the bed, he pinned her with one arm across her chest while she struggled
playfully and with the other hand he swept her
skirt up above her waist.
'Take a good look at this and tell me you still want to go! The girl was
naked under the skirt, her lower body shaven so that her plump little
sex pouted sulkily.
'Come on, Bruce,' laughed Wally. 'You first. Don't say I'm not your
buddy.' Bruce glanced at the girl, her legs scissored and her body
wriggled as she fought with Wally. She was giggling.
'Mike and I will be back before curfew. I want this woman out of here by
then,' said Bruce.
There is no desire, he thought as he looked at her, that is all
finished. He opened the door.
'Curry!' shouted Wally. 'You're a bloody nut also. Christ, I
thought you were a man. Jesus Christ! You're as bad as the others.
Andre, the doll boy. Haig, the rummy. What's with you, Bucko? It's women
with you, isn't it? You're a bloody nut-case also!' Bruce closed the
door and stood alone in the passage.
The taunt had gone through a chink in his armour and he clamped his mind
down on the sting of it, smothering it.
It's all over. She can't hurt me any more. He thought with
determination, remembering her, the woman, not the one in the room he
had just left but the other one who had been his wife.
'The bitch,' he whispered, and then quickly, almost guiltily, 'I
do not hate her. There is no hatred and there is no desire.'
The lobby of the Hotel Grand Leopold 11 was crowded. There Were
gendarmes carrying their weapons ostentatiously, talking loudly, lolling
against walls an dover the bar; women with them, varying in colour from
black through to pastel brown, some already drunk; a few
Belgians still with the stunned disbelieving eyes of the refugee, one of
the women crying as she rocked her child on her lap; other white men in
civilian clothes but with the alertness about them and the quick
restless eyes of the adventurer, talking quietly with Africans in
business suits; a group of journalists at one table in damp
shirtsleeves, waiting and watching with the patience of vultures. And
everybody sweated in the heat.
Two South African charter pilots hailed Bruce from across the room.
'Hi, Bruce. How about a snort?'
'Dave. Carl.' Bruce waved. 'Big
hurry now - tonight perhaps.'
'We're flying out this afternoon.' Carl
Engelbrecht shook his head. 'Back next week.'
'We'll make it then,' Bruce agreed, and went out of the front door into
the Avenue du Kasai.
As he stopped on the sidewalk the white-washed buildings bounced the
glare into his face. The naked heat made him wince and he felt fresh
sweat start out of his- body beneath his battle-suit. He took the dark
glasses from his top pocket and put them on as he crossed the street to
the Chev three-tanner in which Mike Haig waited.
