William Boyd - An Ice-Cream War

Felix said good-bye.

“Come back soon,” Temple said. “Don’t wait for another war.”

“I might,” Felix said. “You never know.”

♦

Felix leant on the wooden guard rail around the sun deck, looking round the beautiful bay. Mombasa Island seemed very green and pretty from this side. Beyond the harbour buildings, scattered among the trees, were splendid white houses with arches and long verandahs. In the distance was a line of hills.

A small promontory showed a silvery stretch of beach. A cluster of palm trees leant out towards the sea. Around the Conway Star were other ships. A liner for the Indian troops, an old steamer, some dhows and two small tidy destroyers.

Felix looked back at the wharf. Temple and his wife had promised to stay until the boat sailed and, true to their word, they had remained. Felix saw them at the edge of the small group of well-wishers who had assembled to say good-bye. He waved, and Mrs Smith waved back. Temple had moved a few paces away and was looking at the crowd that had gathered to see off the Indian battalion. Felix squinted up into the sun. Above him stretched an immense deep-blue sky occupied by a few small clouds. The sky seemed higher in Africa, he thought vaguely. On shore, the military band broke into ‘God Save the King’ as the colonel of the battalion embarked. Felix returned to his musing. How can the sky be higher? he rebuked himself the sky has no height. He looked again. Then he realized, with an absurd sense of achievement, that it was the clouds which were higher in Africa. They sailed higher than the clouds in Europe, and that was what made the encompassing blue seem so toweringly out of reach.

BOOM! went the first of the guns in the farewell salute. The other three followed in quick succession. Felix felt the shock and crash of the cannonade echo in his head. The view before him trembled, misted and then fragmented, as he knew it would. The quay, the ships, the sea, the leaning palms, glimmered fitfully between the swirling chasms of mica dust. Never mind, Felix told himself in resigned compensation. It would be quiet on the voyage. He waved at the place where he thought Temple was standing, just to show him that he was all right and, in case he was concerned, to put his mind at rest. The guns boomed again. Quiet on the voyage, he repeated, dazzled and distracted, looking up at the small unfailing clouds dancing quite contentedly in the repercussing air.

EOF