William Boyd - An Ice-Cream War

Gabriel crept round to his usual position, hoping nonetheless that Liesl might still come into the bedroom, but it remained dark. He decided to wait. He heard the guests leave the stoop and assemble in the main room of the little bungalow. Soon servants were ferrying steaming bowls of food from the kitchen shack behind the house and he heard the chatter of conversation around the dinner table increase as the assembled guests relaxed. Gabriel tried to find himself a secure perch in the bushes, knowing he had a wait of several hours before him, and it was then that the branch broke.

There was no pause in the conversation. From his position in the bushes he could almost catch individual words. He wondered vaguely if he should make an attempt to eavesdrop, but decided not to bother.

Then he became aware of some activity and a babble of servants’ voices by the back door. He realized that suspicions had been raised by the noise he’d made. He had to leave instantly. He forced himself to remain calm. Any precipitate flight would only give him away at once. The servants were milling around the rear door. They clearly were undecided about what to do. Very slowly Gabriel dropped to his knees. Not taking his eyes off the group by the back door he began to inch backwards through the bushes. He saw a lantern being carried from the kitchen shack, saw a white face peer from the back door.

“ Halt ,” a soft voice said behind him.

Gabriel felt his guts churn. He turned round. A white officer and two askaris stood above him. The askaris covered him with their rifles. Rifles with fixed bayonets. Gabriel felt the blood rush from his head as he heard steps running from the rear door. The bobbing light from the lantern slid up and down the dull steel blades. He fainted.

♦

He came to on Liesl’s stoop. He was sitting on a cane chair with his head between his knees. His eyes focused on the rough wooden boards. Between his boots he saw a flying ant with only one wing walking round and round in a futile, imbalanced attempt to get from A to B. He looked up into the circle of German faces. Behind the officers he saw Liesl. A furious conversation was going on. Voices were raised. His discovery seemed to be causing an astonishing fuss.

“How long were you outside?” he was asked sharply in German.

“ Fünf Minuten ,” he lied automatically, before he realized what this gave away. He decided to speak English. “Five minutes,” he repeated stupidly. He caught Liesl’s worried gaze for a brief second before he looked down again. His left hand was trembling violently. He covered it with his right.

He heard more conversation, this time some of it hushed. He heard Liesl speaking, then some shouted orders. He sat on in silence. The next thing he saw was Deeg’s grinning face. He was hauled roughly to his feet and marched off between a guard of four askaris. He was taken down Nanda’s main street to a small wooden store shed set to one side of the prisoners’ stockade. Some sacks of mealie flour were removed before he was pushed inside. There was the noise of a bolt being slid home, a mutter of voices and then silence. He couldn’t tell if a man had been left on guard or not.

He felt his way round the dark interior of the shed. It was small, about six feet by nine. The wooden planks that made up its four walls had been crudely put together and there were many thin gaps through which a faint moonlight entered. The roof was made of grass and was full of rustling insects and lizards.

Gabriel sat down in a corner. He felt, to his surprise, quite calm. He wondered what would happen to him. He peered out of a slit at the back but saw only shadowy, indistinct forms. After a while he heard voices. The door was opened and two men, one carrying an oil lantern, came in. Gabriel got unsteadily to his feet. He recognized von Bishop, his big nose oddly illuminated by the swinging lantern which was held by the other man, a slim dapper figure. Gabriel remembered him: it was Rutke, von Lettow’s adjutant.

“Just one question, Captain Cobb,” von Bishop said in English. Gabriel was surprised at his high-pitched voice. He sounded tired rather than hostile.

“Are these yours?” He handed Gabriel a little tattered bundle of papers. Gabriel took them. It was his ‘dossier’. There seemed no point in denying it. He handed them back.

“Yes.”

“Herr Deeg has informed me”—here an evilly grinning Deeg stepped into the hut but was shooed out by Rutke. Von Bishop began again—“Herr Deeg has informed me that you are under parole. These acts of espionage constitute a breach of your parole. Your word as an officer. What do you have to say to that?”

Gabriel said nothing.

Rutke stepped forward. “What do you know about das chinesische-Geschaft? ”

“Nothing,” Gabriel said, and realized he’d spoken too quickly once again. “I mean, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He decided to be honest. Be honest where you can: it was a rule of interrogation that he’d learnt somewhere.

“I’ve heard the name,” he said candidly. “But I’ve no idea what it is.”

Rutke and von Bishop looked at each other.

“Well,” von Bishop said wearily. “I’m afraid you will have to stay locked up a while longer.” He paused, then stuck his forefinger in an ear and wriggled it about. “You were wounded at Tanga, weren’t you,” he said in a more friendly voice. “Do you know an English officer called Bilderbeck?”

“Yes,” Gabriel said. “How do you know?” He thought back to those days on the Homayun and on the battlefield three years ago. It seemed like a lifetime.

“He’s dead,” von Bishop said, looking at the end of his finger. “He died a few weeks ago. I was at Tanga. I met him. I seem to remember he was a friend of yours.”

“Yes. Well, I suppose he was. In a way.”

“I thought you’d like to know.”

“Thank you,” Gabriel said. “Thank you for telling me.” What a peculiar man this von Bishop was. He wondered how Bilderbeck had died. He wondered if von Bishop was making a threat of some kind.

♦

The next day passed with unbelievable slowness. In the enclosed hut the air was hot and fetid. Hundreds of flies hummed and skittered in its darkness. Twice Deeg came and led him to a latrine trench behind the prison cage. He was escorted on each occasion by Deeg and four of his ruga-ruga. On the second journey some of the prisoners cheered him as he limped by on the way back. “Keep it up, sir,” they shouted. “Don’t worry, our boys’ll be here soon.” Gabriel managed a smile and a wave. The ruga-ruga dashed forward and prodded fiercely through the wire with their rifle butts. His food that day consisted of a bottle of water and a bowl of mealie porridge.

That night he stretched out on the beaten earth floor and tried to find a position which would be comfortable enough to let him sleep. His leg wound was aching dully and his entire left arm seemed to be trembling now. He shut his eyes. He wondered how long it would be before the British army arrived.

He turned over. The floor was hard, whining mosquitos seemed to be biting every exposed inch of his body. God alone knew what kinds of ticks and vermin existed in this sort of store shed. He heard a distinct rustling sound. Oh my God, he thought with alarm, sitting up. There’s a rat in the roof, or a snake…

“Gabriel!” a voice whispered.

He jumped in fright. It was Liesl behind the shed. He crawled over. Through a large slit between the planks he saw a pale section of her face.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said. “Is there a guard?”

“No. Listen, Gabriel. I’ve got news. They’re going to take you with them.”

Gabriel felt a thump of fear in his chest. “Who? Where?”