in a lamplit mud hut Basil began to talk of the monetary systems of the world until the Boer fell asleep on a couch of plaited hide and the four dancing girls huddled together in the corner like chimpanzees and chattered resentfully among themselves.
The ship was sailing for Azania at midnight. She lay far out in the bay, three lines of lights reflected in the still water; the sound of fiddle and piano was borne through the darkness, harshly broken by her siren intermittently warning passengers to embark. Basil sat in the stern of the little boat, one hand trailing in the sea; half way to the ship the boatman shipped their oars and tried to sell him a basket of limes; they argued for a little in broken French, then splashed on irregularly towards the liner; an oil lantern bobbed in the bows. Basil climbed up the companion way and went below; his companion was asleep and turned over angrily as the light went up; the port hole had been shut all day and the air was gross; Basil lit a cheroot and lay for some time reading. Presently the old ship began to vibrate and later, as she drew clear of the bay, to pitch very slightly in the Indian Ocean. Basil turned out the light and lay happily smoking in the darkness.
In London Lady Metroland was giving a party. Sonia said: “No one asks us to parties now except Margot. Perhaps there aren’t any others.”
“The boring thing about parties is that it’s far too much effort to meet new people, and if it’s just all II9 the ordinary people one knows already one might just as well stay at home and ring them up instead of having all the business of remembering the right day.”
“I wonder why Basil isn’t here? I thought he was bound to be.”
“Didn’t he go abroad?”
“I don’t think so. Don’t you remember, he had dinner with us the other evening.”
“Did he? When?”
“Darling, how can I remember that?… there’s Angela—she’ll know.”
“Angela, has Basil gone away?”
“Yes, somewhere quite extraordinary.”
“My dear, is that rather heaven for you?”
“Well, in a way…”
Basil was awakened by the clank and rattle of steel cable as the anchor was lowered. He went up on deck in pyjamas. The whole sky was aflame with green and silver dawn. Half covered figures of other passengers sprawled asleep on benches and chairs. The sailors paddled between them on bare feet, clearing the hatches; a junior officer on the bridge shouting orders to the men at the winch. Two lighters were already alongside preparing to take off cargo. A dozen small boats clustered round them, loaded with fruit.
Quarter of a mile distant lay the low sea front of Matodi; the minaret, the Portuguese ramparts, the mission church, a few warehouses taller than the rest, the Grand Hotel de I’Empereur Amurath stood out from the white and dun cluster of roofs; behind and on either side stretched the meadowland and green plantations of the Azanian coast line, groves of tufted palm at the water’s edge. Beyond and still obscured by mist rose the great crests of the Sakuyu mountains, the Ukaka pass and the road to Debra-Dowa.
The purser joined Basil at the rail.
“You disembark here, Mr. Seal, do you not?”
“Yes.”
“You are the only passenger. We sail again at noon.”
“I shall be ready to go ashore as soon as I am dressed.”
“You are making a long stay in Azania?”
“Possibly.”
“On business? I have heard it is an interesting country.”
But for once Basil was disinclined to be instructive. “Purely for pleasure,” he said. Then he went below, dressed and fastened his bags. His cabin companion looked at his watch, scowled and turned his face to the wall; later he missed his shaving soap, bedroom slippers and the fine topee he had bought a few days earlier at Port Said.
FOUR
THE Matodi terminus of the Grand Chemin de Fer d’Azanie lay half a mile inland from the town. A broad avenue led to it, red earth scarred by deep ruts and pot holes; on either side grew irregular lines of acacia trees. Between the trees were strings of different coloured flags. A gang of convicts, chained neck to neck, were struggling to shift a rusty motor car which lay on its side blocking the road. It had come to grief there six months previously, having been driven recklessly into some cat-tle by an Arab driver. He was now doing time in prison in default of damages. White ants had devoured the tyres; various pieces of mechanism had been removed from time to time to repair other engines. A Sakuyu family had set up house in the back, enclosing the space between the wheels with an intricate structure of rags, tin, mud and grass.
That was in the good times when the Emperor was in the hills. Now he was back again and the town was overrun with soldiers and government officials. It was by his orders that this motor car was being removed. Everything had been like that for three weeks, bustle everywhere, proclamations posted up on every wall, troops drilling, buglings, hangings, the whole town kept awake all day; in the Arab Club feeling ran high against the new regime.
Mahmud el Khali bin Sai’ud, frail descendant of the oldest family in Matodi, sat among his kinsmen, moodily browsing over his lapful of khat. The sunlight streamed in through the lattice shutters, throwing a diaper of light over the worn carpets and di-vans; two of the amber mouthpieces of the hubble-bubble were missing; the rocking chair in the corner was no longer safe, the veneer was splitting and peeling off the rosewood table. These poor remnants were all that remained of the decent people of Matodi; the fine cavaliers had been scattered and cut down in battle. Here were six old men and two dissipated youngsters, one of whom was liable to fits of epilepsy. There was no room for a gentleman in Matodi nowadays, they remarked. You could not recount an anecdote in the streets or pause on the water front to discuss with full propriety the sale of land or the pedigree of a stallion, but you were jostled against the wall by black men or Indians, dirty fellows with foreskins; unbelievers, descendants of slaves; judges from up country, upstarts, jacks-in-office giving decisions against you in the courts… Jews foreclosing on mortgages… taxation… vulgar display… no respect of leisure, hanging up wretched little flags everywhere,
