He gave Sepoo the case of cassettes to carry while he took for himself the camera, the lens and the spare battery packs, a burden of almost seventy pounds to lug through the steaming forest.
Heavily laden as he was, the return took almost twice as long as the outward march and it rained most of the time. As soon as he reached Gondola, Daniel recruited Victor Omeru's assistance.
He knew that Victor was a qualified electrical engineer.
Victor had built and installed a turbine generator beneath the waterfall at the head of the Gondola glade. It generated 220 volts and almost ten kilowatts of power, sufficient to supply the community with lighting and to operate Kelly's laboratory equipment.
So Victor was able to place the battery packs for the video on charge and found only one of them was defective. The camera and the lens were a different problem altogether. Daniel would not have known where to begin to look for the fault, but Victor stripped the camera and cleaned the condensed moisture.
He checked the circuits and found one of the transistors was blown.
He replaced it with one that he cannibalised from Kelly's gas spectroscope.
Within twenty-four hours he had the VTR functioning again, then he took down the lenses and cleaned and dried them out and reassembled them.
Daniel realised just what a difficult task the old man had undertaken in such primitive conditions. If you never get your country back, I've always got a job for you, sir, he told Victor. That's not such a good idea, Kelly warned him. You'd probably end up working for him.
All right, Daniel said. I've got a camera. Now what do you want me to film? We leave tomorrow morning at first light, Kelly told him.
I'm coming along, Kelly, Victor Omeru told her.
I don't think that is very wise, Victor. She looked dubious. You're much too valuable. After all my hard work, I deserve a little reward, don't you think? He turned to Daniel. Besides which, you might have another breakdown in the equipment. Come on, Doctor Armstrong, put in a good word for me. Chauvinists, both of you, Kelly protested. You're ganging up on me just because I am a female. I'll have to call Pamba to my aid. Hell no! Daniel shook his head. That is using too much gun!
But he shared Kelly's misgivings. Victor Omeru was over seventy years of age and the going would be tough. It was almost fifty miles to Wengu.
He was about to say so when Victor intervened quietly.
Seriously, Ubomo is my country. I cannot rely on second-hand reports. I have to see for myself what Taffari is doing to my people and my land.
Neither of them could argue with that, and when the safari started out from Gondola the following morning, Victor Omeru was with them.
Sepoo had recruited eight men from his clan to act as porters and Pamba appointed herself as caravan manager to make certain that they applied themselves and did not lose interest in the typical Bambuti fashion, dropping their bundles to wander off fishing or honey hunting.
Every man in the clan stood in awe of Pamba's tongue.
On the third day they reached the first of the bleeding rivers and the Bambuti men lowered their loads to the ground and huddled on the bank.
There was no laughter nor banter. Even Pamba was silent and subdued.
Daniel climbed down into the stinking morass of red mud, dead animals and poisoned vegetation, and scooped a handful of it. He sniffed it and then threw it from him and tried to wipe the filth from his hands.
What is it, Kelly? He looked up at her on the bank above him. What caused this?
It's the reagent that Taffari swore to you that he would never use.
She was dressed only in a cotton T-shirt and shorts with a coloured headband around her brow, and her small neat body seemed to quiver with outrage. Victor and I have been monitoring the effluent from the mining operation. At first it was pure mud. That was bad enough.
Then recently, in the last few weeks, there's been a change. They have begun using a reagent. You see, the platinum molecules are coated with sulphides. The sulphides reduce the efficiency of the recovery process by forty percent. They are using a reagent to dissolve the sulphide coating and to free the platinum. What does the reagent consist of? Daniel demanded. Arsenic. She spat the word like an angry cat. They are using a two percent solution of white arsenic to break down the sulphide coating. He stared at her in disbelief. But that's crazy. You said it, Kelly agreed. These aren't sane or responsible people. They are poisoning the forest in a murderous orgy of greed.
He climbed up out of the dead river and stood beside her.
Slowly he felt her outrage seep into his own conscience. The bastards, he whispered. It was as though she realised the moment of his total commitment to her cause, for she reached out and took his hand. It was not a gentle or an affectionate gesture. Her grip was fierce and compelling. You haven't seen it all yet. This is just the beginning. The real horror lies ahead at Wengu. She shook his arm demandingly. Come!
she ordered. Come and look at it. I challenge you to remain on the sidelines after you have seen it. The little column moved on, but after another five hoursmarch the Bambuti porters abruptly halted and dropped their packs and whispered together. Now what is the trouble?
Victor wanted to know, and Kelly explained. We have reached the boundary of the clan hunting area. She pointed ahead. From here onwards we will be entering the sacred heartland of the Bambuti. They are deeply troubled and perplexed. So far only Sepoo has seen what is happening at Wengu.
The others are reluctant to go on. They are afraid of the wrath of the forest god, the Mother and Father of the forest. They understand that a terrible sacrilege has been committed and they are terrified.
What can we do to persuade them? Daniel asked, but Kelly shook her head. We must keep out of it. It is clan business. We must leave it to Pamba to convince them. The old lady was at her best now. She spoke to them, sometimes haranguing them shrilly, at others dropping her voice to a dovelike cooing and taking one of their faces in her cupped hands to whisper into an ear. She sang a little hymn to the forest and smeared ointment on each of their bare chests to absolve them. Then she performed a solitary dance, shuffling and leaping as she circled. Her withered breasts bounced against her belly and her skirt of bark cloth flipped up at the back to expose her surprisingly neat and glossy little buttocks as she cavorted.
After an hour one of the porters suddenly picked up his load and started along the path. The others, grinning sheepishly, followed his example and the safari went forward into the sacred heartland.
They heard the machines at dawn the next morning and as they went on the sound became louder. The rivers they crossed were waist-deep and thick as honey with the fearful red poisoned mud.
Apart from the distant growl and roar of the machines, the forest was silent. They saw no birds or monkeys or
