We limped along for the rest of the day, choosing subsided areas and river beds in order to avoid being spotted. Despite the poor visibility, the guide Jibreel gave the impression that he knew where he was taking us, which helped us overcome our fatigue. Our progress was slowed by the dizziness of the old people. We were aware of the need to keep going because every delay was a danger. Towards evening, the wind died down and the curtain of dust started to disperse. Dr Juárez chose a bare basin for the night.
Since our altercation, Bruno had been avoiding me. The few times our eyes met, he turned away before I had time to give him a sign. I realised how much I had hurt him and I was sorry I hadn’t kept my opinions to myself.
Two boys and a little girl, who seemed to be from the same family, approached me as I was laying my sleeping bag on a bed of sand. They were dressed in faded vests that hung down over their grazed knees and threadbare shorts. The older of the two boys, who must have been about eight or nine, wore amulets on his arms that were identical to Joma’s. The little girl and the other boy had puffy faces, rheumy eyes and runny noses. They sat down next to me, in silence. I took a can of food from my rucksack. The older boy shook his head and with his chin indicated the torch sticking out of my pocket.
‘Do you want it?’
He nodded.
I held out the torch. He took it in his calloused hands with their grazed knuckles, looked at it with joy, showed it to his brother and sister. From the way he pressed it to him, I understood that he was asking me if he could keep it. I nodded. The three children let out squeals and ran off immediately, for fear I might change my mind. Subsequently, the younger boy came back to collect the can of food and ran to catch up with the two others without turning round. Dr Juárez, who had witnessed our little game, emerged from the shadows and crouched opposite me, two cups of coffee in her hands.
‘I hope I’m not disturbing you.’
‘On the contrary.’
‘Thanks …’
‘I really must apologise for my behaviour yesterday.’
‘Oh, it doesn’t matter. We’re all a bit on edge, and it’s good to get things off your chest from time to time.’
‘I’m not in the habit of being so impolite.’
‘I don’t doubt it for a moment.’
‘Sometimes, I can’t believe what I’m becoming. It’s as if I get a kick out of being unpleasant. But that’s not what I’m like. I’m usually the kind of person who backs off when arguments get too heated. After you left, I behaved very badly towards Bruno. That’s why he’s upset with me.’
‘It’s odd, he has the feeling he was the one who behaved badly towards you. He told me about your little row.’
‘No, it’s my fault. Bruno is a good person. I’m the one who was out of control. I admit I’m finding it harder and harder to see things clearly.’
She offered me a cigarette. I told her I had quit when I left university. She thought I had made the right decision. She herself had tried many times, but after two or three months of abstinence she always ended up having one. She took out a lighter, lit her cigarette, puffed at it insistently. I let her smoke in peace, even enjoyed smelling the intoxicating odour of burnt tobacco.
‘We aren’t too far from the camp now,’ she said.
‘I was starting to despair. I’ve hardly slept since I found out we are in Darfur.’
‘You can sleep soundly tonight. We’re no longer in any danger. The area is more or less secured.’
‘More or less?’
‘I mean that the rebels and bandits have stopped operating in this part of Darfur since the African Union sent military units.’
‘Pleased to hear it.’
‘As soon as we get to the camp, we’ll inform the authorities that you’re safe and sound. If all goes well, you’ll be back home in less than a week.’
‘Let’s get to the camp first. This country has made me superstitious.’
She laughed, and her dimples showed, emphasising the fineness of her features.
‘What town are you from, Dr Krausmann?’
‘Frankfurt … You can call me Kurt.’
‘Only if you agree to call me Elena.’
‘All right, Elena. It’s a nice name … Are you from Madrid?’
‘Seville.’
‘I love Seville. I’ve been there several times. It’s a wonderful town, and the people are very welcoming.’
‘I haven’t been back for years. My parents moved to Valencia. They run a little restaurant on the coast … Do you have children?’
‘My wife didn’t want any. Or rather, she was in no hurry. Her work wouldn’t allow it.’
‘Is she also a doctor?’
‘She was in marketing … What about you? Do you have children?’
‘My patients are jealous. They don’t like unfair competition.’
Her eyes came back to me, shining like jewels. I let her sip her coffee and puff on her cigarette before asking her if her patients were excessively possessive. She considered my question, seemed to guess what I meant by ‘excessively possessive’, lifted a ravishing eyebrow, but didn’t have time to answer. One of the nurses arrived, looking embarrassed. He didn’t need to say what had brought him. Elena had understood. Once again, duty called, and our conversation was interrupted just as it was getting interesting. She gave me a little wave and stood up. I offered to assist her, but she advised me to get some rest: the last stage, she said, was often the roughest. Her hand brushed against my shoulder. I almost put my cheek against it. Out of pure reflex. That didn’t escape her. She hastened to follow the nurse. I contented myself with watching her walk away.
I couldn’t get to sleep after that. And not because of the danger.
3. Homecomings
1
We reached the Red Cross camp at nightfall, completely exhausted and in a very sorry state. The old people collapsed as soon as they were through the gate, and had to be picked up. The women and children staggered in the dust, mere scraps of flesh wrapped in rags, their mouths drooping with hunger and thirst. We had lost two more of the group on the way and taken turns pulling the sickest. Male nurses came running to meet us. Stretchers were unfolded. Nobody in the camp had been expecting so many people to arrive. Nothing had been prepared for them. Elena tried to see that things were done in the right order, but she soon ran out of energy and had to step aside. A tall, lanky man joined us in the main yard. He was the director of the centre. In his sixties, with stooped shoulders and a large nose, he was a full head taller than any of us. In marked contrast to his affable, gentle manner, his stentorian voice rang out like a whip. He began by issuing instructions to his staff, told the stretcher-bearers to take care of the old people and children first, ordered hot meals and two tents to be got ready, then, once the families had been dispatched and calm restored, he turned to Elena and her team, who, no longer able to stand, had sat down on the ground, their heads bowed and their arms around their knees. Bruno and I didn’t know if we should go straight to the two tents or wait where we were for our fate to be decided. The director hadn’t taken any particular notice of us. To be honest, there was nothing to distinguish us from the other refugees. Filthy, with our legs as thin as wading birds’ and our downcast expressions, we looked like two scarecrows dumped in a field. The director crouched by Elena, patted her on the wrist in support and helped her to her feet. While Elena, Lotta and Orfane were delivering their report in the director’s office, the two nurses took their leave of us and headed to a wing of the camp. Slowly, the bustle of the families settling into the tents died down and gave way to the hum of a generator. The camp was lit by floodlights as well as a number of anaemic-looking street lamps. You could see the rows of tents around the administrative block, a water tank mounted on metal scaffolding, a second block with lighted windows that looked like an infirmary, a third block with a chimney on top — presumably the kitchens — a glazed hut at the entrance to the camp which served as a guard post, and, somewhat further back, a huge canvas shed with a red cross on it. There was a car park on the south side of the camp, where two ambulances and two Land Rovers stood beneath corrugated-iron canopies. It was like being in a military fort, and nothing like the refugee camps you usually saw on television. No crowds, no rioting, no campfires, no disturbances. Everything seemed scrupulously laid out.