fell heavily on the Yorkshire man's ear.
'And I'm a ruddy Japanese, ' agreed the sergeant cheerfully.
'Let's have your rifle, mate. ' Two days Sean languished in the
barbed-wire prison compound while the Intelligence Department cabled
the Registrar of Births at Ladyburg and waited for his reply. TWo long
days during which Sean brooded incessantly, not on the indignities
which had been inflicted on him, but on the woman he had found and
loved and lost again so quickly. These two days of enforced reactivity
came at precisely the worst moment. By repeating over and over in his
imagination each word that had passed between them, by feeling again
each contact of their hands and bodies, by forming her face in his
mind's eye and gloating over every detail of it-Sean burned her memory
so deeply into himself that it was there for all time. Although he did
not even know her surname, he would never forget her.
By the time he was released with apologies and given back his horses,
rifle, moneybag and packs-Sean had driven himself into a mood of such
overpowering depression that it could only be alleviated by liquor or
physical violence.
The village of Frere, which was the first station south on the line to
the coast, promised both of these.
-nkeep Dirk with you,' instructed Sean, 'beyond the town find a camp
beside the road and make a big fire, so I can find you in the dark.
'What will you do, Nkosi?
Sean started towards the dingy little canteen that catered for the
thirsty of Frere.
'I'm going there,' he answered.
'Come, Nkosizana. ' As he and Dirk continued on down the street
MbeJane was deciding how long he should give Sean before coming to
fetch him. It was many years since the Nkosi had headed for a bar in
such a determined fashion, but then there had been much to distress him
these last few days. He will need until midnight, Mbejane decided,
then he will be in a condition conducive to sleep.
From the door Sean surveyed the interior of the canteen. A single
large room with a trestle bar counter along the back wall, and the room
was comfortably MI of warmth and men and the smell of liquor and
cigars. Still standing in the entrance, Sean slipped his hand into the
pocket of his trousers and surreptitiously counted his money, ten
sovereigns he had allowed himself, more than sufficient for the
purchase of the liquor he intended to consume.
As he worked his way through the crowd towards the bar, he looked at
the men about him. Soldiers mostly, from a dozen different regiments.
Colonials and Imperial troops, other ranks predominating, although a
party of junior officers sat at a table against the far wall. Then
there were a few civilians whom he judged to be transport drivers,
contractors and business men, two women with the officers whose
profession was never in doubt, and a dozen black waiters.
'What will it be, ducks?' the large woman behind the counter asked as
he reached it and Sean regarded her moustache and her term of address
with disfavour.
