The last few days have been so dramatic. I lost my job on Monday and that almost seems an age ago. Anyway, even at the time it was swallowed up by the larger fact of the plant closing down. Dad was out on work on Tuesday. On Tuesday night my friends arrived with bottles of rum and a pack of cards, mostly to talk and burn a few candles. Somehow we ended up playing cricket in the room on our knees with the small bat from my childhood, and then Samuel who was fielding spotted and dug out the old turntables from under the bed. By now we were down to the last two bottles and dancing began, Malcolm taking over as DJ. There was a breeze coming through my two open windows and all we had was the moonlight, until Dad walked in and shut us down, as upset as I'd ever seen him. I had been gloomy all day until they showed up, and I returned to lying on my back, unable to say a word to Dad. 

I woke up Wednesday to a hangover and the sound of tanks. We live right underneath the new expressway that blocks out all our light from the front. Ma and I rushed out in that morning shade into a crowd of hundreds that was being dispersed by the swishes of policemen's sticks, and kept forming again to observe the procession moving towards the centre and discuss the matter in clots. The soldiers were in uniform but some of them had taken the trouble to find sunglasses. Mercifully for us they kept their rifles pointed upwards. One man told Ma apropos of nothing that he was glad he wasn't on duty any more: he was retired now from the Presidential Guard but he wouldn't want to face a surging crowd like this. 

Ma has to go to the doctor this morning, so even though it is just a few blocks I accompany her because of the situation. As we turn the corner away from our road and enter the park with the hill in the middle, a young starlet who resembles Madonna asks me if I can handle a gun. She explains I have to stand in front of her, peer out from corners and shoot back at those who will be shooting at us from roofs and windows. Sometimes I must run from one point to another holding her hand behind me. 

I ask Ma to wait and watch: Madonna shows her a point that would be outside the camera range. She stands in between three real soldiers who aren't part of the action. The shooting itself goes well: I turn out to be a natural, with all the movements coming back to me from the games of childhood, as well as the necessary fear and suspense. We run up stairs, into the university building, fire out of classrooms: I'm complimented on my expressions and my mannerisms. In reply I can still feel my heart pounding. 

I fetch Ma from the park because they have asked me to wait while they gather for the evening's viewing. She is able to whisper to me that the soldiers asked her many questions and took down all our details, even though we were just walking and the 'recruitment' happened before their eyes. In between I even find time to follow Madonna into her room and flirt a little: how about it, I openly ask her? She teases me and smiles but makes no commitment. But she lets me take her hand, and come up from behind and hold her by the waist in front of the mirror. I point out what a handsome pair we make. I point out she spotted me from the street. 

Later I'm still sitting with Ma by the table, because they've promised to let me watch my scene. The director is sitting beside me planning tomorrow's work with two other men, and two soldiers who are offering suggestions about roads. It will be a car-chase scene and they are wondering which roads they will have to close off. One car will be driven by remote control, with two tied-up passengers, who will struggle to free themselves and get away from their pursuers. They want to film in the wide streets behind the park, nearer the centre. They say they'll need many other cars to create the impression of a normal day. 

I know Ma should be getting along to the doctor's but I'm just wondering if I can ask them for one of the parts. It could be the start of a whole new life for me: if I look good on camera today they might even bring it up themselves. Or should I find a way to take the director aside and raise the matter? Maybe they'll need me for scenes in America, and then… imagine that. Such a job to get three days after losing one. Who would ever believe it? As we wait for everyone to assemble and all this whirls through my mind, I look across at Ma for any similar signs of excitement. There she is, in a chair by the wall behind the soldiers, not bored or angry after three hours of standing in the sun, but passive, flat, uncomprehending of the significance of the moment, probably thinking only of the petty trouble the soldiers might cause, and the queue at the doctor's.