William Boyd - An Ice-Cream War

After the surrender, the German army remained at Abercorn for two weeks before being marched to Bismarckburg on Lake Tanganyika. From there a steamer took them to Kigoma, the terminus of the Central Railway from Dar. The journey back to the capital took several days. First they stopped in Tabora where the askaris were to be interned. The officers and European officials were being taken directly to Dar where they, along with the rest of the German civilian population, were to be repatriated as soon as possible.

As the train approached Dar, von Bishop began to feel distinctly nervous at the prospect of meeting Liesl. He hadn’t seen her for over a year. Their last unsatisfactory good-bye had taken place under very strained circumstances on the steps of the hospital at Nanda. He wondered if she would be at the station to meet him. At Morogoro, when the train had stopped, the remaining German population of the town had turned out in force to provide a lavish welcome. Tables had been set out on the platform. Fresh bread, fruit, beer and wine had been in plentiful supply.

The sight of the coconut groves behind the city made von Bishop’s nervousness increase. It crossed his mind that somehow Liesl might have found out about Cobb’s death. If not, she would surely ask him what had happened. He shut his eyes for a moment, a flutter of panic beating at his throat. What could he say? What answer could he give?

“Don’t look so worried,” Rutke said. “We’ll be home soon.”

Concealing his annoyance, von Bishop looked at Rutke who was sitting opposite him. Rutke was pale and thin. But he had been lucky. Five more Europeans had died of Spanish influenza since the surrender. Rutke had pulled through after forty-eight hours in a high fever.

“It’s all right for you,” Rutke went on heedlessly. “Married men with homes to go to. Us bachelors have to live in a camp.”

A big crowd was waiting at the station. As the train pulled in a hearty cheer of welcome rose up. The officers got out and were marched up Unter den Akazien to a tented camp set up in the botanical gardens. Von Bishop hadn’t seen Liesl among the faces at the station, but someone told him that the wives of prisoners would be waiting at the camp. Slowly they filed through a large, airy tent. Their names, ranks and particulars were noted and they were presented with a new cotton drill suit, three shirts, collars, underclothes and a shaving kit.

His arms full, von Bishop stepped outside into the sun.

“Erich,” he heard a voice call.

“This way,” the English sergeant said and led him off to where the group of wives was waiting.

Liesl was wearing a white high-necked blouse and a long grey skirt. On her head she had a man’s sun helmet. The first thing von Bishop noticed was that she was much thinner. For the first time in years she bore some resemblance to the woman he had seen off on the boat to Germany in 1913. For some reason the change seemed to him an indication of new hope.

She took the clothes from him. “You were meant to be here yesterday,” she said. “What happened?”

“A delay at Morogoro,” he said. He bent his head and touched his lips to hers.

“Liesl,” he said. “You look wonderful. Very well.”

“I’ve been sick,” she said, her voice sharp with irritation. “A month of fever.”

Von Bishop felt his heart brim with love at her retort. Now everything, he was sure, would be fine.

They took a rickshaw back to the quarter of the town that was reserved for German civilians. Formerly a temporary development for junior officials on the railways, it lay behind the marshalling yards and was composed of small corrugated iron bungalows raised two or three feet off the ground on brick piles. German civilians were permitted to move freely around the town during the day, but after dark a curfew was imposed and they were obliged to stay indoors.

It was a curious sensation to be riding through Dar again. Von Bishop looked about him. English soldiers were every-where, union jacks flying from the highest buildings, English street signs at road junctions. German East Africa didn’t exist any more.

Their bungalow was mean and unprepossessing, smaller even than their house in Nanda. The streets in the neighbour-hood were rutted and narrow, pie dogs and skinny hens sniffed and picked at piles of rubbish which mouldered at the side of the road, shade trees were few and far between.

Liesl’s house boasted a ravaged hibiscus hedge and a cinder path to the front door marked by freshly whitewashed stones. Inside there was a sitting room, separated from the single bedroom by a narrow hallway. A kitchen shack and privy stood a few yards from the back door. The Germans were allowed only one servant per household. Kimi, Liesl’s maid from Nanda, welcomed them at the front door.

Inside it was fetid and warm. Von Bishop sat down on a wooden upright chair.

Liesl stood by the window, fanning herself with a piece of card.

“It gets cooler at night,” she said non-committally.

“I suppose it’s better than being herded in a camp.”

“Oh, the English are very fair.”

The maid brought von Bishop a glass of beer.

“My God, beer!” he exclaimed. “I haven’t had it for years.” In fact he’d drunk bottles at Morogoro.

Liesl looked pleased. “I saved it for you.”

Von Bishop got to his feet, went over to her and kissed her on the cheek. Then he stood awkwardly at her side staring through the open shutters at the spindly hibiscus hedge and the cinder path with its whitewashed stones.

“Erich,” Liesl said, still looking outside. “I have to ask you. What happened to Gabriel Cobb?”

“You don’t know?”

“I heard nothing. They moved us here almost immediately. After those men set off after you.”

Von Bishop almost dropped his glass of beer. He forced himself to relax.

“We found him,” he said gravely. “On the Makonde plateau. He was dead, from starvation, weakness…”

Liesl looked at her left hand which rested on the window sill. She prised up a splinter from the dried and cracking wood.

“I knew it,” she said sadly. “When I heard nothing I knew he was dead.” She paused. “Erich, I—”

“We found him quite alone,” von Bishop went on quickly. “His clothes were rags. He had nothing with him. No food, no water. “Unaccommodated man,” as Shakespeare says. A brave but foolish attempt.”

Liesl looked round at him sharply. Von Bishop shrugged his shoulders. “We buried him there. I went on to the Ludjenda confluence, rejoined von Lettow. You never heard anything from, ah, the men following me?”

Liesl opened her mouth as if she were going to say something, then she closed it. Her shoulders relaxed.

“No,” she said, exhaling. “Nothing. But I saw one of them yesterday. He reminded me of it all.”

“ Here? In Dar?” Common sense stilled his alarm. He’d been in captivity a month. If he had been accused of anything he would have learnt of it by now.

“Yes,” Liesl said looking round with mild curiosity.

“Did he see you?”

“I think so. He must have.”

“But he didn’t say anything?”

“No, nothing. I don’t think he recognized me.”

Von Bishop cleared his throat to hide the relief. “They couldn’t have found the grave then.”

“No.” Liesl took her bottom lip between her teeth. “I suppose not.”

Von Bishop set his beer glass down and put his arms around his wife and pulled her to him. She was thinner but her body was still soft. He felt a sense of happiness wash through him. He squeezed her shoulders.

“Soon we’ll be in Germany,” he said. “But perhaps one day they’ll let us come back.”