The Surreal Cafe: Epidemic

A hunkered-down lioness slowly pawed through the tall yellow grass of an African plain. She unwittingly crouched exactly in the middle of a gun sight. Her tail whipped back and forth lightly and her hips wiggled twice just before pouncing. Teeth and claws sprang out of the grass and an empty “thunk” sound sent them to the earth just as fast. A panting man put the barrel of his rifle to the ground and leaned on the stock.

“I can’t possibly be getting too old for this.” He panted out. A black man passed him on his left and slapped his back.

“I wouldn’t think of it, my friend. Excellent shot.” The black man kneeled next to the lioness and pulled the dart from the sleeping predator and replaced it with a tag. “But the next one is mine.”

“But of course, Monsieur Louise.” A younger black man took a picture of the two of them with the cat.

“Merci, Lavon. Would you like a shot with her?” Louise asked.

“Oui, papa!” Lavon answered. The white man took the camera from Lavon as he passed. He snapped a shot of the two.

Long ago, Daniel Archer decided that there was a difference between hunting and killing. His father was a big game hunter in the woods of Montana, but Daniel never liked all the death: the heads in the house, the pelts everywhere, all the blood and smell of flesh in cleaning the animals. But he still loved to shoot. His father told him on his nineteenth birthday that he could probably outshoot an experienced Army sniper. The EPA was Daniel’s natural decision. Track big game in Africa and tag them. Shooting actually would help increase the population of endangered big cats and therefore keep those predators’ game from over-populating. Forty years on the trail was wearing thin, though. He knew retirement would come soon and decided he wouldn’t argue when it did. Men who hunted past their prime often wound up lining a cub’s belly.

Daniel removed his safari hat and wiped his aged and tanned brow. His leather skin glistened of perspiration in the sun.

“You okay, Daniel?” Louise asked in his adult Cote d’Ivoire accent. Lavon drove the two of them back to their village.

“Yeah, but I think I’m about done with this game, Louise.” Louise patted his shoulder.

“They say a man who knows when he is done is a man who knows himself well.” Daniel smiled and scratched a mosquito bite under his dusty khaki shorts. He thought of his daughter Lil and wondered if a career in social services would truly fulfill her, like his career has. That night in Daniel’s hut, when he decided his career had come to an honorable and dignified end, something else began. He woke up to the same mosquito bite on his thigh. This was much more irritating than any other he’d received. Mentally he ran through his vaccinations and knew his shots were up to date. You don’t forget a thing like that being in Africa off and on for thirty-five years. He scratched furiously. This was ridiculous. The light inside the mosquito netting flicked on and he pulled his shorts above the bite. A pure white spot shone. This was new. As he scratched some more, the irritation died down steadily. The spot grew. Not only did his skin turn a pure white color, but all the hair over the spot fell off. Pores even filled in. In a panic, he tangled himself in the mosquito netting trying to get to Louise’s room. Finally he burst through the door.

“Louise!”

“What is it, man? Ugh, I’m bloody tired.” Louise rolled over and as his eyes adjusted he sprang to his feet. Daniel was fifty percent covered now.

“Look!” Louise quickly put his glasses on and peered at Daniel’s skin. Whiteness spread slowly over Daniel’s face. Over the eye, all was white: the iris, the lashes, and the red corners. All white. After turning white, the lashes and eyebrows fell off, like the rest of his hair. Had he not been bald already, that too would have fallen off.

Over the course of the night, Daniel helplessly watched his body turn a pure white color, from his tongue to the bottoms of his feet. Louise had called the doctors and furiously spoke in French. Daniel had a working knowledge of the language but his current situation ruined his usually sharp mind.

“They tell me the hospital is swamped with such cases, Daniel. Daniel, look at me. Do you hear me? They say the hospitals are swamped, but everyone is healthy, my friend.” Daniel, barely recognizable turned to his friend.

“Do I look healthy?” Louise grabbed his shoulders.

A doctor leaned over the two. “You’re breathing normally. Your heart is beating properly. The blood of everyone we checked has come back clean, Monsieur Archer, although you’re the first non-businessman to come down with this bizarre disease.”

“What are you talking about?” Daniel asked, calmed a bit now.

“It is a strange thing. All of the men who came into the hospital were white businessmen, but they rambled so about their clothes. We at first figured a whole convention had caught some strange new disease, but that seems not the case now.”

After much discussion, Daniel decided to go back home. He assured the doctors that if the others were okay, then he would be just fine staying where he was until he could catch a flight. Louise assured him he would follow, to check up on him as soon as the government would give him some time off. The next morning, Daniel awoke, ready to dress, pack, and go home. He opened the close door and stepped back startled. They were gone, his set of varied khaki, green, and brown clothes were gone. But clothing was in the closet, however. There was hanger upon hanger of longed sleeved shirts, black pants, and a black jacket. Louise entered his room with a somber face.

“Come with me, my friend.” He led Daniel to the jeep and they drove to a
general store. It had a television turned to CNN. There was a special report. A white female journalist with long red hair and wearing a blue dress suit spoke with grave professionalism.

“If you’re just joining us, this is the latest on the bizarre epidemic that is baffling the medical community and the world at large. White men around the world are waking up to lost hair, a bone white complexion, and pure white eyes and strangest of all, their clothes have been mysteriously altered, apparently over night. Experts suggest a sort of rapidly contagious albinism, but how to explain the bizarre clothing switch? There is one relief; all appear healthy. But it seems that every white man around the world today has been painted white by some unknown force and clothing changed to black suits with white shirts. Stay with us on this world epidemic for the latest reports.” Daniel took two steps back. He swallowed hard and turned off the television. The whiteness coating his face could not hide its terror.

Wouldn't you love some cool refreshing lemonade about now? Wait! Okay now.