The Heart of the Matter - Graham Greene [47]
‘Your name, madam?’ Druce asked, consulting a list. ‘Are you Mrs Rolt?’
‘I am not Mrs Rolt. I am Miss Malcott.’
‘Will you go up to the house? The doctor...’
‘The doctor has far more serious cases than me to attend to.’
Mrs Perrot said, ‘You’d like to lie down.’
‘It’s the last thing I want to do,’ Miss Malcott said. ‘I am not in the least tired.’ She shut her mouth between every sentence. ‘ I am not hungry. I am not nervous. I want to get on.’
‘Where to?’
‘To Lagos. To the Educational Department.’
‘I’m afraid there will be a good many delays.’
‘I’ve been delayed two months. I can’t stand delay. Work won’t wait.’ Suddenly she lifted her face towards the sky and howled like a dog.
The doctor took her gently by the arm and said, ‘Well do what we can to get you there right away. Come up to the house and do some telephoning.’
‘Certainly,’ Miss Malcott said, ‘there’s nothing that can’t be straightened on a telephone.’
The doctor said to Scobie, ‘Send those other two chaps up after us. They are all right. If you want to do some questioning, question them.’
Druce said, ‘I’ll take them along. You stay here, Scobie, in case the launch arrives. French isn’t my language.’
Scobie sat down on the rail of the jetty and looked across the water. Now that the haze was lifting the other bank came closer; he could make out now with the naked eye the details of the scene: the white warehouse, the mud huts, the brass-work of the launch glittering in the sun: he could see the red fezzes of the native troops. He thought: Just such a scene as this and I might have been waiting for Louise to appear on a stretcher - or perhaps not waiting. Somebody settled himself on the rail beside him, but Scobie didn’t turn his head.
‘A penny for your thoughts, sir.’
‘I was just thinking that Louise is safe, Wilson.’
‘I was thinking that too, sir.’
‘Why do you always call me sir, Wilson? You are not in the police force. It makes me feel very old.’
‘I’m sorry, Major Scobie.’
‘What did Louise call you?’
‘Wilson. I don’t think she liked my Christian name.’
‘I believe they’ve got that launch to start at last, Wilson. Be a good chap and warn the doctor.’
A French officer in a stained white uniform stood in the bow: a soldier flung a rope and Scobie caught and fixed it ‘Bon jour,’ he said, and saluted.
The French officer returned his salute - a drained-out figure with a twitch in the left eyelid. He said in English, ‘Good morning. I have seven stretcher cases for you here.’
‘My signal says nine.’
‘One died on the way and one last night. One from black-water and one from - from, my English is bad, do you say fatigue?’
‘Exhaustion.’
‘That is it.’
‘If you will let my labourers come on board they will get the stretchers off.’ Scobie said to the carriers, ‘Very softly. Go very softly.’ It was an unnecessary command: no white hospital attendants could lift and carry more gently. ‘Won’t you stretch your legs on shore?’ Scobie asked, ‘or come up to the house and have some coffee?’
‘No. No coffee, thank you. I will just see that all is right here.’ He was courteous and unapproachable, but all the time his left eyelid flickered a message of doubt and distress.
‘I have some English papers if you would like to see them.’
‘No, no, thank you. I read English with difficulty.’
‘You speak it very well.’
‘That is a different thing.’
‘Have a cigarette?’
‘Thank you, no. I do not like American tobacco.’
The first stretcher came on shore - the sheets were drawn up to the man’s chin and it was impossible to tell from the stiff vacant face what his age might be. The doctor came down the hill to meet the stretcher and led the carriers away to the Government rest-house where the beds had been prepared.
‘I used to come over to your side,’ Scobie said, ‘to shoot with your police chief. A nice fellow called Durand - a Norman.’
‘He is not here any longer,’ the officer said
‘Gone home?’
‘He’s in prison at Dakar,’ the French officer replied, standing like a figure-head in the bows, but the eye twitching and twitching. The stretchers slowly passed Scobie and turned up the hill: a boy who couldn