by Desmond Cory
He kissed her again, and felt the longing flow over his body; he said, “I’m bleeding,” just to say something. His happiness seemed to need words; they were not the right words, but they were better than nothing.
The girl moved under him, and her fingers caressed his throat. “It makes it fairer,” she said.
“Fairer?”
“Because … Never mind. Fedora, I always knew it.”
“Knew what?” asked Johnny, who wasn’t really listening.
“I knew it would be you. Always.”
“Well, and now it is.”
“Yes, it is.” She was speaking as though she found breathing unendurable. “Yes, of course it is.”
The seconds again began to gather speed. Only the sun, high in the sky, knew that it was noon.
10
HALF AN HOUR later, the rickety engines of the Circe were battering away at something well over half speed and the paddle-wheels were grinding and splashing in the waters of the Kob’ei. The high terrace that for so long had bounded all vision to the north was slipping slowly by to either side; the breccia where Raven had died was already left behind. Demetrius lay on the floor of the Circe’s cabin, unaware of the heat and of the rhythmic thud of the pistons. Johnny stood at the wheel, and Madrid sat on the guard-rail a few feet to his right; they avoided each others glances, for they had both been seized with the sudden shyness of newly-discovered lovers. They were travelling in the full heat of the day; Johnny wore a damp towel draped over his head rather in the manner of an Arab burnous, while the girl’s battered bush-hat was tilted almost down to her nose. The heat came at them in great shuddering waves that brought prickles to the skin and a stinging to the eyes; the wooden beams of the boat creaked and groaned under its oppression. But the Circe fought the current bravely, edging her way methodically up-river; the broad shoulders of the terrace moved slowly backwards, revealing the flat golden plateau beyond and, some twenty miles distant, the first blue-grey ramparts of the Mountains of the Sun.
Madrid eased herself from the guard-rail and moved over to Johnny, who put one arm around her so that he held her between himself and the steering-wheel. “Its damned hot,” she said.
Johnny grinned. “What’s the matter? Making conversation?”
She lowered her head on to his shoulder. “How far are we going in this sun-trap of yours?”
“Not very far. We haven’t got much pressure, and we haven’t the fuel to build it up; besides, we’ll be running into white water when we get somewhere near those hills.” Johnny wiped his mouth with the trailing edge of the towel. “We’ll get well clear of the natives, anyway; they won’t follow us up the Kob’ei.”
“They won’t go even as far as this. How’s your head?”
“Awful.”
“Your poor head.”
“That tap you gave it would have shaken a rhinoceros.”
“You know I’m sorry, Fedora.”
“You apologise very prettily.”
“Well, I’m not sorry for what I did. Because I still feel the same way about … things. But I’m sorry for the trouble I caused. I’m terribly sorry about your boy Demetrius.”
Johnny’s eyes focused themselves upon the glaring river.
“I got a bit mad, you know, when I saw what they had done to him. But perhaps if you hadn’t put me out of the way, they’d have done the same to me. So maybe you did me a good turn.”
“We’ll never know what might have happened. What did happen was bad enough. What are you going to do with him?”
“Demetrius?” She nodded. “We’ll bury him.” She nodded again. “He spared the time for me, so I’ll spare the time for him.”
“You’ll never catch Otto, you know.”
“I’ll catch van Kuyp,” said Johnny stonily; and Madrid raised her head to look at him. Then she ran her fingers over his face, to smooth out the little muscles that had set stiffly along the line of his jaw.
“Fedora,” she said. “What are van Kuyp and Banfield after?”
“The same thing as us.”
“Yes. I realise that. What I meant was – who are they?”
“I’m not sure,” said Johnny, “but I think I can make a good guess. What lies up there in those mountains isn’t just of political value; it’s of commercial value, too. And there are rich men all the world over who’ll always pay money to be richer.” He scratched the tip of his nose pensively. “They call it Progress, I believe; or Enterprise. Sometimes they run governments. In either case, they work on the same healthy and idealistic principles.”
“But perhaps what they’re looking for isn’t there.”
“Oh yes, it is.”
“Father always said so; and father knew his business. But even men who know their business make mistakes.”
“Your father made many mistakes,” said Johnny, rather grimly, “but that wasn’t one of them. Take a look at this.”
She leant away from him, and examined the little brown pebble he held out to her. “What is it?”
“You don’t know?”
“No … Perhaps I can guess.”
“Raven found that this morning when he was scratching away at the breccia. I suppose people in his line of business have to know a bit of mineralogy; anyway, he knew pitchblende ore when he saw it. That was why he died.”
“Now that part makes sense,” she said, returning the pebble to him; he turned it on the palm of his hand for a moment, then dropped it back in his pocket.
“It makes what we’ve learnt to call sense, in this confounded century. It makes uranium. It makes bombs. It makes power.”
“So they’re really looking for uranium.”
“They’re really looking for Huysmans,” said Johnny. “And I’ve got an idea that you and your brother were the bait.”
“The … bait?”
“Look at it this way. Anybody who’d paid any attention to the subject immediately before the war knew all about Huysmans and his theories about Ubangi; everybody thought he was mad, except we National Socialists in Germany. We sent for him and gave him work to do. Then we flew him to Africa to put his ideas into practice. The war ended before he could do so; but when it ended, only we knew exactly where he was. In the Mountains of the Sun.”
“Yes. But what …”
“Plenty of people knew he’d gone to Africa, but Africa’s a pretty big place. Any bright person might put two and two together and decide he’d gone to the Ubangi, where he’d done all his work before; but the Ubangi basin’s about the size of Spain. So our imaginary bright person would look for some other lead; he’d find out what had happened to Huysmans’ son and daughter. And he’d find them both in Nairobi, pathetically anxious to the Ubangi. He’d guess – wouldn’t he? – that they had a pretty definite lead as to their father’s whereabouts.”
Madrid seemed to be following this with very considerable difficulty. Johnny put out his hand and drew her towards him again.
“So this bright person – whose name is van Kuyp – gets in touch with his employer, who as I’ve said is a very rich and very powerful man indeed. And very quickly they fit up an expedition specially designed to suit your needs – a perfectly genuine expedition, with a real professor of anthropology and a genuine medical officer. And van Kuyp’s a real geologist too, I haven’t much doubt about that. All he has to do is take you along with him until one or both of you disappear; then follow you as quickly as he can. He’d follow you until you led him to Huysmans; then get the information he wanted, fire one or two or three shots, as the situation demanded; then go back and rejoin his genuine Expedition. You and your brother wouldn’t come back, of course; but a lot of people who disappear into the bush don’t come back. It wouldn’t have attracted any attention; the expedition would have finished its survey and returned to civilisation, perhaps with a hefty contribution to make to archaeological knowledge.” Johnny sighed. “I don’t think van Kuyp ever intended such a bloodbath as the one we’ve been having. Things just started to g
o wrong, that was all.”
“They started to go wrong as soon as you joined us.”
“Maybe. But they needn’t have. I was just another witness to the Expedition’s complete legitimacy. Just a loony white hunter after white gorilla; I’d have been well out of the way, not interfering at all.”
“I suppose I’ve been a fool.” Madrid stared past the steering-wheel into vacancy. “Van Kuyp never seemed that sort of man – not like you, I mean. You’re obviously dangerous, like a snake or a leopard or something. Van always seemed so perplexed and hardworking and … and hen-pecked.”
“With you around, that wouldn’t have been altogether an act.”
“No? But Banfield was the one … Fedora, I’m glad you killed him. He always terrified me.”
“Did he? You never showed it.”
“Well, of course not,” she said indignantly. “He’d have been even worse if I had.”
“I think he would,” said Johnny. He was listening intently now to the steady patter of the engine; the steam pressure was unmistakably beginning to slacken off, and at moments the Circe was seeming to wallow in the grip of the current. They had left the gravel terrace almost a mile behind them now; it raised itself to the south as it had always done to the north, but more gradually and smoothly so that the rise to its summit was hardly discernible. To the left, a hill of moderate height stretched out its arms to the very edge of the Kob’ei half-a-mile ahead; Johnny estimated that the Circe might get that far before its speed slowed to less than walking pace. To the right was a great sea of trees, stretching out over miles of flat land to the lap of the sitting mountains; this was the gorilla country of which the rumours had reached him, and he surveyed it with some interest. Somewhere in the depths of that tangled labyrinth of green, van Kuyp and Schneider were both pushing relentlessly northwards; van Kuyp some eight miles in front, Schneider anything from fifteen to twenty.
“What did they do to you?” asked Johnny, very casually.
“Banfield and …? They wanted to know where Otto had gone, and when he’d started.”
“And did you tell them?”
“No. I told them he’d gone after gorilla with you, but they didn’t believe me. So they beat me with a kiboko.”
“I’ll bet that hurt.”
“Not as much as you did,” said Madrid, with a sudden gleam of eroticism in her eye. “If I’d known it would be like that …”
“That’s what you say to all the boys. Listen – you say you didn’t tell them …?”
“No. But van Kuyp found that newspaper cutting … You know the one …”
Johnny groaned. “I do indeed. And I told your brother you were crazy to keep it. The Bible didn’t matter, as it turned out, but that cutting …”
“Yes. It was stupid. I’ve done so many stupid things. Since I include what I’ve done with you among them, you might be a bit more generous.”
“I quite like you,” said Johnny, and kissed her on the tip of the nose. She readjusted her hat firmly. “Thank you very much,” she said.
“Now you’d better go and get the gear ready. Because I’m pulling in to the bank in about five minutes’ time.”
They moored the Circe in a recess screened by thorn-bushes, where the water was shallow and free from powerful undercurrents. Then Johnny hacked out a grave for Demetrius some ten yards from the river verge; the ground was hard and baked, very different from the soft, rotten soil of the Ubangi, and after twenty minutes Johnny found that he had dug little more than a hollow. It would suffice, however; it was enough to protect Demetrius from the vultures and the lions. So it was there that Demetrius found his final resting-place.
When the task was over and the soil stamped back into place, Johnny wiped the perspiration from his body and took a long draught from his water-bottle. “Have you got my kit out?” he asked.
“Yes, Fedora. It’s all ready.”
“Fine,” Johnny splashed water over his wrists, then shook them dry again. “Now listen. It should be about a four-day trip. You’ll be perfectly safe if you stay here. But be sure you’re back on the boat by nightfall every day, because this is lion country. Now if I’m not back …” He paused and stared. “What’s that other rucksack for?”
“You seem to have the wrong idea. I’m coming with you.”
“For Heaven’s sake, Madrid. I’ll be travelling fast.”
“Fast? Don’t talk such rubbish. I could walk you off your feet any day of the week.”
“Well.” Johnny looked hard at her. “If you come along, you’ll have to do it for four days of this week. And there’s got to be no more tricks like this morning’s.”
“No. I promise.”
“You’d do much better to stay here and wait.”
“I’m not going to,” said Madrid doggedly. “I’ve come all this way to find my father; and I’m going to do it if I have to set off by myself. If only I’d—”
“All right, spare me the rhetoric. You can come. But no hanging around; this is business.”
Madrid replied with a contemptuous snort, and swung the light rucksack up to her shoulders. “Let’s get started,” she said.
Johnny checked the Circe’s mooring-ropes, gave the battered old hull an affectionate pat and started off after her. He caught up with her at the summit of the sloping bank, where she had paused to survey the ground.
“What route shall we take?”
“We’ll follow the river,” said Johnny. “That’s the safest way, and probably the quickest.” He shielded his eyes against the glare with the palm of his hand. “We should be able to get to the top of that ridge before nightfall, and from there we ought to have a better view of the country.”
“How far would you say it was? Twelve miles? Fifteen?”
“All of fifteen,” said Johnny. He looked at his watch. “And about five hours to do it.”
They moved off in single file; the girl picking the path, Johnny following five yards behind with his rifle slung under his arm. The sucking lap of the river died slowly away behind them.
At first, travelling was not too unpleasant; Johnny found it like a stroll in Piccadilly when he compared it with his nightmare journey of that morning. The afternoon heat was tremendous, but the dryness of the upland plateau came as a pleasant change from the sweltering, torrid heat of the Ubangi jungles. The scrub was dotted with great patches of mukuruwe trees that offered a comforting shade; and, above all, the visibility was usually good. Instead of the twin terraces that had limited the horizon to three miles’ distance all the way up the Ubangi, the peaks of the mountains forty miles away were always clearly in sight; instead of the elephant-grass and creepers that had limited visibility in the jungle to a mere two hundred yards, the thorn-bushes and wait-a-bit rolled for miles at waist height over a prairie as flat as a pancake.
The monotonous chinking of a blacksmith bird followed them from tree to tree as they marched, while the great plain itself was rich with game. Impala broke from cover when they approached with vast kangaroo-like bounds, seeming to float through the air rather than to leap; farther inland, the sun gleamed on the russet coats and twisted horns of wandering flocks of kudu. These larger antelopes seemed relatively fearless; they raised their heads to watch the two humans passing by not two hundred yards away, then returned to their feeding before they were even out of sight. Bush-crows flew lazily to and fro, ignoring them completely; once and once only did they scatter in alarm, and shortly afterwards Johnny heard the reverberating, coughing grunt of a prowling lion.
But gradually the tremendous impact of the sun began to make itself felt. It swam eternally in the sky, black with the very intensity of its brightness; where it struck, it sapped strength and moisture until it seemed as though it were sucking remorselessly at the veins and arteries of the body. Johnny plodded onwards, his teeth bared in a permanent rictus of anxiety, feeling his stomach muscles turn slowly, very slowly into water and his leg muscles into jelly. The land around him quivered under the assa
ult of the sun, and he began to quiver in sympathy with it; his flesh seemed to be shaking loosely on his bones with every movement he made, until the bones themselves appeared to be melting away. In front of him, Madrid’s beautiful bronzed legs moved rhythmically and remorselessly onwards, carrying her steadily through the intricate mazes of thorn; and Johnny realised that she had spoken nothing more than the truth. She was a South African, one of the sun’s children; and under these conditions she could walk him to a state of utter exhaustion almost without call upon her own resources of stamina. Now Johnny, who was not without a certain animal cunning, had always intended that she should accompany him; he knew instinctively that, if and when he ever found Huysmans, she would be of immense value to him; but nevertheless he found himself regretting the jibe he had used to provoke her. He set his teeth – which seemed to be the only part of his body remaining uncompromisingly solid – and he plodded onwards through a haze of sweat and stickiness and clinging dust.
After what seemed a very long time indeed, he was conscious of a warm hand on his elbow guiding him; it was possible that it had been there for some little while. He paused to knuckle the sweat out of his eyes and to grease his lips with a piece of dry flannel that had once been his tongue; he teetered slightly as he stood.