He might be dying.
His breathing is steady; and he doesn’t seem to be in any pain. We could all die. We’re not safe yet.
Don’t you think he’s gone? George asked her. His own wound was feeling worse and he couldn’t bend his leg fully.
I think so, yes. But we’re not taking any chances.
That wasn’t what I meant. I just wondered why you thought you knew that he was gone.
Because he hasn’t come back already. It’s the animal again. When a creature like that is wounded, either it runs away or else it loses all fear and rushes into an attack immediately without thinking about what happens next.
You know what else? George said. I can swear I heard a scream not long after he ran out of here. It was short but piercing. I know it’s hard to tell with some of these animals. They have cries that can sound human. Even so I’m almost sure it was a person. I think maybe he was stumbling about and went over one of those cliffs or down a hole somewhere. He’s lying cold with his neck broken. I’m sure of it.
I’d like to think you’re right.
It’s horrible though, isn’t it, to think about another person in that way and to wish death on them?
I suppose so, Jill paused. Anyway, I’m glad that one of us can still think of things in that way George. You’re a good person. The best of us.
They were going to make it after all, she decided; though how they would manage to move Simon, she couldn´t imagine. Perhaps they´d be able to get him roused enough to walk, otherwise they´d have to leave him in the cave while they got help. They barely had enough strength to carry themselves further. Emma would stay with him, she supposed. Where the cave was open to the sky, the water was lying in pools and they were very close to the campsite. So long as Bloom was really gone the two of them would be better off waiting. Then George might not be able to walk.
Whatever else happened, at some point, one or more of them would have to walk out of the cave and Jill knew that she´d go first. And even though her head told her that Bloom must be gone, her body would be tensed waiting for a bullet like the one that had caught Simon. She felt the tension now, just imagining that moment.
And if that didn´t happen, if he was gone, what would she do afterwards? There´d be people and questions and some time in a hospital she supposed. She was too weary even to think about it.
She needed to make a phone call too, before she’d be able to rest properly. At least she knew exactly what she wanted to tell Paul: that she was alive and reasonably well and that he shouldn´t worry, but they weren´t going to be seeing each other anymore. She still remembered what George had said about her situation; and he’d been right in a way that only expressed what she´d been thinking herself for far too long.
Probably when she made that call, Pauls´ wife would pick up the phone and then she’d be standing beside him and Jill wouldn´t be able to explain anything except to say that it was over. She knew there wouldn´t be any of those second thoughts now: no picking up the phone and looking at it for five minutes then putting it down again. Her body was barely able to support its own weight, but in some ways, she knew, she was much stronger than before.
Chapter Eighteen – Epilogue
Stephen Green waited in the back of the patrol truck all through the long night until it was light. By morning he felt stiff and his back ached. He stepped down from the truck and stretched painfully. The day never felt the same when you hadn’t slept all night: there was no proper beginning to it. At least the rain that had been hammering on the truck roof all night had stopped as dawn started to come. And now, it was a fine, bright morning.
Green was certain that if anyone had been going to return to the truck, they would have done so before now. It was too risky to leave something like this lying around for anyone to stumble on. He’d placed his bet and he’d lost. Probably the target was a hundred miles away by now. There were tiny airstrips all over this country where you’d be able to charter a flight to anywhere in range of a light aircraft, probably with no questions asked if you were generous enough.
In any case, he couldn’t hang around. His own vehicle was in a conspicuous place and he did not want to be linked to this bad situation. He needed to get back to the hotel, get cleaned up, try to pick up some clues from what the radio and newspapers might say. He’d visit the airstrips that he could find and see if anyone knew anything that they were prepared to tell.
Green drove back to Victoria Falls and checked in at the same hotel. It was two days later and he´d just come back from an early morning swim in the hotel pool when he picked up the newspaper that carried the story. He was just starting to feel human again; no longer quite so depressed about letting Bloom get away from him.
Green couldn’t quite buy the idea of Bloom being eaten by wild animals, as the paper suggested, but the account of the survivors was clear enough. The man had done it all on his own without any accomplices. It seemed he’d just gone completely crazy. And he’d been there on the hill the same night that Green had waited for him. Three people who’d spent days with him and then been terrorized by him confirmed it. Sure that they were not likely to be mistaken about his face.
According to the piece, written in a house style that was one half official court report and half tabloid sensationalist, the survivors had been attacked by Bloom but had fought him off and when they last saw him he’d been too badly injured to have gone far.
Green, who’d seen some badly damaged people continue to function quite effectively, rather doubted that last part. There was talk of a scream being heard in the night, but Green had heard screams and cries and crashing around on every one of the few nights he had spent in the bush.
What settled it was that Green himself had waited all night in the truck that Bloom had saved for his getaway. No other vehicle had gone missing that night and there wasn’t an explanation that had Bloom walking to the next town to get medical treatment. So either the story about the animals was right, or more likely he’d stumbled about on the mountain until he’d gone over a cliff or down a hole in the ground and there he’d banged his head or bled to death from his wounds. They’d find the body in a week or a year, Green supposed.
The trip wasn’t a total waste. He could tell the Fat Man honestly that the Bloom problem had been dealt with. Green himself was out of pocket and he didn’t have any idea where the money might be; but it was a win some, lose some business that he was in. If Bloom had really gone as crazy as they said, then maybe he’d buried the cash or diamonds out in the bush, believing that he’d be able to find them again; or perhaps the money had been hidden or invested back in London where the Fat Man’s people would discover it eventually for sure.
Green folded the newspaper carefully and placed it inside the suitcase that he’d already begun to pack. The Fat Man had warned him against making contact too soon, but no-one was going to be looking to pin these events on anyone other than Bloom himself.
When he thought about it, Green had done exactly as he was asked. He’d caught up with Jonathan Bloom and made sure that Bloom had disappeared for good. The Fat Man could read about it in the newspaper and Green could confirm it. Better: no-one from his organization was in or near the frame. Hell, Green should be entitled to a bonus.
It was a pain about the money and that was why he had the bad feeling. In himself, he knew that if he hadn’t wasted time with the old couple he might have been able to catch up with the lunatic sooner and find out where it was stashed. But that wasn’t something to be shared. He mustn’t be apologetic or show any trace of embarrassment back home or they’d begin to suspect him of keeping the loot, which would be dangerous for Green in spite of the Fat Man’s generous words when they met in London (which he must on no account be reminded of).
The more Green thought about it, given that Bloom had gone crazy, the more likely it seemed that the money was still somewhere in England. For all he knew, the Fat Man had it already. He’d have had someone go thro
ugh the flat very carefully, that was for sure: and he had accountants and specialists of that sort – people who were expert in tracking money that was being moved around. The important thing was to face the Fat Man again soon and show no fear. Don’t back down. He’d demand his usual fee plus expenses and then they’d see what happened.
Green picked up his mobile and dialed the international code. He left the message with the wording exactly as agreed. What he said would sound completely innocuous to most people, but the man who was waiting for the message would know what it meant. He´d get rid of that phone later just to be sure.
Green decided he had time for a leisurely shave. His face looked healthy and relaxed in the mirror. He was getting older, true, but he’d still pass for a much younger man. His hands were completely steady with the razor. He was alright, he decided: the thing with the old people had just been a momentary weakness. In the end it hadn’t cost anything because he’d caught up with Bloom and the job got done without any risk. Sometimes in this job you just did things without knowing why and then later the reason became clear. He’d be good for a few more years yet.
He dressed and went for breakfast. A phone was ringing in one of the rooms along the corridor. It went on ringing and ringing as he walked by room twelve, where the noise was coming from. Then it stopped and he could faintly hear a voice inside answering. That was strange. Why would you let a phone ring for so long if you were in a room and able to answer it? It reminded him of those prearranged signals they had used to pass on messages in the old days. But what the hell: when you thought about it there were many reasons why someone might not answer straight away. The guest might be in the shower or toilet.
Green reminded himself that you needed to guard against becoming paranoid in this business. He would have been less relaxed if he had looked at the hotel register where Smith had carelessly checked into room twelve under a familiar alias that Green would have recognized instantly.
After breakfast, he decided to visit the waterfalls one last time. They seemed different to him, or else something in himself had changed. Before, the view had only seemed pretty, but now the timeless power of the plunging water and the multiple rainbows arching through the constant vapour affected him strongly. He was filled with a powerful sense of something that he didn´t recognize at all. Just the scale of the Falls was so vast that it was hard for a person to take in.
He spent a long time wandering the trail that led along the side of the canyon, looking across to the Zambia side of the water. There were not so many people about that day. Several times he came to himself and realized that he´d been standing looking at the cataract for minutes without being aware of anything.
At the end of the path, he came to the statue of Livingstone that he remembered from his first visit. Livingstone; the man who´d tracked the Zambesi back into the wilderness. It wasn´t a particularly good statue, but something about it, perhaps the little bit of history that he remembered, caught his attention.
He hadn´t paid any attention to the woman who was sitting on a bench not far from where he stood, also considering the statue. In fact she had her back turned to the falls.
Do you know, she told him; I´ve been sitting here over an hour. Maybe a dozen people have stopped and looked at that statue and I don´t believe more than two of them had any idea who David Livingstone was.
Sic transit gloria mundi, Green replied.
It was an odd comment for him to make and it sounded pretentious coming out of his mouth, but she´d surprised him inside his own thoughts. He didn´t know what else to say. People didn´t normally start conversations with a man like him unless there was a good reason for them. He looked at the woman more carefully.
She wasn´t as old as he´d assumed at first glance. In fact she looked like she could have been quite attractive, in a mature sort of way, except that you could see that she´d been through some suffering. She was thin, in an unhealthy way. Her clothes seemed a few sizes too big. Perhaps she was recovering from a serious illness; the kind of experience that could make a person more ready to start a conversation with a stranger.
Her face was deeply lined, especially around the eyes; but it was something in the eyes that held Green´s attention. He was a soldier of sorts and he´d seen eyes that were clear and fearless like that before. He wondered what this woman’s eyes had seen to give her this strong but troubled face.
Excuse me, he asked her; are you okay? I don´t mean to be rude but you look like you´ve been through a hard time.
It´s finished now, she smiled. They told me I should spend some time in the hospital with the others, but that´s not what I need. I feel like I´ve discovered something in myself and I don´t want to risk losing it before I can take it back into my normal life.
Green nodded. The woman didn´t elaborate and he thought it would be rude to pursue the matter. When he considered what she´d said, maybe he even understood it in some obscure way.
David Livingstone, she pointed at the statue as if to change the subject. “Christianity, Commerce and Civilization”. The perfect Victorian hero; pretentious little shit. The real name of this place is called Mosi oa Tunya, the Smoke that Roars. He had to rename it after a queen who lived thousands of miles away and never saw the place. Then he spent four years walking from one side of the continent to the other before losing himself in it.
It must have been quite a journey in those days.
No one remembers much about his wife and children, the woman commented.
I didn´t know he was married.
Oh yes, they were both missionaries. He came out from Scotland. She´d lived her whole life in Botswana. They were out in the wilderness together. Their children grew up not hearing English. When he brought the family back to Capetown, none of them could manage stairs. He took them out of their African home and packed them off on a boat without a penny, back to live with his parents: a couple of religious bigots who he’d run away to Africa to avoid: in Lanarkshire where the sun never shines. She spent years trying to hold the family together with no help and no kind of fulfilment and then she died of alcohol and malaria, still waiting for him.
Not very nice, but they were different times.
You could say that, and you could say he was a great explorer; or you could say that he was just another silly man running away from responsibility. He planned his disappearance well and he never intended to come back. You don´t imagine that he really thought that he was converting the heathen to Christianity or ending the slave trade do you? He depended on the slavers to stay alive and he was wrong about the Nile as well
People do what they do, Green replied.
He studied the woman´s face again. She´d remained sitting on the bench, speaking calmly and clearly. If there was bitterness in what she said, it didn´t come across in her voice or expression. He was intrigued, even though he knew that after this conversation they´d part and most likely he would never see her again.
I didn´t know anything about what you just told me, he said. It´s interesting, but tell me what conclusion you draw from your story.
The woman had an open, genuine smile.
Only that it´s stupid for a strong woman to rely on a man for all her happiness, she told him.
***
Whatever did happen to Jonathan Bloom, no body was ever found. A search eventually turned up a few ripped scraps of clothing that could have belonged to anyone.
No one had any idea why Bloom should have gone off his head and done those horrible things. The English police soon found out that he’d had known criminal contacts at home; but that really explained nothing. They also hinted that he’d been in the habit of attending the sort of parties where a lot of expensive drugs were consumed and there was some speculation that the business pressure he was under and his lifestyle had combined to make him psychotic. In any case, it was obvious that for unexplained reasons he’d gone completely out of his mind and run off to Africa where eventually one of the nocturnal
predators had made a meal of him.
Mr. and Mrs. Johnson would have reached civilization more quickly than Jill’s party, but the villagers who found them had not thought it safe to move them at first. They’d come to the village in a state of collapse and it was not until the people had spent some days looking after them and gradually getting them to accept water and food properly that either of the old couple could explain that there were others in their group who might still need help. The villagers insisted that the couple had been brought to them by a mysterious white man in a white car who had immediately driven on, but no-one seemed to be able to explain or confirm the story.
There was only the word of a few women and children to go on. The Johnson’s were not able to confirm or deny anything. Mr. Johnson admitted he’d imagined all manner of things at that time that couldn’t possibly have happened. The men of the village warned the policeman that the women were prone to exaggerate. The policeman told his boss that it was the way of the local people to explain anything unusual that happened with a miraculous story. The police weren’t interested in looking for an imaginary saviour of lost whites. They already had a lunatic killer to explain without causing more of a panic than was necessary.
A missing persons report was eventually filed in the United Kingdom for one Julian Bowen; but lots of people go missing every year. So many that no-one really spends so much time looking for them. As Bowen’s rent and bills were paid by standing order, it was a long time before anybody even noticed he was gone.
His employer had assumed that he’d simply walked off the job months earlier and he’d been fired in his absence. His former boss, who was an old school chum, told the authorities that he’d no idea where Julian might be, though in private he was willing to share his opinion that Julian had finally found the situation in England a little too hot for him and he was no doubt in South America or South East Asia now, making a new life for himself under an assumed name.
Julian Bowen was known to have many friends but it seemed that he was not close to anyone. His parents were divorced and he hadn’t spoken to either of them for years. There were no siblings. Eventually his flat was cleared and the mattress with the money sewn inside went to the council dump along with all the other effects, for landfill or incineration. If anyone found the cash before it went into the flames, they didn’t say anything. And in the end Bowen was a man who left no trace. The world continued as if Julian Bowen had never existed at all.