The Dark of the Sun - Smith Wilbur - Страница 16
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"De Surrier, who gave you permission to leave your post?
Get back to the train." Andre looked up uncertainly, and then back to
Hendry.
"De Surrier, you heard me. Get going. And you also, Haig." He watched
them disappear behind the station building before he glanced once more
at the two children. There was a smear of blood and melted chocolate
across the boy's cheek and his eyes were wide open in an expression of
surprise. Already the flies were settling, crawling
delightedly over the two small corpses.
"Ruffy, get spades, Bury them under those trees." He pointed at the
avenue of casia flora. "But do it quickly." He spoke brusquely so that
how he felt would not show in his voice.
"Okay, boss. I'll fix it."
"Come on, Hendry," Bruce snapped, and
Wally Hendry heaved to his feet and followed him meekly back to the
train.
Slowly from Msapa junction they travelled northwards through the
forest. Each tree seemed to have been cast from the same mould, tall and
graceful in itself, but when multiplied countless million times the
effect was that of numbing monotony. Above them was a lane of open sky
with the clouds scattered, but slowly regrouping for the next assault,
and the forest shut in the moist heat so they sweated even in the wind
of the train's movement.
"How is your face?" asked Bruce and Mike Haig touched the parallel
swellings across his forehead where the skin was broken and discoloured.
"It will do," he decided; then he lifted his eyes and looked across the
open trucks at Wally Hendry. "You shouldn't have stopped me, Bruce."
Bruce did not answer, but he also watched Hendry as he leaned
uncomfortably against the side of the leading truck, obviously favouring
his injuries, his face turned half away from them, talking to
Andre.
"You should have let me kill him," Mike went on. "A man who can shoot
down two small children in cold blood and then laugh about it
afterwards-!" Mike left the rest unsaid, but his hands were opening and
closing in his lap.
"It's none of your business, said Bruce, sensitive to the implied
rebuke. "What are you? One of God's avenging angels?"
"None of my business, you say?" Mike turned quickly to face Bruce. "My
God, what kind of man are you? I hope for your sake you don't mean
that."
"I'll tell you in words of one syllable what kind of man I am, Haig,"
Bruce answered flatly. "I'm the kind that minds my own bloody business,
that lets other people lead their own lives. I am ready to take
reasonable measures to prevent others flouting the code which society
has drawn up
for us, but that's all. Hendry has committed murder; this I agree is a
bad thing, and when we get back to Elisabethville I will bring it to the
attention of the people whose business it is.
But I am not going to wave banners and quote from the Bible and froth at
the mouth."
"That's all?"
"That's all."
"You don't feel sorry for those two kids?"
"Yes I do. But pity doesn't heal bullet wounds; all "it does is distress
me. So I switch off the pity - they can't use it."
"You don't feel anger or disgust or horror at Hendry?"
"The same thing applies," explained Bruce, starting to lose patience
again. "I could work up a sweat about it if I let myself loose on an
emotional orgy, as you are doing."
"So instead you treat something as evil as Hendry with an indifferent
tolerance?" asked Mike.
"Jesus Christ!" grated Bruce. "What the hell do you want me to do?"
"I want you to stop playing dead. I want you to be able to recognize
evil and to destroy it." Mike was starting to lose his temper also; his
nerves were taut.
"That's great! Do you know where I can buy a secondhand crusader
outfit and a white horse, then singlehanded I will ride out to wage war
on cruelty and ignorance, lust and greed and hatred and poverty-"
"That's not what I-" Mike tried to interrupt, but Bruce overrode him,
his handsome face flushed darkly with anger and the sun. "You want me to
destroy evil wherever I find it. You old fool, don't you know that it
has a hundred heads and that for each one you cut off another hundred
grow in its place?"
"Don't you know that it's in you also, so to destroy it you have to
destroy yourself?"
"You're a coward, Curry!
The first time you burn a finger you run away and build yourself an
asbestos shelter,-"
"I don't like being called names, Haig. Put a leash on your tongue."
Mike paused and his expression changed, softening into a grin.
"I'm sorry, Bruce. I was just trying to teach you-"
"Thank you," scoffed Bruce, his voice still harsh; he had not been
placated by the
apology. "You are going to teach me, thanks very much! But what are you
going to teach me, Haig? What are you qualified to teach? "How to find
success and happiness" by Laughing. "Haig who worked his way down to a
lieutenancy in the black army of Katanga - how's that as a title for
your lecture, or do you prefer something more technical like: "The
applications of alcohol to spiritual research-""
"All right, Bruce. Drop it, I'll shut up," and Bruce saw how deeply he
had wounded
Mike. He regretted it then, he would have liked to unsay it. But that's
one thing you can never do.
Beside him Mike Haig was suddenly much older and more tired looking, the
pouched wrinkles below his eyes seemed to have deepened in the last few
seconds, and a little more of the twinkle had gone from his eyes. His
short laughter had a bitter humourless ring to it.
"When you put it that way it's really quite funny."
"I punched a little low," admitted Bruce, and then, perhaps I should let
you shoot
Hendry. A waste of ammunition really, but seeing that you want to so
badly," Bruce drew his pistol and offered it to Mike butt first, "use
mine." He grinned disarmingly at Mike and his grin was almost impossible
to resist; Mike started to laugh. It wasn't a very good joke, but
somehow it caught fire between them and suddenly they were laughing
together.
Mike Haig's battered features spread like warm butter and twenty
years dropped from his face. Bruce leaned back against the sandbags with
his mouth wide open, the pistol still in his hand and his long lean body
throbbing uncontrollably with laughter.
There was something feverish in it, as though they were trying with
laughter to gargle away the taste of blood and hatred. It was the
laughter of despair.
Below them the men in the trucks turned to watch them, puzzled at first,
and then beginning to chuckle in sympathy, not recognizing the sickness
of that sound.
Hey, boss," called Ruffy. "First time I ever seen you laugh like you
meant it." And the epidemic spread, everyone was laughing, even
Andre de Surrier was smiling.
Only Wally Hendry was untouched by it, silent and sullen, watching
them with small expressionless eyes.
They came to the bridge over the Cheke in the middle of the afternoon.
Both the road and the railway crossed it side by side, but after this
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