The Dark of the Sun - Smith Wilbur (читать книгу онлайн бесплатно полностью без регистрации .TXT) 📗
massaging his wrist.
"See that she's clean and not too old. You hear me?"
"Yes, Wally.
I'll get one." Andre went to the door and Bruce noticed his expression.
It was stricken beyond the pain of a bruised wrist. What lovely
creatures they are, thought Bruce, and I am one of them and yet apart
from them. I am the watcher, stiffed by them as much as I would be by a
bad play. Andre went out.
"Another drink, Bucko?" said Wally expansively. "I'll even pour you
one." "Thanks," said Bruce, and started on the other boot.
Wally brought the glass to him and he tasted it. It was strong, and the
mustiness of the whisky was ill-matched with the sweetness of the beer,
but he drank it.
"You and I, said Wally, "we're the shrewd ones. We drink ,cause we want
to, not "cause we have to. We live like we want to live, not
like other people think we should. You and I got a lot in common, Bruce.
We should be friends, you and I. I mean us being so much alike." The
drink was working in him now, bluffing his speech a little.
"Of course we are friends - I count you as one of my very dearest,
Wally." Bruce spoke solemnly, no trace of sarcasm showing.
"No kidding?" Wally asked earnestly. "How's that, hey?
Christ, I always thought you didn't like me. Christ, you never can tell,
isn't that right? You just never can tell," shaking his head in wonder,
suddenly sentimental with the whisky. "That's really true?
You like me. Yeah, we could be buddies. How's that, Bruce? Every guy
needs a buddy. Every guy needs a back stop." "Sure," said Bruce.
"We're buddies. How's that, hey?"
"That's on, Bucko!" agreed Wally with deep feeling, and I feel nothing,
thought Bruce, no disgust, no
pity - nothing. That way you are secure; they cannot disappoint you,
they cannot disgust you, they cannot sicken you, they cannot smash you
up again.
They both looked up as Andre ushered the girl into the room. She had a
sexy little pug face, painted lips - ruby on amber.
"Well done, Andre," applauded Wally, looking at the girl's body.
She wore high heels and a short pink dress that flared into a skirt from
her waist but did not cover her knees.
"Come here, cookie." Wally held out his hand to her and she crossed the
room without hesitation, smiling a bright professional smile. Wally drew
her down beside him on to the bed.
Andre went on standing in the doorway. Bruce got up and shrugged into
his camouflage battle-jacket, buckled on his webbing belt and adjusted
the bolstered pistol until it hung comfortably on his outer thigh.
"Are you going?" Wally was feeding the girl from his glass.
"Yes." Bruce put his slouch hat on his head; the red, green and white
Katangese sideflash gave him an air of artificial gaiety.
"Stay a little, - come on, Bruce."
"Mike is waiting for me." Bruce
picked up his rifle.
"Muck him. Stay a little, we'll have some fun."
"No, thanks."
Bruce went to the door.
"Hey, Bruce. Take a look at this." Wally tipped the girl backwards over
the bed, he pinned her with one arm across her chest while she struggled
playfully and with the other hand he swept her
skirt up above her waist.
"Take a good look at this and tell me you still want to go! The girl was
naked under the skirt, her lower body shaven so that her plump little
sex pouted sulkily.
"Come on, Bruce," laughed Wally. "You first. Don't say I'm not your
buddy." Bruce glanced at the girl, her legs scissored and her body
wriggled as she fought with Wally. She was giggling.
"Mike and I will be back before curfew. I want this woman out of here by
then," said Bruce.
There is no desire, he thought as he looked at her, that is all
finished. He opened the door.
"Curry!" shouted Wally. "You're a bloody nut also. Christ, I
thought you were a man. Jesus Christ! You're as bad as the others.
Andre, the doll boy. Haig, the rummy. What's with you, Bucko? It's women
with you, isn't it? You're a bloody nut-case also!" Bruce closed the
door and stood alone in the passage.
The taunt had gone through a chink in his armour and he clamped his mind
down on the sting of it, smothering it.
It's all over. She can't hurt me any more. He thought with
determination, remembering her, the woman, not the one in the room he
had just left but the other one who had been his wife.
"The bitch," he whispered, and then quickly, almost guiltily, "I
do not hate her. There is no hatred and there is no desire."
The lobby of the Hotel Grand Leopold 11 was crowded. There Were
gendarmes carrying their weapons ostentatiously, talking loudly, lolling
against walls an dover the bar; women with them, varying in colour from
black through to pastel brown, some already drunk; a few
Belgians still with the stunned disbelieving eyes of the refugee, one of
the women crying as she rocked her child on her lap; other white men in
civilian clothes but with the alertness about them and the quick
restless eyes of the adventurer, talking quietly with Africans in
business suits; a group of journalists at one table in damp
shirtsleeves, waiting and watching with the patience of vultures. And
everybody sweated in the heat.
Two South African charter pilots hailed Bruce from across the room.
"Hi, Bruce. How about a snort?"
"Dave. Carl." Bruce waved. "Big
hurry now - tonight perhaps."
"We're flying out this afternoon." Carl
Engelbrecht shook his head. "Back next week."
"We'll make it then," Bruce agreed, and went out of the front door into
the Avenue du Kasai.
As he stopped on the sidewalk the white-washed buildings bounced the
glare into his face. The naked heat made him wince and he felt fresh
sweat start out of his- body beneath his battle-suit. He took the dark
glasses from his top pocket and put them on as he crossed the street to
the Chev three-tanner in which Mike Haig waited.
"I'll drive, Mike."
"Okay." Mike slid across the seat and Bruce stepped up into the cab. He
started the truck north down the Avenue du
Kasai.
"Sorry about that scene, Bruce."
"No harm done."
"I shouldn't have lost my temper like that." Bruce did not answer, he
was looking at the deserted buildings on either side. Most of them had
been looted and all of them were pock-marked with shrapnel from the
mortar bursts. At intervals along the sidewalk were parked the burnt out
bodies of automobiles looking like the carapaces of long-dead beetles.
"I shouldn't have let him get through to me, and yet the truth hurts
like hell." Bruce was silent but he trod down harder on the
accelerator and the truck picked up speed. I don't want to hear, he
thought, I am not your confessor - I just don't want to hear. He turned
into the Avenue I'Etoile, headed towards the zoo.
"He was right, he had me measured to the inch, persisted Mike.
"We've all got our troubles, otherwise we wouldn't be here." And then,
to change Mike's mood, "We few, we happy few. We band of brothers." Mike
grinned and his face was suddenly boyish. "At least we have the
