1982 - An Ice-Cream War (43 page)

“Maybe the war is nearly over for us,” she said matter-of-factly. “You can go home soon to your family.”

Gabriel had never told her about Charis. “What will happen to you?” he said, changing the subject.

“Perhaps I’ll go to Chitawa with Deppe.”

“Deppe?”

“I hope not.” She gave a brief laugh. “Or Dar-es-Salaam. All civilians are being sent to Dar.”

She had continued speculating in a dreamy, off-hand way. Gabriel said nothing. For the first time the reality, and proximity, of his salvation was apparent to him. British troops were fifty miles away. He’d been a prisoner for three years. In a day, two days, it would be all over. He would be free.

Why then, he asked himself, did he feel assailed with doubts and dissatisfactions? His life in Nanda had been curiously secure and uncomplicated: the future seemed to consist only of problems, realignments and responsibilities which he wasn’t sure he could cope with in the same way he had before the war. Uncomfortably, he found himself thinking of Charis and of the identity which he felt he had shed when he was bayonetted. The approach of the British army stirred hibernating instincts and forgotten values. Now that he had to face up to them they seemed, if he was to be honest, unfamiliar and—more worrying—unwelcome.

Responding to these new pressures he slipped round the back of the stockade and passed on the news of the advance to the NCO s behind the wire. “Good on yer, sir,” one of them said, as if he’d done something heroic. There were whispered mutters of agreement from the others. “Be careful, sir,” one of them counselled.

As Gabriel had crept away, for a moment he saw himself as they did: a young officer in the midst of the enemy camp, carrying out a dangerous double game, risking his safety—his life perhaps…Back in the hospital he was suffused with a sense of shame and guilt when he considered the reality of his case. He felt loyalties and emotions tug at him in conflicting directions. What should he do? He could provide no answers, so he did nothing. He felt maddeningly helpless. There was no solution in inertia, yet that seemed all he was capable of.

The feeling of mounting frustration was exacerbated by Liesl’s presence. She was being unusually solicitous and kind, as if the thought of their coming separation had caused her to re-examine and revalue their curious relationship. That afternoon she came out to the palm-roofed shelter where the chinchona bark was boiled in huge metal vats. Gabriel stood bare-chested stirring the bubbling fluid with a bamboo pole, the clouds of steam and the heat from the fires covering his thin chest with gleaming perspiration. He broke off when she arrived. She held two ‘real’ cigarettes—“from Erich,” she said. They stood in the shade of a large mango tree, smoking, and talking about the future.

“You’ll be glad to go home?” she asked.

“Yes. Yes, I will. I suppose.”

“Perhaps you will go to Leamington Spa.”

“What?”

“I visited Leamington Spa once. Erich’s mother lived there.”

“I’ve never been.”

“It’s a pleasant town.”

The bland exchange affected him with unbearable poignancy. He was gripped by a sense of fear. He felt like a new boy on his first day at boarding school: everything ahead was strange and perplexing. In what ways would he have to prove himself ? What demands would be made on his character?

A precise and cruel sense of his own inadequacies and weakness was suddenly revealed to him. He felt chastened and desperately in need of some support. He glanced at the strong and placid woman beside him. She was looking at the sun on the wasted grass beyond the pool of shade. The hand that held the cigarette was poised, a cursive rope of blue smoke rose into the heavy dark green leaves above their heads. Gabriel was suddenly possessed of the awful feeling that nothing beyond this moment, outside Nanda, in the rest of his life, would be as sure or certain again. For as long as it lasted he immersed himself unreflectingly in the confident tranquillity. Then Liesl left and the self-doubts, like homing pigeons, returned to roost.

Memories of those seconds in the shade drove him to take the risk of creeping through the plantations to Liesl’s bungalow that night. Troops were billeted everywhere and he had to make his way with extreme caution. But he wanted to see her once again if he could, see her pale and unsuspecting, freeze that image in his mind for ever.

But as soon as he saw the little bungalow he knew his luck was out. On the rickety stoop sat a group of German officers in very grubby, tattered dress whites. Liesl sat with them and two other planters’ wives. Gabriel recognized von Bishop, Liesl’s husband, his head shaven nearly bald, his large nose and gaunt cheeks giving him a surprised, faintly pop-eyed look.

Gabriel crept round to his usual position, hoping nonetheless that Liesl might still come into the bedroom, but it remained dark. He decided to wait. He heard the guests leave the stoop and assemble in the main room of the little bungalow. Soon servants were ferrying steaming bowls of food from the kitchen shack behind the house and he heard the chatter of conversation around the dinner table increase as the assembled guests relaxed. Gabriel tried to find himself a secure perch in the bushes, knowing he had a wait of several hours before him, and it was then that the branch broke.

There was no pause in the conversation. From his position in the bushes he could almost catch individual words. He wondered vaguely if he should make an attempt to eavesdrop, but decided not to bother.

Then he became aware of some activity and a babble of servants’ voices by the back door. He realized that suspicions had been raised by the noise he’d made. He had to leave instantly. He forced himself to remain calm. Any precipitate flight would only give him away at once. The servants were milling around the rear door. They clearly were undecided about what to do. Very slowly Gabriel dropped to his knees. Not taking his eyes off the group by the back door he began to inch backwards through the bushes. He saw a lantern being carried from the kitchen shack, saw a white face peer from the back door.

“
Halt
,” a soft voice said behind him.

Gabriel felt his guts churn. He turned round. A white officer and two askaris stood above him. The askaris covered him with their rifles. Rifles with fixed bayonets. Gabriel felt the blood rush from his head as he heard steps running from the rear door. The bobbing light from the lantern slid up and down the dull steel blades. He fainted.

He came to on Liesl’s stoop. He was sitting on a cane chair with his head between his knees. His eyes focused on the rough wooden boards. Between his boots he saw a flying ant with only one wing walking round and round in a futile, imbalanced attempt to get from A to B. He looked up into the circle of German faces. Behind the officers he saw Liesl. A furious conversation was going on. Voices were raised. His discovery seemed to be causing an astonishing fuss.

“How long were you outside?” he was asked sharply in German.

“
Fünf Minuten
,” he lied automatically, before he realized what this gave away. He decided to speak English. “Five minutes,” he repeated stupidly. He caught Liesl’s worried gaze for a brief second before he looked down again. His left hand was trembling violently. He covered it with his right.

He heard more conversation, this time some of it hushed. He heard Liesl speaking, then some shouted orders. He sat on in silence. The next thing he saw was Deeg’s grinning face. He was hauled roughly to his feet and marched off between a guard of four askaris. He was taken down Nanda’s main street to a small wooden store shed set to one side of the prisoners’ stockade. Some sacks of mealie flour were removed before he was pushed inside. There was the noise of a bolt being slid home, a mutter of voices and then silence. He couldn’t tell if a man had been left on guard or not.

He felt his way round the dark interior of the shed. It was small, about six feet by nine. The wooden planks that made up its four walls had been crudely put together and there were many thin gaps through which a faint moonlight entered. The roof was made of grass and was full of rustling insects and lizards.

Gabriel sat down in a corner. He felt, to his surprise, quite calm. He wondered what would happen to him. He peered out of a slit at the back but saw only shadowy, indistinct forms. After a while he heard voices. The door was opened and two men, one carrying an oil lantern, came in. Gabriel got unsteadily to his feet. He recognized von Bishop, his big nose oddly illuminated by the swinging lantern which was held by the other man, a slim dapper figure. Gabriel remembered him: it was Rutke, von Lettow’s adjutant.

“Just one question, Captain Cobb,” von Bishop said in English. Gabriel was surprised at his high-pitched voice. He sounded tired rather than hostile.

“Are these yours?” He handed Gabriel a little tattered bundle of papers. Gabriel took them. It was his ‘dossier’. There seemed no point in denying it. He handed them back.

“Yes.”

“Herr Deeg has informed me”—here an evilly grinning Deeg stepped into the hut but was shooed out by Rutke. Von Bishop began again—“Herr Deeg has informed me that you are under parole. These acts of espionage constitute a breach of your parole. Your word as an officer. What do you have to say to that?”

Gabriel said nothing.

Rutke stepped forward. “What do you know about
das chinesische-Geschaft?
”

“Nothing,” Gabriel said, and realized he’d spoken too quickly once again. “I mean, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He decided to be honest. Be honest where you can: it was a rule of interrogation that he’d learnt somewhere.

“I’ve heard the name,” he said candidly. “But I’ve no idea what it is.”

Rutke and von Bishop looked at each other.

“Well,” von Bishop said wearily. “I’m afraid you will have to stay locked up a while longer.” He paused, then stuck his forefinger in an ear and wriggled it about. “You were wounded at Tanga, weren’t you,” he said in a more friendly voice. “Do you know an English officer called Bilderbeck?”

“Yes,” Gabriel said. “How do you know?” He thought back to those days on the
Homayun
and on the battlefield three years ago. It seemed like a lifetime.

“He’s dead,” von Bishop said, looking at the end of his finger. “He died a few weeks ago. I was at Tanga. I met him. I seem to remember he was a friend of yours.”

“Yes. Well, I suppose he was. In a way.”

“I thought you’d like to know.”

“Thank you,” Gabriel said. “Thank you for telling me.” What a peculiar man this von Bishop was. He wondered how Bilderbeck had died. He wondered if von Bishop was making a threat of some kind.

The next day passed with unbelievable slowness. In the enclosed hut the air was hot and fetid. Hundreds of flies hummed and skittered in its darkness. Twice Deeg came and led him to a latrine trench behind the prison cage. He was escorted on each occasion by Deeg and four of his ruga-ruga. On the second journey some of the prisoners cheered him as he limped by on the way back. “Keep it up, sir,” they shouted. “Don’t worry, our boys’ll be here soon.” Gabriel managed a smile and a wave. The ruga-ruga dashed forward and prodded fiercely through the wire with their rifle butts. His food that day consisted of a bottle of water and a bowl of mealie porridge.

That night he stretched out on the beaten earth floor and tried to find a position which would be comfortable enough to let him sleep. His leg wound was aching dully and his entire left arm seemed to be trembling now. He shut his eyes. He wondered how long it would be before the British army arrived.

He turned over. The floor was hard, whining mosquitos seemed to be biting every exposed inch of his body. God alone knew what kinds of ticks and vermin existed in this sort of store shed. He heard a distinct rustling sound. Oh my God, he thought with alarm, sitting up. There’s a rat in the roof, or a snake…

“Gabriel!” a voice whispered.

He jumped in fright. It was Liesl behind the shed. He crawled over. Through a large slit between the planks he saw a pale section of her face.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said. “Is there a guard?”

“No. Listen, Gabriel. I’ve got news. They’re going to take you with them.”

Gabriel felt a thump of fear in his chest. “Who? Where?”

“Our troops. They’re crossing the Rovuma into Portuguese East.”

“Oh my God. When?”

“I don’t know. Tomorrow. The next day.”

“Oh God.” Gabriel felt cold, fluttering sensations of panic. “But why? For God’s sake, why me?”

“I’m not sure. Erich won’t tell me. I think he is suspicious. A bit. They say you know some secret.”

Gabriel could feel the breath from her words on his cheek. Their faces were only an inch or so apart, separated by the wooden wall.

“A secret? What?”

“I don’t know. They say you know a secret, that’s all.”

Gabriel felt like weeping. What could he know that was so important? He thought of the information on his dossier. It was weeks out of date. Surely that wouldn’t warrant them taking him into Portuguese East?

“What secret can it be?” he repeated frantically.

“I don’t know, Gabriel. They won’t tell me.”

“You’ve got to help me, Liesl,” he said desperately. “I’ve got to get away. They mustn’t take me.”

“I told them,” she said. “I said you weren’t strong, that you needed medical attention.”

“That’s right,” Gabriel agreed, almost whimpering. “It would kill me.”

“I told them.”

“What did they say?”

“They said they had doctors. It didn’t matter.”

“You’ve got to help me, Liesl,” Gabriel raised his voice.

“Ssh. Of course I will.” It sounded like the most reasonable request in the world.

“I’ve got to escape.” Gabriel thought quickly. “Bring me something to dig with. A knife or something. And some food and water…How far away are the British?”

“Near Nambindinga, I think. Forty-five kilometres, I think.”

“That’s north?”

“Yes, north directly.”

“Bring everything tomorrow night, can you?”

“Yes. At the same time. Erich thinks I am on duty at the hospital.”