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Premier in history to have a working command of the English language and
Weaver reciprocating with a smattering of Russian.
Nevertheless, simultaneous translation was still vital to proper
understanding. Especially this morning.
What happened was so extraordinary and puzzling and caused so much discussion
on both sides of the planet that it refocused not only everyone's attention
but their curiosity as well. Perhaps it was nothing more than one of those
inexplicable and fortuitous coincidences on which so much of history turns. In
any case, what happened was this:
Dorovskoy insisted he had not called Weaver. The President of the United
States was equally insistent that he had not rung up the Premier of the Union
of Soviet Socialist Republics. There had been no click in
Washington and no click in Moscow. Both men had picked up their handsets at
precisely the same instant the call had gone through, which was not quite but
almost theoretically impossible, given the amount of preparation that always
went into making the necessary connections.
The extraordinary coincidence was immediately remarked upon. It was decided
that a third party had to be involved. This determined, individuals on both
sides suggested that perhaps the same still unknown third party might be
responsible for the long series of equally inexplicable events on both
continents.
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Threats about to be made were retracted. Cooler heads were allowed to make
their suggestions without fear of being stigmatized as cowards and
appeaseniks. Neither side trusted the other enough to relax, but talk of
ultimatums and absolutes was put off while this new possibility was looked
into. The mysterious coincidental telephone call notwithstanding, neither side
was willing to permit itself more than a modicum of optimism. Everyone backed
off just the same.
What harm in talking for a few more days?
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Ruaha, Tanzania 26 June
While the representatives of the two world powers talked and the rest of the
world trembled, a battered
Land Rover containing four tired but determined people was bouncing along a
dirt track paralleling the
Mdonya Sand River in south central Tanzania. Not even Mbatian Oldoinyo
Olkeloki knew how much time they had left. All he could tell them was that
they had no time to spare and that there would be no second chance.
Olkeloki had come for them before five, when it was still dark out.
Bleary-eyed but tense with excitement, Oak had thrown some water on his face,
dressed, and warmed up the Land Rover while they waited for Merry. There were
no jokes about the habitual tardiness of women. Not on this morning.
Now the sun was rising over the rolling hills through which the sand river
sliced. Soon it would begin to warm up and the tsetse flies would leave the
shelter of their bushes in search of blood. No one at the camp questioned
their early departure. Morning and evening were the best time for viewing
game.
Except that we're going to see something a lot more dangerous than a lion or
leopard, Oak thought.
Since leaving camp behind they hadn't seen another human being. For all the
marks humanity had left on this stretch of Africa they might as well have been
driving over the sands of Mars. Unvarying guide and companion, the river was
as pure an expanse of yellow-white sand as his favorite Carolina beach. Under
Olkeloki's direction they kept it on their right as they followed it
northwestward.
Water ran not far beneath the sandy surface, the old man explained.
Occasionally they would drive past shallow holes dug by elephants. When the
pachyderms had drunk their fill, other animals would emerge from the woods to
make use of the temporary well.
Ow
, damnit! A quick search located the culprit and Merry smashed him against
the door on her side.
Windows were rolled up and Oak turned on the air conditioning. Olkeloki
offered his personal theory that the tsetse flies were actually the offspring
of certain shetani. This accounted not only for their unnatural toughness but
also for their persistence and malign disposition.
They were heading toward a long, low escarpment of dark stone that resembled a
gray whale resting on the earth. Another twenty miles revealed the source of
the Mdonya: a gorge cut by flood waters through the basalt cliffs.
We go up there, Olkeloki informed them. Up above, the waters of the Mdonya
rise to the surface and form the Matopotopo swamp. It is not large when
compared to the basin of the Amazon or your own Mississippi delta, but it is
wild and remote enough to preclude visits. Up there, in the shadow of a
mountain called Kibiriti, we should find the place we seek.
Eyeing the damp, vegetation-covered slope, Oak was afraid they were going to
have to walk, but there was enough dry ground for the Rover to negotiate and
the river fell gradually to the plains below. Once they gained the crest of
the escarpment, he was able to relax a little.
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About time we got a break, he mused.
Olkeloki, too, seemed pleased. We will be able to drive through. That will be
much better than walking.
Oak looked over at him. What, into the Out Of? In this thing?
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I do not see why not. The shetani live here. Why should this machine not live
there? He was tapping on the dash with his long fingers. They reminded Merry
of the fingers of a pianist. What silent melody was he playing, in which she
and Joshua Oak were merely notes thrown in for spice?
Besides, the English company which makes this vehicle insists it will go
anywhere.
If it doesn't, we'd have a hell of a time collecting on the warranty.
Fear not, Joshua Oak. Magic will not stop us. Shetani will not stop us. Not
now, not here, not this close. If the gap in reality is wide enough for so
many shetani to pass through, it will surely be large enough to admit one Land
Rover. He said nothing about the possibility of two of them dying, Oak noted.
Several miles ahead the river vanished into the outskirts of the swamp. Oak
worked the Rover around isolated baobabs and boulders, keeping the broad
expanse of sand on his right.
Laibon, wondered Kakombe, if we are so near, why do the shetani not
attack?
Perhaps they are afraid of us, or perhaps their attention is concentrated [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
