“There is no hot water,” Shermaine apologized.
“That is the least of my worries.” Bruce crossed to the table and opened his small personal pack, taking out his razor and soap and comb.
“I raided the chicken coop for you,” Shermaine confessed.
“There were only two eggs. How shall I cook them?” soft boiled, one minute.” Bruce stripped off his jacket and shirt, went to the sink and filled it. He sluiced his face and lifted handfuls of water over his head, snorting with pleasure.
Then he propped his shaving mirror above the taps and spread soap on his face. Shermaine came to sit on the draining board beside him and watched with frank interest.
“I will be sorry to see the beard go,” she said. “It looked like
the pelt of an otter, I liked it.”
“Perhaps I will grow it for you one day.” Bruce smiled at her. “Your eyes are blue, Shermaine.”
“It has taken you a long time to find that out,” she said and pouted dramatically. Her skin was silky and coollooking, lips pale pink without make-up. Her dark hair, drawn back, emphasized the high cheek bones and the size of her eyes.
“In India “slier” means “tiger”,” Bruce told her, watching her from the corner of his eye. Immediately she abandoned the pout and drew her lips up into a snarl. Her teeth were small and very white and only slightly uneven. Her eyes rolled wide and then crossed at an alarming angle. She growled. Taken by surprise, Bruce laughed and nearly cut himself.
“I cannot abide a woman who clowns before breakfast. It ruins my digestion,” he laughed at her.
“Breakfast!” said Shermaine and uncrossed her eyes, jumped off the draining board and ran to the stove.
“Only just in time.” She checked her watch. “One minute and twenty seconds, will you forgive me?”
“This once only, never again.”
Bruce washed the soap off his face, dried and combed his hair and came to the table.
She had a chair ready for him.
“How much sugar in your coffee?”
“Three, please.” Bruce chopped the top off his egg, and she brought the mug and placed it in front of him.
“I like making breakfast for you.” Bruce didn’t answer her.
This was dangerous talk. She sat down opposite him, leaned forward on her elbows with her chin in her hands.
“You eat too fast,” she announced and Bruce raised an eyebrow.
“But at least you keep your mouth closed.” Bruce started on his second egg.
“How old are you?” “Thirty, said Bruce.
“I’m twenty - nearly twenty-one.”
“A ripe old age.”
“What do you do?”
“I’m a soldier,” he answered.
“No, you’re not.”
“All right, I’m a lawyer.”
“You must be clever,” she said solemnly.
“A genius, that’s why I’m here.”
“Are you married?”
“No - I was.
What is this, a formal interrogation?”
“Is she dead?”
“No.” He prevented the hurt from showing in his face, it was easier to do now.
“Oh!” said Shermaine. She picked up the teaspoon and concentrated on stir ing his coffee.
ease
“is she pretty?”
“No - yes, I suppose so.”
“Where is she?” Then
quickly, “I’m sorry it’s none of my business.” Bruce took the coffee from her and drank it. Then he looked at his watch.
“It’s nearly five fifteen. I must go out and get Mike Haig.”
Shermaine stood up quickly.
“I’m ready.”
“I know the way - you had better get down to the station.”
“I want to come with you.”
“Why?”
“Just because, that’s why.”
Searching for a reason. “I want to see the baby again.”
“You win.”
Bruce picked up his pack and they went through into the lounge.
Boussier was there, dressed and efficient. His men were nearly ready to move.
“Madame Cartier and I are going out to the mission to fetch the doctor. We will be back in half an hour or so. I want all your people aboard by then.”
“Very well, Captain.” Bruce called to Ruffy who was standing on the verandah.
“Did you load those supplies for the mission?”
“They’re in the back of the Ford, boss.”
“Good. Bring all your sentries in and take them down to the station. Tell the engine driver to get steam up and keep his hand on the throttle. We’ll shove off as soon as I get back with Lieutenant Haig.”
“Okay, boss.” Bruce handed him his pack. “Take this down for me, Ruffy.” Then his eyes fell on the large heap of cardboard cartons at Ruffy’s feet. “What’s that?” Ruffy looked a little embarrassed. “Coupla bottles of beer, boss. Thought we might get thirsty going home.”
“Good for you!” grinned Bruce. “Put them in a safe place and don’t drink them all before I get back.”
“I’ll save you one or two,” promised Ruffy.
“Come along, tiger girl,” and Bruce led Shermaine out to the Ford.
She sat closer to him than the previous day, but with her legs curled up under her, as before. As they crossed the causeway she lit two cigarettes and passed one to him.
“I’ll be glad to leave this place,” she said, looking out across the swamp with the mist lifting sluggishly off it in the dawn, hanging in grey shreds from the fluffy tops of the papyrus grass.
“I’ve hated it here since Paul died. I hate the swamp the
mosquitoes and the jungle all around. I’m glad we’re going.” “Where will you go?” Bruce asked.
“I haven’t thought about it. Back to Belgium, I suppose.
Anywhere away from the Congo. Away from this heat to a country where you can breathe. Away from the disease and the fear. Somewhere so that I know tomorrow I will not have to run. Where human life has meaning, away from the killing and the burning and the rape.” She drew
on her cigarette almost fiercely. staring ahead at the green wall of the forest.
“I was born in Africa,” said Bruce. “In the time when the judge’s gavel was not the butt of an FN rifle, before you registered your vote with :, burst of gunfire.” He spoke softhe with regret. “In the time before the hatred. But now I don’t know. I haven’t thought much about the future either.” He was silent for a while. They reached the turn-off to the mission and he swung the Ford into it “it has all changed so quickly; I hadn’t realized how quickly until :I came here to the Congo.”
“Are you going to stay here, Bruce? I mean, stay here in the Congo?” “No,” he said, “I’ve had enough. I don’t even know what
I’m fighting for.”
He threw the butt of his cigarette out of the window.
Ahead of them were the mission buildings.
Bruce parked the car outside the hospital buildings and they sat together quietly.
“There must be some other land,” he whispered, “and if there is
I’ll find it.” He opened the door and stepped out. Shermaine slid across the seat under the wheel and joined him. They walked side by
side to the hospital; her hand brushed his and he caught it, held it and felt the pressure of his fingers returned by hers. She was taller than his shoulder, but not much.
Mike Haig and Father Ignatius were together in the women’s ward, too engrossed to hear the Ford arrive.
“Good morning, Michael,” called Bruce. “What’s the fancy dress for?” Mike Haig looked up and grinned. “Morning, Bruce.
Hello, Shermaine.” Then he looked down at the faded brown cassock he wore.