Like A Hole In The Head

     I went over to the gun case, unlocked it and took out a gun that Nick Lewis lent to his lady pupils. I loaded it and handed it to Lucy.

     'Hang on a minute, you two. I'll put up new targets. Get off fifty rounds. Okay?'

     Timoteo looked like a rabbit about to bolt. I took no notice. Leaving them I went out into the sun and put up new targets.

     'Okay, you two,' I called. 'I'm going back to the bungalow. I've letters to write. When I come back, I want to see these targets in bits.'

     I grinned towards them, waved to them, then I headed back to the bungalow.

     I went straight to the refrigerator and fetched out a can of beer. It was a little early in the day for beer, but I was thirsty . . . so what the hell ! I carried the beer on to the verandah and sat down. I drank half of it and then lit a cigarette.

     I waited.

     There was no shooting.

     I waited another five minutes . . . still no shooting. I finished the beer, threw my half-smoked cigarette away and lit another. The time was now 10.43. Timoteo had been on the range now for four hours and thirty five minutes: during that time he had fired one shot.

     What were they playing at? I felt a rush of blood to my head. Lucy must know how important it was to get this slob shooting. Were they sitting there yakking about their parents, their weaknesses, their goddam phobias?

     I heaved myself out of the chair, hesitated, then I forced myself to sit down again.

     Give her time, I told myself.

     Time? Hell! There wasn't any time!

     When I had listened to her talking, I was sold she was handling him right. After all, she had got him to hit an inner, but now . . . Why didn't she get him started? Why wasn't he shooting?

     I sat there for twenty-five minutes: each second I expected to hear a shot : each second dragged by . . . no shot.

     By now I had worked myself into a vicious mood. I damned him and I damned Lucy. What did they think they were playing at? Exasperated, I got to my feet, threw away my fourth cigarette and started across to the shooting gallery.

     I now didn't give a goddam about shaking his nerves. I was fit to kick his backside. I stormed into the dim lean-to like a destructive hurricane.

     They weren't there . . . no one was there. The two rifles lay on one of the benches. The distant targets I had set up were untouched. A lizard darted up into the roof, offering the only sign of life.

     I walked out of the lean-to, smouldering with fury. Then I saw two sets of footprints in the sand, heading towards the sea.

     I stood still, feeling the sun beating down on my head and I looked along the distant beach until I saw them.

     They were walking side by side, paddling in the surf, close together : he towering above her, his head bent as if listening to what she was saying. She was carrying her sandals, swinging them as she walked, kicking at the little waves that broke around her ankles. Neither of them looked as if they had a care in the world.

Probably they hadn't, but I had.

CHAPTER THREE

     As I stood in the hot sun, I decided there were two things I could do. I could leave them alone or I could go down there, grab him by the scruff of the neck, drag him back to the gallery, slam the rifle in his hands and make him shoot and keep on shooting.

     I stood for a long moment watching them, then I contained my rage, turned around and walked back to the bungalow.

     My decision to leave them alone was based entirely on what had happened so far. At least, Lucy had got him to hit an inner and I wasn't sure if I could have got him to do that.

     To occupy myself and to try to cool down, I sorted out the cans of food and put them away in the store cupboard. I put two bottles of champagne and a dozen cans of beer in the refrigerator.

     For lunch, I decided we would have a can of tomato soup, chickens' breasts, garden peas and fruit salad. I lined up the cans on the table, then I took a beer from the refrigerator and carried it out on to the verandah. I sat down and held on to my temper which was at flash point.

     The time was close on 11.36.

     From where I sat I couldn't see the beach. The gallery blocked my view. I just sat there thinking about the bond I had buried.

     As good a shot as you, Savanto had said. This is the age of miracles.