about him.â
*
I was deep in thought, going over the details of that evening, as our junk penetrated into the gigantic corridor between the mountains. We could just make out their gloomy outline, which merged with the sky as the sky itself became darker. We were both sitting at the rear of the vessel, Sanders smoking his long pipe. Another man, a sort of silent giant, was standing behind us, braced up against the helm. A coal fire was burning at our feet, underneath an iron cooking pot. We held out our hands over the fire to warm ourselves.
It was already twelve long days that we had been sailing up this river, which was a tributary of one of the tributaries of the Hoang-Ho. At first it had been a vast sea of calm water, where we could hardly make out the shore. Then bit by bit we began to discern mountains, then trees, then houses, then people. Now, some days later, people and houses had disappeared again. Oaks and young beech trees had become transformed into dark forests of pines and firs. Rapids surged down the river, against which we had to struggle day and night. One could say that the sailors on our two junks were earning their money, as was the crew of the motor launch which was serving as a tug-boat.
âWhat day is it?â asked Sanders. âYou lose track of time on this sort of trip.â
âFriday,â I replied.
âFriday? So itâs payday tomorrow, right? Weâll try and tie up in a bay somewhere, restock our supply of wood and buy whatever we can, if we come across another village. You can take the opportunity to settle up with everybody here, on the junks and the motor launch. Have you got enough money?â
âYou are joking, Mr Sandersâ, I muttered in a reproachful tone of voice.
He gestured as if excusing himself from having irritated me, and didnât pursue the matter.
âWhatâs the matter with you?â he said a moment later, seeing me give myself a slap on the cheek.
âThese mosquitos!â I said, âdamned mosquitos!â
He sniggered quietly. âDonât complain! Whoever talks about mosquitos is talking about water. You have to choose, in this cursed country. When you have been deprived of one, after five or six days, you will begin to miss the other, my friend.â
Strange shapes appeared and disappeared in our wake, lit up in the light of the moon; snakes, no doubt, or turtles. There was one of those creatures which suddenly emerged three or four metres from us, with a whiskery face and a moustache, like an old man . . . Some sort of sea-cow!
âI suppose actually,â said Sanders, âthat there is a good third of animals in existence which have never been categorised in the catalogues of those stupid scientists.â
As if talking to himself he added: âBesides, itâs much better like that! If it wasnât so, you and I would have to turn back straightaway, wouldnât we? . . . . . Whatâs the matter? Whatâs up with you now?â
I had suddenly taken hold of his hand.
â
Ahong! Ahong!â
I gripped Sandersâ hand more tightly. âThat sound!â I stammered. âDid you hear it? Itâs him, isnât it? Itâs him?â
âAhong! Ahong!â
My companion slowly took his pipe out of his mouth. He was quiet, listening. On the opposite bank, the dull, majestic, echo was repeated:
âAhong! Ahong!â
I shuddered. In the hold, at the front of the boat, a dreadful moan could be heard: one of our sheep was bleating in terror.
âItâs him all right, isnât it?â I persisted, forcing myself to keep calm, trying to familiarise myself with it, the voice, the same terrifying voice that we had heard in the port at Fouzan three weeks earlier.
âItâs him all right,â said Sanders. Again the sound rang out. A red star was shining. It was Sanders, who had just drawn on his pipe. I heard him mumble with a slight
*
I was deep in thought, going over the details of that evening, as our junk penetrated into the gigantic corridor between the mountains. We could just make out their gloomy outline, which merged with the sky as the sky itself became darker. We were both sitting at the rear of the vessel, Sanders smoking his long pipe. Another man, a sort of silent giant, was standing behind us, braced up against the helm. A coal fire was burning at our feet, underneath an iron cooking pot. We held out our hands over the fire to warm ourselves.
It was already twelve long days that we had been sailing up this river, which was a tributary of one of the tributaries of the Hoang-Ho. At first it had been a vast sea of calm water, where we could hardly make out the shore. Then bit by bit we began to discern mountains, then trees, then houses, then people. Now, some days later, people and houses had disappeared again. Oaks and young beech trees had become transformed into dark forests of pines and firs. Rapids surged down the river, against which we had to struggle day and night. One could say that the sailors on our two junks were earning their money, as was the crew of the motor launch which was serving as a tug-boat.
âWhat day is it?â asked Sanders. âYou lose track of time on this sort of trip.â
âFriday,â I replied.
âFriday? So itâs payday tomorrow, right? Weâll try and tie up in a bay somewhere, restock our supply of wood and buy whatever we can, if we come across another village. You can take the opportunity to settle up with everybody here, on the junks and the motor launch. Have you got enough money?â
âYou are joking, Mr Sandersâ, I muttered in a reproachful tone of voice.
He gestured as if excusing himself from having irritated me, and didnât pursue the matter.
âWhatâs the matter with you?â he said a moment later, seeing me give myself a slap on the cheek.
âThese mosquitos!â I said, âdamned mosquitos!â
He sniggered quietly. âDonât complain! Whoever talks about mosquitos is talking about water. You have to choose, in this cursed country. When you have been deprived of one, after five or six days, you will begin to miss the other, my friend.â
Strange shapes appeared and disappeared in our wake, lit up in the light of the moon; snakes, no doubt, or turtles. There was one of those creatures which suddenly emerged three or four metres from us, with a whiskery face and a moustache, like an old man . . . Some sort of sea-cow!
âI suppose actually,â said Sanders, âthat there is a good third of animals in existence which have never been categorised in the catalogues of those stupid scientists.â
As if talking to himself he added: âBesides, itâs much better like that! If it wasnât so, you and I would have to turn back straightaway, wouldnât we? . . . . . Whatâs the matter? Whatâs up with you now?â
I had suddenly taken hold of his hand.
â
Ahong! Ahong!â
I gripped Sandersâ hand more tightly. âThat sound!â I stammered. âDid you hear it? Itâs him, isnât it? Itâs him?â
âAhong! Ahong!â
My companion slowly took his pipe out of his mouth. He was quiet, listening. On the opposite bank, the dull, majestic, echo was repeated:
âAhong! Ahong!â
I shuddered. In the hold, at the front of the boat, a dreadful moan could be heard: one of our sheep was bleating in terror.
âItâs him all right, isnât it?â I persisted, forcing myself to keep calm, trying to familiarise myself with it, the voice, the same terrifying voice that we had heard in the port at Fouzan three weeks earlier.
âItâs him all right,â said Sanders. Again the sound rang out. A red star was shining. It was Sanders, who had just drawn on his pipe. I heard him mumble with a slight
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