rail.
‘You
disembark here, Mr Seal, do you not?’
‘Yes.’
‘You
are the only passenger. We sail again at noon.’
‘I
shall be ready to go ashore as soon as I am dressed.’
‘You
are making a long stay in Azania?’
‘Possibly.’
‘On
business? I have heard it is an interesting country.’
But for
once Basil was disinclined to be instructive. ‘Purely for pleasure,’ he said.
Then he went below, dressed and fastened his bags. His cabin companion looked
at his watch, scowled and turned his face to the wall; later he missed his
shaving soap, bedroom slippers and the fine topee he had bought a few days
earlier at Port Said.
Chapter Four
T he
Matodi terminus of the Grand Chemin de Fer d’ Azanie lay half a mile inland
from the town. A broad avenue led to it, red earth scarred by deep ruts and
potholes; on either side grew irregular lines of acacia trees. Between the
trees were strings of different-coloured flags. A gang of convicts, chained
neck to neck, were struggling to shift a rusty motor-car which lay on its side
blocking the road. It had come to grief there six months previously, having
been driven recklessly into some cattle by an Arab driver. He was now doing
time in prison in default of damages. White ants had devoured the tyres;
various pieces of mechanism had been removed from time to time to repair other
engines. A Sakuyu family had set up house in the back, enclosing the space
between the wheels with an intricate structure of rags, tin, mud and grass.
That
was in the good times when the Emperor was in the hills. Now he was back again
and the town was overrun with soldiers and government officials. It was by his
orders that this motor-car was being removed. Everything had been like that for
three weeks, bustle everywhere, proclamations posted up on every wall, troops
drilling, buglings, hangings, the whole town kept awake all day; in the Arab
Club feeling ran high against the new régime.
Mahmud
el Khali bin Sai-ud, frail descendant of the oldest family in Matodi, sat
among his kinsmen, moodily browsing over his lapful of khat. The sunlight
streamed in through the lattice shutters, throwing a diaper of light over the
worn carpets and divan; two of the amber mouthpieces of the hubble-bubble were
missing; the rocking-chair in the corner was no longer safe, the veneer was
splitting and peeling off the rosewood table. These. poor remnants were all
that remained of the decent people of Matodi; the fine cavaliers had been
scattered and cut down in battle. Here were six old men and two dissipated
youngsters, one of whom was liable to fits of epilepsy. There was no room for a
gentleman in Matodi nowadays, they remarked. You could not recount an anecdote
in the streets or pause on the waterfront to discuss with. full propriety the
sale of land or the pedigree of a stallion, but you were jostled against the
wall by black men or Indians, dirty fellows with foreskins; unbelievers, descendants
of slaves; judges from up-country, upstarts, jack-in-office, giving decisions
against you in the courts … Jews foreclosing on mortgages … taxation …
vulgar display … no respect of leisure, hanging up wretched little flags
everywhere, clearing up the streets, moving derelict motorcars while their
owners were not in a position to defend them. Today there was an ordinance
forbidding the use of Arab dress. Were they, at their time of life, to start
decking themselves out in coat and trousers and topee like a lot of half-caste bank
clerks? … besides, the prices tailors charged … it was a put-up job … you
might as well be in a British colony.
Meanwhile,
with much overseeing and shouting and banging of behinds, preparations were in
progress on the route to the railway station; the first train since the
troubles was due to leave that afternoon.
It had
taken a long time to get a train together. On the eve of the battle of Ukaka
the stationmaster and all the more responsible members of his
‘You
disembark here, Mr Seal, do you not?’
‘Yes.’
‘You
are the only passenger. We sail again at noon.’
‘I
shall be ready to go ashore as soon as I am dressed.’
‘You
are making a long stay in Azania?’
‘Possibly.’
‘On
business? I have heard it is an interesting country.’
But for
once Basil was disinclined to be instructive. ‘Purely for pleasure,’ he said.
Then he went below, dressed and fastened his bags. His cabin companion looked
at his watch, scowled and turned his face to the wall; later he missed his
shaving soap, bedroom slippers and the fine topee he had bought a few days
earlier at Port Said.
Chapter Four
T he
Matodi terminus of the Grand Chemin de Fer d’ Azanie lay half a mile inland
from the town. A broad avenue led to it, red earth scarred by deep ruts and
potholes; on either side grew irregular lines of acacia trees. Between the
trees were strings of different-coloured flags. A gang of convicts, chained
neck to neck, were struggling to shift a rusty motor-car which lay on its side
blocking the road. It had come to grief there six months previously, having
been driven recklessly into some cattle by an Arab driver. He was now doing
time in prison in default of damages. White ants had devoured the tyres;
various pieces of mechanism had been removed from time to time to repair other
engines. A Sakuyu family had set up house in the back, enclosing the space
between the wheels with an intricate structure of rags, tin, mud and grass.
That
was in the good times when the Emperor was in the hills. Now he was back again
and the town was overrun with soldiers and government officials. It was by his
orders that this motor-car was being removed. Everything had been like that for
three weeks, bustle everywhere, proclamations posted up on every wall, troops
drilling, buglings, hangings, the whole town kept awake all day; in the Arab
Club feeling ran high against the new régime.
Mahmud
el Khali bin Sai-ud, frail descendant of the oldest family in Matodi, sat
among his kinsmen, moodily browsing over his lapful of khat. The sunlight
streamed in through the lattice shutters, throwing a diaper of light over the
worn carpets and divan; two of the amber mouthpieces of the hubble-bubble were
missing; the rocking-chair in the corner was no longer safe, the veneer was
splitting and peeling off the rosewood table. These. poor remnants were all
that remained of the decent people of Matodi; the fine cavaliers had been
scattered and cut down in battle. Here were six old men and two dissipated
youngsters, one of whom was liable to fits of epilepsy. There was no room for a
gentleman in Matodi nowadays, they remarked. You could not recount an anecdote
in the streets or pause on the waterfront to discuss with. full propriety the
sale of land or the pedigree of a stallion, but you were jostled against the
wall by black men or Indians, dirty fellows with foreskins; unbelievers, descendants
of slaves; judges from up-country, upstarts, jack-in-office, giving decisions
against you in the courts … Jews foreclosing on mortgages … taxation …
vulgar display … no respect of leisure, hanging up wretched little flags
everywhere, clearing up the streets, moving derelict motorcars while their
owners were not in a position to defend them. Today there was an ordinance
forbidding the use of Arab dress. Were they, at their time of life, to start
decking themselves out in coat and trousers and topee like a lot of half-caste bank
clerks? … besides, the prices tailors charged … it was a put-up job … you
might as well be in a British colony.
Meanwhile,
with much overseeing and shouting and banging of behinds, preparations were in
progress on the route to the railway station; the first train since the
troubles was due to leave that afternoon.
It had
taken a long time to get a train together. On the eve of the battle of Ukaka
the stationmaster and all the more responsible members of his
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