“Is that all?”
“No, but it’s a start.”
“And apart from - mistakes, what are the things you do not like.”
“Women who ask too many questions,” and he saw her smile.
“Selfishness except my own, turnip soup, politics, blond pubic hairs, Scotch whisky, classical music and hangovers.”
“I’m sure that is not
all.”
“No, not nearly.”
“You are very sensual. All these things are of the senses.”
“Agreed.”
“You do not mention other people. Why?”
“Is this the turn-off to the mission?”
“Yes, go slowly, the road is bad.
Why do you not mention your relationship to other people?”
“Why do you ask so many questions? Perhaps I’ll tell you some day.” She was silent
a while and then softly: “And what do you want from life - just those things you have spoken of? Is that all you want?”
“No. Not even them.
I want nothing, expect nothing; that way I cannot be disappointed.”
Suddenly she was angry. “You not only act like a child, you talk like one.”
“Another thing I don’t like: criticism.”
“You are young. You have brains, good looks-“
“Thank you, that’s better.” and you are a fool.” :That’s not so good. But don’t fret about it.” I won’t, don’t worry,” she flamed at him. “You can-” she searched for something devastating. “You can go jump out of the lake.”
“Don’t you mean into?”
“Into, out of, backwards, sideways. I don’t care!”
“Good, I’m glad we’ve got that settled. There’s the mission, I can see a light.” She did not answer but sat in her corner, breathing heavily, drawing so hard on her cigarette that the glowing up lit the interior of the Ford.
The church was in darkness, but beyond it and to one side was a long low building. Bruce saw a shadow move across one of the windows.
“Is that the hospital?”
“Yes.” Abruptly Bruce stopped the Ford beside the small front verandah and switched off the headlights and the ignition.
“Are you coming in?”
“No.”
“I’d like you to present me to Father
Ignatius.” For a moment she did not move, then she threw open her door and marched up the steps of the verandah without looking back at Bruce.
He followed her through the front office, down the passage, past the clinic and small operating theatre, into the ward.
Ah, Madame Cartier.” Father Ignatius left the bed over which he
was stooping and came towards her.
“I heard that the relief train had arrived at Port Reprieve.
I thought you would have left by now.”
“Not yet, Father. Tomorrow morning.” Ignatius was tall, six foot three or four, Bruce estimated, and thin. The sleeve of his brown cassock had been cut short as a concession to the climate and his exposed arms appeared to be all bone, hairless, with the veins blue and prominent. Big bony hands, and big bony feet in brown open sandals.
Like most tall, thin men he was round-shouldered. His face was not one that you would remember, an ordinary face with steel-rimmed spectacles perched on a rather shapeless nose, neither young nor old, nondescript hair without grey in it, but there was about him that unhurried serenity you often find in a man of God. He turned his attention to Bruce, scrutinizing him gently through his spectacles.
“Good evening, my son.”
“Good evening, Father.” Bruce felt uncomfortable; they always made him feel that way. If only, he wished with envy, I could be as certain of one thing in my life as this man is certain of everything in his.
“Father, this is Captain Curry.” Shermaine’s tone was cold, and then suddenly she smiled again. “He does not care for people, that is why he has come to take you to safety.” Father Ignatius held out his hand and Bruce found the skin was cool and dry, making him conscious of the moistness of his own.
“That is most thoughtful of you,” he said smiling, sensing the tension between them. “I don’t want to seem ungrateful, but I regret I
cannot accept your offer.”
“We have received reports that a column of armed bandits are only two hundred kilometres or so north of here.
They will arrive within a day or two. You are in great danger, these people are completely merciless,” Bruce urged him.
“Yes, Father Ignatius nodded. “I have also heard, and I am taking the steps I consider necessary. I shall take all my staff and patients into the bush.” “They’ll follow you,” said Bruce.
“I think not.” Ignatius shook his head. “They will not waste their time. They are after loot, not sick people.”
“They’ll burn your mission.”
“If they do, then we shall have to rebuild it when they leave.”
“The bush is crawling with Baluba, you’ll end up in the cooking pot.” Bruce tried another approach.
“No.” Ignatius shook his head. “Nearly every member of the tribe has at one time or another been a patient in this hospital. I have nothing to fear there, they are my friends.”
“Look here, Father. Don’t let us argue. My orders are to bring you back to Elisabethville. I
must insist.”
“And my orders are to stay here. You do agree that mine come from a higher authority than yours?” Ignatius smiled mildly.
Bruce opened his mouth to argue further; then, instead, he laughed.
“No, I won’t dispute that. Is there anything you need that I
might be able to supply?”
“Medicines?” asked Ignatius.
“Acriflavine, morphia, field dressings, not much I’m afraid.”
“They would help, and food?”
“Yes, I will let you have as much as I can spare,” promised Bruce.
One of the patients, a woman at the end of the ward, screamed so suddenly that Bruce started.
“She will be dead before morning,” Ignatius explained softly.
“There is nothing I can do.”
“What’s wrong with her?”
“She has been in
labour these past two days; there is some complication.”
“Can’t you operate?” am not a doctor, my son. We had one here before the trouble began, but he is here no longer - he has gone back to Elisabethville.
No,” his voice seemed to carry helpless regret for all the suffering of mankind, “No, she will die.” “Haig!” said Bruce.
“Pardon?”
“Father, you have a theatre here. Is it fully equipped?”
“Yes, I believe so.”
“Anaesthetic?”
“We have chloroform and pentothal.” “Good, said Bruce. “I’ll get you a doctor. Come on, Shermaine.” This heat, this stinking heat!” Wally Hendry mopped at his face with a grubby handkerchief and threw it on the green leather bunk.
“You notice how Curry leaves me and you here on the train while he puts Haig up at the hotel and he goes off with that little French bit.
It doesn’t matter that me and you must cook in this box, long as he and his buddy Haig are all right. You notice that, hey?”
“Somebody’s got to stay aboard, Wally,” Andre said.
“Yeah, but you notice who it is? Always you and me those high society. boys stick together, you’ve got to give them that, they look after each other.” He transferred his attention back to the open window of the compartment.
“Sun’s down already, and still hot enough to boil eggs. I could
use a drink.” He unlaced his jungle boots, peeled off his socks and regarded his large white feet with distaste.
“This stinking heat got my athlete’s foot going again.” He separated two of his toes and picked at the loose scaly skin between.