One of the men had a long, single-barrelled, muzzle-loading gun; several others carried bows and arrows; they were naked except for red cotton cloths round their loins. The women wore grubby calico dresses — they had been issued to them years back by an itinerant preacher and kept for occasions of this kind; they had wicker panniers on their shoulders, supported by a band across the forehead. All the heaviest luggage was carried by the women in these panniers, including the rations for themselves and their men. Rosa had, in addition, an umbrella with a dented, silver crook, a relic of her association with Mr. Forbes.
The Negroes returned down-stream to the coast. A dump of provisions, in substancial tin casing, was left in the ruinous shelter by the bank.
“There's no one to touch it. We can send back for it in case of emergency from the Pie-wie country,” said Dr. Messinger.
Tony and Dr. Messinger walked immediately behind the man with the gun who was acting as guide; behind them the file straggled out for half a mile or more through the forest.
“From now onwards the map is valueless to us,” said Dr. Messinger with relish.
(Roll up the map — you will not need it again for how many years, said William Pitt … memories of Tony's private school came back to him at Dr. Messinger's words, of inky little desks and a coloured picture of a Viking raid, of Mr. Trotter who had taught him history and wore very vivid ties.)
Three
“Mumsey, Brenda wants a job.”
“Why?”
“Just like everybody else, short of money and nothing to do. She wondered if she could be any use to you at the shop.”
“Well … It's hard to say. At any other time she is exactly the kind of saleswoman I am always looking for … but I don't know. As things are I'm not sure it would be wise.”
“I said I'd ask you, that's all.”
“John, you never tell me anything and I don't like to seem interfering; but what is going to happen between you and Brenda.”
“I don't know.”
“You never tell me anything,” repeated Mrs. Beaver. “And there are so many rumours going round. Is there going to be a divorce?”
“I don't know.”
Mrs. Beaver sighed. “Well I must get back to work. Where are you lunching?”
“Brat's.”
“Poor John. By the way, I thought you were joining Brown's.”
“I haven't heard anything from them. I don't know whether they've had an election yet.”
“Your father was a member.”
“I've an idea I shan't get in … anyway I couldn't really afford it.”
“I'm not happy about you, John. I'm not sure that things are working out as well as I hoped about Christmas time.”
“There's my telephone. Perhaps it's Margot. She hasn't asked me to anything for weeks.”
But it was only Brenda.
“I'm afraid mother's got nothing for you at the shop,” he said.
“Oh well. I expect something will turn up. I could do with a little good luck just at the moment.”
“So could I. Have you asked Allan about Brown's?”
“Yes, I did. He says they elected about ten chaps last week.”
“Oh, does that mean I've been black balled?”
“I shouldn't know. Gentlemen are so odd about their clubs.”
“I thought that you were going to make Allan and Reggie support me.”
“I asked them. What does it matter anyway? D'you want to come to Veronica's for the week-end?”
“I'm not sure that I do.”
“I'd like it.”
“It's a beastly little house — and I don't think Veronica likes me. Who'll be there?”
“I shall be.”
“Yes … well, I'll let you know.”
“Am I seeing you this evening?”
“I'll let you know.”
“Oh dear,” said Brenda as she rang off. “Now he's taken against me. It isn't my fault he can't get in to Brown's. As a matter of fact I believe Reggie did try to help.”
Jenny Abdul Akbar was in the room with her. She came across every morning now in her dressing gown and they read the newspaper together. The dressing gown was of striped Berber silk.
“Let's go and have a cosy lunch at the Ritz,” she said.
“The Ritz isn't cosy at lunch time and it costs eight and six. I daren't cash a cheque for three weeks, Jenny. The lawyers are so disagreeable. I've never been like this before.”
“What wouldn't I do to Tony? Leaving you stranded like this.”
“Oh, what's the good of knocking Tony? I don't suppose he's having a packet of fun himself in Brazil or wherever it is.”
“I hear they are putting in bathrooms at Hetton — while you are practically starving. And he hasn't even gone to Mrs. Beaver for them.”
“Yes, I do think that was mean.”
Presently Jenny went back to dress. Brenda telephoned to a delicatessen store round the corner for some sandwiches. She would spend that day in bed, as she spent two or three days a week at this time. Perhaps, if Allan was making a speech somewhere, as he usually was, Marjorie would have her to dinner. The Helm-Hubbards had a supper party that night but Beaver had not been asked. “If I went there without him it would be a major bust-up … Come to think of it, Marjorie's probably going. Well I can always have sandwiches for dinner here. They make all kinds. Thank God for the little shop round the corner.” She was reading a biography of Thiers that had lately appeared; it was very long and would keep her going well into the night.
At one o'clock Jenny came in to say goodbye (she had a latch key of Brenda's) dressed for a cosy lunch. “I got Polly and Souki,” she said. “We're going to Daisy's joint. I wish you were coming.”
“Me? Oh, I'm all right,” said Brenda and she thought, `It might occur to her to sock a girl a meal once in a way.'
They walked for a fortnight, averaging about fifteen miles a day. Sometimes they would do much more and sometimes much less; the Indian who went in front decided the camping places; they depended on water and evil spirits.
Dr. Messinger made a compass traverse of their route. It gave him something to think about. He took readings every hour from an aneroid. In the evening, if they had halted early enough, he employed the last hours of daylight in elaborating a chart. `Dry water course, three deserted huts, stony ground …'
“We are now in the Amazon system of rivers,” he announced with satisfaction one day. “You see, the water is running South.” But almost immediately they crossed a stream flowing in the opposite direction. “Very curious,” said Dr. Messinger. “A discovery of genuine scientific value.”
Next day they waded through four streams at intervals of two miles, running alternately North and South. The chart began to have a mythical appearance.
“Is there a name for any of these streams,” he asked Rosa.
“Macushi people called him Waurupang.”
“No, not river where we first camped: These rivers.”
“Yes, Waurupang.”
“This river here.”
“Macushi people call him all Waurupang.”
“It's hopeless,” said Dr. Messinger.
“Don't you think that possibly we have struck the upper waters of the Waurupang?” suggested Tony, “and have crossed and recrossed the stream as it winds down the valley.”
“It is a hypothesis,” said Dr. Messinger.
When they were near water they forced their way through blind bush; the trail there was grown over and barred by timber; only Indian eyes and Indian memory could trace its course; sometimes they crossed little patches of dry savannah, dun grass growing in tufts from the baked earth; thousands of lizards scampered and darted before their feet and the grass rustled like newspaper; it was burning hot in these enclosed spaces. Sometimes they climbed up into the wind, over loose red pebbles that bruised their feet; after these painful ascents they would lie in the wind till their wet clothes grew cold against their bodies; from these low eminences they could see other hill tops and the belts of bush through which they had travelled, and the file of porters trailing behind them. As each man and woman arrived he sank on to the dry grass and rested against his load; when the last of them came up with the party Dr. Messinger would give the word and they would start off again, descending into the green heart of the forest before them.