by John Blaine
An aged man looked at Hamid for permission to show Scotty how to hold his knife properly. Hamid nodded approval and the man demonstrated. The cut thumb was not serious, and Scotty tried again, with success. The workers smiled and nodded.
“We’ve been accepted into the union,” Rick said with a grin. “The Calabash Kids, that’s us. And there are more uses in heaven and on earth than thy Calabash philosophy has dreamed of, Horatio.”
Even Tony failed to wince at the misquotation of Hamlet. The archaeologist and Scotty bent to their work, suddenly serious, and Rick reached for another calabash, knowing that his message had been received and understood.
CHAPTER VII
The Precious Hoard
Tony and Scotty had seen instantly what Rick had in mind. The calabashes that were cut into water jugs could provide the means for storing water. But Rick, who was nothing if not inventive, had earlier conceived a scheme for obtaining water.
It was not practical to smuggle full calabashes of water into their cell. They had no stoppers, and while they intended to make some of clay, the stoppers couldn’t be made in advance. The calabashes were all of different sizes; no two necks had exactly the same diameter. That meant the stoppers had to be made individually, which could only be done in the unobserved quiet of their cells.
Rick explained his plan that night. He held up his toilet kit. It was of fabric-covered plastic, with a zipper closing.
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“These are waterproof,” he explained. “We can smuggle the calabashes in here empty, then carry these with us and fill them on the way into the cell at night.”
Scotty shook his head in admiration. “Leave it to Rick. There’s always the Brantish way, isn’t there?”
“Always,” Tony agreed. As they talked, he continued to sharpen the spike against the stone wall. “But give me more detail. How do we smuggle calabashes, and later the toilet kits filled with water?”
Rick rapped Scotty sharply across the belt line, then ducked as his pal retaliated with a swing that was intended to miss. “Did you hear that hollow noise when I banged Scotty’s breadbasket? Even the great eater has lost so much weight that his backbone rubs on his belt buckle. We wear our shirts outside. That leaves plenty of room to tuck even a watermelon under our belts and not bulge.”
“Did you have to mention watermelon?” Scotty said reproachfully. “I could eat two of thoseGeorgia melons myself.”
“Sorry,” Rick apologized. “I only wanted to stir your imagination, not your appetite.”
“Apology accepted,” Scotty said grandly.“Now, a slight detail. How do we cork these bottles?”
“Clay. We collect some in our pockets and mix it with water at night while we’re in here. We plug the bottles and let the clay harden in place. After all, each bottle will only be used once.”
Agreement was unanimous. They had waited long enough to start working on the escape. None of them had doubted that they would escape-or at least try.
Scotty was the first to succeed in capturing a bottle-size calabash. He finished cleaning one, carried it to the bamboo drying rack, and with one smooth motion slipped it under his loose shirt while his free hand adjusted the spacing of those already on the rack. Later, he unobtrusively loosened his belt and pushed the neck of the gourd under it firmly enough so it would not slip out. The bulging part of the gourd nestled into his stomach hollow.
Rick did not see Tony get a calabash. He got his own by cleaning three and only putting two on the drying rack. But when they returned to the compound for dinner, Tony also had a gourd.
“I sat down with four of them, cleaned one and stuffed it under my belt, then cleaned the others and took them to the rack. It’s pretty easy. Who would suspect there were calabash thieves in this civilized part ofAfrica ?”
“Who, indeed?”Rick echoed.
“Wonder if it’s classed as petty or grand larceny,” Scotty mused.
Rick had also managed to scoop up a handful of red soil under the compound wall. He wet it by the simple expedient of “accidentally” soaking his pocket while washing. But the experiment proved to be a failure. Later, in their cell, he worked the soil in his hands, trying to turn it to the consistency of potter’s clay, but it was too sandy.
Scotty, who was taking a turn putting the final touches on the spike, had an idea. “Why don’t we collect a bunch of the smallest calabash tips?The kind that are thrown on the pile with the pulp? We could put Page 27
them into the gourds round end first, and maybe fix them in place with a bit of cloth. My torn T-shirt is still in here. I tucked it under the dew cloth of my sleeping bag.”
It was a good idea, and the three agreed to add calabash tips to the loot. Then a thought struck Rick.
“Those calabashes we smuggle have a chance to dry out. Is there any danger of them getting soft or rotting down here?”
Tony shook his head. “The humidity can’t be much more than five or six percent.Things just dry up in this climate.”
“Good. There’s one other thing. We ought to start collecting water. Suppose one of us steals another calabash, while two start the water collection? It will take about one and a half zipper bags of water to fill one calabash.”
“Suppose the two with the hollowest stomachs get the water,” Tony suggested. “That would be you and me, Rick. Scotty hasn’t eaten any better than we have, but he started with more muscle tissue than we did, and still has more. So you get another calabash, Scotty.”
“It’s as good as done,” Scotty agreed. “Listen, what’s the capacity of these calabashes, on the average, and how many will it take to get us on the road?”
Tony did the calculating aloud so they could check him on it. “We said a quart per day per man. The calabashes vary, but on the average I’d say they hold a pint and a half. At least those we got today hold about that much. We could try to get larger ones, but it might be risky. These concealed pretty easily. So, two calabashes-no, put it this way: With luck we could make twenty miles a day, and we estimate anywhere from a hundred to two hundred miles back to civilization. I think two hundred may be a little high, so let’s settle on a hundred and eighty as a nice round number for planning purposes. That means . .
.”
“Nine days on the road,” Rick finished.“Too much, Tony. Any chance we’d hit water on the way?”
Tony shrugged. “There’s always a chance, and an even better chance that we wouldn’t.”
“But that means a dozen calabashes apiece!” Scotty exclaimed. “If two calabashes hold three pints, it takes four calabashes for one man to last three days, and three times that many to last nine days.”
Rick had been figuring while Scotty talked. “It also means this: Today we got three calabashes. It will take three days to fill them. Meanwhile, we acquire three more. Three more days to fill those, then three more to fill the ones we got in the meantime, and so on. Maybe circumstances are such that we lose a couple of days because the guards get watchful, or something. Anyway, we can figure on two weeks of work to supply one man, and six weeks before we’re ready. Nope. We have to think of something faster.”
“We may have all the time we need,” Tony said mildly, and waited for the reaction. He got it.
“We’re going to be in Sokoto for the experiment!” Rick said flatly. “I don’t know how, yet, but we’re going to.”
“He’s talking for me,” Scotty added.
“And for me,” Tony agreed. “I wondered what your reaction would be. I might have known.”
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Scotty tested the point of the spike. “Here. At least this is sharp enough, I think.”
Tony and Rick tried it in turn. It was pointed, with four sharp edges, and enough had been left unhoned to use for a grip.
“I think we can persuade Elijah to help us with the water,” Tony stated. “Tomorrow morning I’m going to try. But we’ll also put the first plan into effect, just in case. Now suppose we start on the door. I’ll take first tu
rn. Can either of you see the mark?”
Scotty was already looking. The dim light in the cell was failing altogether, although it was still early twilight outside. “Here it is,” he said, and kept a finger on it.
Tony crouched and measured with his eye. “We’ll check it for alignment in the morning, but I think this is the spot.” He gouged with the tool and a small splinter came out. Then he began the laborious job of turning the rough drill, making the hole they needed.
“What makes you think Elijah will help us?” Rick asked.
“Because we’ve been good boys, have given no trouble, and my request will be a modest one that will cause no suspicion. I’ll rehearse it tonight and be ready to give him a sales talk after breakfast.”
“You’d better sell him,” Scotty said grimly. “Or we may find ourselves cutting loose on short water rations.”
“Speaking of rations,” Rick said, “we can’t go without food for nine days.”
Tony kept working. He spoke over his shoulder.
“I’ve been giving some thought to that. Have you noticed the grapevine near the house?”
Both boys had. “There are no grapes on it,” Scotty reminded him.
“I know. But in many cultures, food wrapped in grape leaves is standard. I suggest we get some of those grape leaves. I’ll toss that one at Elijah, too. Then we’ll save our rice, wrapped in leaves, and on the last couple of days before we take off we’ll save some meat, too.”
“How long will the stuff keep?” Rick asked.
“With the amount of pepper they put in the food, no self-respecting bacterium would even look at it, much less eat it. Seriously, though, the rice will keep better than meat, especially if we let it dry out.”
Silence fell in the cell, except for the steady scraping of the drill. Rick went over their talk again, searching for flaws, and he recalculated the days and amounts of water.
“The reason we travel by night,” he pointed out, “is to escape dehydration by the sun. Of course we dodge patrols by night, too. But by lying up during the day and traveling in the cool of the night, we need less water. My proposal is this: We settle on a pint per day per man. Two calabashes will last three days each, so we need eighteen in all. That’s for a hundred and eighty miles. I think we’ll be luckier than that.
I’m willing to bet we hit either water or help within one week.”
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“You’ll be betting your life,” Tony warned. “We all will.”
“Will?” Rick asked. “Does that mean you’ll take the gamble?”
“Yes, if there’s no alternative. I agree we can’t stay here for weeks. Besides, we may be put on some work other than calabashes. I doubt that it will take weeks to clean up the entire crop. If I can talk Elijah into giving us a little decent courtesy, we’ll be better off than the minimum Rick just proposed. If not . . .”
“We’ll bet our lives,” Scotty finished.
CHAPTER VIII
Break for Freedom
Tony Briotti was the ultimate in sweet reasonableness when Elijah came in response to his call after breakfast. Tony launched into a song and dance that made Rick’s mouth open in sheer admiration.
Tony explained that they had been cooperative. They had worked well, under a hard taskmaster. The healing welt on Scotty’s back was the only sign of displeasure, and that had resulted from sheer misadventure. The people of the sub-Sahara savanna are used to going for long periods without water, Tony stated. But the American drinks water copiously. He even has water with his meals, unlike the Europeans.
The three, Tony continued, would work better with water. Now they were helping with the calabashes.
Was there any reason why they should not each have a calabash in which to carry the supply of water their poor bodies craved?
Elijah considered. “You are sensible enough to know escape would be impossible with only one calabash apiece?”
Tony assured him that they were indeed sensible. Americans needed at least two quarts a day, and they could not carry that much and walk to freedom.
“Very well, I will allow a calabash each. But see that you continue to cooperate. I will instruct Hamid that you may carry your water with you.”
The boys congratulated Tony solemnly, and went to work behind Hamid with enthusiasm. Once on the job, each selected a calabash of about two-quart capacity and held it up for Hamid to see.
What Hamid did not see was that, one by one, as the chance offered, each of the three Americans split his calabash neatly in two. Since the knives were razor-sharp and the calabashes green, the breaks scarcely showed.
Another important step Hamid did not see took place later. While delivering a calabash to the drying rack, each Spindrifter selected a dried bottle gourd that would just fit into the one to which Elijah had Page 30
agreed.
The third step was to steal some of the small calabash tips that could serve as stoppers. This was easy, since who would steal garbage? The calabash tips were of no use, except as fertilizer for the field.
On the way back to the cell, when they stopped for the evening drink and wash-up, each of the three filled his calabash-within-a-calabash with water under the eyes of the guards. Since this was allowed by Elijah, the guards had no objection.
In the quiet of their cell they shook hands all around. “At this rate, we’ll be gone in two more days,”
Rick said. “We each have a three-day supply of water at a pint per day right now!”
“It looks good,” Scotty admitted. “You two try corking the bottles while I get to work with the drill.”
Between them, they had managed to get sixteen calabash tips into their pockets. It wasn’t hard to find three that fit perfectly. Another obstacle had been overcome.
While Scotty drilled, Rick and Tony tore his ripped T-shirt into strips and wrapped the split calabashes in them in such a way that the wrappings could be slipped off and on while collecting a dried gourd from the rack. That was because the calabashes would dry quickly, and the shrinking of the fibers would make the cuts clearly visible.
The next morning they soaked the wrapped calabashes at the well. Hamid and the other workers observed this, but offered no comment. All were familiar with the principal of cooling by evaporation and assumed that was why the calabashes were wrapped and soaked. Tony had known this would be the case.
By nightfall there were six full calabashes containing at least eighteen pints of water. Rick thought there were probably between twenty and twenty-four pints, but it was better to estimate conservatively.
Each had saved food, too, by the simple expedient of sliding it into a pocket. The pockets in which the food had been carried were greasy, and in need of washing, but that couldn’t be helped.
“We can wash our pockets with soapy water in the morning,” Tony said. “But we’ll have to be careful to rinse, too. The kind of yellow soap they have here is plenty strong.”
“It would make a TV beauty-soap salesman faint in sheer horror,” Scotty agreed. “Listen, fellow slaves, the hole in the door is just about through.”
Rick and Tony hurried to examine it. Scotty was right. Another hour’s work to finish the hole and enlarge it would be enough.
“Tomorrow night!” Rick said excitedly. “What do you say?”
“I say go!” Scotty replied on the echo.
“And so doI !” Tony said. “Now, let’s get done with that door.”
They took turns, working slowly and carefully. When steel rang against steel, they knew the hole was through and the spike in contact with the bolt. Then they began to turn the hole into a slot in which the Page 31
spike could move slightly from side to side. That was necessary in order to work the bolt back.
At last Tony gingerly tried, and felt the bolt give the slightest bit under the urging of the spike.
“Finished,” he said. “Let’s go to bed. We’ll need all the sleep we can get. Keep more food tomorrow, and an eye out for watchers
when we snaffle vine leaves and calabashes.”
The warning wasn’t needed. Each of them knew the venture depended on not being caught in the act of hoarding food and water.
Rick suspected that, sooner or later, there would be a routine inspection of their cell. The water was hidden under the sleeping bags, which were partially rolled up during the day. An inspection would find it easily, along with the spike which was kept in Tony’s toilet kit. Of course there was nothing to do but hope. He didn’t think an inspection was likely for some time, because their captors had no reason to suspect an escape plot. They probably were convinced that the soft Americans would never dare to tackle the barren lands.
Rick grinned to himself, and fell asleep.
All went as planned on the following day. Since they were perfectly open about everything they did, except stealing calabashes and tips, the guards were not suspicious. As the three walked past the grapevine en route to the calabash field each took a handful of the big vine leaves, and each popped one into his mouth and began to chew as though the leaves were the finest food imaginable. There were some surprised glances, but they were soon able to stow the leaves deep in a pocket-a wet pocket that had been doused first with soapy, then clear water, while the morning wash was taking place.
By nightfall they had nine bottles of water, each containing at least three pints. Tony and Rick sacrificed their undershirts to the cause of freedom, carefully tearing them into strips and making slings from which the bottles could be hung over their shoulders.
They were outwardly calm, but Rick was jittery inside. They would have only one chance at escape. If they failed, such a close guard would be kept there would be no second chance.
When all was in readiness, they stretched out on the sleeping bags and waited as patiently as they could until darkness fell. Then they waited some more, until Tony estimated two hours must have passed. There had been no talking. What was there to say?