The Dark of the Sun - Smith Wilbur - Страница 43
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"You okay, boss?"
"Yes."
"Your head? Bruce lifted his hand and touched the long dent in his
helmet.
"It's nothing," he said.
"Your leg?"
"Just a touch, get on with it."
"Okay, boss. What shall we do with these others?"
"Throw them in the river," said Bruce and walked out into the street.
Hendry and his gendarmes were still on
the verandah of the hotel, but they had started on the corpses there,
using their bayonets like butchers" knives, taking the ears, laughing
also the strained nervous laughter.
Bruce crossed the street to the station yard. The dawn was coming,
drawing out across the sky like a sheet of steel rolled from the mill,
purple and lilac at first, then red as it spread above the forest.
The Ford Ranchero stood on the station platform where he had left it. He
opened the door, slid in behind the wheel, and watched the dawn become
day.
Captain, the sergeant major asks you to come. There is something he
wants to show you." Bruce lifted his head from where it was resting on
the steering wheel. He had not heard the gendarme approach.
"I'll come," he said, picked up his helmet and his rifle from the seat
beside him and followed the man back to the office block.
His gendarmes were loading a dead man into one of the trucks, swinging
him by his arms and legs.
Un, deux, trois," and a shout of laughter as the limp body flew over the
tailboard on to the gruesome pile already there.
Sergeant Jacque came out of the office dragging a man by his heels. The
head bumped loosely down the steps and there was a wet brown drag mark
left on the cement verandah.
"Like pork," Jacque called cheerily. The corpse was that of a small
grey-headed man, skinny, with the marks of spectacles on the bridge of
his nose and a double row of decorations on his tunic. Bruce noted that
one of them was the purple and white ribbon of the military cross -
strange loot for the Congo. Jacque dropped the man's heels, drew his
bayonet and stooped over the man. He took one of the ears that lay flat
against the grizzled skull, pulled it forward and freed it with a single
stroke of the knife. The opened flesh was pink with the dark hole of the
eardrum in the centre.
Bruce walked on into the office and his nostrils flared at the abattoir
stench.
"Have a look at this lot, boss." Ruffy stood by the desk.
"Enough to buy you a ranch in Hyde Park," grinned Hendry beside him. In
his hand he held a pencil. Threaded on to it like a kebab were a dozen
human ears.
"Yes," said Bruce as he looked at the pile of industrial and gem
diamonds on the blotter. "I know about those. Better count them, Ruffy,
then put them back in the bags."
"You're not going to turn them in?" protested Hendry.
"Jesus, if we share this lot three ways - you, Ruffy and I there's
enough to make us all rich." "Or put us against a wall," said Bruce
grimly. "What makes you think the gentlemen in Elisabethville don't
know about them?" He turned his attention back to Ruffy. "Count them and
pack them. You're in charge of them. Don't lose any." Bruce looked
across the room at the blanket-wrapped bundle that was Andre de
Surrier.
"Have you detailed a burial squad?"
"Yes, boss. Six of the boys are out back digging."
"Good," Bruce nodded. "Hendry, come with me.
We'll go and have a look at the trucks." Half an hour later Bruce closed
the bonnet of the last vehicle. "This is the only one that won't run.
The carburettor's smashed. We'll take the tyres off it for spares." He
wiped his greasy hands on the sides of his trousers.
"Thank God, the tanker is untouched. We've got six hundred gallons
there, more than enough for the return trip."
"You going to take the
Ford?" asked Hendry.
"Yes, it may come in useful."
"And it will be more comfortable for you and your little French thing."
Heavy sarcasm in Hendry's voice.
"That's right," Bruce answered evenly. "Can you drive?"
"What you think? You think I'm a bloody fool?"
"Everyone is always trying to get at you, aren't they? You can't trust
anyone, can you?" Bruce asked softly.
"You're so bloody right!" agreed Hendry.
Bruce changed the subject. "Andre had a message for you before he died."
"Old doll boy!"
"He threw that grenade. Did you know that?"
"Yeah. I knew it." "Don't you want to hear what he said?"
"Once a queer, always a queer, and the only good queer is a dead queer."
"All right." Bruce frowned. "Get a couple of men to help you. Fill the
trucks with gas. We've wasted enough time already."
IF
They buried their dead in a communal grave, packing them in quickly and
covering them just as quickly. Then they stood embarrassed and silent
round the mound.
"You going to say anything, boss?" Ruffy asked, and they all looked at
Bruce.
"No." Bruce turned away and started for the trucks.
What the hell can you say, he thought angrily. Death is not someone to
make conversation with. All YOU can say is, "These were men; weak and
strong, evil and good, and a lot in between. But now they're dead - like
pork." He looked back over his shoulder.
"All right, let's move out." The convoy ground slowly over the
causeway. Bruce led in the Ford and the air blowing in through the
shattered windscreen was too humid and steamy to give relief from the
rising heat.
The sun stood high above the forest as they passed the turn-off to the
mission.
Bruce looked along it, and he wanted to signal the convoy to continue
while he went up to St. Augustine's. He wanted to see Mike
Haig and Father Ignatius, make sure that they were safe.
Then he put aside the temptation. If there is more horror up there at
St. Augustine's, if the shufta have found them and there are
raped women and dead men there, then there is nothing I can do and I
don't want to know about it.
It is better to believe that they are safely hidden in the jungle.
It is better to believe that out of all this will remain something good.
He led the convoy resolutely past the turn-off an dover the hills
towards the level crossing.
Suddenly another idea came to him and he thought about it, turning it
over with pleasure.
Four men came to Port Reprieve, men without hope, men abandoned by
God.
And they learned that it was not too late, perhaps it is never too late.
For one of them found the strength to die like a man, although he had
lived his whole life with weakness.
Another rediscovered the self-respect he had lost along the way, -and
with it the chance to start again.
The third found - he hesitated - yes, the third found love.
And the fourth? Bruce's smile faded as he thought of Wally
Hendry. It was a neat little parable, except for Wally Hendry. What
had he found? A dozen human ears threaded on a pencil?
"Can't you get up enough steam to move us back to the crossing -
only a few miles."
"I am desolate, m'sieur. She will not hold even a belch, to say nothing
of a head of steam." The engine driver spread his pudgy little'hands in a
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