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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