William Boyd - An Ice-Cream War

“Our troops. They’re crossing the Rovuma into Portuguese East.”

“Oh my God. When?”

“I don’t know. Tomorrow. The next day.”

“Oh God.” Gabriel felt cold, fluttering sensations of panic. “But why? For God’s sake, why me?”

“I’m not sure. Erich won’t tell me. I think he is suspicious. A bit. They say you know some secret.”

Gabriel could feel the breath from her words on his cheek. Their faces were only an inch or so apart, separated by the wooden wall.

“A secret? What?”

“I don’t know. They say you know a secret, that’s all.”

Gabriel felt like weeping. What could he know that was so important? He thought of the information on his dossier. It was weeks out of date. Surely that wouldn’t warrant them taking him into Portuguese East?

“What secret can it be?” he repeated frantically.

“I don’t know, Gabriel. They won’t tell me.”

“You’ve got to help me, Liesl,” he said desperately. “I’ve got to get away. They mustn’t take me.”

“I told them,” she said. “I said you weren’t strong, that you needed medical attention.”

“That’s right,” Gabriel agreed, almost whimpering. “It would kill me.”

“I told them.”

“What did they say?”

“They said they had doctors. It didn’t matter.”

“You’ve got to help me, Liesl,” Gabriel raised his voice.

“Ssh. Of course I will.” It sounded like the most reasonable request in the world.

“I’ve got to escape.” Gabriel thought quickly. “Bring me something to dig with. A knife or something. And some food and water…How far away are the British?”

“Near Nambindinga, I think. Forty-five kilometres, I think.”

“That’s north?”

“Yes, north directly.”

“Bring everything tomorrow night, can you?”

“Yes. At the same time. Erich thinks I am on duty at the hospital.”

They were silent for a second. Gabriel saw a gleam of light in the jelly of her eye ball.

“Gabriel?”

“Yes.”

“Why were you outside my house?”

He swallowed. “I came to see you.”

“Me? Why?”

“For some reason. I wanted to see you.”

“Because of the end of the war?”

“Yes,” he said. “That’s it.”

“But Erich and Rutke and Deeg say you are a spy. That you have been spying all the time.”

“It’s not true.” Then he added, the honesty making his voice hoarse, “It was just something I did.”

“Why?”

“To console myself.”

“I told them you weren’t a spy.” She paused. “I should go now.”

Gabriel had a final thought. “Liesl. Tomorrow night. Can you bring me some paper and a pencil?”

“Paper and pencil? Are you sure? All right. I will.”

♦

The next day passed as slowly as the one before. On his trips to the latrine Gabriel became aware of more bustle in the town: columns of marching men, officers speeding up and down the street on bicycles, a general air of preparing to move. He prayed they wouldn’t pull out before dark. In the afternoon he thought he heard a distant sound of gunfire but he couldn’t be sure.

That night Liesl came as she had promised. She slipped a flattened iron bar through a crack between the planks. It felt like part of a heavy hinge. In ten minutes he had dug a hollow beneath the wooden walls big enough for his thin body to squirm under. Liesl helped him to his feet. She handed him an old sack.

“There’s some food and a bottle of water,” she whispered. “Some matches, a bit of cheese and two candles for the dark. Don’t go far Gabriel, please. Just go away and hide. They won’t wait to catch you. A lot are staying behind to wait for the English. Go and hide for two days, then you can come back.”

“Right,” Gabriel said. He had hardly taken her words in. They were standing up against the back wall of the shed. A quarter moon only provided enough light for Gabriel to see the bold features of her face. Her shadowed eyes, her nostrils, the gash of her mouth. Their whispering meant that they stood only a foot apart. Gabriel could smell her: a faint scent of cigarette smoke, fresh smell of perspiration. He could sense the bulk of her soft body in the dark so close to his. He felt an overpowering urge to take her in his arms. Just once to feel her breasts crush against him. Just once to kiss her neck, somehow to be swallowed up and immersed in one quintessential embrace…

“Gabriel.”

“Yes.”

“I forgot the paper. I put in Die Leiden des jungen Werthers . Is that all right? There is room on the pages to write.”

“Yes,” he said. “That’s fine.” He felt flooded with an inarticulate-late gratitude for this strong, stubborn woman. He rubbed his forehead. He felt the sense of helplessness descend on him again as he thought of what he had to do. If only they hadn’t caught him outside Liesl’s house, if only…He could have patiently waited for the arrival of the British.

“The town is very quiet,” Liesl said. “They have made a line, north, about ten kilometres. Be careful. Here.” She handed him a stub of pencil.

“Thanks.” Gabriel put the stub in his pocket.

“ Por jungen Werther ,” she said. “A souvenir.”

Gabriel felt an intense sadness descend on him. He felt as if he were about to embark on some long, arduous voyage. His eyes were full of inappropriate tears.

He stepped back. “I’ll go now,” he said, trying to stop the quaver in his voice. “Down this way, then worKARound the town through the plantations.”

“Be careful. Just for two days. Find somewhere safe. Then come back here.” There was no note of pleading in her voice, just natural concern. She expects to see me again, Gabriel thought. He felt suddenly that it was only right that he should tell her something of his feelings for her. It would in some way justify what she was doing, the risks she had taken. He tried to think of safe words he could use.

She touched his elbow.

“You should go.”

“Thank you, Liesl,” he began. “I don’t know…I feel. What I—”

“Don’t worry. It’s not important. Come back when they have gone.”

“Right,” he said. “Two days.” He picked up the sack, gave a brief wave in the dark with his trembling left hand and set off carefully down the rutted track that led to the trees.

Von Bishop and Rutke looked at the hole Gabriel had made under the wooden wall of the shed. A sweating, nervous Deeg came round the side, holding the metal hinge.

“This is it,” Deeg said in an outraged voice. “This is how he did it.”

“But how did he get it?” von Bishop asked. “What about the guard?”

“Ah, well. There was no guard last night. We had many duties and Cobb was a sick man. Weak. There were secure bolts on the door. I thought—”

“Someone helped him,” Rutke said. “It’s obvious. But who?”

A little man on a bicycle came free-wheeling down the slope from the main street and stopped beside them. He had a cigarette in his mouth. Von Bishop and Rutke saluted. Deeg went into a quivering attention, chin up, thumbs at trouser seams. He was General von Lettow-Vorbeck.

“He’s gone?” von Lettow confirmed. “The man who knows about the China Show?”

“Last night.” von Bishop said. “But he’s weak, he can’t be far.”

“I see,” Von Lettow paused. “You’d better catch him, Erich.”

“Me, sir?”

“Yes, take some of the irregulars.”

It was the last thing von Bishop wanted to do. “Are you sure, sir?”

Von Lettow frowned. He took off his sun helmet and wiped his stubby head with a handkerchief.