wasn’t so sure, so I went to check. He opened his eyes and made a sound, like the one he just made now. Tried to get him to drink from my water bottle, but he spit it up. I told them we had to get him to the hospital before it got dark.”
“But of course your companions told you to leave him where he was.”
Douglas glanced at his fellow litter-bearer, who seemed to be listening with great concentration, as if he could understand what was being said through sheer effort. A few pale stars had come out, signaling the end of the brief equatorial dusk.
“How did you know that?”
“Never mind. Go on.”
There was no way Douglas was going to abandon a starving old man in the bush. He took a guard’s panga and cut some poles, then tied his own shirt between them. It wasn’t long enough to accommodate the man’s body, so he turned to the soldiers and asked them to contribute their shirts. The demonstration of his resolve appeared to shame them, and they stripped. The litter was assembled, the man laid on it, but he didn’t seem to realize that he was being rescued; he marshaled some hidden reserve of strength, rolled himself off, and tried to crawl away. He hadn’t gone a yard when he collapsed. Unconscious, he was placed back on the litter.
“Quite remarkable of you, convincing those men to bring him such a long way when they knew it was pointless.”
“How do you mean, pointless?”
“You did a fine thing, your good deed for the day. But tell me, you found your airstrip?”
“Yeah. And it’s not too close. What was pointless? ”
“Really, it was remarkable. A testament to your powers of moral persuasion. I commend you.”
“I’m not looking for any commendations. Anyone would have done the same thing.”
“I commend your modesty as well. I, for example, would not have done the same thing.” Manfred rested his palm lightly on Douglas’s shoulder. “Your companions were right. There is nothing to be done for him. He isn’t dying of starvation or thirst or a sickness. He is dying of living too long.”
The American scowled in confusion.
“When Nubans get to be very old, they often choose to go off somewhere to die.”
“And they’re just left?”
“Their relatives usually know where they’ve gone. They keep a watch, and when the person dies, then come the proprieties. I imagine this fellow’s people will be looking for him in the morning, and they’ll wonder what became of him. They’ll be worried that he was dragged off by a leopard or some other wild beast. They will be very anxious to find his body so the proprieties can be observed and his spirit not become meddlesome.”
Douglas rubbed his forehead with a thumb, seeming to massage his brain into puzzling out how his actions could produce effects he’d never intended.
“So what the hell do we do now? Bring him back to where we found him?”
“Impractical, now that it’s dark. Also, you’ve brought him here, he is still alive, and I have my own proprieties to observe. I am required to do what I can, which I think will be to make him as comfortable as possible for the night. If he dies, he dies. If not, then not. Either way, we’ll send word to the village where he is.”
“And that’s all?”
“Douglas! Listen to me, please. Can’t you see why he tried to crawl away from you? Come on. You must be famished. I will see to it that he is brought up to a bed.”
“I’ll give a hand,” Fitzhugh said.
As he bent down to pick up the litter, the man looked up at him, and he fancied that he saw a plea—no, a demand—in those yellowed eyes in their cavernous sockets. A part of him, the part that was heir to his African ancestors’ wisdom, felt obliged to obey that silent imperative; but the rest of Fitzhugh Martin did not belong to his ancestors’ world; it dwelled in Douglas’s and Manfred’s and Ulrika’s world, which had imperatives and obligations of its own.
SOMETHING HAD PUT a rat in Fitzhugh’s belly, and it began to chew its way out after midnight, waking him from a deep sleep. Flinging his mosquito net aside, he grabbed his flashlight from the night table and, keeping it pointed at the floor to avoid waking Douglas, fled out of the room for Manfred’s front door. The rat took a breather, allowing him to leave the house and cross the compound without