It was a dazzlingly bright morning. The night’s slight drizzle had cleared the air and the sun was playing at being an artist. But who could stand its talent? Its light was garish, the clarity of the horizon overblown. It was a day that was playing to the gallery, trying to distinguish itself from all the others, making sure people took notice. It would be engraved for ever in my subconscious.
I walked to the helicopter, deaf to Elena’s cries. I was in a parallel world. The inside of the aircraft stank of fuel. The engines started wheezing more and more loudly, then, like a huge dragonfly, the helicopter spun into the air. The colonel tapped me on the knee. I felt like screaming at him to keep his hand as far away from me as possible. I did nothing. My whole being was bowed like a weeping willow. The noise of the helicopter drilled into my eardrums. On the bench facing me, five armed soldiers looked out at the desert through the windows. They were the colonel’s escort. Handpicked, probably expert marksmen. Young as they were, some beardless, they were battle-hardened. Their calm was like the lull before a storm.
‘What happened?’ I asked the colonel.
‘An engagement between a detachment of the regular army and a group of rebels. Our soldiers didn’t know there was a hostage.’
‘A blunder, in other words?’
‘Certainly not,’ he exclaimed, outraged. ‘Our detachment wasn’t on active operations, it was carrying out a supply mission. It came across the rebels by chance, and they immediately opened fire to cover their retreat. Our response was perfectly appropriate. Our soldiers, I repeat, didn’t know that there was a hostage among the criminals. And we are the first to deplore this … this accident.’
‘Accident?’
‘Absolutely, sir.’
‘And you’re sure it’s Hans Makkenroth?’
‘According to the two suspects you identified from the photographs, it was definitely him. They both confessed. And they took us to the place where they buried him.’
‘When?’
‘Yesterday afternoon.’
‘Does the embassy know?’
‘They were informed immediately after the discovery of the body. A plane went to pick up the ambassador very early this morning.’ He looked at his watch. ‘He’ll get there the same time as we do.’
‘Is it far from here?’
‘About two hours’ flight.’
‘I suppose you’re counting on me to identify the body?’
‘I can’t think of anybody else who’d be entitled to do so.’
I sat back and said nothing.
Below, pitiful hills, weary of sinking into the sand, formed lines to hold back the advance of the desert; scarlike anthracite patches told of the ages before the flood and their forests filled with game, which a cataclysm had decimated in an instant. Where was man in all this? What did he represent in the cosmic breath? Was he aware of what made him naked and isolated? Was the desert around him or inside him? … I pulled myself together. I had to empty my head. I was in too fragile a state to venture into such unknown territory.
After two hours of noise and the stench of kerosene, the helicopter dipped to the side, straightened up again and started losing altitude. The colonel went into the cockpit to give instructions to the two pilots. Through the window, I saw a column of armoured vehicles parked along a track, soldiers and, further on, a little propeller plane beside which a delegation of civilians stood watching us land.
The German ambassador greeted me as I got out of the helicopter. He introduced the people with him, who included Gerd Bechter. They were all grief-stricken. There were no reporters or cameramen. A high-ranking Sudanese officer whispered something to me that I didn’t catch. His obsequiousness maddened me. I was relieved to see him fall back into the ranks. I asked to be taken to see my friend. The ambassador and his staff set off after a young officer, and I trailed behind. I felt as if my shoes were sticking to the ground. A platoon of soldiers was mounting guard around a heap of stones, their rifles trained on two prisoners: Ewana, the former malaria patient, and the driver of the sidecar motorcycle. Handcuffed and in chains, they were in an indescribable state; it was obvious from the marks on their faces, limbs and clothes that they had been tortured. As I passed them, I looked them up and down. Ewana bowed his head, while his accomplice openly defied me.
We came to six makeshift graves. Some had been desecrated by jackals or hyenas, the soldiers had done the rest. The decomposing corpses were mostly unrecognisable … Chief Moussa had his mouth open, exposing his gold tooth, a hole in the middle of his forehead … Hans, my friend Hans, was lying in the same pit as his kidnapper. His head had been smashed in, and there were black stains on his chest. His white beard quivered in the breeze, his eyes closed over his final thoughts. I wondered what he had been thinking about just before he died, what last cry he had taken away with him, if he had died instantly or if his agony had been long and cruel … My God! What a waste! What could I say in the face of such absurdity? All the words in the world seemed pointless and inappropriate. I could look at the sky, or my trembling hands, or the inscrutable faces of the soldiers and the officials, I could cry until my voice failed me, or say nothing and be one with the silence, it made no difference. And besides, what power did I have left, except for the strength to stare at my friend’s body and the courage to admit that I had arrived too late?