“Our newest plane,” the owner said, pointing to the aircraft.
At least it’s a good plane, Paul thought. It’s the only divine rev-elation in this chaotic morning.
Not far from them, Kisebe, the witch doctor, had danced all night long in a trance. He spun around like a tornado as his fetishes played weird music above his head. The darkness—and all other spiritual creatures that lived there—ran through the small gaps on the shack’s walls. They hummed and buzzed in his head like thousands of harvest bugs, but he also heard something he never had before. Some understandable words came out from the uninterrupted mass, like a blur of talk in the foreground of the white noise. There was rustling coming closer and closer—it was similar to a human voice, forming awfully realistic physical shapes
