On the riverside of promise (6 page)

He crouched and slowly crept towards the
pool, carefully studying the ground, digging in with the knife at
seemingly random intervals. Going past the pool, his eyes avidly
scanned the mud. Before long, even under the unabating rain and all
the mess of debris he caught a glimpse of a dull olive-green shape
barely protruding from the muddy ground. A careful prod at the rim
with the knife let him know this was another landmine. A few feet
to his right, he could make out the outline of another one. A slow,
careful sweep with the flashlight uncovered two more, less than ten
feet apart. He slid back to the crater and got up, jogging back to
Ludwig and the injured man.

A certain amount of calmness had started to
settle among the crowd. Olufemi could be seen quietly exchanging
concerned looks with the other drivers, some of them already back
inside their Rovers, trying to find a dry smoke.

“It’s a proper god-awful minefield,” said
Ethan to Ludwig.

The doctor was still dressing the eyes of the
driver after having administered some sedatives for the
excruciating pain that would follow the end of the adrenaline rush.
He was dripping wet, smeared with blood all over his hands and
shirt.

“Your deductive reasoning amazes me,” he
replied, not bothering to hide the tone of irony. Ethan explained
calmly:

“It could have been a single land mine, an
old ambush site. No, this was a proper minefield, there’s probably
more of them around the bushes and trees. We need to go back. I
don’t know who decided on this itinerary, but it wasn’t safe.
Killed those people in the Rover and it might have killed us all.
Might still as well. We need to get moving out of here.”

Ludwig suddenly stopped tending to the
wounded driver. He closed his eyes and seemed to whisper something
in German. Ethan told him sternly:

“What are you blabbering about? They’re dead,
Ludwig. Come on now, pull it together.”

The doctor exploded with fury at Ethan,
letting his utensils drop on the mud:

“I picked the roads! It was me! So fuck you,
Mr. Owls!”

Ethan fell instantly silent, knowing there
was nothing meaningful to say to the doctor. The next moment,
Ludwig was leaning on the side of the Rover, emptying his stomach
involuntarily.

Olufemi noticed the slight commotion, and
came a bit closer to see. Ethan explained to him as he
approached:

“We need to go back, around another way. It’s
probably best if we can stop for the night someplace near. Anyplace
in mind?”

Olufemi seemed to pause and think for a while
and then nodded with renewed vigor:

“Yes, dey is a mission,” his voice ringing
clear through the never-ending rain.

“What kind of a mission?”

“French Catholic. Nuns,” replied Olufemi with
a very peculiar and untimely grin.

Ludwig suddenly stood straight, hanging onto
the Rover’s door and said with a pale face:

“We’re going back. This caravan is no
more.”

Rivulets of rain ran freely down Ethan’s taut
face when he said with the slightest hint of irony:

“How are you going to help then, doctor?”

“I’ll have no more blood on my hands. I can
never -”

“You’re scared out of your mind, I know.
Maybe you’ve shat yourself, or pissed on your pants. Can’t tell
with the bloody rain. It’s only natural. Fear is natural.”

“It doesn’t matter what I feel, damn you!
These people trusted me with their -”

“Signed the papers, didn’t they? Listen, this
is fuckall, alright? You can’t think straight. Olufemi, take point
in our Rover. I’ll drive this one. Doctor, seriously, grab a couple
of sedatives yourself and just hang on. Alright?”

Ludwig stared blankly at Ethan, while Olufemi
hurried to spread the word to the other drivers. Ethan moved the
wounded driver in the co-driver’s seat and told a practically deaf
nurse and a red cross volunteer with a broken arm that they were
leaving now. At length, before he urged Ludwig to get in the Rover,
the doctor asked him:

“Do you know what you’re doing?”

Ethan felt odd suddenly. He had heard that
same question probably a thousand times from a hundred different
people, but somehow this time it sounded as different as it was
familiar. And even though he felt naturally inclined to grin and
answer `bloody hell no’, he calmly said to the doctor:

“It will be alright now. Just get in the car
with Olufemi and try not to think.”

The doctor made his way to the Rover with a
slouch, exhaustion drawn all over his face. Ethan got into the now
vacant driver’s seat and put the gear into reverse. He felt like he
was turning into an accomplished liar, something he had thought
he’d despise. Strangely enough, all he could think of was his bad
leg.

* * *

Ludwig nodded his silent thanks to the sister
who in turn smiled serenely and left the room with measured
prudishness. A couple of oil lamps, one on a plain wooden shelf and
another on an equally unadorned table gave off a warm light,
accented at times by the flash of lightning pouring in through the
small stained glass window. The glass added a reddish hue that
seemed to have attracted Ethan’s gaze like a moth to a fire, his
face set in stone, perched inside the cups of his hands.

Ludwig took a cigarette from his pack, his
hands still shaking. He was about to offer it to Ethan when he
suddenly rose up from the small cot and blinked furiously as if
awaking from a long, deep slumber of which he had no recollection.
Ethan asked him then:

“How is everyone?”

The doctor lit the cigarette and stared
outside the window, even though there was nothing to see but dark,
pouring rain and a circus of fleeting, random shadows. His voice
sounded unassumingly flat:

“The driver is running a high fever. He’s on
antibiotics and I removed as much of the shrapnel as I could under
the circumstances. Nothing can be done about his hearing. Tartoovi
and Donaldson have probably gone deaf for life. I had to sedate
them. They’re sleeping now. The rest, some small cuts, bruises and
the occasional dislocation or sprain.”

“That’s good to hear.”

The doctor’s eyes suddenly seemed to pop
while his face tensed with seeping anger at those words.

“Is that some sick joke, Mr. Owls? People
died tonight, for God’s sake!”

“It could have been worse. There could have
been more dead on that trail.”

A flash of lightning cast a freakish shadow
in the small guestroom. A few moments passed before the sound of
thunder rolled by, when Ludwig managed to speak again:

“What kind of person says such a thing? These
people…”

“They’re dead, and you have to live with
that. Deal with it, Ludwig. There’s nothing that can be done about
it now.”

Ludwig stood with a half-opened mouth,
seemingly unable to find the right words.

“How can you be so… Detached? I mean, they
were… Jesus, Richard.”

Ethan gave the doctor a long hard stare. His
eyes seemed to waver a little, while his visage remained stern and
grave-looking. His voice was pitched lower than usual:

“It happens after a while, doctor. It keeps
me sane, it keeps me alive. It’s not something to be proud of, but
that’s just as human as curling up in a corner and crying, blaming
yourself or others.”

Another thunder reverberated inside the small
chamber, the tiny flame in the oil lamp on the shelf trembling in
tune. Ludwig put out his cigarette and took off his glasses. He
reached into his pockets and produced a small piece of linen with
which he started cleaning his glasses. Ethan began to say something
when the doctor spoke to him without meeting his gaze:

“It seems you have everything worked out. You
know your way around people dying, dealing with traumatic disorders
and guilt. So tell me, please, is it normal if I feel like punching
you in the face?”

Ethan paused for a moment, and shrugged
almost apologetically. He replied:

“If you think it’ll make you feel better,
then by all means. I’m not your problem though. You’re still
emotional from what happened, and that’s just –”

Ludwig’s fist connected with Ethans cheekbone
and stopped him mid-sentence. Before he slammed the frail door
behind him as he left the room, Ludwig shouted in a fit of
rage:

“Emotional?! What would you know about
emotions?”

Ethan was caught off-guard, but recovered
quickly enough. He rushed outside the small guestroom and onto an
ill-lit corridor. Even as he started off to follow the doctor, a
figure suddenly appeared to be blocking his way. He stopped and
looked genuinely surprised when he saw a tall, slender woman
sporting a look that could have pierced a hole through his face.
Subdued light poured off a small opening to her right. She was
still holding the tattered curtain that served as a door when she
sternly told Ethan in an unmistakably French accent:

“For God’s sake, be quiet!”

“I’m sorry about the noise and all, sister
but it really is none of your business so –”

The slap across Ethan’s face came out almost
out of nowhere. It jolted him back into the deep memory of a
well-mannered childhood for only a tiny moment and the accented yet
quite clear voice served to reattach his awareness into the current
state of affairs and a very irate woman:

“It is my business and I’m not anyone’s
sister! These people need peace and quiet!” she said and pulled
back the curtain to reveal a cluster of makeshift beds, cots and
matresses filled with people.

“Who the hell are you lady?”

“My name’s Nicole Heurgot, I’m a nurse and
whoever you are you have a big mouth and an even bigger as-”

“Mademoiselle, ca suffit!”

The mother superior appeared through the
curtain and she looked rather disappointed at such an exchange of
words. She said to Ethan:

“Monsieur Owls, please. If you must, take
this outside. There are sick and wounded in here and not just from
your caravan. Et vous, mademoiselle Heurgot, calme toi. S’il
vous-plait.”

And with that, she returned inside to the
makeshift bed chamber posing as a nursing station.

Nicole’s stare was still hard when she said
to Ethan, who was almost stunned in place:

“Not an English gentleman at all, are
you?”

Ethan tried to sound apologetic when he
said:

“Listen, I’m sorry but some people died today
and we got into a heated debate. I wouldn’t expect you to be that
understanding.”

He actually sounded more like some kind of
elitist snob who thought people were incapable of doing anything
right.

Nicole retorted with an accusing, yet hushed
tone:

“People tend to do that thing around here.
You assume too much. Perhaps you’re in the wrong place.”

Her feisty attitude only served to make
Ethan’s head cock sideways before he replied with a sleight hint of
aggravation:

“I’d be inclined to say the same about
you.”

“And you’d be wrong,” Nicole said before
adding:

“Your sort usually are. Why don’t you take
some pictures in there? Isn’t that what you came here for after
all?”

It was a verbal attack; even though her voice
was kept low at all times, she sounded positively miffed. Ethan
found that agressiveness almost attractive. He was smiling thinly
when he told her:

“You really don’t like me at all, do
you?”

With a gaze slightly reminiscent of the
mythic gorgon she simply answered with another thinly veiled
insult: “Vultures you mean? Nobody does.”

Ethan pondered about that word for a moment
and thought it funny that a journalist could draw more fire than a
solder. He then told Nicole, “I think you’re biased. I said I’m
sorry and I really mean it. I was trying to apologise to Ludwig
when I ran into you.”

Pointing to the small nursing station behind
her she said with demanding undertones in her voice:

“Well you should apologise to these people as
well.”

Ethan tried to sound like a gentleman, using
a grin that was in truth better suited to guile the unscrupulous
sort of women that seemed already hooked by the sight of a Royal
Marine uniform:

“Can I start by apologising to you?”

“If this is your idea of English charm,
you’re more misguided than you look,” replied Nicole with a shake
of her head and an almost sympathising grimace on her face.

The more distant she became, the more Ethan’s
interest was piqued by what he felt like was a genuine example of
the kind of women he rarely met: the hard ones. “You’re a very
unforgiving person for a nurse, do you know that?” he said, this
time without a grin or a smile.

Nicole kept at him in the same vein:

“And you’re hardly a person yourself.”

“Listen, I think we’ve started on the wrong
foot here. Please, give me a chance to make amends,” said Ethan,
sounding genuinely sincere. It had little effect: