"Ensign Proust, the cowardly little prig..." and von Kleine found himself embroiled in a long report about Ensign Proust's lack of respect for the dignity of the Commissioner. He had been insubordinate, he had argued with Herr Fleischer, and further he had told Herr Fleischer that he considered him "fat'.
"I will speak to Proust," said von Kleine. It was a trivial matter and he wanted no part of it. Then Commander Lochtkamper was beside them. Would the Captain speak to the Herr Commissioner about labour for the handling of ballast? They fell into a long discussion and while they talked, the gang of porters lugged the bundle of timber aft and were absorbed by the bustling hordes of workmen.
Sebastian was sweating with fright; trembling, giddy with fright.
Clearly he had sensed the German officer's suspicions. Those cold blue eyes had burned like dry ice. Now he stooped under his load, trying to shrink himself into insignificance, trying to overcome the grey clammy sense of dread that threatened to crush him.
"He saw you, wheezed Mohammed's cousin, shuffling along beside
Sebastian.
"Yes." Sebastian bent lower. "Is he still watching?" The old man glanced back over his shoulder.
"No. He speaks with Mafuta, the fat one."
"Good." Sebastian felt a lift of relief. "We must get back on the launch."
"The loading is almost finished, but we must first speak with my brother. He waits for us." They turned the corner of the aft gun-turrets. On the deck was a mountain of cordwood. Stacked neatly and lashed down with rope. Black men swarmed over it, between them spreading a huge green tarpaulin over the wood pile.
They reached the wood pile and added the faggots they carried to the stack. Then, in the custom of Africa, they paused to rest and talk. A man clambered down from the wood pile to join them, a sprightly old gentleman with woolly grey hair, impeccably turned out in cloak and penis sheath Mohammed's cousin greeted him with courteous affection, and they took snuff together.
"This man is my brother, "he told Sebastian. "His name is Walaka.
When he was a young man he killed a lion with a spear. It was a big lion with a black mane." To Sebastian this information seemed to be slightly irrelevant, his fear of discovery was making him nervously impatient. There were Germans all around them, big blond Germans bellowing orders as they chivvied on the labour gangs, Germans looking down on them from the tall superstructure above them, Germans elbowing them aside as they passed. Sebastian found it difficult to concentrate.
His two accomplices were involved in a family discussion.
It seemed that Walaka's youngest daughter had given birth to a fine son, but that during his absence aleopard had raided Walaka's village and killed three of his goats. The new grandson did not seem to compensate Walaka for the loss of his goats. He was distressed.
"Leopards are the excrement of dead lepers," he said, and would have enlarged on the subject but Sebastian interrupted him.
"Tell me of the things you have seen on this canoe. Say swiftly,
there is little time. I must go before the Allemand comes for all of us with the ropes." Mention of the ropes brought the meeting to order,
and Walaka launched into his report.
There were fires burning in the iron boxes in the belly of the canoe. Fires of such heat that they pained the eye when the door of the box was opened, fires with a breath like that of a hundred bush fires, fires that consumed... "Yes, Yes." Sebastian cut short the lyrical description.
"What else?" There had been a great carrying of goods, moving of them to one side of the canoe to make it lean in the water.
They had carried boxes and bales, unbolted machinery and guns.
See how they had been moved. They had taken from the rooms under her roof a great quantity of the huge bullets, also the white bags of powder for the guns and placed them in other rooms on the far side.
"What else?" There was more, much more to tell. Walaka enthused about meat which came out of little tins, of lanterns that burned without wick, flame or oil, of great wheels that spun, and boxes of steel that screamed and hummed, of clean fresh water that gushed from the months of long rubber snakes, sometimes cold and at other times hot as though it had been boiled over a fire. There were marvels so numerous that it confused a man.
"These things I know. Is there nothing else that you have seen?"
Indeed there was. The Allemand had shot three native porters, lining them up and covering their eyes with strips of white cloth. The men had jumped and wriggled and fallcii in a most comical fashion, and after-wards the GerJulius had washed the blood from the deck with water from the long snakes. Since then none of the other porters had helped themselves to blankets and buckets and other small movables the price was exorbitant.
Walaka's description of the execution had a chilling effect on
Sebastian. He had done what he had come to do and now his urge to leave Blitcher became overpowering. It was helped on by a German petty officer who joined the group uninvited.
"You lazy black baboons," he bellowed. "This is not a bloody
Sunday-school outing move, you swine, move!" And his boots flew. Led by Mohammed's cousin they left Walaka without farewell and scampered back along the deck. Just before they reached the entry port,
Sebastian checked. The two German officers stood where he had left them, but now they were looking up at the high smoke stacks. The tall officer with the golden beard was describing sweeping motions with his outstretched hand, talking while the stocky one listened intently.
Mohammed's cousin scurried past them and disappeared over the side into the launch, leaving Sebastian hesitant and reluctant to run the gauntlet of those pale blue eyes.
"Manali, come quickly. The boat swims, you will be left!"
Mohammed's cousin called from down below, his voice faint but urgent above the chug of the launch's engine.
Sebastian started forward again, his stomach a cold lump under his ribs. A dozen paces and he had reached the entry port.
The German officer turned and saw him. He challenged with raised voice, and came towards Sebastian, one arm outstretched as though to hold him.
Sebastian whirled and dived down the catwalk. Below him the launch was casting off her lines, water churning back from her propeller.
Sebastian reached the grating at the bottom of the catwalk. There was a gap of ten feet between him and the launch. He jumped, hung for a moment in the air, then hit the gunwale of the launch. His clutching fingers found a grip while his legs dangled in the warm water.
Mohammed's Cousin caught his shoulder and dragged him aboard.
They tumbled together in a heap on the deck ofthelaunch.
"Bloody kaffir," said Herman Fleischer and stooped to cuff them both heavily around the ears. Then he went back to his seat in the stern, and Sebastian smiled at him with something close to affection.