Free The War of Don Emmanuel’s Nether Parts by Louis De Bernières

nor that the roads were appalling, which they were; it was simply that the driver was easily bribed into doing all sorts of lucrative little oddjobs along the way, especially as he revelled in the people’s admiration for the awesomeness of the feats that his beloved machine could perform with magical ease. He gave free demonstrations to interested knots of people who never tired of seeing trees pulled over to no purpose, and huge fearsome bulls dragged along by a rope around the horns despite their having their hooves firmly planted against the soil and all their muscles straining. Halfway to the pueblo he had to turn back to Asuncion to fetch more diesel.
    When the bulldozer finally arrived it immediately began to make triumphantly easy work of the canal, so much so that Don Emmanuel became alarmed and took to leaving bottles of aguardiente near the machine every evening. He also told Sergio to tell everyone in the village to be very generous every time the driver came into it after dark. The driver took on a haggard and bilious mien, work began later and finished sooner, and Dona Constanza threatened the man with imprisonment, which was hardly an idle threat, since all magistrates without exception would find someone guilty of something in return for a gratuity. Doing one’s civic duty was therefore both an honourable and profitable burden, and postswere eagerly sought and sedulously canvassed for with the aid of banknotes, usually in the form of US dollars.
    When the driver returned to his former diligence and the pink boulders began to be piled up in the river to redivert it, Hectoro began an heroic campaign of covert sabotage. Don Emmanuel ordered Pantagruelian quantities of ron cana and aquardiente from the little shop and Hectoro ensured that it found its way into the fuel tanks of the bulldozer along with small quantities of sugar dissolved in water.
    On the first morning the bulldozer started perfectly on the unsullied fuel that was left in the lines. After a minute or two, however, the engine raced, then backfired several times, releasing puffs of pure white smoke into the air from the exhaust, and then became marvellously erratic. There were periods of pre-ignition, periods of spectacular explosions like gunfire, and periods of total stoppage which would find the perplexed and frustrated driver tinkering for hours with the fuel pump, which he believed to be faulty, bleeding fuel lines which he believed to be full of air, and, his mouth stinging with diesel, kicking the massive tracks and shouting with rage until, his face buried in his hands, he would sit with his back to the machine, a picture of pure dejection. Eventually he would throw back his head, look at the sky as if for aid and inspiration, rise slowly to his feet and climb into his cab, where he would sit grim-faced before turning the key. The machine would fire, operate briefly, backfire, race, and cut out, whereupon the whole pantomime would begin anew, watched by audiences of washerwomen with baskets of laundry on their heads and cigars in their mouths who would say ‘Whooba!’ softly at every explosion, and ‘Ay, ay, ay!’ every time the machine stopped. Having watched the driver tinkering and cursing for a while they would turn as though unanimously and walk off in a line, to pound their washing on the largest flat stones in the river, singing rhythmic songs of forgotten meaning which are probably still sung in West Africa.
    Needless to say, work progressed with wondrous slowness and infinite pains. When the canal seemed to be roughly right tothe naked eye the driver took the first opportunity to jerk his explosive way back to Asuncion, where his much-abused machine slowly recovered its health with transfusions of unadulterated diesel, and where the driver slowly recovered his erstwhile good humour, taking once more to pulling over trees and dragging bulls. However, like a man who has once found himself impotent, he never quite regained his