Shaka II Read Online Free Page A

about?”
        “We want restitution for all the centuries that they have profited from land that should legally have been ours,” said Robert.
        “What are you talking about?” I said. “The land was divided by a treaty that was ratified and signed by both countries.”
        He shook his head. “It was signed by white squatters who took the land and the government away from the indigenous peoples. It is not a legal treaty.”
        “Mozambique has no money,” I persisted. “What can they be making in park fees? Three thousand rands a year, if that?”
        “I know. That is why we will not ask for money.”
        “I thought you said you wanted restitution.”
        “I do,” he replied.
        “I don’t understand.”
        He walked to the map and pulled a pen out of his pocket. “This is approximate,” he said, drawing a line across the lower third of Mozambique. “This will constitute our restitution.”
        I stared at the map in silence for a moment. “You can’t be serious,” I said, although I knew he was.
        “It is prime pastureland,” replied Robert. “There are rivers than can be diverted to South Africa during droughts. There is a huge population that has been trying to cross our border for generations, and will be happy to work for whatever wages we offer them, however minimal-and that in turn will keep our own people in line.”
        “Mozambique will never agree to it,” I said.
        “And we have a well-trained army,” he continued, “an army that needs something to do.”
        “It’ll be a slaughter.”
        “It will be a good training exercise.”`
        “You sound like there’s more,” I said.
        “We have treaties with Namibia, Botswana, Zimbabwe, Angola…”
        “Just how far north do you plan to go?” I demanded.
        “Have you ever seen the Mediterranean, my brother?” he asked. “It is quite beautiful this time of year.”
        “There have been wars of conquest on this continent before.”
        “Led by madmen and fools,” he replied. “I am neither.”
        “You really mean to do it?”
        He gestured toward the letter. “It is done.”
        “Then let someone else deliver it,” I said. “I’ll stay where I am.”
        “My mind is made up,” he said. “You will be my ambassador to Mozambique.”
        “Why me?” I asked. “You have generals and hirelings who would love to make the President of Mozambique squirm.”
        “That is precisely why I want you,” said Robert. “You are a compassionate man who will sympathize with him.” He shot me a triumphant smile. “I know you give most of your salary to local orphanages. You even feed stray dogs and cats. You cannot hide your nature from me, my brother, and you will not be able to hide it from him.”
        “What has that to do with anything?”
        “When you tell him, truthfully and in some detail, exactly what will befall him and his people should he refuse my demands, when he sees that you actually care, that you do not want his country to become a smoking junk-heap, he will know that I mean what I say, and further, he will know precisely because of your reaction, that I have the power to do what I say.”
        “Am I then to become your ambassador to every other country you wish to conquer?” I asked bitterly.
        “I have no interest in conquest,” he said.
        “Oh? What do you call it?”
        “Assimilation,” he replied. “We are one land mass. Once, there were twenty-three hundred tribes, twenty-three hundred separate nation-states, living on this continent. Then the Europeans gave us false borders, and suddenly there were fifty-one countries. It is time for one more redrawing of the map: one continent, one country.”
        “And one ruler?” I asked.
        “And one ruler,” he agreed.
        I delivered the