for being inexplicable and inappropriate. His medical supplies and opium he packed in a separate bag, and as an added precaution, a slab of opium the size of a cigarette package, wrapped in heavy tinfoil, went into his side coat pocket. By the time he had finished packing, his pants were sticking out at the fly. The opium would soon take care of that.
He stepped from the porch into the Land-Rover. The motor caught, and he headed for high ground above the flood. The route he took was seldom used and several times he had to cut trees out of the road with an ax. Towards sundown, he reached the medical mission of Father Dupre. This was out of his district, and he had met the priest only once before.
Father Dupre, a thin red -faced mad with a halo of white hair, greeted him politely but without enthusiasm. He brightened somewhat when Farnsworth brought out his supplies and went with him to the dispensary and hospital, which was simply a large hut screened-in at the sides. The Health Officer passed out opium pills to all the patients.
'No matter what is wrong with them, they will feel better shortly.'
The priest nodded absently as he led the way back to the house. Farnsworth had swallowed his opium pill with water from his canteen, and it was beginning to take effect as he sat down on the porch. The priest was looking at him with a hostility he was trying hard to conceal. Farnsworth wondered what exactly was wrong. The priest fidgeted and cleared his throat. He said abruptly in a strained voice, 'Would you care for a drink?'
'Thank you, no. I never touch it.'
Relief flooded the priest's face with a beneficent glow. 'Something else then?'
'I'd love some tea.'
'Of course. I'll have the boy make it.'
The priest came back with a bottle of whiskey, a glass, and a soda siphon. Farnsworth surmised that he kept his whiskey under lock and key somewhere out of the reach of his boys. The priest poured himself a generous four fingers and shot in a dash of soda. He took a long drink and beamed at his guest. Farnsworth decided that the moment was propitious to ask a favor, while the good father was still relieved at not having to share his dwindling supply of whiskey, and before he had overindulged.
'I want to get through to Ghadis if possible. I suppose it's hopeless by road, even if I had enough petrol?'
The priest got a map and spread it out on the table. 'Absolutely out of the question. This whole area is flooded. Only possibility is by boat to here ... from there it's forty miles downriver to Ghadis. I could lend you a boat with a boy and outboard, but there's no petrol here....'
'I think I have enough petrol for that, considering it's all downstream.'
'You'll run into logjams—may take hours to cut through ... figure how long it could take you at the longest, and then double it ... my boy knows the route as far as here. Now this stretch here is very dangerous ... the river narrows quite suddenly, no noise you understand, and no warning ... advise you tot ake the canoe out and carry it down to here ... take one extra day, but well worth it at this time of year. Of course you
The following day at dawn, Farnsworth's belongings and the supplies for the trip were loaded into the dugout canoe. The boy, Ali, was a smoky black with sharp features, clearly a mixture of Arab and Negro stock. He was about eighteen, with beautiful teeth and a quick shy smile. The priest waved from the jetty as the boat swung into midstream. Farsnworth sat back lazily, watching the water and the jungle slide past. There was not much sign of life. A few birds and monkeys. Once three alligators wallowing in a mudbank slid into the water, showing their teeth in depraved smiles. Several times logjams had to be cleared with an ax.
At sundown they made camp on a gravel bank. Farnsworth put water on for tea while Ali walked to the end of the band and dropped a hook baited
