So David was a skilful “native”, a master of his existence in this remote part of the world and much fitter and much more resourceful in all sorts of ways than most of those “civilised” types who inhabit the so-called “civilised” world. He was capable, noble and very different from most of the people Dan had known in his life, and that difference wasn’t restricted to his superior woodcraft skills. It was also there in the way he behaved, in the way he interacted with other people – and especially strangers – and even in the way he thought. It had to be. Otherwise he wouldn’t quite fit into that pigeonhole that Dan had selected.
There was no way, for example, that David could understand nuanced behaviour. Nuances didn’t grow in the forest and they certainly hadn’t taken root in Mbomo. They couldn’t have. Similarly, his perceptions – of the wider world and life beyond the forest – must inevitably have been severely limited, and probably more than likely distorted through a lens of traditional beliefs and unavoidable ignorance. After all, it was pretty unlikely that he had ever left his immediate environment, and therefore he had to depend on second-hand accounts of even Brazzaville, let alone the rest of the planet. And then there was the absence of any sort of philosophical thinking. In fact, Dan doubted that David and his fellow Mbomo brethren even had a local word for philosophy. It wasn’t as though that form of abstract thinking was ever needed to catch a duiker or harvest yams. Natives were concerned with the practical, not the metaphysical.
Dan was confident in this assessment of his escort. Hadn’t he displayed his “aboriginal” characteristics since he’d met him, and hadn’t he reinforced his somewhat inarticulate and unsophisticated credentials since they’d both embarked on this hike? Dan respected David – for what he could do in the forest – but because of the way he was, he could never really communicate with him and certainly never have a “thoughtful” discussion with him. That would be completely inconceivable. So when just such a discussion started, Dan didn’t just need to make a radical reassessment of David, but he also needed to admit to himself that he’d been so wrong that he should be ashamed. And that was really ashamed. Not only had he put David into a completely inappropriate pigeonhole, but he had also made a stereotype of him just so that he would fit into that pigeonhole in the first place. How wrong could he have been?
The initial realisation that he’d maybe misjudged David came when the two of them had just finished their cassoulet. (This had come from a tin, but the tin had, inevitably, come from France.) It was triggered by David asking Dan the most unexpected question – all the more unexpected as he’d said barely a word since they’d stopped. This question was posed in a moderate tone but with an unmistakable precision.
‘May I ask you,’ David started, ‘whether you think that mankind is progressing?’
Dan was dumbfounded.
‘What?’ he finally managed.
‘I live a… traditional life. My village – Mbomo – was once visited by what I think you call an anthropologist. She was somebody who was studying us and our history and our… culture.’
Dan gathered himself, just enough to confirm David’s definition.
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘that sounds like an anthropologist.’
David glared at him.
‘I overheard her saying that we weren’t making much progress. We weren’t… advancing.’
‘Well…’
‘I thought at the time that she must have looked at our lives and thought that there were other people who were making progress – and that these were her people, the same people who had taught her and who had sent her here on a plane, and who saw it as part of their culture to investigate other people.’
Dan had become alert. Fully.
‘You mean people like me?’
‘Yes. It’s what I meant by mankind, all those people who inhabit the world, but don’t have to go into the forest every day to find their next meal. Instead, they buy it in a supermarket or they buy it online, or they might even go out and buy it in a restaurant.’
Dan was shocked. He was desperately trying to come to terms with three revelations. The first was that David had a much firmer grasp of what went on outside this enormous forest than he’d ever imagined. The second was that here David was, questioning the supposed progress being made by mankind in the very same way that he himself had done a few nights before. And the third was that his English was near perfect.
David was now just looking at his silent companion and Dan realised he needed to formulate a response. David had initiated a debate and he clearly wanted that debate to continue. So Dan obliged as best he could.
‘Well, you’ve posed quite a question there,’ he managed. ‘And I suspect you may have an answer to it already. So, why don’t I respond with a question myself? Why don’t I ask you to tell me whether you think that mankind is progressing – if, for the moment, we regard mankind as my lot, as all those millions of people who shop at supermarkets for their food, and who wouldn’t have the first idea of how to track a gorilla?’
David almost smiled, but not quite. Then he spoke – confidently and again precisely.
‘I think progress is a myth. I think… mankind is confusing progress with the easing of its burden of life. It has made lots of inventions and discoveries, and these “advances” have provided it with a number of comforts and conveniences, but with no real progress whatsoever.’
Dan couldn’t believe what he was hearing. This withdrawn and previously tight-lipped “native” had started to make an eloquent and effective assault on some of the most fundamental beliefs of modern-day man. He then continued with his offensive.
‘From what I have read, all of human history is a series of conflicts, abuses, failures and disasters, and it continues to be. After all, nobody can argue with the fact that all human institutions and administrations are as much riddled with corruption now as they have always been. Just think of what goes on in Brazzaville… But nevertheless, with this reality of human existence staring it in the face, humanity still thinks that the future will in some way be better than the past. So why? Why does it try to fool itself into thinking that it will in some way make “further progress” when it has made no progress whatsoever so far?’
Dan was now reeling, but he did manage another question.
‘David,’ he asked, ‘where did you learn your English? You speak it like a…’
‘…native?’ he finished. And then he laughed.
‘There was an English doctor here,’ he continued. ‘For the Ebola outbreak and for three years after that. He taught me a lot – including the fact that I am a natural linguist and that I have a very high IQ. I speak Spanish and German as well. I mean, as well as my own language and French.’
Dan was again lost for words. This guy wasn’t bragging, but just responding – precisely – to a question. And then he posed a question to Dan, for which Dan would have to find some words.
‘So, do you agree with me or not? Do you think mankind is progressing or not progressing?’
Dan did find some words, and he didn’t hesitate to use them.
‘David,’ he said, ‘what you have just told me – about your take on progress – is incredible. And it is incredible because of all the people I’ve ever met, you are only the second to pronounce a view that I’ve long held myself: that mankind is not progressing and it never will. You see, my belief is that no species on this planet “makes progress”, but instead it either survives as a species or it doesn’t. And that includes us. Because no matter how clever we are and no matter how many inventions we devise or discoveries we make, we are still just a species, just a particularly smart-arsed animal that’s been around for a brief spell of Earth-time and that may not be around for a great deal longer. After all, not only is mankind not progressing, but what it is wrongly interpreting as progress is actually posing a real threat to its survival – and an imminent threat at that…
’
‘You mean that this “progress” is allowing it to degrade the environment at an ever faster rate?’
‘Spot on,’ confirmed Dan. ‘We can now clear the oceans of fish efficiently and disturbingly rapidly, we can clear whole landscapes of their flora and fauna, and we can then turn them into green deserts or cover them in concrete. Whatever we choose. And we’re doing this faster and faster all the time.’
David now looked a little shocked himself. He clearly hadn’t expected quite such an enthusiastic confirmation of his own beliefs – and from someone who represented that deluded majority of mankind and who, therefore, must have lost his connection with the natural world and would be reluctant to hear any criticism of so-called progress by his kind. However, he reigned in his shock just enough to make a further contribution to their discussion.
‘Tell me. Why don’t more people in… your world… see that polluting the oceans isn’t any sort of progress? Nor is exterminating more and more of their fellow species? And why don’t they see that all those conflicts and upheavals that are afflicting their own kind are the absolute antithesis of genuine progress?’
Dan smiled wryly.
‘David. Your English is better than that of most people in England. Half the population there wouldn’t even know what “antithesis” meant.’
Then he moved on quickly to address the substance of David’s last remarks.
‘Well, as regards this blind belief in progress, all I can say is that I believe it is fundamental to people’s ability to make sense of their lives. After all, if one takes away progress then one takes away purpose. One reveals the future for what it really is: just a repeat of the past but with more apps, more tweets, more automation and more of everything. Until, that is, the future hits the buffers; until that time when even the dimmest of people realises that mankind not only cannot ever progress, but that it can only survive or become extinct. And, at the current rate of “progress”, that time will soon be reached – along with the recognition that the strong likelihood is extinction.’
David nodded his head. Then he spoke.
‘That is exactly my belief. And it concerns me. In fact, it concerns many in my village.’
Dan immediately recalled what he had witnessed in Mbomo on his way to Ngaga: the villagers’ reaction to the appearance of outsiders. And then he spoke.
‘I understand. Nowhere is off-limits…’
‘And one day that progress will arrive here.’
‘I hope,’ reassured Dan, ‘that that day is a long way off. And maybe, before then, mankind will have come to its senses. Maybe that day will never arrive.’
David looked his companion in the eyes.
‘I believe everything you have told me this evening. But I cannot believe you mean what you’ve just said.’
Dan lowered his own eyes to the ground.
‘I didn’t. How could I have? God, I have the same concerns that you have. Even if they’re not anything like as personal…’
‘And the same belief that there’s no real purpose to life?’
Dan stared directly at David. This time it was his answer that was confident and precise.
‘The very same,’ he said. ‘Though I think you already know that.’
‘Yes,’ David pronounced slowly, ‘and I already know that if life has no real purpose and it is simply to be lived well… then, when it can no longer be lived well, it should be ended.’
Dan’s eyes widened. David couldn’t know. He didn’t know. But he must have deduced it. Maybe it wasn’t just the forest he could read.
David must have observed Dan’s reaction, and rather than waiting for him to make any sort of verbal response, he drew to a close their astonishing discussion by thanking his companion.
‘I have enjoyed our exchange. I shall remember it always. And I thank you.’
Then, before Dan could assemble any sort of response to this, David was clearing away the remains of their meal. It was a signal that it was time to sleep.
Dan didn’t challenge this. He’d been hugely invigorated by his conversation with David, but now, after that final shock, he just felt completely drained and desperately in need of sleep.
But at least his feet felt a little better…
twenty-three
It hadn’t been a dream. As he’d emerged into the square, the scattered remains of the minibus were all too real. Like the blackened bones of some incinerated monster, they littered the ground and they smouldered. Horribly. The other minibus was there too. It was not burnt, but its windows had been blown out, and by its front was the body of a man.
Dan became transfixed. There was no sign of Kim, no sign at all, and he was unsure of where to run. Should he go to inspect that body – of someone he didn’t know? Should he search through the wreckage – for what? Or should he scour the surrounding buildings? Maybe Kim had found shelter in one of those. Or should he simply stay rooted to the spot and let out an almighty scream? Because he already knew for certain that he would never see Kim again. And he had no desire to see parts of her.
The man’s body, it transpired, was that of the driver of the second minibus. He had been killed by a gear stick. It had flown out of the obliterated bus and hit him in the temple. He had died instantaneously. So too had Kim, but by being disintegrated by the force of the blast. There was really nothing left of her, and the official assessment had concluded that the bomb had been detonated just as she’d arrived at the vehicle. It was horrible but, at the same time, strangely consoling. She would have been dead, Dan accepted, before she had even realised that a bomb had gone off. No lingering undignified death for her, but just a painless shift from happiness into oblivion within a millisecond, the sort of dispatch from life that many would regard as ideal.
It didn’t help, though. Dan hadn’t wanted her to go. He had wanted her to stay, so that they could share their more leisurely, if ultimately demeaning, slide into oblivion together. And before then, they could share many more delightful years, relishing each other’s company and relishing the fact that they were still very much alive. However, it wasn’t to be, and after only twenty-four hours Dan was coming to terms with this fact. Back at that terrible cardboard hotel, while the other members of the birding party were dividing their time between being supportive and readying themselves for a premature departure from Morocco, Dan was trying to harness his emotions. Kim was gone, he knew, and she would not be coming back. And maybe his focus should now be on helping out in finding who had killed her and where the perpetrators now were.
This did help a little: concentrating on the pursuit. But it wasn’t long before the very act of helping and “cooperating” became a trial in itself.
On the second day after the bomb blast, a police car, minus its conventional suspension, had picked him up from the hotel and delivered him to the local police station. This was a building a mile or so away, which was distinguishable from the surrounding buildings only by its superior degree of neglect. It was an overgrown hovel, an anonymous-looking three-storey structure that was being allowed to become dilapidated and derelict before its time. It was as though nobody cared. And unfortunately, this observation could be made not just about the building but about many of its current occupants. It was certainly beyond doubt that one of the gentlemen who hosted Dan’s visit didn’t much care about anything, other than himself.
He was the local police inspector, a man with a large gut and an even larger opinion of his own importance. This latter feature wasn’t immediately apparent until his first words – in Arabic – had been translated by a sallow-looking youth who stood behind him and was there to act as his English mouthpiece.
‘I am Inspector Harrack,’ he started. ‘I am being in charge here. I am being in charge for more than twelfth years and I am… major here.’
As this lamentable translation was being conducted, Inspector Harrack had o
n his greasy fat face such a supreme look of self-satisfaction that Dan wanted nothing more than to slap it. But he knew that would be a bad idea. Instead he smiled wanly and waited for the policeman’s next communication. After it had been launched in Arabic, it came through the interpreter’s voice within seconds.
‘There was a bomb. On the bus. We know there was a bomb. We will need to know more and then look onto what did happen.’
Dan’s smile evaporated. These guys, he realised, were going to be useless. However, without any introduction, another man who had been sitting on a chair in the corner of the inspector’s room suddenly spoke.
‘Forgive me. Inspector Harrack hasn’t introduced me. But my name is Sergeant Azoulay. I work for the DTS. Erhh, in English, that’s the Directorate of Territorial Surveillance. And I’ll be in charge of this investigation – with, of course, the help of Inspector Harrack.’
Dan felt a wave of relief. Here was somebody who not only spoke English but who appeared to have the ability and the authority to begin a proper investigation. He responded to this welcome revelation with a fulsome greeting and a request for further information.
‘Sergeant Azoulay, I am very, very pleased to meet you, and I’ll do everything I can to help. But tell me, do you know anything at all about… well, who may have planted the…’
He found he couldn’t say the word. But he didn’t need to. Sergeant Azoulay gave him an answer immediately.
‘No. Not really. There has been no intelligence on anything like this happening here. But our working assumption is that whoever did place the… bomb… was looking to kill as many… foreigners… as possible. Which means that they got their timing completely wrong…’
‘They?’
‘Another working assumption. And it may be wrong. Maybe it was just one person. But I suspect not.’
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