The Golden Keel / The Vivero Letter. Desmond Bagley

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СКАЧАТЬ keeping Morese company; Walker fidgeted; Coertze was apparently lost in contemplating his navel; I tried to sleep, but couldn’t.

      The only excitement during the afternoon was the slow approach of a farm cart. It hove into sight as a puff of dust at the end of the road and gradually, with snail-like pace, came near enough to be identified. Coertze roused himself enough to make a number of small wagers as to the time it would draw level with the camp. At last it creaked past, drawn by two oxen and looking like a refugee from a Breughel painting. A peasant trudged alongside and I mustered my worst Italian, waved and said, ‘Buon giorno.’

      He gave me a sideways look, muttered something I did not catch, and went on his way. That was the only traffic on the road the whole time we were there.

      At half past four I roused myself and went to the caravan to see Francesca. ‘We’d better eat early,’ I said. ‘As soon as it’s dark we’ll be taking the car to the mine.’

      ‘Everything is in cans,’ she said. ‘It will be easy to prepare. We will want something to eat during the night, so I got two of these big vacuum containers – I will cook the food before we go and it will keep hot all night. There are also some vacuum flasks for coffee.’

      ‘You’ve been spending my money well,’ I said.

      She ignored that. ‘I will need some water. Will you get me some from the stream?’

      ‘If you will come with me,’ I said. ‘You need to stretch a bit.’ I had a sudden urge to talk to her, to find out what made her tick.

      ‘All right,’ she said, and opening a cupboard, produced three canvas buckets. As we walked towards the stream, I said, ‘You must have been very young during the war.’

      ‘I was. We took to the hills, my father and I, when I was ten years old.’ She waved at the surrounding mountains. ‘These hills.’

      ‘Not a very pleasant life for a little girl.’

      She considered that. ‘It was fun at first. Everyone likes a camping holiday and this was one long holiday for me. Yes, it was fun.’

      ‘When did it stop being fun?’

      Her face was quietly sad. ‘When the men started to die; when the fighting began. Then it was not fun, it became a serious thing we were doing. It was a good thing – but it was terrible.’

      ‘And you worked in the hospital?’

      ‘Yes. I tended Walker when he came from the prison camp. Did you know that?’

      I remembered Walker’s description of the grave little girl who wanted him to get better so he could kill Germans. ‘He told me,’ I said.

      We reached the stream and I looked at it doubtfully. It looked clear enough, but I said, ‘Is it all right for drinking?’

      ‘I will boil the water; it will be all right,’ she said, and knelt to dig a hole in the shallows. ‘We must have a hole deep enough to take a bucket; it is easier then.’

      I helped her make a hole, reflecting that this was a product of her guerilla training. I would have tried to fill the buckets in drips and drabs. When the hole was big enough we sat on the bank waiting for the sediment to settle, and I said, ‘Was Coertze ever wounded?’

      ‘No, he was very lucky. He was never wounded beyond a scratch, although there were many times he could have been.’

      I offered her a cigarette and lit it. ‘So he did a lot of fighting?’

      ‘All the men fought,’ she said, and drew on the cigarette reflectively. ‘But Coertze seemed to like fighting. He killed a lot of Germans – and Italians.’

      ‘What Italians?’ I said quickly. I was thinking of Walker’s story.

      ‘The Fascists,’ she said. ‘Those who stuck by Mussolini during the time of the Salo Republic. There was a civil war going on in these mountains. Did you know that?’

      ‘No, I didn’t,’ I said. ‘There’s a lot about Italy that I don’t know.’

      We sat quietly for a while, then I said, ‘So Coertze was a killer?’

      ‘He was a good soldier – the kind of man we needed. He was a leader.’

      I switched. ‘How was Alberto killed?’

      ‘He fell off a cliff when the Germans were chasing Umberto’s section. I heard that Coertze nearly rescued him, but didn’t get there in time.’

      ‘Um,’ I said. ‘I heard it was something like that. How did Harrison and Parker die?’

      She wrinkled her brow. ‘Harrison and Parker? Oh yes, they were in what we called the Foreign Legion. They were killed in action. Not at the same time, at different times.’

      ‘And Donato Rinaldi; how was he killed?’

      ‘That was a funny thing. He was found dead near the camp with his head crushed. He was lying under a cliff and it was thought he had been climbing and had fallen off.’

      ‘Why should he climb? Was he a mountaineer or something like that?’

      ‘I don’t think so, but he was a young man and young men do foolish things like that.’

      I smiled, thinking to myself; not only the very young are foolish; and tossed a pebble into the stream. ‘It sounds very like the song about the “Ten Little Niggers”. “And then there were Two.” Why did Walker leave?’

      She looked up sharply. ‘Are you saying that these men should not have died? That someone from the camp killed them?’

      I shrugged. ‘I’m not saying anything – but it was very convenient for someone. You see, six men hid this gold and four of them came to a sudden end shortly afterwards.’ I tossed another pebble into the water. ‘Who profits? There are only two – Walker and Coertze. Why did Walker leave?’

      ‘I don’t know. He left suddenly. I remember he told my father that he was going to try to join the Allied armies. They were quite close at that time.’

      ‘Was Coertze in the camp when Walker left?’

      She thought for a long time, then said, ‘I don’t know; I can’t remember.’

      ‘Walker says he left because he was frightened of Coertze. He still is, for that matter. Our Kobus is a very frightening man, sometimes.’

      Francesca said slowly, ‘There was Alberto on the cliff. Coertze could have …’

      ‘… pushed him off? Yes, he could. And Walker said that Parker was shot in the back of the head. By all accounts, including yours, Coertze is a natural-born killer. It all adds up.’

      She said, ‘I always knew that Coertze was a violent man, but …’

      ‘But? Why don’t you like him, Francesca?’

      She threw СКАЧАТЬ