Hammond Innes - The Strange Land

He looked across at her and smiled wanly, shrugging his shoulders. ‘Every year I go to Vichy to take the cure. I am late this year, that is all.’ He shouted for the house-boy who came running with a glass of water, and he drained it at a gulp.

‘Is it dysentery?’ Julie asked.

He nodded. ‘Oui, mademoiselle. The amibe. With us it is an occupational disease. We do not always stay in the Posts. We have to visit all parts of the Territory, and sometimes we must drink bad water. For the indigenes it is different. They are immune. But for us…’ He shrugged his shoulders again.

‘About this man Ali,’ I said. ‘Can’t you arrest him? I understood…’

‘Oui, oui, monsieur. I can walk into the kasbah now, this morning and arrest him. But it would disturb the people, and things have been difficult here lately. Maybe when the food trucks arrive …’

The field telephone on the desk buzzed. ‘Pardon, monsieur.’ Legard lifted the receiver. ‘Oui, mon commandant — id Legard… Oui… Oui… Oui, mon commandant….’ He looked across at us, the instrument still held against his ear, and his eyes fastened on Jan. ‘Oui. Exactement… Vraiment?’ His tone was one of astonishment. For a moment there was silence whilst he listened to the voice at the other end of the line, and then he said, ‘Je le ferai…. Non, non, Us sont justement arrives…. Oui, out, je comprends parfaitement.’ He asked about the food trucks then and after a short conversation on the subject, he nodded. ‘Oui, je le ferai… Ca va bien. Adieu, mon commandant.’ He put the receiver down slowly on to its rest. Then he stared at the three of us, a little startled, a little angry. ‘Your papers, monsieur,’ he demanded, looking at Jan and holding out his hand. When they were handed to him, he went through them slowly, glancing up every now and then as though to check that they really did relate to the man sitting opposite him.

‘And yours, monsieur,’ he asked, addressing me.

He checked my passport and then he looked up at the two of us and said, ‘I regret, but I have orders to retain your papers temporarily. You are to remain in this district until you have permission to leave.’

‘What exactly is the trouble?’ I asked.

‘There is no trouble. It is solely a matter of routine.’ He pushed back his chair and got to his feet. ‘If you require accommodation …’

‘We sleep in our vehicle,’ I said.

‘Bon. Now, if you will excuse me, I have to leave for Agdz.’

‘Don’t you want to see my passport?’ Julie asked.

‘It is not necessary, mademoiselle.’

‘But if it is a matter of routine.’ She held out her passport.

‘I repeat, mademoiselle. It is not necessary.’ He shouted for the house-boy. ‘If there is anything you require for your comfort,’ he added formally, ‘Mohammed will see that you have it.’ He indicated the Berber boy and then ordered him to escort us out.

Disconcerted by the abruptness of his change of attitude towards us, we went without another word.

Little runnels of sand had drifted under the front door despite the sacking that had been placed there. And when Mohammed opened it for us, we were met by a cold blast of wind that flung a cloud of stinging sand in our faces. We thrust our way out, too battered by the impact of the storm to think. The door closed behind us and we hesitated, huddling together for protection. The palmerie had disappeared completely. The Foreign Legion fort was no more than a vague blur in the sand-laden atmosphere. The whole surface of the ground seemed to be on the move, rustling past our feet and climbing into the air with a singing sound on each gust, swirling upwards higher than the flagstaff.

We fought our way to the bus, hauled open the door and staggered inside.

‘What happened?’ Julie asked us as she got her breath back. ‘What was that phone call about?’

‘I think the police have discovered that Jan didn’t come straight out from England,’ I said.

But she shook her head. ‘No, it wasn’t that. Legard is an officer of the AI, not a policeman, and Jan was a friend of Capitaine Duprez. His attitude wouldn’t change because he was in trouble with the immigration authorities.’

‘No,’ I said. ‘But it would if his commandant had thrown doubt on Jan’s identity.’ I glanced at Jan. He was sitting on the berth, his head in his hands, frowning. ‘Well, what do we do now?’ I asked him.

He lifted his head and looked at me almost in surprise. ‘We find Caid Hassan. That’s the first thing. Afterwards…’ He shrugged his shoulders a little wearily. ‘Afterwards, I don’t know. But first we’ll see the Caid. As soon as the storm is over.’

I glanced at my watch. It was just after twelve. And at five Kostos would be at the camp again.

Though we had parked in the lee of the Foreign Legion fort, the sand still found its way into the interior of the bus. I would have liked some sleep, but sleep was impossible. We just sat and watched the sand whirl past the windscreen, sifting like water over the long snout of the bonnet. A jeep passed us, battling against the swirling clouds of sand like a little mechanical toy. Legard was at the wheel, muffled in his Spahis cloak. He was driving towards the mountains.

‘Why did he have to go to Agdz?’ asked Jan. ‘He said he couldn’t leave the Post until the food trucks arrived.’

‘Well, I’m glad I haven’t got to drive through this in an open jeep,’ Julie said.

‘He’ll be clear of it in the mountains,’ I pointed out.

‘Why don’t we go to the mountains then?’

I glanced round at her. She had her eyes closed and she looked tired. ‘We could go back into the house,’ I suggested.

‘No, we can’t sleep there. Besides, we need some food.’

‘All right. I’ll drive up to the foot of the mountains then.’ I leaned forward and pressed the starter button.

‘Why not go to the Kasbah Foum?’ Jan suggested.

‘If you like.’

It wasn’t easy driving. Sand was sifting along the ground so thick that it was difficult to see the piste. It was like driving through a dead world. But at length the palm trees thinned, and as we climbed towards Kasbah Foum,’ the weight of the sand lessened. Soon we could see the mountains, a vague shadow looming up ahead of us like a heavy cloud formation photographed in sepia. There was the watch tower and the ruined city, and there, straight ahead of us, was the kasbah and the dark gash of the gorge.

In that queer half-light the place looked inhospitable, almost hostile. There was a deadness about it. The tumbled graveyard of the ancient city seemed to be spilling down the hill on to the kasbah. The gorge was a yawning cavity in the mountains, remote and sinister. I glanced at Jan. Those last lines of Browning’s came into my mind: And yet dauntless the slug-horn to my lips I set, and blew. Childe Roland to the Dark Tower came.

I pulled up close to White’s tent and switched off the engine. The camp was deserted, but from the entrance to the gorge came the sound of a bulldozer working, carried to us faintly on the wind. ‘We’ll have some food and then you’d better get some sleep,’ I told Julie.

As soon as we had finished lunch, Jan left us, walking quickly up the track to the gorge. To Julie and me who watched him go, he looked a small and pathetically lonely figure against the immensity of the mountains. ‘What will happen to him?’ she asked.

‘I don’t know,’ I said.

Her hand touched my arm. ‘How deeply are you involved, Philip?’

‘With the police?’

‘Yes.’

‘Oh, I shouldn’t get more than ten years,’ I said, trying to make a joke of it. But her eyes looked worried. ‘Get some sleep,’ I said. ‘There’s nothing to be done about it now.’