The Dark of the Sun - Smith Wilbur. Страница 23

"No. Not even them.

I want nothing, expect nothing; that way I cannot be disappointed."

Suddenly she was angry. "You not only act like a child, you talk like

one."

"Another thing I don't like: criticism."

"You are young. You have brains, good looks-"

"Thank you, that's better." and you are a fool." :That's not so good.

But don't fret about it." I won't, don't worry," she flamed at him. "You

can-" she searched for something devastating. "You can go jump out of

the lake."

"Don't you mean into?"

"Into, out of, backwards, sideways. I don't care!"

"Good, I'm glad we've got that settled. There's the mission, I can see a

light." She did not answer but sat in her corner, breathing heavily,

drawing so hard on her cigarette that the glowing up lit the interior of

the Ford.

The church was in darkness, but beyond it and to one side was a long low

building. Bruce saw a shadow move across one of the windows.

"Is that the hospital?"

"Yes." Abruptly Bruce stopped the Ford beside the small front verandah

and switched off the headlights and the ignition.

"Are you coming in?"

"No."

"I'd like you to present me to Father

Ignatius." For a moment she did not move, then she threw open her door

and marched up the steps of the verandah without looking back at Bruce.

He followed her through the front office, down the passage, past the

clinic and small operating theatre, into the ward.

Ah, Madame Cartier." Father Ignatius left the bed over which he

was stooping and came towards her.

"I heard that the relief train had arrived at Port Reprieve.

I thought you would have left by now."

"Not yet, Father. Tomorrow morning." Ignatius was tall, six foot three

or four, Bruce estimated, and thin. The sleeve of his brown cassock had

been cut short as a concession to the climate and his exposed arms

appeared to be all bone, hairless, with the veins blue and prominent.

Big bony hands, and big bony feet in brown open sandals.

Like most tall, thin men he was round-shouldered. His face was not one

that you would remember, an ordinary face with steel-rimmed spectacles

perched on a rather shapeless nose, neither young nor old, nondescript

hair without grey in it, but there was about him that unhurried serenity

you often find in a man of God. He turned his attention to Bruce,

scrutinizing him gently through his spectacles.

"Good evening, my son."

"Good evening, Father." Bruce felt uncomfortable; they always made him

feel that way. If only, he wished with envy, I could be as certain of

one thing in my life as this man is certain of everything in his.

"Father, this is Captain Curry." Shermaine's tone was cold, and then

suddenly she smiled again. "He does not care for people, that is why he

has come to take you to safety." Father Ignatius held out his hand and

Bruce found the skin was cool and dry, making him conscious of the

moistness of his own.

"That is most thoughtful of you," he said smiling, sensing the tension

between them. "I don't want to seem ungrateful, but I regret I

cannot accept your offer."

"We have received reports that a column of armed bandits are only two

hundred kilometres or so north of here.

They will arrive within a day or two. You are in great danger, these

people are completely merciless," Bruce urged him.

"Yes, Father Ignatius nodded. "I have also heard, and I am taking the

steps I consider necessary. I shall take all my staff and patients into

the bush." "They'll follow you," said Bruce.

"I think not." Ignatius shook his head. "They will not waste their time.

They are after loot, not sick people."

"They'll burn your mission."

"If they do, then we shall have to rebuild it when they leave."

"The bush is crawling with Baluba, you'll end up in the cooking pot."

Bruce tried another approach.

"No." Ignatius shook his head. "Nearly every member of the tribe has at

one time or another been a patient in this hospital. I have nothing to

fear there, they are my friends."

"Look here, Father. Don't let us argue. My orders are to bring you back

to Elisabethville. I

must insist."

"And my orders are to stay here. You do agree that mine come from a

higher authority than yours?" Ignatius smiled mildly.

Bruce opened his mouth to argue further; then, instead, he laughed.

"No, I won't dispute that. Is there anything you need that I

might be able to supply?"

"Medicines?" asked Ignatius.

"Acriflavine, morphia, field dressings, not much I'm afraid."

"They would help, and food?"

"Yes, I will let you have as much as I can spare," promised Bruce.

One of the patients, a woman at the end of the ward, screamed so

suddenly that Bruce started.

"She will be dead before morning," Ignatius explained softly.

"There is nothing I can do."

"What's wrong with her?"

"She has been in

labour these past two days; there is some complication."

"Can't you operate?" am not a doctor, my son. We had one here before the

trouble began, but he is here no longer - he has gone back to

Elisabethville.

No," his voice seemed to carry helpless regret for all the suffering of

mankind, "No, she will die." "Haig!" said Bruce.

"Pardon?"

"Father, you have a theatre here. Is it fully equipped?"

"Yes, I believe so."

"Anaesthetic?"

"We have chloroform and pentothal." "Good, said Bruce. "I'll get you a

doctor. Come on, Shermaine." This heat, this stinking heat!" Wally

Hendry mopped at his face with a grubby handkerchief and threw it on the

green leather bunk.

"You notice how Curry leaves me and you here on the train while he puts

Haig up at the hotel and he goes off with that little French bit.

It doesn't matter that me and you must cook in this box, long as he and

his buddy Haig are all right. You notice that, hey?"

"Somebody's got to stay aboard, Wally," Andre said.

"Yeah, but you notice who it is? Always you and me those high society.

boys stick together, you've got to give them that, they look after each

other." He transferred his attention back to the open window of the

compartment.

"Sun's down already, and still hot enough to boil eggs. I could

use a drink." He unlaced his jungle boots, peeled off his socks and

regarded his large white feet with distaste.

"This stinking heat got my athlete's foot going again." He separated two

of his toes and picked at the loose scaly skin between.

"You got any of that ointment left, Andre?"

"Yes, I'll get it for you."

Andre opened the flap of his pack, took out the tube and crossed to

Wally's bunk.

"Put it on," instructed Wally and lay back offering his feet.

Andre took them in his lap as he sat down on the bunk and went to work.

Wally lit a cigarette and blew smoke towards the roof, watching it

disperse.

"Hell, I could use a drink. A beer with dew on the glass and a head that