Mark Lee - The Canal House

Daniel got up from the table. His voice was calm and unemotional. “I’m sorry that you’re angry, Dr. Cadell. But I want to make it clear that I didn’t threaten Isaac.”

“I suppose that’s your idea of ethics.”

“As far as I know, the boy has stayed in that tent for the last two weeks. He hasn’t gone anywhere or spoken to anyone. The other Acholis act like he has a disease. Maybe the boy is traumatized, but I don’t think you or your staff have done anything about it.”

“Are you an instant expert about refugee children, Mr. McFarland? How clever of you to walk around the camp for a few hours and talk to a few people, then decide what we should be doing here.”

Daniel walked over to the tent opening. “The only thing I know is that Isaac wanted to guide me. It was his choice.”

And then he was gone, slipping through the mosquito net and leaving me with my anger. Billy laughed softly and tossed down his cards.

“Well, that was our surprise for the evening. Is this a problem, Mr. Seaton? Should I do something?”

“That’s not necessary,” I said. “He’ll be gone tomorrow.”

Billy grinned at Nicky. “Doesn’t look like you knew about this.”

Nicky shrugged his shoulders as if to suggest that it wasn’t an important issue.

“McFarland is crazy,” Billy said. “Do you really want to walk off into the bush with a ten-year-old boy as a guide?”

“Right now, I’m going to bed. Thanks for dinner.”

Nicky got up from the table. He seemed uncomfortable that everyone was staring at him and I could tell that he hated to be the center of attention. Richard pushed the redial button on his phone.

“Is everything all right, Julia?”

“No. It’s not.”

“Best to move on, darling. Don’t let it bother you.”

I wanted to shout at them for going on with their business and playing their card game. Instead I walked outside and went over to the medical tent. The lamp hanging on the front pole had attracted hundreds of insects and they fluttered and hopped and flung themselves foolishly at the light.

The camp’s powergenerator had been switched off. In the moonlight, the tents appeared more substantial, like little huts constructed out of blue-gray slate. It was late, but the Karamojong refugees called to each other from the shadows. A few people were clapping out a complex rhythm that reminded me of the schoolyard clapping game girls played when I was growing up. I tripped over a few ropes, then found our tent and went inside. Daniel wasn’t there and I wondered if he had decided to change his plans. Julia was right; it was dangerous to take Isaac back to his kidnappers. We should forget about the Lord’s Righteous Army. It was safer to do an article on the elephants in Kidepo park.

I pulled off my clothes and crawled into my sleeping bag. It smelled like someone else’s sweat, but I was glad that I had a place to sleep. I lay there for a few minutes until Daniel slipped inside the tent.

“Where’d you go?”

“I talked to Steve Ramsey. He’s going to sell us some blankets and water bottles for our journey.”

“Does he know that Julia is angry?”

“Ramsey doesn’t like Dr. Cadell. She caught him smoking hashish before going into surgery. Now he wants to quit and get another job.”

“You should have told me about the plan, Daniel. This kid has combat shock or whatever you want to call it and we’re forcing him to go back into the bush.”

“It’s his choice. I’m not forcing him to do anything.”

“He’s ten years old. What if we meet Okello and he decides to kill Isaac because the boy ran away?”

“I’ll do all I can to protect him.”

“All I’m saying is that …”

“I know what you’re saying, Nicky. But I’ve decided to take this particular risk. For you, there’s only one relevant question. Are you going to come with us or not?”

I stared at the darkness and tried to make a choice. We had traveled thousands of miles to find the hostages and Samuel Okello. If I backed out, I’d have to return to London with a bag full of excuses.

“So?” Daniel asked. “What’s your decision?”

“I’ll come along.”

“Good. We’ll leave as soon as possible in the morning.”

Daniel’s cot creaked as he got undressed and wiggled into his sleeping bag. Within a few minutes, his breathing was slow and regular. I stayed awake. Somewhere in the camp, a woman began weeping. She said the same words in her tribal language, over and over again, but no one seemed to answer her.

WHEN I WOKE UP the next morning, Daniel acted like we hadn’t argued at all. Sitting on the cot, he sorted through the articles in his canvas traveling bag. “All I’m carrying is my phone, water, food, and a blanket. We’ll leave everything else here.”

“I wish we could rent a Land Rover.”

“Walking is good for you, Nicky. You’ll see the countryside.”

“If Isaac gets lost, that’s all we’re going to see.”

I would have paid fifty dollars for a cup of coffee that morning, but I figured that we wouldn’t be welcome at the staff tent. Daniel unpacked the food Winston had bought for us in Kampala marketplace. We had crackers and canned sausages for breakfast.

It was cold outside the tent and the wind was blowing in from the east. Some of the Karamojong had started a fire and they were cooking cornmeal. The older men wrapped their shuka cloths around their shoulders and stared down at the flames as children ran back and forth, tossing twigs and dead leaves into the pit. The smoke and the cold gray sky made all the colors look muted, as if they’d been worn down by the wind.

Trying to avoid Julia, we circled the edge of the camp to Steve Ramsey’s tent. The doctor sat on a folding campstool in his underwear. He was trimming his toenails with a pair of surgical scissors.

“Still want the supplies?”

“Yes. We’re leaving right now.”

We followed Ramsey into his tent. Three army blankets were stacked up on his folding cot along with six plastic bottles of boiled water.

“All this for a hundred dollars.”

It looked like Ramsey had stolen everything from the supply tent, but Daniel paid without bargaining. Quickly we rolled up the blankets and distributed the water bottles between our two bags. We stuffed our extra equipment into a nylon storage sack.

“We’re leaving this here,” Daniel said. “If we don’t come back in a week, it’s all yours.”

Billy and Erik were waiting for us when we came out of the tent. A squad of Ugandan soldiers was officially in charge of the camp, but I wasn’t about to argue with a professional thug like Billy.

“You two going off into the bush?”

“Looks that way,” Daniel said. “Is there a problem?”

Billy smiled like a genial bartender. “Mr. Seaton isn’t concerned about Samuel Okello. However, if you decide to write about Mr. Seaton’s leadership of Hand-to-Hand, we hope that it’s a positive article.”

“People are hungry and you’re feeding them.”

“Exactly. Well said, Mr. McFarland.” Billy pulled out a business card for the Riverside Bank and handed it to Daniel. “We’re flying out this afternoon so Mr. Seaton wanted you to have this. Give us a call if you make it back to London.”

“I’ll do that.”

“If you meet up with buffalo, especially a solitary male, stand still and don’t make a sound,” Erik told us. “Anything else—lions, cheetahs, hyenas—just shout and act crazy. Carnivores stay away from crazy people.”