Read Online Foreigners by Stephen Finucan - Free Book Online

roadside.
    â€œHow long?” I asked, rubbing my stiff neck.
    â€œAlmost twenty-four hours,” he smiled. “You know, it was quite rude to nod off in the middle of a conversation like you did.”
    â€œI think I have a concussion.”
    â€œOh, I should think so,” Marlowe said, and turned back to the door.
    Only then did his presence strike me as odd.
    â€œBut you’re ill,” I said. “The doctor.”
    He looked back at me, grinning still. “Yes, indeed, James. Quite ill. In fact, I’m under round-the-clock medical supervision. Or so the staff at the Excelsior believes. The virus has progressed to the point where my very life is in danger. On no account am I to be disturbed. All necessary fallacy, I’m afraid.”
    â€œNecessary?” I said, not following him. “Necessary why? What are you talking about?”
    â€œYou’ll see,” he said, holding his hand out toward me and crooking his finger. “Let’s go. On your feet, James. I think you’ve lollygagged long enough.”
    I had to shield my eyes against the sun when I stepped out of the hut. It took a few moments before they adjusted to the glare. When they did, I noticed that a change had come overthe village. Gone was the carefree tenor that I’d witnessed on my arrival; in its place, a discernible tension. As I walked along behind Marlowe, I was aware of eyes upon us. The women, so insouciant and oblivious to my presence before, now regarded me with apprehension. Their children they kept close by their sides. The men, too, looked on; their hooded eyes, though, were fixed not upon me, but Marlowe.
    As we neared the centre of the village, which was marked by an open space with an awkward rock cairn in its middle, I grabbed hold of Marlowe’s elbow. When I did this, I sensed movement off to my left. Marlowe held up his hand, as if in signal.
    â€œMathieu,” I said to him. “Before you told me something about Mathieu. Has he left?”
    He looked at me as if I was becoming something of a nuisance.
    â€œIn a manner of speaking, James,” he said, “yes, he has left.”
    â€œWhat does that mean?” I demanded. “A manner of speaking?”
    To see him, one could imagine Marlowe a stern schoolmaster in the process of explaining simple arithmetic to a dim-witted pupil. His arms were crossed over his chest, and his chin dipped toward his collar.
    â€œIt is one of the peculiarities of this country,” he said, “that people often go missing and yet are rarely missed. As will be the case with our poor Mathieu. His family, what family he has, will no doubt assume the worst. And they will, of course, be correct in their assumption. But they won’t bother to look for him, which is a good thing. Seeing as there’s not much left to be found.”
    It was the way in which these words were spoken as much as the words themselves that shocked me: the utter completeness of Marlowe’s indifference.
    â€œMy God, Marlowe,” I said. “What have you done?”
    He offered no answer, simply shrugged his shoulders and turned away.
    I could not move. The nausea returned. And for a moment, it felt as if the palsy in my hand was about to envelop my entire body. I caught up to Marlowe on the opposite side of the cairn, but my mind was awhirl. I knew I had to say something, but my brain, whether still addled by the blow or simply numb from the revelation, was unable to form the words.
    Marlowe, however, suffered no such loss.
    â€œThese people,” he said laconically, gesturing to the villagers, who watched us from a safe distance. “These people really are quite uncivilized. Oh, I know that’s not the correct thing to say nowadays, but it’s true. Of course, they are by no means the barbarians that the people below think them. Actually, they are a rather peaceful lot. True, they were in the past rather brutal, but it was purely a