'Come along, tiger girl,' and Bruce led Shermaine out to the Ford.
She sat closer to him than the previous day, but with her legs curled up
under her, as before. As they crossed the causeway she lit two
cigarettes and passed one to him.
'I'll be glad to leave this place,' she said, looking out across the
swamp with the mist lifting sluggishly off it in the dawn, hanging in
grey shreds from the fluffy tops of the papyrus grass.
'I've hated it here since Paul died. I hate the swamp the
mosquitoes and the jungle all around. I'm glad we're going.' 'Where will
you go?' Bruce asked.
'I haven't thought about it. Back to Belgium, I suppose.
Anywhere away from the Congo. Away from this heat to a country where you
can breathe. Away from the disease and the fear. Somewhere so that I
know tomorrow I will not have to run. Where human life has meaning, away
from the killing and the burning and the rape.' She drew
on her cigarette almost fiercely. staring ahead at the green wall of the
forest.
'I was born in Africa,' said Bruce. 'In the time when the judge's gavel
was not the butt of an FN rifle, before you registered your vote with :,
burst of gunfire.' He spoke softhe with regret. 'In the time before the
hatred. But now I don't know. I haven't thought much about the future
either.' He was silent for a while. They reached the turn-off to the
mission and he swung the Ford into it 'it has all changed so quickly; I
hadn't realized how quickly until :I came here to the Congo.'
'Are you going to stay here, Bruce? I mean, stay here in the Congo?'
'No,' he said, 'I've had enough. I don't even know what
I'm fighting for.'
He threw the butt of his cigarette out of the window.
Ahead of them were the mission buildings.
Bruce parked the car outside the hospital buildings and they sat
together quietly.
'There must be some other land,' he whispered, 'and if there is
I'll find it.' He opened the door and stepped out. Shermaine slid across
the seat under the wheel and joined him. They walked side by
side to the hospital; her hand brushed his and he caught it, held it and
felt the pressure of his fingers returned by hers. She was taller than
his shoulder, but not much.
Mike Haig and Father Ignatius were together in the women's ward, too
engrossed to hear the Ford arrive.
'Good morning, Michael,' called Bruce. 'What's the fancy dress for?'
Mike Haig looked up and grinned. 'Morning, Bruce.
Hello, Shermaine.' Then he looked down at the faded brown cassock he
wore.
'Borrowed it from Ignatius. A bit long in the leg and tight round the
waist, but less out of place in a sick ward than the accoutrements
of war.'
'It suits you, Doctor Mike,' said Shermaine.
'Nice to hear someone call me that again.' The smile spread all over
Haig's face. 'I suppose you want to see your baby, Shermaine?'
