The Dark of the Sun - Smith Wilbur (читать книгу онлайн бесплатно полностью без регистрации .TXT) 📗

Boasting a little.

"Bully for him," said Bruce.

The train had started angling down the hills towards the town.

"Well, I reckon we've made it, boss."

"I reckon also; all we have to do is get back again."

"Yes sir, I

reckon that's all." And they ran into the town.

There were more than forty people in the crowd that lined the platform

to welcome them.

We'll have a heavy load on the way home, thought Bruce as he ran his eye

over them. He saw the bright spots of women's dresses in the throng.

Bruce counted four of them. That's another complication; one day I hope

I find something in this life that turns out exactly as expected,

something that will run smoothly and evenly through to its right and

logical conclusion. Some hope, he decided, some bloody hope.

The joy and relief of the men and women on the platform was pathetically

apparent in their greetings. Most of the women were crying and the men

ran beside the train like small boys as it slid in along the raised

concrete platform.

All of them were of mixed blood, Bruce noted. They varied in colour from

creamy yellow to charcoal. The Belgians had certainly left

much to be remembered by.

Standing back from the throng, a little aloof from the general

jollification, was a half-blooded Belgian. There was an air of authority

about him that was unmistakable. On one side of him stood a large bosomy

woman of his own advanced age, darker skinned than he was; but Bruce saw

immediately that she was his wife. At his other hand stood a figure

dressed in a white open-necked shirt and blue jeans that

Bruce at first thought was a boy, until the head turned and he saw the

long plume of dark hair that hung down her back, and the unmanly double

pressure beneath the white shirt.

The train stopped and Bruce jumped down on to the platform and

laughingly pushed his way through the crowds towards the Belgian.

Despite a year in the Congo, Bruce had not grown accustomed to being

kissed by someone who had not shaved for two or three days and who

smelled strongly of garlic and cheap tobacco. This atrocity was

committed upon him a dozen times or more. before he arrived before the

Belgian.

"The Good Lord bless you for coming to our aid, Monsieur Captain."

The Belgian recognized the twin bars on the front of Bruce's helmet and

held out his hand. Bruce had expected another kiss, so he accepted the

handshake with relief.

"I am only glad that we are in time," he answered.

"May I introduce myself - Martin Boussier, district manager of

Union Miniere Corporation, and this is my wife, Madame Boussier." He was

a tall man, but unlike his wife, sparsely fleshed. His hair was

completely silver and his skin folded, toughened and browned by a life

under the equatorial sun. Bruce took an instant liking to him. Madame

Boussier pressed her bulk against Bruce and kissed him heartily. Her

mustache was too soft to cause him discomfort and she smelled of toilet

soap, which was a distinct improvement, decided Bruce.

"May I also present Madame Cartier," and for the first time Bruce looked

squarely at the girl. A number of things registered in his mind

simultaneously: the paleness of her skin which was not unhealthy but had

an opaque coolness which he wanted to touch, the size of her eyes which

seemed to fill half her face, the unconscious provocation of her lips,

and the use of the word Madame before her name.

"Captain Curry - of the Katanga Army," said Bruce. She's too young to be

married, can't be more than seventeen.

She's still got that little girl freshness about her and I bet she

smells like an unweaned puppy.

"Thank you for coming, monsieur." She had a throatiness in her voice as

though she were just about to laugh or to make love, and Bruce added

three years to his estimate of her age. That was not a little girl's

voice, nor were those little girl's legs in the jeans, and little girls

had less under their shirt fronts.

His eyes came back to her face and he saw that there was colour in her

cheeks now and sparks of annoyance in her eyes.

My God, he thought, I'm ogling her like a matelot on shore leave.

He hurriedly transferred his attention back to Boussier, but his throat

felt constricted as he asked: "How many are you?"

"There are forty-two of us, of which five are women and two are

children." Bruce nodded, it was what he had expected. The women could

ride in one of the covered

coaches. He turned and surveyed the railway yard.

"Is there a turntable on which we can revolve the locomotive?" he asked

Boussier.

"No, Captain." They would have to reverse all the way back to

Msapa Junction, another complication. It would be more difficult to keep

a watch on the tracks ahead, and it would mean a sooty and uncomfortable

journey.

"What precautions have you taken against attack, monsieur?"

"They are inadequate, Captain," Boussier admitted. "I have not

sufficient men to defend the town - most of the population left before

the emergency. Instead I have posted sentries on all the approaches and

I

have fortified the hotel to the best of my ability. It was there we

intended to stand in the event of attack." Bruce nodded again and

glanced up at the sun. It was already reddening as it dropped towards

the horizon, perhaps another hour or two of daylight.

"Monsieur, it is too late to entrain all your people and leave before

nightfall. I intend to load their possessions this evening. We will stay

overnight and leave in the early morning.) "We are all anxious to be

away from this place; we have twice seen large parties of

Baluba on the edge of the jungle."

"I understand," said Bruce. "But

the dangers of travelling by night exceed those of waiting another

twelve hours."

"The decision is yours," Boussier agreed. "What do you wish us to do

now?"

"Please see to the embarkation of your people. I

regret that only the most essential possessions may be entertained.

We wil be almost a hundred persons."

"I shall see to that myself," Boussier assured him, "and then?"

"Is that the hotel?" Bruce pointed across the street at one of the large

double-storeyed buildings. It was only two hundred yards from where they

stood.

"Yes, Captain." "Good," said Bruce. "It is close enough. Your people can

spend the night there in more comfort than aboard the train." He looked

at the girl again; she was watching him with a small smile on her face.

It was a smile of almost maternal amusement, as though she were watching

a little boy playing at soldiers. Now it was

Bruce's turn to feel annoyed. He was suddenly embarrassed by his uniform

and epaulettes, by the pistol at his hip, the automatic rifle across his

shoulder and the heavy helmet on his head.

"I will require someone who is familiar with the area to accompany me, I

want to inspect your defences," he said to Boussier.

"Madame Cartier could show you," suggested Boussier's wife artlessly. I

wonder if she noticed our little exchange, thought Bruce.

Of course she did. All women have a most sensitive nose for that sort of

thing.