The Quest: A Novel (14 page)

“So do you like Marxists?”

“No.”

Getachu stared at him, then nodded. He said, “Colonel Gann has caused the death of many of my men. He has been condemned to death.”

Purcell already guessed that, but he said, “If you spare his life and expel him, I and my colleagues promise we will write—”

“You will write nothing. You are all guilty by association. And you are spies for the Royalists. And you will be court-martialed in the morning.”

Purcell saw that coming, and apparently so did Vivian, because she said in a firm, even voice, “My colleague, Mr. Mercado, is an internationally known journalist who has met frequently with members of the Derg and who has interviewed General Andom who is your superior. It was General Andom who signed the safe-conduct pass—”

“General Andom did not give Mercado—or you—permission to spy for the counterrevolutionaries.”

Purcell tried another tack. “Look, General, you won the battle, and you’ve probably won the war. The Provisional government has invited journalists to—”

“I have not invited you.”

“Then we’ll leave.”

Getachu did not reply, and Purcell had the feeling that he might be wavering. Getachu had to weigh his desire and his instinct to kill anyone he wanted to kill against the possibility that the new government did not want him to kill the three Western reporters. In any case, Colonel Gann was as good as dead.

Purcell had found himself in similar situations, each with a happy ending, or he wouldn’t be here in
this
situation. He recalled Mercado’s advice not to look arrestable, but he was far beyond that tipping point. He wasn’t quite sure what to say or do next, so he asked, “May I have a cigarette?”

Getachu seemed a bit taken aback, but then he slid his pack of Egyptian cigarettes toward Purcell along with a box of matches.

Purcell lit up, then said, “If you allow me access to a typewriter, I will write an article for the International Herald Tribune and the
English-language newspaper in Addis, describing your victory over Prince Joshua and the Royalist forces. You may, of course, read the article, and have it delivered to my press office in Addis Ababa along with a personal note from me saying that I am traveling with General Getachu’s army at the front.”

Getachu looked at him for a long time, then looked at Vivian, then at her camera. He asked her, “And if I have this film developed in Addis, what will I see?”

Vivian replied, “Mostly our journey from the capital to an old Italian spa… then a few photos of Prince Joshua’s camp.”

“Those photographs will be good to show at your court-martial, Miss”—he glanced inside her Swiss passport—“Miss Smith.”

Vivian replied, “I am a photojournalist. I photograph—”

“Shut up.” He leaned forward and stared at her, then said, “On the far side of this camp is a tent. In this tent are ten, perhaps twelve women—those with Royalist sympathies, including a princess—and they are there for the entertainment of my soldiers.” He pushed Vivian’s camera across the desk. “Would you like to photograph what goes on inside that tent?”

Purcell stood. “General, your conduct—”

Getachu pulled his pistol and aimed it at Purcell. “Sit down.”

Purcell sat.

Getachu holstered his pistol and said, as if nothing had happened, “And you, Miss Smith, can also photograph the Royalists that you saw hanging. And also photograph Colonel Gann’s execution. And your friend Mr. Mercado’s execution as well. Would you like that?”

Vivian did not reply.

Getachu stared at her, then turned his attention to Purcell and said, “Or perhaps, as Mr. Purcell suggested, he can write very good articles about the people’s struggle against their historic oppressors. And then, perhaps, there will be no court-martial and no executions.”

Neither Purcell nor Vivian replied.

Getachu continued, “The enemies of the people must either be liquidated or made to serve the revolution.” He added, “You could be more useful alive.”

Vivian asked, “And Mr. Mercado?”

“He was once a friend of the oppressed people, but he has strayed. He needs to be reeducated.”

Purcell asked, “And Colonel Gann?”

“A difficult case. But I respect him as a soldier. And I have a certain fondness for the British.” He explained, “I attended a British missionary school.”

And apparently missed the class on good sportsmanship and fair play, Purcell thought.

Getachu added, “The headmaster was fond of the switch, but perhaps I deserved it.”

No doubt.

Getachu said, “Perhaps Colonel Gann can be persuaded to share his military knowledge with my colonels.”

Purcell said, “I will speak to him.”

Getachu ignored this and said, “Shooting a man—or a woman—is easy. I would rather see men broken.”

Purcell had no doubt that Getachu was sincere.

Getachu said, “You may go.”

Vivian said, “We want to see Mr. Mercado. And Colonel Gann.”

“You will find them in the hospital tent.”

Purcell took Vivian’s arm and turned to leave, but Getachu said, “Before you go, something that may interest you.”

They looked at him and saw he was retrieving something from the shadow beside his chair. Getachu held up a gold crown, encrusted with jewels. Purcell and Vivian recognized it as the crown of Prince Joshua.

Getachu said, “I allowed the Gallas free rein to hunt down the Royalists. All I asked in return was that they bring me the prince, dead or alive, along with his crown. And here is his crown.”

Again, Purcell and Vivian said nothing.

Getachu examined the crown under the hanging lantern as though he were considering buying it. He set it down on his desk, then said, “Let me show you something else.” He moved to the far side of the tent, and a soldier in the shadows lit a Coleman lamp.

Lying facedown on the dirt floor of the tent were three men, each naked. Getachu motioned for Purcell and Vivian to come near
and they took a few steps toward the circle of light. They could see that the men’s backs and buttocks were streaked with blood as though they’d been whipped.

Getachu barked something in Amharic and the men rose to their knees.

Each man had a collar around his neck—like a dog collar—with a chain attached to it. In the lamplight, Purcell could make out three battered faces, one of which was that of Prince Joshua. His long aristocratic nose was broken, and his eyes were swollen almost shut, but the prince was looking at him and Vivian.

Getachu said, “You see, I did not shoot them or hang them as I thought I would. But if you look closely, you will see that the Gallas have castrated them.”

Purcell kept looking at the prince’s face, but Vivian turned away.

Getachu reached into the pocket of his fatigues and extracted a piece of bread, which he held to the prince’s swollen lips, and said, in English, “Eat.”

The prince bit into the bread. Getachu did the same with the other two men, who Purcell thought must be what was left of the prince’s staff.

Getachu dropped the bread to the ground and said, “The Revolutionary government has executed nearly all of the royal family and many rasses, so they are becoming more rare. It is my idea to put them to some use.” He further explained, “These men are now my servants, and they attend to my personal needs. When I am sick of looking at them—which will be soon—they will become the eunuchs assigned to the tent of the women who are their loyal subjects.” He added, “These men will also give pleasure to my soldiers who enjoy something different.”

Vivian had turned her back to the scene, but Purcell continued to look at Prince Joshua, whose head was now bowed.

Getachu said to the prince, “Is this not better than death?”

The prince nodded his head.

Getachu again barked something in Amharic and the three men dropped to their hands and knees. Getachu produced a riding crop from the deep cargo pocket of his pants and moved behind the men.
He said, “Colonel Gann’s riding crop.” He swung the leather crop across the prince’s buttocks and the man yelled out in pain. The soldier holding the lamp laughed.

Getachu delivered a blow to each of the other two men, who also cried out, causing the soldier to laugh louder.

Getachu put the crop away and said, “Much better than hanging or shooting. Better for me.” He came around to the front of the men and made an exaggerated bow, saying to Prince Joshua, “Forgive me, Ras. I am just a simple peasant who does not know how to show proper respect to my master.”

The soldier again laughed.

Getachu turned to Purcell and Vivian. “That will be all.”

Purcell took Vivian’s arm and they passed through the curtain and out of the tent. Vivian was shaking and Purcell put his arm around her.

As they walked toward the hospital tent, she said in a breaking voice, “Those poor men… Frank… promise me…”

“That will not happen to us.”

“He’s insane… sadistic…”

“Yes.” And he was history, getting its revenge. Purcell said, “But he’s not stupid. He knows what he can get away with and what he can’t get away with.”

Neither of them believed that, but it was all they had at the moment. Purcell thought about their ill-advised decision to leave the relative safety of the capital to find General Getachu. Henry Mercado had miscalculated the situation, and ironically Mercado had half believed the good press that General Getachu was getting in the English- and Italian-language newspapers in Addis. Purcell was angry at Mercado, and angry at himself, but anger wasn’t going to get them out of here. They needed to work on Getachu. A little flattery, a little bluster, and a lot of luck.

Vivian, however, had another thought and she said in a barely audible voice, “We will get out of here because we are supposed to find the black monastery and the Grail.” She asked him, “Do you believe that?”

“No. But you do. And I’m sure Henry does.”

“The signs are all there, Frank.”

“Right.” The signs all said Dead End. But he recalled that Henry had said that faith had kept him alive in the Gulag, so he said to Vivian, to keep her spirits up, “You may be right.”

She took his arm and they moved quickly toward the hospital tent.

P
urcell and Vivian entered the long hospital tent, which was badly lit by candles and oil lamps. The air was filled with the stench of blood and excrement, and with the moans and cries of the sick and wounded. A bright Coleman lamp hung in the rear, and Purcell could see three men with surgical masks standing around a table, attending to a patient.

Purcell took Vivian’s arm and they picked their way between the rows of bandaged men who lay naked on dark blankets. Huge flies landed on their faces and Vivian covered her mouth and nose with her hand as she walked, her head and eyes darting around the darkness, looking for Mercado and Gann.

Doctor Mato spotted them and pulled off his surgical mask, and he and Vivian exchanged a few sentences in Italian, then Dr. Mato returned to his patient.

Vivian said to Purcell, “Henry and Colonel Gann were taken away as soon as Doctor Mato pronounced them well enough to be moved. They are under arrest.”

“We know that. Where were they taken?”

“He says there is a campo… parata militare—a parade ground where prisoners are kept. Due east about five hundred meters.”

Purcell took her arm and led her quickly out of the tent.

A nearly full moon was rising over the eastern hills, and the quiet camp was bathed in an eerie silver glow. Red sparks rose from a hundred campfires, and the air was heavy with the smell of burning straw and dried dung.

They headed east, avoiding the clusters of men around the fires, and avoiding the scattered tents as they tried to maintain their heading across the sprawling camp. In the dark, in their
shammas
, they attracted no attention.

No military camp, thought Purcell, was complete without a stockade where an army’s misfits and criminals were held to await trial and punishment, and he scanned the moonlit camp for a structure in a field that could serve as a stockade, but he didn’t see anything more substantial than canvas tents.

They continued on, and Purcell spotted the other thing that was a necessity in many military camps; the thing that Getachu had mentioned to Vivian. A long line of soldiers stood smoking and joking in front of a large tent, waiting their turn.

Vivian asked, “What’s going on there?”

Purcell did not reply, and Vivian said, “Oh…”

They moved on.

Vivian was becoming concerned, and she said, “I think we missed it. Let’s ask—”

“Let’s not.”

They continued on and ahead was a large sunken field, which formed a natural amphitheater. At the end of the field, Purcell saw a raised wooden platform, and he realized that this was the parade ground and the muster area where General Getachu and his officers could address their troops.

In front of the platform Purcell also saw a line of poles driven into the ground, which he recognized from too many other third world military camps as whipping posts, or tethering posts where soldiers were chained for punishment and humiliation in front of their comrades. He saw a movement near one of the posts and said, “There.”