The Song of Mawu. Jeff Edwards

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СКАЧАТЬ been organising some of the children’s mothers into a sort of executive committee. Give me an hour to sort them out.’

      Mick nodded.

      Two hours later, as the refugee camp disappeared into the heat haze behind them, he began to talk.

      ***

      Two hundred exhausting kilometres later the Land Rover pulled into a ramshackle service station located on a desolate stretch of what had once been a main arterial highway between provincial capitals. Now, the stretch of road was barely passable. Potholes of varying sizes made it easier to travel along the verge rather risk damage to a vehicles differential in the middle of the road. Storms had washed away whole sections of the road and at those places some attempts had been made to effect repairs, but these seemed to have been done by drivers seeking to get through rather than by any form of organised governmental road works.

      The decaying garage consisted of a pair of hand pumps, with one for petrol and one for diesel. The ‘office’ was a small corrugated shed, which, judging by the patch of vegetables growing by its side was also the residence for the station’s only employee.

      At their approach, an old man seated on a rickety chair in front of the shed, rose slowly to greet them, a lighted cigarette dangling from the side of his mouth. He seemed completely ignorant the dangers his smoking posed in this environment.

      ‘Top it up,’ ordered Mick, indicating the diesel pump.

      Mick and Eliza climbed out and stretched as the old man finally flicked the stub into the middle of the highway, before opening the Land Rover’s fuel tank and laboriously pumping fuel.

      Unseen to Mick, Eliza reached up as though stretching her neck and pressed the back of her shoulder in a seemingly random manner before closely studying the old man before them.

      He was stoop shouldered and seemed undernourished, wearing a dirty, oil-stained singlet and a pair of trousers that had seen better days, and had obviously once belonged to a person of much larger girth. Eliza guessed that if he could have stood up straight the old man would have been tall, while on closer inspection his dilapidated trousers appeared to be well-made, as though they had once been part of a business suit. The skin on both wrists his wrists were heavily scarred and Eliza wondered if the man might have attempted suicide at some time.

      When he had finished the old man closed the tank and hung up the pump’s nozzle. ‘You didn’t need much,’ he said resignedly. ‘You would have made it to the capital with plenty to spare.’

      Mick passed the man a few crumpled notes and received back some change from a small tin box that rested under the old man’s rickety chair.

      ‘Perhaps we came for something other than fuel,’ said Mick.

      The old man stiffened. ‘What do you mean?’ he asked suspiciously.

      ‘Perhaps I came to seek someone.’

      ‘There is only me,’ the old man said slowly.

      ‘Then perhaps I came to speak to you.’

      ‘You are mistaken. I speak to no one and there is no one else here.’

      ‘I have brought my friend with me,’ said Mick indicating Eliza. ‘She will ensure that no one will interrupt us.’

      ‘There are many eyes that watch this lonely spot.’

      ‘Yes, I know, and none are friendly.’

      The old man regarded Mick and Eliza. ‘What do you know?’

      ‘I know that I am talking to a man who was once highly regarded. I know that I am taking a risk by talking to you, just as you would be taking a risk if you were to talk to me.’

      ‘Then why are you here? Go, and save us all from trouble.’

      ‘I have family news.’

      ‘I have no family so there can be no family news,’ replied the old man cautiously.

      Mick nodded, ‘I can understand why you would deny your son’s existance but you are with friends.’

      ‘Words. Merely words.’

      ‘We know your story. How you lost your family.’

      A bitter expression crossed the old man’s face and he refused to be drawn into a conversation he did not wish to have.

      Eliza had been staring off into the distance, checking to make sure that there was no approaching traffic. She turned to the old man. ‘Your son wears around his neck a very particular item.’

      These words startled both the men present.

      What the hell is she talking about? thought Mick.

      How would this young woman know that? thought the old man.

      ‘You must be very proud of him,’ said Eliza.

      The old man still did not know enough about these strangers to trust them. Perhaps they have taken my son and removed the gift from him, he thought.

      ‘Do you want me to describe what he wears?’ asked Eliza.

      Mick was totally confused. What is she talking about? How can she know anything about this man? I only spoke about him on the way out here.

      The old man chose his words carefully, ‘If the person you speak of had such a thing then it would be easy for it to be removed from his dead body.’

      Eliza was silent for a few seconds before replying, ‘Then perhaps I can give you the words that were spoken when the gift was given?’

      ‘For you to be able to do that would be impossible.’

      Eliza smiled, ‘Your wife said to your son, ‘From the mother hen to her chick.’’

      Mick stood with his mouth open, totally lost.

      The old man stared at Eliza, a single tear escaping his right eye. Softly he said, ‘Those were indeed my wife’s words.’

      Eliza nodded, ‘And your son continues to obey your wishes by not returning home despite his great desire to do so.’

      ‘It is far too dangerous for him to return. Lattua keeps me alive for his own reasons.’

      ‘The President believes he killed all your family. Your eldest son was lucky to be overseas.’

      ‘He must never return. Someone will recognise him.’

      Eliza nodded, ‘You’re right to insist that he stay in England, but he does miss you.’

      Mick was recovering his composure and eager to take advantage of the turn of events. ‘If he did manage to return, the two of you could rally the country in opposition to Lattua.’

      ‘No!’ demanded the old man. ‘Never! There is no opposition. There can be no opposition. It’s too dangerous. I tried once and I failed. Don’t even talk about it. It will get us all killed!’

      ‘You СКАЧАТЬ