General Moses was there, sitting alone at the desk in the front office.
There was nothing sinister about him; he looked like an elderly clerk, a small man with the short woollen cap of hair grizzled to grey above the ears and a pair of horn-rimmed spectacles. On his chest he wore three rows of full-dress medals; each of his fingers was encased in rings to the second joint, diamonds, emeralds and the occasional red glow of a ruby; most of them had been designed for women, but the metal had been cut to enlarge them for his stubby black fingers. The face was almost kindly, except the eyes.
There was a blankness of expression in them, the lifeless eyes of a madman. On the desk in front of him was a small wooden case made of
unvarnished deal which bore the seal of the Union Mini&e Company stencilled in black upon its side. The lid was open, and as Andre came in through the door with his escort General Moses lifted a white canvas bag from the case, loosened the drawstring and poured a pile of dark grey industrial diamonds on to the blotter in front of him.
He prodded them thoughtfully with his finger, stirring them so they glittered dully in the harsh light of the petromax.
“Was this the only case in the truck?” he asked without looking up.
“Oui, mon general. There was only one,” answered one of Andre’s escorts..
“You are certain?”
“Oui, mon general. I myself have searched thoroughly.” General Moses took another of the canvas bags from the case and emptied it on to the blotter. He grunted with disappointment as he saw the drab little stones. He reached for another bag, and another, his anger mounting steadily as each yielded only dirty grey and black industrial diamonds. Soon the pile on the blotter would have filled a pint jug.
“Did you open the case?” he snarled.
“Non, mon general It was sealed. The seal was not broken, you saw that.” General Moses grunted again, his dark chocolate face set hard with frustration. Once more he dipped his hand into the wooden case and suddenly he smiled.
“Ah!” he said pleasantly. “Yes! yes! what is this?” He brought out a cigar box, with the gaudy wrappers still on the cedarwood. A
thumbnail prised the lid back and he beamed happily. In a nest of cotton wool, sparkling, breaking the white light of the petromax into all the rainbow colours of the spectrum, were the gem stones. General
Moses picked one up and held it between thumb and forefinger.
“Pretty,” he murmured. “Pretty, so pretty.” He swept the industrial stones to one side and laid the gem in the centre of the blotter. Then one by one he took the others from the cigar box, fondling each and laying it on the blotter, counting them, smiling, once chuckling softly, touching them, arranging them in patterns.
“Pretty,” he kept whispering. “Bon - forty-one, forty-two.
Pretty! My darlings! Forty-three.” Then suddenly he scooped them up and poured them into one of the canvas bags, tightened the drawstring, dropped it into his breast pocket above the medals and
buttoned the flap.
He laid his black, bejewelled hands on the desk in front of him and looked up at Andre.
His eyes were smoky yellow with black centres behind his spectacles. They had an opaque, dreamlike quality.
“Take off his clothes,” he said in a voice that was as expressionless as the eyes.
They stripped Andre with rough dispatch and General Moses looked at his body.
“So white,” he murmured. “Why so white?” Suddenly his jaws began chewing nervously and there was a faint shine of sweat on his forehead.
He came round from behind the desk, a small man yet with an intensity about him that doubled his size.
“White like the maggots that feed in the living body of the elephant.” He brought his face close to Andre’s- “You should be fatter, my maggot, having fed so long and so wellyou should be much fatter.” He touched Andre’s body, running his hands down his flanks in a caress.
“ he said, and
“But now it is too late, little white maggot. Andre cringed from his touch and from his voice. “For the elephant has shaken you from the wound, shaken you out on to the ground, shaken you out beneath his feet - and will you pop when he crushes you?” His voice was still soft though the sweat oozed in oily lines down his cheeks and the dreaminess of his eyes had been replaced by a burning black brightness.
“We shall see,” he said and drew back. “We shall see, My maggot,” he repeated, and brought his knee up into Andws crotch with a force that jerked his whole frame and flung his shoulders back.
The agony flared through Andre’s lower body, fierce as the touch of heated steel. It clamped in on his stomach, contracting it in a spasm
like childbirth, it rippled up across the muscles of his chest into his head and burst beneath the roof of his skull in a whiteness that blinded him.
“Hold him,” commanded General Moses, his voice suddenly shrill.
The two guards took Andre by the elbows and forced him to his knees, so that his genitals and lower belly were easily accessible to the general’s boots. They had done this often.
“For the times you gaoled me!” And General Moses swung his booted foot into Andre’s body. The pain blended with the other pain, and it was too strong for Andre to scream.
“This, for the insults,” and Andre could feel his testicles crush beneath it. Still it was too strong - he could not use his voice.
“This, for the times I have grovelled.” The pain had passed its zenith, this time he could scream with it. He opened his mouth and filled his empty lungs.
“This, for the times I have hungered.” Now he must scream. Now he must - the pain, oh, sweet Christ, I must, please let me scream.
“This, for your white man’s justice.” Why can’t I, please let me. Oh, no! No - please. Oh, God, oh, please.
“This, for your prisons and your Kiboko!” The kicks so fast now, like the beat of an insane drummer, like rain on a tin roof In his stomach he felt something tear.
“And this, and this, and this.” The face before him filled the whole field of his vision.
The voice and the sound of the boot into him filled his ears.
“This, and this, and this.” The voice high-pitched and in him the sudden warm flood of internal bleeding.
The pain was fading now as his body closed it out in defence, and he had not screamed. The leap of elation as he knew it. This last thing I can do well, I can die now WITHOUT SCREAMING. He tried to stand up, but they held him down and his legs were not his own, they were on the other side of the great numb warmth of his belly. He lifted his head and looked at the man who was killing him.
“This for the white filth that bore you, and this, and this-” The blows were not a part of reality, he could feel the shock of them as though he stood close to a man who was cutting down a tree with an axe.
And Andre smiled.
He was still smiling when they let him fall forward to the floor.
“I think he is dead,” said one of the guards. General Moses turned away and walked back to his seat at the desk.
He was shaking as though he had run a long way, and his breathing
was deep and fast. The jacket of his uniform was soaked with sweat.
He sank into the chair and his body seemed to crumple; slowly the brightness faded from his eyes until once more they were filmed over, opaque and dreamy. The two guards squatted down quickly on each side of Andre’s body; they knew it would be a long wait.
Through the open window there came an occasional shout of drunken laughter, and the red flicker and leap of flames.
Bruce stood in the centre of the tracks and searched the floor of the forest critically. At last he could make out the muzzle of the
Bren protruding a few inches from the patch of elephant grass. Despite the fact that he knew exactly where to look for it, it had taken him a full two minutes to find it.