Dropping Dead
Tucking myself in that night I had no regrets at what I had just done. I was in my full right and no one could deny it, except — of course — the dead guys all over the floor of the apartment.
Despite the window-nets and door-nets people erected to keep them out, these hooligans had been breaking into houses, including ours. They would snatch what blood they could find, dump enough parasites to keep you spending money on medicine, and terrorize you with their humming in your ears all night long. Mosquitoes had never really bothered me before now. I was always the one lounging serene on a recliner while others swatted and cursed. Everyone said it was because I was hairy and the mosquitoes couldn’t penetrate the tufty mass on my arms and legs. This month all of that changed.
It is the peak of the rainy season and mosquitoes have never been happier. Every square inch of ground in the compound holds some stagnant water, and on that water the little things are throwing nude parties, popping champagne and breeding away. Every night they invade our houses, cracking jokes about the nets we have hammered to keep them out. They wait on the walls and ceilings, until we have gone to bed and the lights are out. Then they emerge and plunder us. Most people do not notice because they are asleep. When morning comes they just shriek at the swollen bites on their bodies and swear to change their insecticide. For people like me who work through most of the night, it is a battle. Swatting and clapping and cursing at the elusive beasts as they escape your hands and launch back in like trained war pilots. Every single night.
That particular night I wasn’t having it. I had bought coils. I had my matches. I was ready. Night fell. Under the fluorescent light of the sitting room I worked on my laptop, and the light seemed to keep them away. Only the bravest ventured out. They were easy to spot in the light; I easily shot out a hand and crushed them.
Then, in the middle of the night, power went out. The room went dark. I could hear the tiny devils humming, rejoicing. I switched on the rechargeable lamp, covered myself from head to toes with a wrapper, and resuming working on my laptop. No sooner had I settled than they were sweeping down in hordes. As if they were really a cartel of organized crime, they struck in batches. Some were devoted to taunting my ears. They would zoom in as close as they could to my eardrum, and dart away just as quickly, leaving my ears ringing. Some found the spots on my heels and hands where there was no hair, and stabbed their long proboscises in. At any attempt to swat them they would be off; I was merely slapping myself over and over again. I couldn’t think, or write anything, and dawn was approaching, and with it my deadline to turn in this job.
I shut the laptop and cast aside the wrapper, marched to the kitchen and retrieved the coils. One strike of the matches and some patience, and the green coil began glowing red, fumes rising from it. But one would not do. I broke off three coils more, lighted them all up. Fitting the four fuming sticks in-between the fingers of one hand like multiple cigarettes, I returned to the sitting room. I did not bother with the wrapper this time. I just sat at my laptop and let the fumes rise. It is dangerous to breathe in the fumes of a burning insecticide coil. They are usually burned behind closed doors while everyone is outdoors or in a separate room, to prevent health problems. But what did I care. My enemies were at my mercy now.
They had become frenzied in their flight. They were no longer launching coordinated attacks. They were keeping away, retreating to far corners and to the ceiling. Wherever they went the fumes chased them. But even that was not enough. I stood, coils between my fingers, and began a procession. From corner to corner I went, standing for a while at each spot until I was satisfied with the amount of fumes I had released to poison them. Spot to spot I went, the fumes spreading out and rising to their hallowed ceiling, until I had gone round the sitting room. The effect was catastrophic. In the light of the rechargeable lamp I could see it. At their perches on the walls and the ceilings, their limbs slacked. They lifted off and perched again to regain their hold but it was too late. They were choking, losing consciousness. And when they could struggle no longer, their limbs curled up and they fell off the wall, and onto the ground. All around me they were falling off the ceilings, dropping dead.
Beaming with smiles I put off the stubs of the coils, chucked them in the bin. There was no more sound of humming, not a single sound. Just then power was restored. I plugged in my laptop. I would let it charge, and finish off in the morning. I was exhausted anyway. Exhausted, but triumphant. Switching off the fluorescent bulb I tucked myself in on the settee. Rays of light from the security bulb outside streamed into the room, getting diffused in the fumes still saturating the air. And lying there, thinking how it gave the room the calm aura of a misty forest, I fell asleep.
