Read Online The Last Place God Made by Jack Higgins - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Jack Higgins
Ads: Link
said.
"What on - wood alcohol? I haven't felt like this since Prohi-bition."
He wandered off to his bedroom like a very old man and I went into the kitchen and made some coffee. When it was ready, I took it out on a tray and found him on the veranda dressed for flying.
He wrapped a white scarf around his throat and took one of the mugs. "Smells good enough to drink. I thought you Limeys could only make tea?" He sipped a little, eyeing me speculatively. "What really happened last night?"
"Can't you remember anything?"
"I won a little money at poker, that's for sure. More than my share and Avila and his boys weren't too happy. Was there trouble?"
"I suppose you could say that"
"Tell me."
So I did. There was little point in holding anything back for he was certain to hear it for himself one way or the other.
When I was finished, he sat there on the rail holding the mug in both hands, his face very white, those pale eyes of his opaque, lifeless. As I have said, the appearance of things was of primary importance to him. His standing in other men's eyes, the image he protrayed to the world and these men had treated him like dirt - publicly humiliated him.
He smiled suddenly and unexpectedly, a slow burn as if what I had said had touched a fuse inside. I don't know what it would have done for Avila, but it certainly frightened me. He didn't say another word about the matter, didn't have to and I could only hope Avila would be long gone when we returned. He emptied what was left of his coffee over the rail and stood up. "Okay, let's get moving. We've got a schedule to keep."
Flying the Hayley was like driving a car after what I'd been used to and the truth is, there wasn't much enjoyment in it Everything worked to perfection, it was the last word in com-fort and engine noise was reduced to a minimum. Hannah was beside me and Colonel Alberto sat in one of the front passenger seats, his sergeant behind to preserve, I suppose, the niceties of military rank.
Hannah opened a Thermos flask, poured coffee into two cups and passed one back. "Still hoping to get the nuns to move on, Colonel?" he asked.
"Not really," Alberto said. "I raise the matter with Father Conte on each visit, usually over the sherry, because it is part of my standing orders from Army Command Headquarters. A meaningless ritual, I fear. The Church has considerable influence in government circles and at the highest possible level. No one is willing to order them to leave. The choice is theirs and they see themselves as having a plain duty to take God and modern medicine to the Indians."
"In that order?" Hannah said and laughed for the first time that morning.
"And the Huna?" I said. "What do they think?"
"The Huna, Senhor Mallory, want no one. Did you know what their name means in their own language? The enemy of all men. Anthropologists talk of the noble savage, but there is nothing noble about the Huna. They are probably the cruellest people on earth."
"They were there first," I said.
"That's what they used to say about the Sioux back home," Hannah put in.
"An interesting comparison," Alberto said. "Look at the United States a century ago and look at her now. Well, this is our frontier, one of the richest undeveloped areas in the world. God alone knows how far we can go in the next fifty years, but one thing is certain - progress is inevitable and these people stand in the way of that progress."
"So what answer have you got?" I said. "Extermination."
"Not if they can be persuaded to change. The choice is theirs."
"Which gives them no choice at all." I was surprised to hear my own bitternness.
Alberto said, "Figueiredo was telling me you spent a year in the Xingu River country, Senhor Mallory. The Indians in that area have always been particularly troublesome. This was so when you were
"What on - wood alcohol? I haven't felt like this since Prohi-bition."
He wandered off to his bedroom like a very old man and I went into the kitchen and made some coffee. When it was ready, I took it out on a tray and found him on the veranda dressed for flying.
He wrapped a white scarf around his throat and took one of the mugs. "Smells good enough to drink. I thought you Limeys could only make tea?" He sipped a little, eyeing me speculatively. "What really happened last night?"
"Can't you remember anything?"
"I won a little money at poker, that's for sure. More than my share and Avila and his boys weren't too happy. Was there trouble?"
"I suppose you could say that"
"Tell me."
So I did. There was little point in holding anything back for he was certain to hear it for himself one way or the other.
When I was finished, he sat there on the rail holding the mug in both hands, his face very white, those pale eyes of his opaque, lifeless. As I have said, the appearance of things was of primary importance to him. His standing in other men's eyes, the image he protrayed to the world and these men had treated him like dirt - publicly humiliated him.
He smiled suddenly and unexpectedly, a slow burn as if what I had said had touched a fuse inside. I don't know what it would have done for Avila, but it certainly frightened me. He didn't say another word about the matter, didn't have to and I could only hope Avila would be long gone when we returned. He emptied what was left of his coffee over the rail and stood up. "Okay, let's get moving. We've got a schedule to keep."
Flying the Hayley was like driving a car after what I'd been used to and the truth is, there wasn't much enjoyment in it Everything worked to perfection, it was the last word in com-fort and engine noise was reduced to a minimum. Hannah was beside me and Colonel Alberto sat in one of the front passenger seats, his sergeant behind to preserve, I suppose, the niceties of military rank.
Hannah opened a Thermos flask, poured coffee into two cups and passed one back. "Still hoping to get the nuns to move on, Colonel?" he asked.
"Not really," Alberto said. "I raise the matter with Father Conte on each visit, usually over the sherry, because it is part of my standing orders from Army Command Headquarters. A meaningless ritual, I fear. The Church has considerable influence in government circles and at the highest possible level. No one is willing to order them to leave. The choice is theirs and they see themselves as having a plain duty to take God and modern medicine to the Indians."
"In that order?" Hannah said and laughed for the first time that morning.
"And the Huna?" I said. "What do they think?"
"The Huna, Senhor Mallory, want no one. Did you know what their name means in their own language? The enemy of all men. Anthropologists talk of the noble savage, but there is nothing noble about the Huna. They are probably the cruellest people on earth."
"They were there first," I said.
"That's what they used to say about the Sioux back home," Hannah put in.
"An interesting comparison," Alberto said. "Look at the United States a century ago and look at her now. Well, this is our frontier, one of the richest undeveloped areas in the world. God alone knows how far we can go in the next fifty years, but one thing is certain - progress is inevitable and these people stand in the way of that progress."
"So what answer have you got?" I said. "Extermination."
"Not if they can be persuaded to change. The choice is theirs."
"Which gives them no choice at all." I was surprised to hear my own bitternness.
Alberto said, "Figueiredo was telling me you spent a year in the Xingu River country, Senhor Mallory. The Indians in that area have always been particularly troublesome. This was so when you were
Similar Books
