The Dark of the Sun - Smith Wilbur - Страница 2
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"Get up, you filthy gutter-snipe."
"Hey, Andre, get that. He talks pretty, hey? He talks real pretty
"I'm going to smash that ugly face of yours right into the middle of the
place where your brain should have been."
"Jokes! This boy is a natural comic." Wally laughed, but there was
something wrong with . the sound of it. Bruce knew then that Wally was
not going to fight. Big arms and swollen chest covered
with ginger hair, belly flat and hard, looking, thick-necked below the
wide flat-featured face with its little Mongolian eyes; but Wally wasn't
going to fight.
Bruce was puzzled: he remembered the night at the road bridge and he
knew that Hendry was no coward, and yet now he was not going to take up
Haig's challenge.
Mike Haig moved towards the bed.
"Leave him, Mike." Andre spoke for the first time, his voice soft as a
girl's. "He was only joking. He didn't mean it
"Hendry, don't think I'm too much of a gentleman to hit you because
you're on your back. Don't make that mistake."
"Big deal," muttered Wally. "This boy's not only a comic, he's a bloody
hero also." Haig stood over him and lifted his right hand with the fist,
bunched like a hammer, aimed at Wally's face.
"Haig!" Bruce hadn't raised his voice but its tone checked the older
man.
"That's enough, said Bruce.
"But this filthy little-"
"Yes, I know," said Bruce. "Leave him!"
With his fist still up Mike Haig hesitated, and there was no movement in
the room. Above them the corrugated iron roof popped loudly as it
expanded in the heat of the Congo midday, and the only other sound was
Haig's breathing. He was panting and his face was congested with blood.
"Please, Mike," whispered Andre. "He didn't mean it." Slowly
Haig's anger changed to disgust and he dropped his hand, turned away and
picked up his rifle from the other bed.
"I can't stand the smell in this room another minute. I'll wait for you
in the truck downstairs, Bruce."
"I won't be long," agreed Bruce as Mike went to the door.
"Don't push your luck, Haig," Wally called after him.
"Next time you won't get off so easily." In the doorway Mike Haig swung
quickly, but, with a hand on his shoulder, Bruce turned him
again.
"Forget it, Mike," he said, and closed the door after him.
"He's just bloody lucky that he's an old man," growled Wally.
"Otherwise I'd have fixed him good." "Sure," said Bruce. "It was decent
of you to let him go." The soap had dried on his face and he wet his
brush to lather again.
"Yeah, I couldn't hit an old bloke like that, could I?" "No." Bruce
smiled a little. "But don't worry, you frightened the hell out of him.
He won't try it again."
"He'd better notv warned Hendry. "Next time
I'll kill the old bugger." No, you wont, thought Bruce, you'll back down
again as you have just done, as you've done a dozen times before.
Mike and I are the only ones who can make you do it; in the same way as
an animal will growl at its trainer but cringe away when he cracks the
whip. He began shaving again.
The heat in the room was unpleasant to breathe; it drew the perspiration
out of them and the smell of their bodies blended sourly with stale
cigarette smoke and liquor fumes.
"Where are you and Mike going?" Andre ended the long silence.
"We're going to see if we can draw the supplies for this trip. If we
have any luck we'll take them down to the goods yard and have Ruffy put
an armed guard on them overnight," Bruce answered him, leaning over the
basin and splashing water up into his face.
"How long will we be away?" Bruce shrugged. "A week - ten days'.
He sat on his bed and pulled on one of his jungle boots. "That is, if we
don't have any trouble." "Trouble, Bruce?" asked Andre.
"From Msapa Junction we'll have to go two hundred miles through country
crawling with Baluba."
"But we'll be in a train," protested
Andre. "They've only got bows and arrows, they can't touch us."
"Andre, there are seven rivers to cross - one big one and bridges are
easily destroyed. Rails can be torn up." Bruce began to lace the boot.
"I don't think it's going to be a Sunday school picnic."
"Christ. I
think the whole thing stinks," repeated Wally moodily." Why are we going
anyway?"
"Because, Bruce began patiently, "for the last three months the entire
population of Port Reprieve has been cut off from the rest of the world.
There are women and children with them. They are fast running out of
food and the other necessities of life." Bruce paused to light a
cigarette, and then went on talking as he exhaled.
"All around them the Baluba tribe is in open revolt, burning, raping and
killing indiscriminately. As yet they haven't attacked the town but it
won't be very long until they do.
Added to which there are rumours that rebel groups of Central
Congolese troops and of our own forces have formed themselves into bands
of heavily-armed shufta. They also are running amok through the northern
part of the territory.
Nobody knows for certain what is happening out there, but whatever it is
you can be sure it's not very pretty. We are going to fetch those people
in to safety."
"Why don't the U.N. people send out a plane?" asked Andre.
"No landing field."
"Helicopters?"
"Out of range."
"For my money the bastards can stay there," grunted Wally. "If the
Balubas fancy a
little man steak, who are we to do them out of a meal? Every man's
entitled to eat and as long as it's not me they're eating, more power to
their teeth, say?" He placed his foot against Andre's back and
straightened his leg suddenly, throwing the Belgian off the bed on to
his knees.
"Go and get me a pretty."
"There aren't any, Wally. I'll get you another drink." Andre scrambled
to his feet and reached for Wally's empty glass, but Wally's hand
dropped on to his wrist.
"I said pretty, Andre, not drink."
"I don't know where to find them, Wally." Andre's voice was desperate.
"I don't know what to say
to them even."
"You're being stupid, Bucko. I might have to break your arm." Wally
twisted the wrist slowly. "You know as well as I that the bar downstairs
is full of them. You know that, don't you?"
"But what do I say to them?" Andre's face was contorted with the pain of
his twisted wrist.
"Oh, for Christ's sake, you stupid bloody frog-eater - just go down and
flash a banknote. You don't have to say a dicky bird."
"You're hurting me, Wally."
"No? You're kidding!" Wally smiled at him, twisting harder, his slitty
eyes smoky from the liquor, and Bruce could see he was enjoying it. "Are
you going, BUcko? Make up your mind -
get me a pretty or get yourself a broken arm
"All right, if that's what you want. I'll go. Please leave me, I'll go,"
mumbled Andre.
"That's what I want." Wally released him, and he straightened up
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