other in Elisabethville now, doing damn good for himself."
Boasting a little.
"Bully for him," said Bruce.
The train had started angling down the hills towards the town.
"Well, I reckon we've made it, boss."
"I reckon also; all we have to do is get back again."
"Yes sir, I
reckon that's all." And they ran into the town.
There were more than forty people in the crowd that lined the platform
to welcome them.
We'll have a heavy load on the way home, thought Bruce as he ran his eye
over them. He saw the bright spots of women's dresses in the throng.
Bruce counted four of them. That's another complication; one day I hope
I find something in this life that turns out exactly as expected,
something that will run smoothly and evenly through to its right and
logical conclusion. Some hope, he decided, some bloody hope.
The joy and relief of the men and women on the platform was pathetically
apparent in their greetings. Most of the women were crying and the men
ran beside the train like small boys as it slid in along the raised
concrete platform.
All of them were of mixed blood, Bruce noted. They varied in colour from
creamy yellow to charcoal. The Belgians had certainly left
much to be remembered by.
Standing back from the throng, a little aloof from the general
jollification, was a half-blooded Belgian. There was an air of authority
about him that was unmistakable. On one side of him stood a large bosomy
woman of his own advanced age, darker skinned than he was; but Bruce saw
immediately that she was his wife. At his other hand stood a figure
dressed in a white open-necked shirt and blue jeans that
Bruce at first thought was a boy, until the head turned and he saw the
long plume of dark hair that hung down her back, and the unmanly double
pressure beneath the white shirt.
The train stopped and Bruce jumped down on to the platform and
laughingly pushed his way through the crowds towards the Belgian.
Despite a year in the Congo, Bruce had not grown accustomed to being
kissed by someone who had not shaved for two or three days and who
smelled strongly of garlic and cheap tobacco. This atrocity was
committed upon him a dozen times or more. before he arrived before the
Belgian.
"The Good Lord bless you for coming to our aid, Monsieur Captain."
The Belgian recognized the twin bars on the front of Bruce's helmet and
held out his hand. Bruce had expected another kiss, so he accepted the
handshake with relief.
"I am only glad that we are in time," he answered.
"May I introduce myself - Martin Boussier, district manager of
Union Miniere Corporation, and this is my wife, Madame Boussier." He was
a tall man, but unlike his wife, sparsely fleshed. His hair was
completely silver and his skin folded, toughened and browned by a life
under the equatorial sun. Bruce took an instant liking to him. Madame
Boussier pressed her bulk against Bruce and kissed him heartily. Her
mustache was too soft to cause him discomfort and she smelled of toilet
soap, which was a distinct improvement, decided Bruce.
"May I also present Madame Cartier," and for the first time Bruce looked
squarely at the girl. A number of things registered in his mind
simultaneously: the paleness of her skin which was not unhealthy but had
an opaque coolness which he wanted to touch, the size of her eyes which
seemed to fill half her face, the unconscious provocation of her lips,
and the use of the word Madame before her name.
"Captain Curry - of the Katanga Army," said Bruce. She's too young to be
married, can't be more than seventeen.
She's still got that little girl freshness about her and I bet she
smells like an unweaned puppy.
"Thank you for coming, monsieur." She had a throatiness in her voice as
though she were just about to laugh or to make love, and Bruce added
three years to his estimate of her age. That was not a little girl's
voice, nor were those little girl's legs in the jeans, and little girls
had less under their shirt fronts.
His eyes came back to her face and he saw that there was colour in her
cheeks now and sparks of annoyance in her eyes.
My God, he thought, I'm ogling her like a matelot on shore leave.
He hurriedly transferred his attention back to Boussier, but his throat
felt constricted as he asked: "How many are you?"
"There are forty-two of us, of which five are women and two are
children." Bruce nodded, it was what he had expected. The women could
ride in one of the covered
coaches. He turned and surveyed the railway yard.
"Is there a turntable on which we can revolve the locomotive?" he asked
Boussier.
"No, Captain." They would have to reverse all the way back to
Msapa Junction, another complication. It would be more difficult to keep
a watch on the tracks ahead, and it would mean a sooty and uncomfortable
journey.
"What precautions have you taken against attack, monsieur?"
"They are inadequate, Captain," Boussier admitted. "I have not
sufficient men to defend the town - most of the population left before
the emergency. Instead I have posted sentries on all the approaches and
I
have fortified the hotel to the best of my ability. It was there we
intended to stand in the event of attack." Bruce nodded again and
glanced up at the sun. It was already reddening as it dropped towards
the horizon, perhaps another hour or two of daylight.
"Monsieur, it is too late to entrain all your people and leave before
nightfall. I intend to load their possessions this evening. We will stay
overnight and leave in the early morning.) "We are all anxious to be
away from this place; we have twice seen large parties of
Baluba on the edge of the jungle."
"I understand," said Bruce. "But
the dangers of travelling by night exceed those of waiting another
twelve hours."
"The decision is yours," Boussier agreed. "What do you wish us to do
now?"
"Please see to the embarkation of your people. I
regret that only the most essential possessions may be entertained.
We wil be almost a hundred persons."
"I shall see to that myself," Boussier assured him, "and then?"
"Is that the hotel?" Bruce pointed across the street at one of the large
double-storeyed buildings. It was only two hundred yards from where they
stood.
"Yes, Captain." "Good," said Bruce. "It is close enough. Your people can
spend the night there in more comfort than aboard the train." He looked
at the girl again; she was watching him with a small smile on her face.
It was a smile of almost maternal amusement, as though she were watching
a little boy playing at soldiers. Now it was
Bruce's turn to feel annoyed. He was suddenly embarrassed by his uniform
and epaulettes, by the pistol at his hip, the automatic rifle across his
shoulder and the heavy helmet on his head.
"I will require someone who is familiar with the area to accompany me, I
want to inspect your defences," he said to Boussier.
"Madame Cartier could show you," suggested Boussier's wife artlessly. I
wonder if she noticed our little exchange, thought Bruce.