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
want me to die of thirst or something?" He leaned his elbows on the
counter.
"Give me a couple more minutes. Let me finish my drink." Mike
Haig glanced behind him into the lounge and saw the interested group of
civilians who were craning to see into the bar-room. He closed the door
and walked across to stand opposite Hendry.
"Two minutes, Hendry," he agreed in an unfriendly tone, then out with
you."
"You're not a bad guy, Mike. You and I rubbed each other up wrong. I
tell you something, I'm sorry about us." "Drink up!" said
Mike. Without turning Wally reached backwards and took a bottle of
Remy Martin cognac off the shelf. He pulled the cork with his teeth,
selected a brandy balloon with his free hand and poured a little of the
oily amber fluid into it.
"Keep me company, Mike," he said and slid the glass across the counter