakily, expecting to see more bodies, but thankfully he saw that the car was empty.

A moment later, he turned his head in the direction of his son, whom he saw was looking furtively around, his face filled with sudden greed.

The old man walked toward his son…and stopped dead with shock.

There were two open briefcases on the ground.

They had obviously fallen from the booth of the car which was gaping open.

The old man saw that one of the suitcases was filled with small rectangular transparent sachets containing some whitish substance.

The old man thought they might be insecticides or talcum powder.

The other briefcase was filled with all the money in the world!

“Papa,” his son whispered hoarsely. “This is the end of all our poverty! Papa, Awurade Nyankopon…look at money, Papa. Money, oh, money! We’re rich, Papa. No more palm wine! We’re rich, we’re so rich!”

The old man looked at his son numbly.

It took a little more time for him to find his voice.

“The driver, Tawiah!” he said softly. “We have to help him. He’s such a young boy, like yourself. We need to help him.”

“He’s dead, papa!” his son replied tightly. “He’s dead, and he doesn’t need this money!”

He quickly ran to where he had thrown his drum of palm wine.

Part of it had cracked and almost all the palm wine had poured out.

He pried the lid off and drained the drum of the little palm-wine left, and then he dragged the empty drum to the car.

First, he used a knife to make the opening on top of the drum bigger, and then he began to fill his drum with the money from the briefcase.

Very soon, he had packed all the bundles of money into the drum, and then he looked at his father excitedly.

“Come, papa, let’s get out of here!” he said in a trembling voice. “Let’s go back to the farm and spend the night there, and then we’ll come back tomorrow. No one will know we were here or that the money is with us! It will be the perfect alibi! We’ll be rich, Papa, so rich! Money, Papa…did you see it? Mooooney! Shieeeeet”

The old man turned his head and looked at the unconscious or dead form of the driver whose upper body was now completely covered with blood, and a red pool had formed beneath his head.

The old man looked at his son and shook his head slowly.

“Here, Papa, not now!” Tawiah said fiercely. “Don’t even start with your proverbs! If you have been cursed to live in poverty, I’m not. Don’t give me one of your lectures now!”

“Tawiah, our elders have a saying that not all meat is edible!” the old man said softly.

Tawiah scowled darkly at his father.

“I’m not returning the money, Papa!”

The old man’s eyes became very sad.

“Unlike yam, pregnancy never grows downward, son,” he said quietly. “What you’re doing will surely grow and grab you by the throat. You could be in a similar situation one day, and I hope someone on the scene would not behave as you’re doing now!”

The young man pointed a rigid finger at his father.

“Papa, if you ever give me away, you’ll regret it, do you hear me? I will kill you with my own two hands!” he said darkly, and ran into the bushes, dragging his money-filled drum behind him.