an unspeakable death. Was it a mistake to let someone get too deep inside you, so that you must share his agony in every excruciating detail? Didn't a men have enough of his own that he must share the full measure of another's suffering?
By then the October winds had started, the heralds of the rain: hot winds fall of dust, winds that dried the sweat on a man,'s. body before it had time to cool him, thirsty winds that during daylight brought the game to the waterhole in full view of the camp.
Sean had half a case of wine hoarded under his cot. That last evening he cooled four bottles, wrapping them in wet sacking. He took them up to Duff's shelter just before supper and set them on the table. Duff watched him. The scars on his face were almost completely healed now, glassy red marks on his pale skin.
Chateau Olivier, said Sean and Duff nodded. It's a good wine, most probably travel-sick. Well, if you don't want it, I'll take it away again, said Sean. I'm sorry, laddie, Duff spoke quickly. I didn't mean to he ungrateful. This wine suits my mood tonight. Did you know that wine is a sad drink? Nonsense! Sean disagreed as he twisted the corkscrew into the first cork Wine is gay. He poured a little into Duff's glass and Duff picked it up and held it towards the fire so the light shone through it. You see only the surface, Sean. A good wine has the elements of tragedy within it. The better the wine the more sad it is.
Sean snorted. Explain yourself, he invited.
Duff put his glass down on the table again and stared at it. How long do you suppose this wine has taken to reach its present perfection? Ten or fifteen years, I suppose, Sean answered.
Duff nodded. 'And now all that remains is to drink it the work of years destroyed in an instant. Don't you think that is sad? Duff asked softly. My God, Duff, don't be so damned morbid But Duff wasn't listening to him. Wine and mankind have this in common. They can find perfection only in age, in a lifetime of seeking. Yet in the finding they find also their own destruction. So you think that if a man lives long enough he will reach perfection? Sean challenged him, and Duff answered him still staring at the glass. Some grapes grew in the wrong soil, some were diseased before they went to the press and some were spoiled by a careless vintner, not all grapes make good wine Duff picked up his glass and tasted from it, then he went on. A man takes longer and he must find it not within the quiet confines of the cask but in the cauldron of life; therefore his is the greater tragedy. Yes, but no one can live for ever, Sean protested.
so you think that makes it less sad? Duff shook his head. You're wrong of course. It does not detract from it, it enhances it. If only there were some escape, some way of ensuring that what is good could endure instead of this complete hopelessness. Duff lay back in his chair, his face pale and gaunt-looking. Even that I could accept, if only they had given me more time. I've had enough of this talk. Let's discuss something else. I don't know what you're worrying about. You're not fit to drink yet, you've got another twenty or thirty years to go, Sean said gruffly and Duff looked up at him for the first time. Have 1, Sean? Sean couldn't meet his eyes. He knew Duff was going to die. Duff grinned his lopsided grin and looked down again at his glass. Slowly the grin disappeared and he spoke again.
if only I had more time, I could have done it. I could have found the weak places and fortified them. I could have seen the answers. His voice rose higher. I could have! I know I could have! Oh God, I'm not ready yet. I need more time. His voice was shrill and his eyes wild and haunted. It's too soon, it's too soon!
Sean couldn't stand it, he jumped up and caught Duff's shoulders and shook him.
Shut up, God damn you, shut up, he shouted at him.
Duff was panting, his lips were parted and quivering. He touched them with the tips of his fingers as though to stop them. I'm sorry, laddie, I didn't mean to let go like that. Sean dropped his hands from Duffs shoulders, Both of us are too damned edgy, he said. It's going to be A right, you wait and see. Yes, it will be all right. Duff ran his fingers through his hair, combing it back from his eyes. Open another bottle, laddie. That night after Sean had gone to bed, Duff had his dream again. The wine he had drunk slowed him down and prevented him from waking. He was trapped in his fancy, struggling to escape into wakefulness but only reaching the surface before he sank back to dream that dream again.
Sean went up to Duffs shelter the next morning early.
Although the night's coolness still lingered under the spreading branches of the wild figs the rising day promised to blow dry and burn hot. The animals could sense it. The trek oxen were clustered among the trees and a small herd of eland was moving from the waterhole, The bull, with his short thick horns and the dark tuft on his forehead, was leading his cows away to find shAde. Sean stood in the doorway of the hut and waited while his eyes adjusted themselves to its gloom. Duff was awake. Get out of bed or you'll have bed sores to add to your happiness.
Duff swung his feet off the litter and groaned.
What did you put in that wine last night? He massaged his temples gently. I've got a hundred hobgoblins doing a Cossack dance around the roof of my skull Sean felt the first twinge of alarm. He put his hand on Duff's shoulder feeling for the heat of fever, but Duff was quite cool. He relaxed. Breakfast's ready, said Sean. Duff played with his porridge and barely tasted the grilled eland liver. He kept screwing his eyes up against the glare of the sun and when they had finished their coffee he pushed back his chair. I'm going to take my tender head to bedAR right.
Sean stood up as well. We're a bit short of meat. I'll go and see if I can get a buck. No, stay and talk to me, Duff said quickly. We can have a few hands of cards. They hadn't played in days and Sean agreed readily. He sat on the end of Duff's bed and within half an hour he had won thirty-two pounds from him. You must let me teach you this game sometime, he gloated.
Petulantly, Duff threw his hand in. I don't feel like playing any more. He pressed his fingers to his closed eyelids. I can't concentrate with this headache. Do you want to sleep? Sean gathered up the cards and put them in their box. No. Why don't you read to me?
Duff picked up a leather-bound copy of Bleak House from the table beside the bed and tossed it into Sean's lap.
Where shall I start! Sean asked. It doesn't matter, I know it almost by heart. Duff lay back and closed his eyes. Start anywhere. Sean read aloud. He stumbled on for half an hour with his tongue never quite catching the rhythm of the words.
Once or twice he glanced up at Duff, but Duff lay still with a faint sheen of sweat on his face and the scars very noticeable. He was breathing easily. Dickens is a powerful sleeping-draught for a hot morning and Sean's eyelids sagged down and his voice slowed and finally stopped.
The book slid off his lap.
The small tinkle of Duff's chain disturbed him; he awoke and looked at the bed. Duff crouched apelike. The madness was a fire in his eyes and his cheeks twitched.
A yellowish froth coated his teeth and formed a thin line of scum along his lips. Duff, Sean said, and Duff lunged at him with fingers hooked and a noise in his throat that was not human nor yet animal. It was a sound that jellied Sean's stomach and took the strength from his legs. Don't! screamed Sean, and the chain caught on one of the posts of the bed, jerking Duff back sprawling onto the bed before he could sink his teeth into Sean's paralysed body.
Sean ran. He ran out of the hut and into the bush. He ran with terror trembling in his legs and choking his breath. He ran with his heart taking its beat from his racing feet and his lungs pumping in disordered panic. A branch ripped across his cheek and the sting of it served to steady him. His feet slowed, he stopped and stood gasping, staring back towards the camp. He waited while his body settled and he forced his terror down until it was only a sickening sensation in his stomach. Then he circled through the Thorn bush and approached the laager from the side farthest away from Duff's shelter. The camp was empty, the servants had fled in the same terror that had driven Sean. He remembered that his rifle was still in the hut beside Duff's bed. He slipped into his wagon and quickly opened the case of unused rifles. His hands were unsteady again as he fumbled with the locks, for the chain might have parted and at every second he expected to hear that inhuman sound behind him. He found his bandolier hanging on the end of his cot and he took cartridges from it.
He loaded the rifle and cocked it. The weight of steel and wood in his hands gave him comfort.
It made him a man again.
He jumped down out of the wagon and with the rifle held ready he went cautiously out of the circle of wagons.
The chain had held. Duff stood in the shade of the wild fig plucking at it. He was making a sound like a new-born puppy. His back was turned to Sean and he was naked, his torn clothing scattered about him. Sean walked slowly
towards him. He stopped outside the reach of the chain.
Duffi Sean called uncertainly. Duff spun and crouched, the froth was thick in his golden beard; he looked at Sean and his teeth bared. Then he charged screaming until the chain caught him and threw him onto his back once more. He scrambled to his feet and fought the chain, his eyes fastened hungrily on Sean. Sean backed away. He brought up the rifle and aimed between Duff's eyes.
Swear to me. Swear to me you won't bring the rifle to me.
Sean's aim wavered. He kept moving backwards. Duff was bleeding now. The steel links had smeared the skin off his hips, but still he pulled against them fighting to get at Sean, and Sean was shackled just as effectively by his promise. He could not end it. He lowered the rifle and
