"White Men's Adventures"

Harvey Wilson is listening to the rhythmic hard breath of the sherpa upon whose back he is strapped. The blue sky above is clear and sweet as he had imagined Kilimanjaro would be. How amazing it is to think that only days ago he was watching the video on his computer, the advertisement that changed his life.

Mr. Wilson is a man you don’t know but you may have seen him before driving by in a nice car with the windows up and doors locked. His weekly games at the racquetball club keep him fit and belie his age. The silver at his temples he keeps neat with pride and never colors.

But even with all his good fortune, CEO of one of the largest chains of luxury cars outside Columbus, chair of many boards governing this and that, Harvey Wilson had, over the past few years, grown slowly aware that he was spending too much time in Ohio and not enough in the world. This became immensely clear when he saw the ad:

“Are you a man who works hard and deserves more? You deserve to see the world. At White Men’s Adventures we cater to men just like you. On our adventures you’ll feel like you never left home, yet the world will feel all yours! The world is your playground!”

The video came to him in an email. He had never heard of the company before but liked the ad. In fact, it had such a profound effect on him, he signed up right away. Maybe it was the announcer, a good-looking kid, bright, clear eyes, voice full of confidence, who reminded him of himself as a young man. Or maybe it was all the shots of exciting things to do: yachting in India, race-car driving in Egypt, hang-gliding in Peru.

Harvey’s wife, Nora, who was always busy with her ladies and lunches anyway, was more than happy to see him take a vacation.

***

The ad was right. Harvey had never been on such adventures in his life! And all with such comfort!

He explored all the cities of China on rickshaws and in limousines. In Kenya he went on safari in an air-conditioned Mercedes SUV, where he shot at game using a computer-operated rifle. In India it was a luxury double-decker bus all to himself with tinted windows and a full bar.

Everywhere he stayed the hotels were like mansions, far from where locals lived and full of beds covered with imported goose down and silk sheets. All of the food for the entire trip had been pre-selected by Mr. Wilson, who only liked steaks, pasta and arugula salads. So as such, WMA pre-packed many days’ worth of food with a private chef who prepared the food he liked when he wanted it.

Also, he had no need to worry about local water. The company provided him with endless bottles and tanks of Evian.

The ride on the sherpa’s back was the closest he had ever been to a man with such dark skin. He had not gotten a good look at the lad, but from what he remembered he was sinewy and glistening with sweat with dark shiny spots for eyes.

The trip culminated in a visit to Bangkok, where, as the client, Harvey Wilson was invited to partake in the local offerings, namely the women.

Now, WMA was not about to serve up any old batch of prostitutes; no – it catered to its customers, offering women both local and from around the world. Harvey contemplated and finally decided, what the heck – it was his adventure after all. So he perused the catalogue he was offered and chose, upon more contemplation, a fair-haired Russian gal who reminded him of his first boyhood love.

The woman disrobed and her flesh was as bright as the snows of Kilimanjaro.

Mr. Wilson licked his lips and fought a pang of guilt, replacing it with thoughts such as: is it a coincidence the name of this city and the nature of its wares?

Upon entering her thighs, he was still pondering this coincidence, simultaneously pleased with his swift readiness. The old man’s still got it. In his reveries, eyes closed, he thought he imagined what in fact was truly happening. Harvey Wilson was getting sucked in – cock, balls and all, into the young woman’s cunt. He groaned and opened his eyes and started to scream.

No sound came out as he watched his hips then his thighs sink into the hole. It clamped down and pulled him in with a slurping sound. He looked up. The woman’s face had turned into the young man’s face from the video, except it was different. It was brown.

***

The man known as Harvey Wilson looks around. Had he blacked out?

The young man stands before him holding a bell, the kind used in boxing rings.

The bell rings and the air around them swirls until they find themselves on a prairie full of white people, on horses. On the horizon a group of dark men with guns are charging toward them.

“Harvey, Harvey, Harvey,” the young man says. “Well you wanted to go on an adventure, and you’re about to get one. A real one. Start running!”

Harvey, too scared to ask questions, starts running. He notices the other white men on the horses are running away too.

“Welcome to Afrasia!” the young man shouts.

Harvey listens as he explains, but he can hardly believe it.

White Men’s Adventures is a cover. It is in fact an experiment paid for by the wealthiest non-whites in the world. Men like him are being put through a virtual world experience, a “what if” take on history to give white men a taste of, and brown people a glimpse of, what could have been.

Harvey’s goal is to survive lifetime after lifetime in this parallel world (albeit virtual). He will eventually be allowed to wake up. The amount of time in real life will only be a few hours.

Harvey starts to scream. “You can’t do this! This is illegal! You’ll hear from my lawyers!”

Then he feels his memory fade and in seconds this reality feels extremely real. It is all that matters.

***

Harvey is now one of the natives, that is, the white men, on this mass of beautiful green land. The brown men have just “discovered” it and want it for themselves.

They are shooting at him. He has never run so fast in his life. His feet are burning. He still feels confused.

He cries out, “I am Harvey Wilson!”

The men don’t understand him. They laugh. They speak Swanese. Most of Afrasia does. A man on horseback with a gun shoots Harvey in the back. Pain rips through his lungs. The bell rings.

Ding ding.

Harvey Wilson gropes in the dark. A foul stench makes him vomit. Voices around him pray and cry. He tries to run but he is chained.

The ship docks and a boot kicks him onto a platform. He is naked. He sees his wife, Nora, being pulled away, her pale flesh bleeding as a man whips her. He hears his children crying, further and further. Fingers pry his mouth open.

“Danu lo chang.”

Swanese. He can’t understand. He panics, shuffles off the docks and drowns.

Ding ding.

Harvey Wilson is on Kilimanjaro. Except this time he is the sherpa. His back is weak and sharply shooting with pain. He stumbles, falls off a cliff and dies.

Ding ding.

Harvey Wilson finds himself in a place like a city in present day. For a second he thinks he is back to his normal life and sighs.

Taxi cabs roar by. He waves to hail one. He wants to go to the police station. But none stops. A man, paler than him, walks by and laughs.

“You won’t ever get a cab in this town. White boys like us don’t stand a chance.”

The man is speaking Swanese and to Harvey’s amazement he can understand. That’s when it dawns on him that he’s still stuck in the program. He runs into a store and asks the dark woman behind the counter to help him.

“You people are all the same,” she sneers. “Why can’t you learn to speak Swanese? Now get out of here before I call the police.”

So Harvey finds while he doesn’t get killed right away in this time period, he still must continue to struggle to survive.

He bellows at the sky, “Please let me go! I want to go home! I get it!”

People walk by and shake their heads at him. The police come. The woman from the store points at him. They shoot.

Ding ding.

Harvey Wilson wakes up in his hotel room and the Russian girl is gone.

For the first few minutes he lies there, recalling everything, knowing that it wasn’t a dream. But then that knowledge fades. And then it feels only as if he had a fitful night of sleep. A card lies on the girl’s pillow. It reads:

Thank you for participating in White Men’s Adventures. Your adventure is over.