you doing, Flanders?” he roared.
“ Rien , Monsieur OP. Nothing. Just putting these files back into the cabinet by the door.”
The boy sounded scared enough to be innocent. Or he could just be crafty. If he really was a spy, implanted by the Brussels brass, you can be sure he’d been well trained.
“From now on, Flanders, when I have a visitor, you remain at your desk. Is that clear?”
“Yes, monsieur!”
The OP stood on the verandah, watching the postmaster drive away. It was indeed a beautiful day. What the heck, maybe he really would chase after one of those long-tailed birds with a saltshaker, or better yet, he’d close up the office and join his wife at the pool. After all, her condition wasn’t really her fault, was it?
His name was Wilhelm Van Derhoef, not Flanders, although he was indeed from Flanders. But that puffed-up, pigeon-chested runt could call him any name he wanted. In fact, the more names the better. It was all going into the special report the CEO had asked him to write.
It wasn’t Wilhelm’s idea to volunteer for the position of secretary when it opened up. He had no desire to live in the Congo. The previous secretary died of yellow fever. In fact, one out of four whites never made it back out of that country alive. But the young Wilhelm was promised a promotion to junior management if he’d agree to a three-year stint. In this postwar economy, who could pass that up?
It seems that the board was not thrilled with the OP’s performance. The Belle Vue operation had been carefully sited by a team of skilled geologists, yet the profits from the mine were somewhat less than had been predicted. Now, with the prospect of an independent Congo on the horizon—and nationalization invariably following independence—the mine needed to be producing a good deal more than the initial prediction.
Yes, it was possible that there were mitigating circumstances responsible for the low profit margin, factors that were out of the OP’s control. That , precisely, was why Wilhelm had been dispatched to the Congo.
Wilhelm Van Derhoef had arrived with an open mind, but he had immediately taken a dislike to the arrogant OP. Walloons were like that, weren’t they? Just like the French in that regard. And that’s exactly what they were when you came down to it—French. The political union of Walloons and Flemings that constituted the modern state of Belgium was no more a natural nation than was the amalgamation of almost two hundred ethnic groups that comprised the Belgian Congo.
Wilhelm—no, from now on he would proudly claim the name “Flanders”—slipped a small disk from the pocket of his trousers. It was a cheap mirror, purchased in the native market. One side was glass; the other side bore a portrait of Belgium’s King Baudouin I. How ironic was that? When an African held up a mirror to see his face, what others saw was the visage of their pasty monarch who was living in untold luxury on another continent.
Flanders glanced around the outer office, to make sure no one was watching, before picking the pimple that was on his neck. The pustule popped easily, causing him to smile. That’s exactly how the OP’s career was going to end.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The Nile crocodile ( Crocodylus niloticus ) is found throughout most of Africa, not including the Sahara. They can grow up to twenty feet long and weigh over a thousand pounds. They feed on whatever fish or animals they can catch, including man. They reproduce by laying eggs in a nest near water. When it is time for the eggs to hatch, the parents assist by cracking the eggs open and carrying the babies to the water’s edge.
T he postmaster couldn’t wait to tell his lover about the morning’s events. Yes, it was broad daylight, and yes, it was a terrible risk, but it might also turn out to be the opportunity of a lifetime. News like this demanded to be shared.
Rich, rich, rich—they were going to be rich. And screw that offer of a
“ Rien , Monsieur OP. Nothing. Just putting these files back into the cabinet by the door.”
The boy sounded scared enough to be innocent. Or he could just be crafty. If he really was a spy, implanted by the Brussels brass, you can be sure he’d been well trained.
“From now on, Flanders, when I have a visitor, you remain at your desk. Is that clear?”
“Yes, monsieur!”
The OP stood on the verandah, watching the postmaster drive away. It was indeed a beautiful day. What the heck, maybe he really would chase after one of those long-tailed birds with a saltshaker, or better yet, he’d close up the office and join his wife at the pool. After all, her condition wasn’t really her fault, was it?
His name was Wilhelm Van Derhoef, not Flanders, although he was indeed from Flanders. But that puffed-up, pigeon-chested runt could call him any name he wanted. In fact, the more names the better. It was all going into the special report the CEO had asked him to write.
It wasn’t Wilhelm’s idea to volunteer for the position of secretary when it opened up. He had no desire to live in the Congo. The previous secretary died of yellow fever. In fact, one out of four whites never made it back out of that country alive. But the young Wilhelm was promised a promotion to junior management if he’d agree to a three-year stint. In this postwar economy, who could pass that up?
It seems that the board was not thrilled with the OP’s performance. The Belle Vue operation had been carefully sited by a team of skilled geologists, yet the profits from the mine were somewhat less than had been predicted. Now, with the prospect of an independent Congo on the horizon—and nationalization invariably following independence—the mine needed to be producing a good deal more than the initial prediction.
Yes, it was possible that there were mitigating circumstances responsible for the low profit margin, factors that were out of the OP’s control. That , precisely, was why Wilhelm had been dispatched to the Congo.
Wilhelm Van Derhoef had arrived with an open mind, but he had immediately taken a dislike to the arrogant OP. Walloons were like that, weren’t they? Just like the French in that regard. And that’s exactly what they were when you came down to it—French. The political union of Walloons and Flemings that constituted the modern state of Belgium was no more a natural nation than was the amalgamation of almost two hundred ethnic groups that comprised the Belgian Congo.
Wilhelm—no, from now on he would proudly claim the name “Flanders”—slipped a small disk from the pocket of his trousers. It was a cheap mirror, purchased in the native market. One side was glass; the other side bore a portrait of Belgium’s King Baudouin I. How ironic was that? When an African held up a mirror to see his face, what others saw was the visage of their pasty monarch who was living in untold luxury on another continent.
Flanders glanced around the outer office, to make sure no one was watching, before picking the pimple that was on his neck. The pustule popped easily, causing him to smile. That’s exactly how the OP’s career was going to end.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The Nile crocodile ( Crocodylus niloticus ) is found throughout most of Africa, not including the Sahara. They can grow up to twenty feet long and weigh over a thousand pounds. They feed on whatever fish or animals they can catch, including man. They reproduce by laying eggs in a nest near water. When it is time for the eggs to hatch, the parents assist by cracking the eggs open and carrying the babies to the water’s edge.
T he postmaster couldn’t wait to tell his lover about the morning’s events. Yes, it was broad daylight, and yes, it was a terrible risk, but it might also turn out to be the opportunity of a lifetime. News like this demanded to be shared.
Rich, rich, rich—they were going to be rich. And screw that offer of a
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