“You got any of that ointment left, Andre?”
“Yes, I’ll get it for you.”
Andre opened the flap of his pack, took out the tube and crossed to
Wally’s bunk.
“Put it on,” instructed Wally and lay back offering his feet.
Andre took them in his lap as he sat down on the bunk and went to work.
Wally lit a cigarette and blew smoke towards the roof, watching it disperse.
“Hell, I could use a drink. A beer with dew on the glass and a head that thick.” He held up four fingers, then he lifted himself on one elbow and studied Andre as he spread ointment between the long prehensile toes.
“How’s it going?”
“Nearly finished, Wally.”
“Is it bad?”
“Not as bad as last time, it hasn’t started weeping yet.”
“it itches like you
wouldn’t believe it,” said Wally.
Andre did not answer and Wally kicked him in the ribs with the flat of his free foot, “Did you hear what I said?” “Yes, you said it itches.”
“Well, answer me when I talk to you. I ain’t talking to myself.”
“I’m sorry, Wally.” Wally grunted and was silent a while, then: “Do you like me, Andre?”
“You know I do, Wally.”
“We’re friends, aren’t we, Andre?”
“Of course, you know that, Wally.” An expression of cunning had replaced Wally’s boredom.
“You don’t mind when I ask you to do things for me, like putting stuff on my feet?”
“I don’t mind - it’s a pleasure, Wally.”
“It’s a pleasure, is it?” There was an edge in Wally’s voice now. “You like doing it?” Andre looked up at him apprehensively. “I don’t mind it.”
His molten toffee eyes clung to the narrow Mongolian ones in Wally’s face.
“You like touching me, Andre?” Andre stopped working with the ointment and nervously wiped his fingers on his towel.
“I said, do you like touching me, Andre? Do you sometimes wish
I’d touch you?” Andre tried to stand up, but Wally’s right arm shot out
and his hand fastened on Andre’s neck, forcing him down on to the bunk.
“Answer me, damn you, do you like it?”
“You’re hurting me, Wally,” whispered Andre.
“Shame, now ain’t that a shame!” Wally was grinning. He shifted his grip to the ridge of muscle above Andre’s collar bone and dug his fingers in until they almost met through the flesh.
“Please, Wally, please,” whimpered Andre, wriggling face down on the bunk.
“You love it, don’t you? Come on, answer me.”
“Yes, all right, yes. Please don’t hurt me, Wally.”
“Now, tell me truly, doll boy, have you ever had it before?
I mean for real.” Wally put his knee in the small of Andre’s back, bearing down with all his weight.
“No!” shrieked Andre. “I haven’t. Please, Wally, don’t hurt me.”
“You’re lying to me, Andre. Don’t do it.”
“All right. I was lying.”
Andre tried to twist his head round, but Wally pushed his face into the bunk.
“Tell me all about it - come on, doll boy.”
“It was only once, in
Brussels.”
“Who was this beef bandit?”
“My employer. I worked for him.
He had an export agency.”
“Did he throw you out, doll boy? Did he throw you out when he was tired of you?”
“No, you don’t understand!”
Andre denied with sudden vehemence. “You don’t understand. He looked after me. I had my own apartment, my own car, everything. He :
wouldn’t have abandoned me if it hadn’t been for,- for what happened. He couldn’t help it, he was true to me. I swear to you - he loved me!” Wally snorted with laughter, he was enjoying himself now.
“Loved you! Jesus wept!” He threw his head back, for the laughter was almost strangling him, and it was ten seconds before he could ask:
“Then what happened between you and your true blue lover? Why didn’t you get married and settle down to raise a family, hey?” At the improbability of his own sense of humour Wally convulsed with laughter once more.
“There was an investigation. The police - ooh! you’re hurting me, Wally.”
“Keep talking, rnarnselle!”
“The police - he had no alternative. He was a man of position, he couldn’t afford the scandal.
There was no other way out - there never is for us. It’s hopeless, there is no happiness.”
“Cut the crap, doll boy. just give me the story.”
“He arranged employment for me in Elisabethville, gave me money, paid for my air fare, everything. He did everything, he looked after me, he still writes to me.”
“That’s beautiful, real true love.
You make me want to cry.
Then Wally’s laughter changed its tone, harsher now.
“Well, get this, doll boy, and get it good. I don’t like queers!”
He dug his fingers in again and Andre squealed.
“I’ll tell you a story. When I was in reform school there was a queer there that tried to touch me up. One day I got him in the shower rooms with a razor, just an ordinary Gillette razor. There were twenty guys singing and shouting in the other cubicles. He screamed just like they were all screaming when the cold water hit them. No one took any notice of him. He wanted to be a woman, so I helped him.” Hendry’s voice went hoarse and gloating with the memory.
“Jesus!” he whispered. “Jesus, the blood!” Andre was sobbing now, his whole body shaking.
“Don’t - please, Wally, I can’t help it. It was just that one time. Please leave me.”
“How would you like me to help you, Andre?”
“No,” shrieked Andre. And Hendry lost interest; he released him, left
him lying on the bunk and reached for his socks.
“I’m going to find me a beer.” He laced on his boots and stood up.
“Just you remember,” he said darkly, standing over the boy on the bunk. “Don’t get any ideas with me, Bucko.” He picked up his rifle and went out into the corridor.
Wally found Boussier on the verandah of the hotel talking with a group of his men.
“Where’s Captain Curry?” he demanded.
“He has gone out to the mission station.”
“When did he leave?”
“About ten minutes ago.”
“Good,” said Wally. “Who’s got the key to the bar?” Boussier hesitated.
“The captain has ordered that the bar is to remain locked.” Wally unslung his rifle.
“Don’t give me a hard time, friend.”
“I regret, monsieur, that I
must obey the captain’s instructions.” For a minute they stared at each other, and there was no sign of weakening in the older man.
“Have it your way, then,” said Wally and swaggered through the lounge to the bar-room door. He put his foot against the lock and the flimsy mechanism yielded to the pressure. The door flew open and Wally marched across to the counter, laid his rifle on it and reached underneath to the shelves loaded with Simba beer.
The first bottle he emptied without taking it from his lips. He belched luxuriously and reached for the second, hooked the cap off with the opener and inspected the bubble of froth that appeared at its mouth.
“Hendry! Wally looked up at Mike Haig in the doorway.
“Hello, Mike.” He grinned.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Mike demanded.
“What does it look like?” Wally raised the bottle in salutation and then sipped delicately at the froth.
“Bruce has given strict orders that no one is allowed in here.”
“Oh, for Chrissake, Haig. Stop acting like an old woman.”
“Out you get, Hendry. I’m in charge here.”
“Mike,” Wally grinned at him, you