Read Online The Eye of the Leopard by Henning Mankell - Free Book Online
Authors: Henning Mankell
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death had a face, clothes and shoes, it wouldn’t be any harder to conquer than one of the scarecrows that Under the horse dealer uses to protect his berry bushes. Death is more vague, a cool breeze that suddenly wafts across the river without rippling the water. He won’t come any closer than that to death this spring, until the great catastrophe occurs and death blows its shrillest trumpet.
And yet it’s something he will always remember. Much later, when the African night closes in on him, and his childhood is just as distant as the land he now inhabits, he remembers what they talked about, on the boulder by the river or in Janine’s kitchen. As if in a fleeting dream, he remembers the year when Janine taught them to dance and they stood in the darkness outside her house and heard her playing ‘A Night in Tunisia’ …
Chapter Eight
I n Kitwe a laughing African comes running to meet them. Hans Olofson sees that he has trainers on his feet, with no holes, and the heels have not been cut off.
‘This is Robert,’ says Ruth. ‘Our chauffeur. The only one on the farm we can count on.’
‘How many employees do you have?’ asks Olofson.
‘Two hundred and eighty,’ replies Ruth.
Olofson crawls into the back seat of a Jeep that seems much the worse for wear.
‘You have your passport, don’t you?’ asks Werner. ‘We’ll be going through several checkpoints.’
‘What are they looking for?’ Olofson asks.
‘Smuggled goods headed for Zaire,’ says Ruth, ‘or South African spies. Weapons. But actually they just want to beg for food and cigarettes.’
They reach the first roadblock just north of Kitwe. Crossed logs, covered with barbed wire, cut off the lanes of the road. A dilapidated bus stops just before they arrive, and Olofson sees a young soldier with an automatic rifle chase the passengers out of it. There seems to be no end to the Africans who come pouring out, and he wonders how many can actually fit inside. While thepassengers are forced to line up, a soldier climbs up on the roof of the bus and starts tearing apart the shapeless pile of bundles and mattresses. A goat that was tied up suddenly kicks its way loose, jumps down from the roof of the bus, and disappears bleating into the bush by the side of the road. An old woman begins to shriek and wail and a tremendous commotion breaks out. The soldier on the roof yells and raises his rifle. The old woman wants to chase her goat but is restrained by other soldiers who suddenly appear from a grass hut beside the road.
‘Coming right after a bus is a nightmare,’ says Ruth. ‘Why didn’t you overtake it?’
‘I didn’t see it, madame,’ replies Robert.
‘The next time you’ll see the bus,’ says Ruth, annoyed. ‘Or you can look for a new job.’
‘Yes, madame,’ Robert answers.
The soldiers seem tired after searching the bus and wave the Jeep through without inspecting it. Olofson sees a moonscape spreading before them, high hills of slag alternating with deep mine pits and blasted crevices. He realises that now he is in the midst of the huge copper belt that stretches like a wedge into Katanga province in Zaire. At the same time he wonders what he would have done if he hadn’t met the Mastertons. Would he have got off the train in Kitwe? Or would he have stayed in the compartment and returned with the train to Lusaka?
They pass through more roadblocks. Police and drunken soldiers compare his face to his passport photo, and he can feel terror rising inside him.
They hate the whites, he thinks. Just as much as the whites obviously hate the blacks …
They turn off the main road and suddenly the earth is quite red. A vast, undulating fenced landscape opens before the Jeep.
Two Africans open a wooden gate and offer hesitant salutes.The Jeep pulls up to a white two-storey villa with colonnades and flowering bougainvillea. Olofson climbs out, thinking that the white palace reminds him of the courthouse in his distant home
And yet it’s something he will always remember. Much later, when the African night closes in on him, and his childhood is just as distant as the land he now inhabits, he remembers what they talked about, on the boulder by the river or in Janine’s kitchen. As if in a fleeting dream, he remembers the year when Janine taught them to dance and they stood in the darkness outside her house and heard her playing ‘A Night in Tunisia’ …
Chapter Eight
I n Kitwe a laughing African comes running to meet them. Hans Olofson sees that he has trainers on his feet, with no holes, and the heels have not been cut off.
‘This is Robert,’ says Ruth. ‘Our chauffeur. The only one on the farm we can count on.’
‘How many employees do you have?’ asks Olofson.
‘Two hundred and eighty,’ replies Ruth.
Olofson crawls into the back seat of a Jeep that seems much the worse for wear.
‘You have your passport, don’t you?’ asks Werner. ‘We’ll be going through several checkpoints.’
‘What are they looking for?’ Olofson asks.
‘Smuggled goods headed for Zaire,’ says Ruth, ‘or South African spies. Weapons. But actually they just want to beg for food and cigarettes.’
They reach the first roadblock just north of Kitwe. Crossed logs, covered with barbed wire, cut off the lanes of the road. A dilapidated bus stops just before they arrive, and Olofson sees a young soldier with an automatic rifle chase the passengers out of it. There seems to be no end to the Africans who come pouring out, and he wonders how many can actually fit inside. While thepassengers are forced to line up, a soldier climbs up on the roof of the bus and starts tearing apart the shapeless pile of bundles and mattresses. A goat that was tied up suddenly kicks its way loose, jumps down from the roof of the bus, and disappears bleating into the bush by the side of the road. An old woman begins to shriek and wail and a tremendous commotion breaks out. The soldier on the roof yells and raises his rifle. The old woman wants to chase her goat but is restrained by other soldiers who suddenly appear from a grass hut beside the road.
‘Coming right after a bus is a nightmare,’ says Ruth. ‘Why didn’t you overtake it?’
‘I didn’t see it, madame,’ replies Robert.
‘The next time you’ll see the bus,’ says Ruth, annoyed. ‘Or you can look for a new job.’
‘Yes, madame,’ Robert answers.
The soldiers seem tired after searching the bus and wave the Jeep through without inspecting it. Olofson sees a moonscape spreading before them, high hills of slag alternating with deep mine pits and blasted crevices. He realises that now he is in the midst of the huge copper belt that stretches like a wedge into Katanga province in Zaire. At the same time he wonders what he would have done if he hadn’t met the Mastertons. Would he have got off the train in Kitwe? Or would he have stayed in the compartment and returned with the train to Lusaka?
They pass through more roadblocks. Police and drunken soldiers compare his face to his passport photo, and he can feel terror rising inside him.
They hate the whites, he thinks. Just as much as the whites obviously hate the blacks …
They turn off the main road and suddenly the earth is quite red. A vast, undulating fenced landscape opens before the Jeep.
Two Africans open a wooden gate and offer hesitant salutes.The Jeep pulls up to a white two-storey villa with colonnades and flowering bougainvillea. Olofson climbs out, thinking that the white palace reminds him of the courthouse in his distant home
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