Surrier.
“Have you detailed a burial squad?”
“Yes, boss. Six of the boys are out back digging.”
“Good,” Bruce nodded. “Hendry, come with me.
We’ll go and have a look at the trucks.” Half an hour later Bruce closed the bonnet of the last vehicle. “This is the only one that won’t run. The carburettor’s smashed. We’ll take the tyres off it for spares.” He wiped his greasy hands on the sides of his trousers.
“Thank God, the tanker is untouched. We’ve got six hundred gallons there, more than enough for the return trip.”
“You going to take the
Ford?” asked Hendry.
“Yes, it may come in useful.”
“And it will be more comfortable for you and your little French thing.” Heavy sarcasm in Hendry’s voice.
“That’s right,” Bruce answered evenly. “Can you drive?”
“What you think? You think I’m a bloody fool?”
“Everyone is always trying to get at you, aren’t they? You can’t trust anyone, can you?” Bruce asked softly.
“You’re so bloody right!” agreed Hendry.
Bruce changed the subject. “Andre had a message for you before he died.”
“Old doll boy!”
“He threw that grenade. Did you know that?”
“Yeah. I knew it.” “Don’t you want to hear what he said?”
“Once a queer, always a queer, and the only good queer is a dead queer.”
“All right.” Bruce frowned. “Get a couple of men to help you. Fill the
trucks with gas. We’ve wasted enough time already.”
IF
They buried their dead in a communal grave, packing them in quickly and covering them just as quickly. Then they stood embarrassed and silent round the mound.
“You going to say anything, boss?” Ruffy asked, and they all looked at Bruce.
“No.” Bruce turned away and started for the trucks.
What the hell can you say, he thought angrily. Death is not someone to make conversation with. All YOU can say is, “These were men; weak and strong, evil and good, and a lot in between. But now they’re dead - like pork.” He looked back over his shoulder.
“All right, let’s move out.” The convoy ground slowly over the
causeway. Bruce led in the Ford and the air blowing in through the shattered windscreen was too humid and steamy to give relief from the rising heat.
The sun stood high above the forest as they passed the turn-off to the mission.
Bruce looked along it, and he wanted to signal the convoy to continue while he went up to St. Augustine’s. He wanted to see Mike
Haig and Father Ignatius, make sure that they were safe.
Then he put aside the temptation. If there is more horror up there at St. Augustine’s, if the shufta have found them and there are
raped women and dead men there, then there is nothing I can do and I
don’t want to know about it.
It is better to believe that they are safely hidden in the jungle.
It is better to believe that out of all this will remain something good.
He led the convoy resolutely past the turn-off an dover the hills
towards the level crossing.
Suddenly another idea came to him and he thought about it, turning it over with pleasure.
Four men came to Port Reprieve, men without hope, men abandoned by
God.
And they learned that it was not too late, perhaps it is never too late.
For one of them found the strength to die like a man, although he had lived his whole life with weakness.
Another rediscovered the self-respect he had lost along the way, -and with it the chance to start again.
The third found - he hesitated - yes, the third found love.
And the fourth? Bruce’s smile faded as he thought of Wally
Hendry. It was a neat little parable, except for Wally Hendry. What
had he found? A dozen human ears threaded on a pencil?
“Can’t you get up enough steam to move us back to the crossing -
only a few miles.”
“I am desolate, m’sieur. She will not hold even a belch, to say nothing of a head of steam.” The engine driver spread his pudgy little’hands in a gesture of helplessness.
Bruce studied the rent in the boiler. The metal was torn open like the petals of a flower. He knew it had been a forlorn request.
“Very well. Thank you.” He turned to Ruffy. “We’ll have to carry everything back to the convoy. Another day wasted.”
“It’s a long walk,” Ruffy agreed. “Better get started.”
“How much food have we?”
“Not too much. We’ve been feeding a lot of extra mouths, and we sent a lot out to the mission.”
“How much?”
“About two more days.”
“That should get us to Elisabethville.”
“Boss, you want to carry everything to the lorries?
Searchlights, ammunition, blankets - all of it?” Bruce paused for a moment. “I think so. We may need it.”
“It’s going to take the rest of the day.”
“Yes,” agreed Bruce. Ruffy walked back along the train but Bruce called after him.
“Ruffy!”
“Boss?”
“Don’t forget the beer.” Ruffy’s black moon of a face split laterally into a grin.
“You think we should take it?”
“Why not?” Bruce laughed.
“Man, you talked me right into it.” And the night was almost on them before the last of the equipment had been carried back from the
Abandoned train to the convoy and loaded into the trucks.
Time is a slippery thing, even more so than wealth. No bank vault can hold it for you, this precious stuff which we spend in such prodigal fashion on the trivialities. By the time we have slept and eaten and moved from one place to the next there is such a small percentage left for the real business of living.
Bruce felt futile resentment as he always did when he thought about it. And if you discount the time spent at an office desk, then how much is there left? Half of one day a week, that’s how much the average man lives! That’s how far short of our potential is the actuality of existence.
Take it further than that: we are capable of using only a fraction of our physical and mental strength. Only under hypnosis are we able to exert more than a tenth of what is in us. So divide that half of one day a week by ten, and the rest is waste! Sickening waste!
“Ruffy, have you detailed sentries for tonight?” Bruce barked at him.
“Not yet. I was just-“
“Well, do it, and do it quickly.” Ruffy looked at Bruce in speculation and through his anger Bruce felt a qualm of regret that he had selected that mountain of energy on which to vent his frustration.
“Where the hell is Hendry?” he snapped.
Without speaking Ruffy pointed to a group of men round one of the
trucks at the rear of the convoy and Bruce left him.
Suddenly consumed with impatience Bruce fell upon his men.
Shouting at them, scattering them to a dozen different tasks. He walked along the convoy making sure that his instructions were being
carried out to the letter; checking the siting of the Brens and the searchlights, making sure that the single small cooking fire was screened from Baluba eyes, stopping to watch the refuelling of the trucks and the running maintenance he had ordered. Men avoided catching his eye and bent to their tasks with studied application.
There were no raised voices or sounds of laughter in the camp.
Again Bruce had decided against a night journey. The temptation itched within him, but the exhaustion of those gendarmes who had not slept since the previous morning and the danger of travelling in the dark he could not ignore.
“We’ll leave as soon as it’s light tomorrow,” Bruce told Ruffy.
“Okay, boss,” Ruffy nodded, and then soothingly, “you’re tired.