rotten and stinking flesh.
Ben's dad returned to the compound later that afternoon. Abele had insisted that he and Ben should go back, and Ben's recent discovery that half the huts in the village seemed to be housing the sick and dying had dampened his enthusiasm for exploring, so he had sought shelter from the heat and the increasingly intolerable humidity by lying on his bed in the half darkness. Now, though, it was beginning to cool down.
Russell looked grimy and tired - more tired than Ben had seen him in a long time in fact, with large, black rings under his eyes and a faintly haggard expression. He entered the compound with Suliman sticking close to him. Both men had sweat on their bald heads, though Suliman looked more comfortable with it than Russell.
'Good day?' Ben asked his dad.
Russell nodded. 'It's a rich source of good-quality Coltan. I need another day there, and then we can get back.' He turned to Suliman. 'Thank you for your kindness today,' he said politely. 'Same time tomorrow?'
'My people will be here to collect you.' Suliman bowed slightly, and made to leave.
'Just a minute!' Ben said sharply. 'I want to ask you a question.'
Suliman turned, and Ben felt both men's eyes on him.
'What's making everyone so ill? Why is everyone dying?'
'Ben!' Russell reprimanded. 'I don't want to hear you speaking to our hosts so rudely.'
'It's true, Dad. Every other house in this village has a red cross painted on the door. It means that someone is dying, or has died recently, in that house. We've been brought here without being told - I think we deserve to know what's going on.'
Suliman looked intently at him, his face hard before it suddenly dissolved into a softer smile. 'It's true, Ben,' he whispered, his rasping voice sounding almost snakelike. 'Many of our villagers are sick. You are taking your malaria medication, I hope?'
Ben nodded mutely.
'Good. It has been bad lately. A very vicious strain. The dead are as numerous as those who survive it. Few people can afford the medicine.'
Ben said nothing; malaria was a big problem in the area, that much he knew, and Suliman's explanation had the desperate ring of truth.
'Our people have no option but to accept this as a way of life,' Suliman continued. Then he nodded at Ben and his father in turn. 'Until tomorrow, then,' he said, and left.
There was a silence between Ben and his father, which Russell broke in his quiet voice. 'Now do you understand why I was so insistent that you took your malaria medication before we left?' he asked in that frustratingly smug voice Ben found adults often using with him.
'I suppose so,' Ben muttered. He knew he was being surly, but he couldn't help it. He was beginning to wish he had never come.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Russell Tracey's breathing was heavy, slow and measured. Ben hadn't noticed it the previous night - probably too busy worrying about creepy crawlies in the bedroom, he supposed. He lay drowsily in the darkness listening to it, wishing that he too could be visited by the sleep that had descended on his father.
Gradually, though, he became aware of another sound - a scratching in the courtyard outside. He concentrated on isolating that sound from any others and realized that it was footsteps walking across the dusty, gritty earth. And then he heard a tapping at the door. Three gentle knocks. A pause, and they came again - tap , tap , tap - a little louder this time. Russell's breathing remained heavy - clearly he had been undisturbed by the sound - so Ben climbed out from under his mosquito net and pulled on his clothes. He stepped towards the door before halting, turning back on himself and removing the gun from its place on the table. Then he walked to the door and, his finger nervously caressing the trigger of the gun, gently nudged it open.
The African night was sultry, and for a moment Ben thought he had been hearing things as there appeared to be nobody there. He noticed that he was suddenly breathing as heavily as his father, and
Ben's dad returned to the compound later that afternoon. Abele had insisted that he and Ben should go back, and Ben's recent discovery that half the huts in the village seemed to be housing the sick and dying had dampened his enthusiasm for exploring, so he had sought shelter from the heat and the increasingly intolerable humidity by lying on his bed in the half darkness. Now, though, it was beginning to cool down.
Russell looked grimy and tired - more tired than Ben had seen him in a long time in fact, with large, black rings under his eyes and a faintly haggard expression. He entered the compound with Suliman sticking close to him. Both men had sweat on their bald heads, though Suliman looked more comfortable with it than Russell.
'Good day?' Ben asked his dad.
Russell nodded. 'It's a rich source of good-quality Coltan. I need another day there, and then we can get back.' He turned to Suliman. 'Thank you for your kindness today,' he said politely. 'Same time tomorrow?'
'My people will be here to collect you.' Suliman bowed slightly, and made to leave.
'Just a minute!' Ben said sharply. 'I want to ask you a question.'
Suliman turned, and Ben felt both men's eyes on him.
'What's making everyone so ill? Why is everyone dying?'
'Ben!' Russell reprimanded. 'I don't want to hear you speaking to our hosts so rudely.'
'It's true, Dad. Every other house in this village has a red cross painted on the door. It means that someone is dying, or has died recently, in that house. We've been brought here without being told - I think we deserve to know what's going on.'
Suliman looked intently at him, his face hard before it suddenly dissolved into a softer smile. 'It's true, Ben,' he whispered, his rasping voice sounding almost snakelike. 'Many of our villagers are sick. You are taking your malaria medication, I hope?'
Ben nodded mutely.
'Good. It has been bad lately. A very vicious strain. The dead are as numerous as those who survive it. Few people can afford the medicine.'
Ben said nothing; malaria was a big problem in the area, that much he knew, and Suliman's explanation had the desperate ring of truth.
'Our people have no option but to accept this as a way of life,' Suliman continued. Then he nodded at Ben and his father in turn. 'Until tomorrow, then,' he said, and left.
There was a silence between Ben and his father, which Russell broke in his quiet voice. 'Now do you understand why I was so insistent that you took your malaria medication before we left?' he asked in that frustratingly smug voice Ben found adults often using with him.
'I suppose so,' Ben muttered. He knew he was being surly, but he couldn't help it. He was beginning to wish he had never come.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Russell Tracey's breathing was heavy, slow and measured. Ben hadn't noticed it the previous night - probably too busy worrying about creepy crawlies in the bedroom, he supposed. He lay drowsily in the darkness listening to it, wishing that he too could be visited by the sleep that had descended on his father.
Gradually, though, he became aware of another sound - a scratching in the courtyard outside. He concentrated on isolating that sound from any others and realized that it was footsteps walking across the dusty, gritty earth. And then he heard a tapping at the door. Three gentle knocks. A pause, and they came again - tap , tap , tap - a little louder this time. Russell's breathing remained heavy - clearly he had been undisturbed by the sound - so Ben climbed out from under his mosquito net and pulled on his clothes. He stepped towards the door before halting, turning back on himself and removing the gun from its place on the table. Then he walked to the door and, his finger nervously caressing the trigger of the gun, gently nudged it open.
The African night was sultry, and for a moment Ben thought he had been hearing things as there appeared to be nobody there. He noticed that he was suddenly breathing as heavily as his father, and
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