their seats as the wheels bounced over the rough terrain.
'These damn blacks don't even think to repair the roads,' Boris grunted.
'They are happy to live like animals.' None of them replied, but
Nicholas glanced up into the rear-view mirror at the faces of the two
women. They were closed and neutral, hiding any hurt that either of them
might have felt at the remark.
As they went on, the road, bad as it had been originally, became even
worse. From here onwards the soft the fire. The two women sat a little
to one side, talking quietly, and Boris had his feet propped on the low
table as he leaned back in his chair with a glass in one hand.
He indicated the vodka bottle on the table, as Nicholas stepped into the
circle of firelight, 'Get yourself a drink Ice in the bucket.'
'I prefer a beer,' Nicholas told him. 'Thirsty drive.' Boris shrugged
and bellowed for his camp butler to bring a brown bottle from the
portable gas refrigerator.
'Let me tell you something, a little secret.' He grinned at Nicholas as
he poured himself another vodka. 'There is no such animal as a striped
dik-dik these days, even if there ever was one. You are wasting your
time and your money.'
'Fine,' Nicholas agreed mildly. 'It's my time and my money.'
'Just because some old fart shot one back in the Dark Ages, doesn't mean
you are going to find another now. We could go up into the tea
plantations for elephant. I saw three bulls there only ten days ago. All
with tusks over a hundred pounds a side.'
As they argued, the level in Boris's vodka bottle fell like the Nile at
the end of the inundation. When Tessay told them that the meal was
ready, Boris carried the bottle with him; he stumbled on his way to the
table. During the meal his only contribution to the conversation was to
snarl at Tessay.
'The lamb is raw. Why don't you see to it that the cook does it
properly? Damn monkeys, you have to watch everything they do.'
'Is your lamb under-cooked, Alto Nicholas?' Tessay asked without looking
at her husband. 'I can have them cook it longer.'
'It's perfect he assured her. 'I like mine pink.'
Si By the end of dinner the vodka bottle at Boris elbow was empty, and
his face was flushed and swollen. He got up from the table without a
word and disappeared into the darkness in the direction of his tent,
swaying on his feet and occasionally catching his balance with a
two-step jig.
'I apologize,' essay told them quietly. 'It is only in the evenings. In
the day he is fine. It is a Russian tradition, the vodka.' She smiled
brightly; only her eyes stayed sad.
'It is a lovely night, and too early yet for bed. Would you like to walk
up to the church? It is very old and famous.
I will have one of the servants bring a lantern, so that you may admire
the murals.'
The servant walked ahead of them, lighting their way, and an ancient
priest waited to welcome them on the portico of the circular building.
He was thin and so very black that only his teeth flashed in the gloom.
