She was certainly looking positively downcast when Kate pulled her Land Cruiser to a halt at the entrance to Lango camp. Her countenance didn’t then improve when, as she descended from the vehicle, she was offered a scented flannel by one of the camp’s staff. Possibly, thought Dan, it would constitute a problem for her makeup. He then thought that Svetlana was occupying rather too many of his thoughts at the moment, and that instead he should focus on where they had arrived and been given such a very warm welcome. So he did, and the first feature of Lango camp that was apparent was that very little of it was apparent at all. It was built within a grove of trees, and all that could be seen from where they’d been deposited by their transport was a wooden walkway leading into the trees and a hint of something more substantial at its end.
By taking this walkway, the party of visitors soon discovered what this was. It was the camp’s main building, which housed its bar, its restaurant and its observation deck. It was made out of natural materials – in a style that mimicked traditional Pygmy habitations – and it overlooked a baie. In this part of the world, that meant it overlooked an expanse of open water within the adjacent forest, one created and maintained by the local wildlife, and by forest elephants and forest buffaloes in particular. In this case, the water was supplied by a shallow river and, as with all baies, it was here because it served as a source of essential minerals – for a whole host of creatures. It also served as a splendid panorama for a group of fortunate visitors. Even now there were more buffaloes resting near its edge and a little group of local antelopes called pukus were wading through its shallows. Lango was clearly a magical sort of place.
Its accommodation was pretty special as well: cabin-sized versions of the main building, all accessed along further walkways through the trees and, even though largely surrounded by trees, all situated to give their occupants an unimpeded view of the baie. What one could not see, however, was one’s neighbouring “Pygmy huts”. Whoever had designed this place knew all about privacy and the screening potential of tropical vegetation. They also knew about comfort. The interior of Dan’s hut, although not expansive, was splendid and even a little decadent. The bed in particular was sublime.
This may have been why Dan “missed” an hour. After the initial round of greetings in the bar and the obligatory signing of indemnities for the benefit of the camp’s operators, Dan and the camp’s other patrons had been led to their accommodation. When Dan arrived at his, he conducted a brief survey of its almost sumptuous fittings and its exterior wooden deck – and the view this afforded – and then he slumped onto his bed and went promptly to sleep. As he’d got older he’d found he could do this with very little effort, and after a few hours of travelling, with no effort at all. Especially in hot and humid climes.
He could also wake up when required. He was therefore unpacked and changed by the time Connor came to escort him back to the bar. There, waiting for him, were Mike and Kate, and a young, ginger-haired man who announced himself as Billy, the camp’s manager. He immediately apologised to Dan for not greeting him when he had first arrived, but he had been otherwise engaged. He had, it appeared, been inserting stitches into one of Tefo’s hands, Tefo being the member of staff who, earlier in the day, had gashed his hand with a machete. This task wasn’t as difficult, Billy explained, as fixing up one of the camp’s construction workers, who had attacked one of his eye-sockets with an angle grinder. But out here, beyond the reach of any form of emergency services, one just had to learn how to cope – whether with an assaulted hand or an excavated eye socket. Mike and Dan both nodded their agreement.
Tefo gave very little evidence of suffering. He put in an appearance when all the guests had assembled and were just about to be seated at the oversized dining table. He had a bandaged hand but also a big sunny smile on his face and a pair of eyes that simply radiated enthusiasm. Quite clearly, deep machete cuts for him were what paper cuts were for others. They were not the sort of thing to get in the way of attending to the needs of one’s guests or, in particular, the pouring of wine. Tefo had everyone’s glass filled even before the bread rolls had arrived.
Almost inevitably, the meal served in this isolated place was delicious, and Kate, Connor and Billy, who were all seated at the table, did a sterling job as hosts, even coaxing a little English out of two of the Spaniards and a little response out of Svetlana – although not much of a response. She was more surly and withdrawn than ever and she looked rather uncomfortable, as if she was expecting the arrival of dangerous beasts through the open sides of the building at any moment. Mike and Dan were a lot easier for them. Mike, they knew – and he was a natural talker – and Dan was amiable, even if rather muted in his manner. That, the hosts could deal with, much better than they could deal with a sullen female wearing too much makeup, a tight top and a short, even tighter skirt. Dan wondered whether Bruce was embarrassed or aroused. He also wondered whether Mike would suggest a session at the bar at the conclusion of dinner – possibly to compare notes. In due course, he did.
five
‘Well, first impressions?’
Directly after dinner, Mike and Dan had seated themselves in the camp’s lounge-cum-bar. There they had been joined by Billy and Connor, whose hosting role required them to remain, even though all the other guests had retired. This had led to a conversation that revolved around the same sort of topics that had been covered at the table, stuff like the difficulties associated with operating in a remote location and the likely wildlife encounters in the area. But now, having been assured that they could take a rest from their duties, Billy and Connor had retired and Mike and Dan had been left alone. Only Tefo was still around – ready to escort them back to their cabins when required – but he was out of earshot. They could therefore now have a one-to-one chat, and Mike had kicked it off with that question.
Dan, who was slumped on one of the lounge’s extravagant sofas, responded immediately.
‘Wonderful. And if the wildlife’s as good…’
‘It is,’ interrupted Mike.
‘Well, then we’ve landed in heaven…’
‘Spot on. Although, there again, I’d always hoped there’d be rather more women.’
Dan laughed. For the first time in a long time. And then he added his own observation on their heavenly companions.
‘Yeah, and not quite so many Spanish. They do seem to be hogging it a bit…’
Mike chuckled and adjusted his substantial frame on his own elegantly crumpled sofa. Then he spoke, and the humour in his voice had gone.
‘Is this really heaven for you, Dan? Is this what you’d choose to…’
‘What?!’
‘No offence, Dan. It’s just…’
‘Just what?’
‘Well, tell me to sod off if you like. None of my business an’ all. But it’s just that you seem to be a bit unsettled… you know… a bit ill at ease. A bit disquieted. And for someone who claims he has just landed in heaven, not quite as buoyant as he should be. And I was just wondering whether anything was wrong, and whether I could be of any help. You know, fellow Brit in foreign parts – fully kitted out with a listening ear, as well as a mouth with a bloody great foot in it…’
Dan stared at Mike. He hadn’t prepared himself for this, but at the same time he wasn’t really surprised. He knew the miasma of gloom that surrounded him was that obvious, and Mike would have had to be blind not to have seen it. And, being Mike, insincere not to have acknowledged it and then to have offered his assistance. He therefore responded calmly and without a hint of resentment.
‘Mike, I don’t know what line you’re in and whether it’s anything to do with counselling or even psychiatry, but you’re very perceptive…’
‘I design desalination plants.’
‘Right. Well, you’re still very perceptive – and I appreciate your concern. But I doubt you can help. Let’s just say that I suffer a little from my past… or m
aybe I indulge in my past, and it now colours how I see the present.’
‘That’s a bit cryptic, Dan.’
‘It isn’t meant to be. It really isn’t. And maybe if I went back to that heaven stuff…’
And here he hesitated, until Mike encouraged him on.
‘Yes. Maybe you should…’
Dan smiled and accepted the encouragement.
‘OK. Well, it is heaven here, isn’t it? Miles from anywhere and miles from all the shit in this world. Only, of course…’
Dan hesitated again, and Mike immediately provided more encouragement.
‘Only of course what?’
Dan stared at his new companion. He was trying to make a decision. Then he spoke.
‘You’ll think me an idiot.’
‘Try me.’
‘I mean, a real idiot.’
‘As I said, try me.’
Dan let out an audible sigh, and then took up Mike’s offer. He looked and sounded extremely self-conscious.
‘Well, Mike, you know a lot about the Congo, and that means you must know all about the Pygmies…’
‘Ah.’
‘Yeah. I didn’t research my trip here very well – as you must have already realised – but I’ve known about the Pygmies for some time, and what a crap hand they’ve been dealt.’
‘I couldn’t agree more. One of the few civilisations that’s left hardly a footprint on the planet and one that’s now been essentially enslaved. You know, they had proper names. The Twa, the Baka, the Aka – and there were others. But now they’re just Pygmies, the most derogatory of terms for a group of people who have not only lost their identity but, to a large extent, their freedom as well. It makes me sick.’
‘I understand that many of them live as slaves.’
‘Yep. Ever since us bigger guys arrived and started to trample on their patch, they’ve been subjected to mass killings, rape and even cannibalism. And whilst our lot has stopped exhibiting them in zoos, some of the local Bantus haven’t stopped mistreating them at all. They really do use them as slaves. In fact, it’s so bad that the UN has forced the political types in Brazzaville to draft a bill that’s supposed to grant all Pygmies some sort of special protection…’
‘Don’t tell me. It hasn’t been put into law yet.’
‘Correct. And nobody knows when it will be – or if it ever will be. And even if it is, who the hell is going to enforce it out here – in this wilderness? And who is going to stop further deforestation and further Westernisation – and intermarriage – all of which are guaranteed to seal the fate of the little guys and eventually see them wiped from the face of the Earth? I’m afraid it’s only a matter of time…’
‘Checkmate!’
Mike couldn’t help grinning.
‘Shit. You’re right. I’m sounding more… disquieted than you. And what’s more, this started off with you on the psychiatrist’s couch, not me. And you were going to explain your own disquiet.’
Dan hesitated for just a second, and then he did explain.
‘Well, sitting here tonight, most people in my situation – you know, with the prospect of an idyllic few days in some idyllic surroundings – would be happy beyond words. And they’d be happy beyond words because they’d not be thinking about the plight of the local Pygmies, people I’m sure we will never see, but people who I know are out there and suffering…’
Mike’s eyes widened. Then he asked Dan a question.
‘You mean you feel some sort of… vicarious guilt?’
‘Yes. I suppose you could put it that way. Although it probably goes wider. And I don’t want to sound even more bloody idiotic than I already have, but I am also far too aware of the rotten state of politics across this whole continent. I mean, it’s not just Pygmies being exploited, is it? They may be an extreme example, but most of the poor sods who live in Africa are on the receiving end of some serious abuse – and all thanks to a shedload of shits who are supposedly meant to be their responsible leaders. Responsible, my arse…’
‘Dan, that’s more than vicarious guilt. That’s a direct road to despondency.’
‘Well, I told you you’d think I’m an idiot…’
Mike frowned. He was clearly thinking very carefully of what to say next. After a few seconds he spoke.
‘You said something about suffering from your past – or indulging in your past. Well, it’s not my business to know what this past of yours involved, but I think you may be indulging in the present. And if that makes no sense, then does the word “masochism” mean anything to you?’
Dan sniggered.
‘I think masochism involves enjoyment – whether we’re talking about the sexual sort or otherwise – and I don’t think that particularly matches my symptoms.’
Mike grunted.
‘Well, I’m just trying to… Oh God, I don’t know what I’m trying to do. But all I know is that what you’re doing isn’t healthy. You can’t carry a cross for a whole swathe of fucking mankind…’
‘You’re right. I will endeavour to sort myself out.’
‘Now you’re just taking the piss.’
‘Mike. What can I say? I appreciate your concern. I really do. And I have tried to explain – if not to reassure. And all I can guarantee is that my demeanour will not deteriorate further and, as we explore over the next few days, it will in all likelihood get better. I might not lose my cross in the undergrowth, but I might get mightily distracted and not even mention Pygmies ever again.’
Mike indulged in another frown.
‘Mmm. And what was your line of work?’
‘I was an accountant.’
‘Ah, I see.’
This observation was accompanied with a wry smile. Mike looked like a man who had finally solved a really challenging puzzle and who was now quite content to rest before the next. Dan was confident that he would drop his investigation forthwith and defer the application of any necessary remedial therapy for at least twenty-four hours. He was right. Mike took the conversation in the direction of “other accountants I have known”, and then he suggested it was time for bed. It had been a long day, he reported, and there was an early start in the morning.
Accordingly, Tefo was called upon to do his escorting duties, and Dan was able to retire for the night, confident that Mike had accepted his charade as the total truth – and not the half-truth it was.
six
The rain did clear. It was still pouring down as the two minibuses descended the southern flanks of the Atlas Mountains, and it was still drizzling as they ran through and then left the southern approach to the Tizi n’Tichka Pass. However, it then stopped completely, and in its place was left just the threat of rain. No refreshing blue sky now but just a pall of grey, and this pall of grey hung over the landscape like a shroud.
Dan regarded this landscape as more like a moonscape, and certainly in this stretch of what was the Dadès Valley it was bereft of anything that might indicate it was part of Earth. It was just gravel, rock, dust and more gravel. And, under that unbroken blanket of cloud, not even relieved by a hint of any real colour. Grey merged into brown and brown merged into grey. This was a place seemingly designed to shrivel the soul. And it was certainly not a place to live. Or so Dan thought…
But then, some way in the distance, Dan noticed a building. It was the colour of its surroundings, it had no discernible windows, it had no discernible embellishments, but it was a house, a distinctly vernacular blockhouse of a house. But still a house. Dan was immediately puzzled as to who might live there, and how they might support themselves in the middle of this sterile terrain. There appeared to be nothing here, and definitely not enough to satisfy even the most abstemious of goats. Then the plot thickened. There were more houses, more dun-coloured redoubts, all of them protecting their besieged inhabitants from the desolation all about – or imprisoning
them within.
It was a feature of the rural architecture that Dan had observed between Marrakesh and the Tizi n’Tichka Pass: its affinity with the sorts of buildings which normally serve as either bastions – or jails. And that meant they had blank walls, one (always closed) door, no suggestion of any welcome whatsoever – but probably a concealed but open courtyard within. It was very likely, he thought, a function of the local climate and the need to keep at bay both extremes of temperature and extreme weather events – such as sandstorms. Kim, however, had a slightly different theory.
As she pointed through a minibus window at the nearest blockhouse, she whispered to her husband.
‘If you wanted any proof that architecture is a physical manifestation of a country’s culture, then there it is: uninviting, inward-looking houses, built by uninviting, inward-looking people. Just like all those scruffy old bastards back in the restaurant. I tell you, it gives me the creeps. And thank God I don’t live here. ’Cos if I did, I know where I’d be. I’d be in one of those dismal dreary dungeons.’
‘I think,’ responded Dan, ‘that to be a dungeon, you have to be built underground…’
‘Might as well be…’
‘And,’ he continued, ‘if you were still my wife when you lived here, I wouldn’t seek to imprison you. And anyway, I certainly wouldn’t want to live in one of these places myself. I mean, talk about Bleak House…’
‘The whole place puts me more in mind of Mordor – in February.’
‘Careful,’ whispered Dan, ‘one of the orcs might overhear you. And there’s just two of us and half a dozen of them. So watch out…’
Kim spluttered out a laugh and then leant over and kissed her husband. As one of the orcs seated in front of them turned around to investigate the disturbance, he kissed her back. Then he took another look at Mordor and as he did so, something caught his attention. The two minibuses had just completed a huge horseshoe-shaped loop in the road, and there, on the road, maybe as much as a mile behind them, was a singular splash of colour. It stood out like a beacon against the grey-brown all around. Because it was bright red.
Darkness Page 4
