the window of the coach to look ahead at the familiar skyline of
Johannesburg, he wondered how such an unlovely city still had the power
to draw him back each time. It was as though he was connected to it by
an elastic umbilical cord which allowed him a wide range. But when he
reached its limit it pulled him back.
'TWo days,' he promised himself. 'Two days I'll stay here.
Just long enough to hand old Acheson my formal resignation and tell
Candy Good, bye. Then I'll head south to Ladyburg and and leave this
town to stew in its own evil juices.
Near at hand a midday hooter howled from one of the mines, and
immediately its cry was taken up and answered by the other mines. It
sounded as though a pack of hungry wolves were hunting across the
valley, the wolves of greed and gold. Those mines that had been forced
to close during the hostilities were now back in production, and the
black smoke from their stacks sullied the sky and drifted in a dirty
mist across the crest of the ridge. The train slowed, and the
unexpected clatter and lurch of the points broke the rhythm of its run.
Then it was sliding in along the concrete platform of Johannesburg
Station.
Sean lifted his luggage down from the rack above his head and passed it
out of the open window to Mbejane. The exertion of lifting and
carrying no longer caught in his guts; except for the irregular scar
near his navel he was completely healed. When he strode down the
platform towards the exit he held himself erect, no longer stooping to
favour his stomach.
A horse drawn cab deposited them on the pavement outside Acheson's
headquarters, and Sean left Mbejane guarding the luggage while he
pushed his way across the crowded lobby and climbed the staircase to
the first floor,
'Good afternoon, Colonel.' The orderly sergeant recognized him
immediately and jumped to attention with such alacrity that he
overturned his stool.
'Afternoon, Thompson,' Sean told him. The honours of his rank still
embarrassed him. Thompson relaxed and inquired with more than just the
formal concern: 'How are you, sir? Sorry to 'ear about your belly,
sir.
'Thank you, Thompson, I am fine now. Is Major Peterson in?
Peterson was delighted to see him. He made tender inquiries after the
movement of Sean's bowels, for irregularity was often one of the
unpleasant aftermaths of a stomach wound. Sean reassured him and
Peterson went on: 'Have some tea. The old man is busy right now but
he'll see you in ten minutes,' and he shouted for Thompson to bring tea
before he returned to the subject of Sean's wound. 'Much of a scar,
old chap? ' he asked.
Sean loosened his Sam Browne belt, unbuttoned his tunic and pulled his
shirt out from his trousers. Peterson came around the desk and
inspected Sean's hairy stomach at close range.
'Very neat. Damn good job they did on you.' Peterson gave his expert
opinion. 'I got one at Omdurman, , one of those fuzzy wuzzies pegged
me with his dirty great spear.' And he in turn partially disrobed and
