Read Online The Eye Of The Leopard by Henning Mankell - Free Book Online
Authors: Henning Mankell
Tags: english
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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 the
passengers 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 town.
'Tonight you'll be our guest,' says Werner. 'In the morning I'll
drive you to Kalulushi.'
Ruth shows him to his room. They walk down cool corridors;
tiled floors with deep rugs. An elderly man appears before them.
Olofson sees that he is barefoot.
'Louis will take care of you while you're here,' says Ruth. 'When
you leave you can give him a coin. But not too much. Don't upset
him.'
Olofson is troubled by the man's ragged clothes. His trousers
have two gaping holes in the knees, as if he has spent his life
crawling on them. His faded shirt is frayed and patched.
Olofson looks out a window at a large park extending into the
distance. White wicker chairs, a hammock in a giant tree.
Somewhere outside he hears Ruth's excited voice, a door slamming.
From the bathroom he hears water running.
'Your bath is ready, Bwana ,' says Louis behind him. 'The towels
are on the bed.'
Olofson is suddenly agitated. I have to say something, he
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 the
passengers 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 town.
'Tonight you'll be our guest,' says Werner. 'In the morning I'll
drive you to Kalulushi.'
Ruth shows him to his room. They walk down cool corridors;
tiled floors with deep rugs. An elderly man appears before them.
Olofson sees that he is barefoot.
'Louis will take care of you while you're here,' says Ruth. 'When
you leave you can give him a coin. But not too much. Don't upset
him.'
Olofson is troubled by the man's ragged clothes. His trousers
have two gaping holes in the knees, as if he has spent his life
crawling on them. His faded shirt is frayed and patched.
Olofson looks out a window at a large park extending into the
distance. White wicker chairs, a hammock in a giant tree.
Somewhere outside he hears Ruth's excited voice, a door slamming.
From the bathroom he hears water running.
'Your bath is ready, Bwana ,' says Louis behind him. 'The towels
are on the bed.'
Olofson is suddenly agitated. I have to say something, he
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