by Brian Aldiss
‘If I had these spares,’ he said thoughtfully, squinting down the barrel at Soames, ‘I should set up a proper firm called Computer Supplies and sell back to the government only at honest prices.’
‘The parts must of course be retrieved from Soares,’ Soames replied, hoping this sounded as if he were agreeing. ‘You seem to know so much about the affair, perhaps you know where they are now?’
‘My emissaries have informed me, by good fortune. You will go to any lengths to recover them, no doubt?’
‘Er, a good many.’
‘Splendid, monsieur. I will therefore sell you a revolver for a reasonable price and we shall discuss plans.’ He brought cheroots from his pocket and gave one to Soames; pausing with his own gripped between his teeth, he added, ‘You know, monsieur, I hope you are going to be more clever about this thing than your colleague Timpleton. He is a bungling amateur. If he had had the wits to cable your firm that the whole computer is lost in crash, insurance would pay up, and an entirely new computer would be sent; with that, we could do really big business.’
Chapter Nine
‘Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?’
Soames returned to the Presidential palace in an ambivalent frame of mind.
The exercise in burglary he had planned with de Duidos for that very night caused him an amount of unease. Although on the surface it looked perfectly simple, he had a suspicion that de Duidos was secretly arranging a few frills of his own, even as Soames himself was. He hoped devoutly that the necessity for the whole venture might soon be removed.
On the other hand, he was considerably relieved to have an explanation of the coolness to which he had been subjected; the computer parts were undoubtedly at the bottom of it all. Soares was no longer interested in him, having gained his ends elsewhere. Timpleton’s changed attitude was explained by the mixture of guilt and wariness from which he would now be suffering. As for M’Grassi Landor and his son Jimpo, their new reserve was also accounted for. Soames had by now accustomed himself to the idea that little was private which happened in Umbalathorp; if de Duidos had discovered the computer deal, so had the President and family. It was only to be expected that Soames should fall under their suspicion, as he had under de Duidos’. It occurred to Soames that the phone call Jimpo received on Umbalathorp station had been to acquaint him with the news of the theft; this supposition was later proved correct.
Going to the computer room, Soames exchanged an idle word with the taciturn Timpleton, surreptitiously counting the number of crates at the same time. There were only forty-one of them; de Duidos had not been indulging in fantasy. Unexpected rage filled Soames, a blend of moral anger (to think that Unilateral had been so calmly duped) and personal affront (to think that he, too, had been duped).
He went, therefore, straight to the President in his private chambers, telling him briefly that he had discovered the fraud, and omitting all reference to any part the Portuguese were playing in the matter.
Landor, who sat with his wives, Mrs President Tunna and Queen Louise, heard Soames out in silence. He fingered a strip of pasteboard which, after a long pause, he passed to Soames. On the pasteboard was the slogan:
DEAL JIMPO FOR PRESIDENT.
‘Neat but effective, I think,’ the head of the state said. ‘I am tired of the Presidency and the people are tired of me; now my son must run for office. By springing the elections in three days’ time, and making my son the only man in the running, I can ensure he is the successful candidate. Our elections here are very peaceful.’
‘Sir,’ Soames exclaimed angrily, ‘did you not hear one word I said?’
‘I have some madeira presented by my loyal subject de Duidos this morning,’ said Landor. ‘Would you care to join the three of us in a glass?’
‘I would much prefer a straight answer,’ replied Soames.
‘Very well, you shall have one. You will naturally forgive us while we drink our madeira. Please sit down, Mr Noyes; even at moments of crisis, let us not forget that man is a sedentary animal.’
Soames seated himself unhappily and waited while the President poured drink for himself and the ladies, afterwards settling down in leisurely fashion on a cane chair before addressing himself again to Soames.
‘The British, Mr Noyes,’ he said in French, ‘are not a race which inspires love wherever it goes. Indeed, its peoples seem often not to love each other much; only street accidents, boxing matches or conscription can call them together. In their own land, I hear, they prefer not to speak where possible; I suppose it may be this boredom with each other which has distributed them all over the globe. Only the mosquito can rival the British in ubiquity.
‘But, and it is one of the world’s great buts, if they have no love, they have justice. They are honest. You may deal with them as one’s left hand deals with one’s right. So it has always been, and all men have known it – except within this last generation. Always before, they were trustworthy; now, voilà! they are not! I do not believe in sudden changes in human nature, Mr Noyes, but I believe that slow changes make themselves suddenly manifest, and that a rotting apple which decays imperceptibly may nevertheless be held good one day and bad the next. I believe this applies to Britain and to its representatives here.’
‘I, too, hold many beliefs,’ Soames said, angrily answering in kind, ‘among which is the conviction that verbosity is not a sign of wisdom, but of wisdom’s opposite. Another is, that, like all novelists and some psychiatrists, you read your own illnesses into other people. I have no intention of listening to any more diatribes against my country, whose faults I am happy to know at first hand.’
‘You are above yourself!’ exclaimed Queen Louise.
‘And you, madam. What is more, I have not finished. I came here only to ask you that Timpleton should be put in custody until he can be taken back to England; I shall naturally cable the facts of the case to Unilateral at once. Also, I have discovered the whereabouts of the missing computer parts. When I take you to their place of concealment, you can recover them and you will then have concrete evidence against Timpleton and his Goyese accessories.’
‘That will not be possible,’ President Landor said. He rose and walked quietly round the room, speaking without raising his voice, for he was that rare type of man that can face the anger of others without becoming angry himself. When Tunna interrupted with a burst of Goyese, he silenced her with a mild gesture while continuing to address Soames. ‘When I told you something of the way we shall conduct the forthcoming election, you credited me only with irrelevance. I was trying to hint that our methods differ. They differ in every way, more drastically than you may imagine.
‘You should therefore not be astonished to learn that we knew of this little plot concerning the Apostle almost from its inception. It happens that I pay well an informant who is already well paid from two other sources; indeed, Ping Ah must be at once the richest and least reliable man in my country. Just as when a man doubts everything he will believe anything, so there is a stage beyond corruption where a pseudo-loyalty exists. In that sense, Ping Ah is our most dutiful of servants, and Liverpool’s loss is Goya’s gain.
‘We did not interfere in the plot when he learnt of it. Why should we? It is, after all, convenient that we can obtain replacements for the computer locally.’
Soames exploded. He could hardly believe he had heard aright.
‘And you have the cheek to lecture me on justice!’ he exclaimed. ‘This is the most barefaced …’
‘You find an anomaly somewhere?’ enquired the President blandly. ‘My position is, simply, that I am displeased with you two British and delighted with myself.’
Soames began to laugh. Something had happened in his stomach over which he had no control, causing him to utter the short, sharp bellows we recognise as signs of amusement. He fought to stop the undignified sounds, but they flowed the louder. Though he was still more angry, the funny side of the situation had intruded itself.
Pal
e, choking, he rose finally and bowed to the three Goyese, who had been watching him with interest and some sympathy.
‘Then I take it that any cables I might send informing Unilateral of this matter would not leave Goya?’
‘Your assessment of the position is swift and accurate,’ said the President. ‘As I believe I remarked once before, you should have been a politician.’
Still feeling somewhat confused, Soames left them. He was no sooner out of their presence than a thought occurred which sent him hurrying back into the room. M’Grassi Landor and his two wives were already talking volubly together in Goyese.
‘I’m sorry to burst back like this,’ Soames apologised. ‘I find there is one other thing I must ask. You tell me you watched this unfortunate affair from its beginning; if so, you must have known all along that I had nothing to do with it. Why, then, have you – and Jimpo – treated me so coldly since supper last evening? What have I done to offend you?’
‘Excuse me,’ Landor said gravely. He turned and spoke to his consorts. After a short, angry-sounding confabulation, these two ladies left the room by a rear door, whereupon the President turned back to his guest.
‘I take it that you would prefer me to answer your question straightforwardly,’ he said, in a prefatory fashion, looking slightly away from Soames. ‘Some crimes rank less highly in one community than in another. The matter is interesting, and would repay study. We have before us this example of what you would call the theft of the computer parts. In the land of the have-nots, theft is the Exchequer’s left hand, a device to keep wealth circulating, or poverty on the run. Similarly, murder, which in the Western world is reckoned the king of crimes, exciting much interest, is here only a by-product of the sun, like heat exhaustion. But you have one habit, prevalent at all times and sometimes fashionable, which in Goya is accounted the foulest and most unholy of all vices. I refer to a person’s preference for his or her own sex with which to obtain sexual gratification.’
In a cold voice, Soames asked how this affected him, although he could almost guess what was coming.
‘The Pickets, Mr Noyes, father and daughter, are both addicted to this badness. It is for this reason I have forbidden them entry to any part but the slum end of town. It is for this reason Dumayami has placed a severe tabu upon their loathsome persons. And it is for this reason they, and the few base wretches who still consort with them, are shunned by all my people.
‘Yesterday, Mr Noyes, you were observed to fondle this monstrous Picket girl in a car. That is the only reason why we no longer greet you with our former warmth. You are contaminated.’
‘Another hateful habit which you seem to find a virtue, is spying,’ Soames declared angrily. ‘I am afraid I must insist on being able to choose my friends. Good-day.’
He left the room with burning cheeks.
Lying on his bed a few minutes later, Soames began to cool down. Rain was falling again; a boat shooting down the Uiui was filled with little crouching, gleaming figures.
He was full of uncertainty. He saw the restoration of the computer parts as one of his responsibilities; Landor had unintentionally reminded him of another: Grace Picket. Soames could not avoid feeling that he had somehow committed himself to helping her by his failing her (as he now thought of it) the day before. He was acutely aware of the way he had misunderstood and humiliated her, aware too, even, that others in his place might have used a little intuition.
Unfortunately, he was as much baffled over his own behaviour as over Grace’s. He was baffled also to know how she could best be helped. He only knew that someone had to help her; since she wanted help, she could not be beyond it. Perhaps the next time they met, they could avoid her dreadful father – and there was a certain curious attraction in the thought of seeing Grace again.
That problem, however, had to wait. The threat from Dumayami, which now seemed nebulous, was also thrust into the background at present. First of all, Soames intended to retrieve the spare computer parts. What Landor had said about the decline of British integrity had stung Soames more than he had shown. There was nothing for it but to get back the spares, put them down before the President with a fine gesture, and say ‘There you are! Don’t lose them again!’ Which meant Soames had to go through with de Duidos’ plan as prearranged – at least, de Duidos’ plan with the few variations Soames had already thought of.
He needed an accomplice.
There was nobody in whom he could trust. In his mind, he ran through everyone he knew, from Timpleton – to all intents and purposes his enemy in this matter – to Ping Ah’s lovely daughter, Hwa, and even Tanuana Motijala, the man with the green bicycle. But of course he needed someone who could speak English.
Once more Soames felt he was stranded in an alien world, but now despair rather than elation filled him. Eventually he decided only one person could help, a man who stood between the two worlds: Deal Jimpo Landor.
Getting off his bed, Soames went to hunt the princeling out. Jimpo’s stiffness of manner soon melted under Soames’ persuasiveness; he was more tolerant than his father of the vice that Goya so condemned, thanks to his liberal education. Indeed, it was obvious from his questions that he wanted to know more about what Grace Picket said and did than Soames was prepared to tell.
‘Never mind that now,’ Soames said; ‘there is something more urgent to be coped with.’
And he told Jimpo all he knew about the five crates of computer spares, including the roles played by the rival Portuguese, which he had omitted when talking to M’Grassi Landor. When he went on to deal with the projected raid on Soares’ property, Jimpo became positively enthusiastic.
‘Yes, sir!’ he exclaimed, his rather heavy young face lighting up. ‘I am a man of yours, Soames. I understand your feeling as my father cannot. The spares must be reclaimed to satisfy you and your honour. Then, since other spares are on the way from England, we can sell them to de Duidos.’
‘Well …’ Soames said, marvelling that he had once believed only the Americans saw all the possibilities of a business deal.
‘Tonight I am my father’s one-man Scotland Yard,’ Jimpo said excitedly. ‘My last fling before I become President! I only hope my leg isn’t a nuisance.’ The local hospital had sunk Jimpo’s damaged leg a foot deep in plaster of Paris. He pulled a card from his pocket and said, ‘Looks good, eh, Soames?’
The card read: ‘Deal Jimpo for President.’
‘It’s real good prose,’ Soames told him, and they both laughed.
Just outside Jimpo’s door, Soames ran bodily into Turdilal Ghosti.
‘Excuse, sir,’ said the Hindu painfully. ‘I am coming only as humble faithful chef to wish Deal Jimpo all hearty good bloody old wishes for being the President.’ He bowed and entered the room Soames had just left.
Soames ate well at sundown. He observed that Jimpo talked as amicably to Timpleton as ever; perhaps those who knew of his deal with Soares regarded it merely as a neat bit of self-help. After the meal, Soames retired to his room, examined closely, anxiously, the revolver he had purchased from de Duidos, and settled down with all the patience he could muster to wait for the Portuguese’s ‘emissary’, who was to lead him to a hidden lorry.
Not until one o’clock in the morning, when the customary mêlée downstairs had dispersed and the rain had ceased, did there come a tap at Soames’ door. It opened and Turdilal Ghosti, the chef, smarmed into the room.
‘Sir, greeting. I am pleasing to find you alert,’ the Hindu said, smiling. ‘There is a truck-ride been prepared for you, and now I am coming to say is time come for go.’
The sight of the chef did not please Soames. He saw instantly that if his double-cross succeeded, it would be only too easy for the other side to settle the score with a slice of toadstool in his next curry. That, however, was a point which must be settled later. He rose and followed the Indian down through the palace, and out into the grounds at the back. Two sentries, easily distinguishable, walked up and down with rifles slun
g over their shoulders, talking together. It was a simple matter to dodge them.
Straightening up, Ghosti took the left-hand turn by the river bank.
‘Be careful of all the bloody old puddles, sir,’ he cautioned. ‘This land is a terrible land for making water.’
They came so suddenly upon another man that Soames jumped.
‘Here is your driver, sir,’ Ghosti said. ‘A man of reliance called Eekee, sir; he is not speaking English but he has many instructions to take care of you. To follow with him you are ideally safe. Now I will return in secret to my home, for my part in this matter is now finish. I wash my hands at it! In my heart I am wishing God’s bloody good luck for you always, sir.’
‘Thank you,’ Soames said.
‘To be kind, sir, is exquisite pleasure for me. I am simple, faithful man. I wait for your safety home-coming with tainted breath, I assure. In Calcutta also I have good white friend.’
Any further bursts of good nature on Ghosti’s part were interrupted by Eekee’s suddenly heading into the bush. It was very dark, the moon having yet to rise; Soames had to follow him at once or lose him. They moved rapidly down a narrow path, the bushes on either side yielding up the rain they had hoarded from the last downpour. In no time, Soames was soaked.
Eventually they emerged on to a shabby bit of pasture, about which cattle lay like discarded suitcases. Brushing his hair out of his eyes, Soames padded along through dung balls, over a tiny bridge, and so among a maze of mud huts. Ahead of him, never looking back, a mute, inglorious Virgil, strode Eekee. Still there was no sign of the lorry de Duidos had promised and Eekee was supposed to drive.
The huts were of many shapes and built with varying degrees of competence; representatives of many tribes had drifted to Goya, eager to settle in this black African republic. Sudanese were here, Kikuyu, Kavirondo, the Mongolian-cheeked Masai, the Samburu, the ferocious Somalis, the beautiful Cyallas, the Zulu, and many others. Although the night was half gone, people were awake, some smoking, some talking; fires still burned, palm oil lights gleamed here and there from a low entrance. Quiet muttering and laughter surrounded Soames, a rat scuttled under his foot. All these shadows, awake or sleeping, about him were real people, their lives in many particulars more vivid than his, their ways as remote from his as a bull’s from a bee’s; yet from them rose a force which affected Soames strangely. The low noises, the strange scents, the glint of light on a chest or a crooked leg, even the rhythm of his own uneven walking, produced in him a heady exhilaration. The force nuzzled his temples, his loins, made his glands chime, made him walk with his mouth open and his ears pricked. The force was an appetite, all belly and organs and no mind, a brontosaurus. His belly spoke to the belly of Africa.