“Gabriel.”
“Yes.”
“I forgot the paper. I put in Die Leiden des jungen Werthers. Is that all right? There is room on the pages to write.”
“Yes,” he said. “That’s fine.” He felt flooded with an inarticulate-late gratitude for this strong, stubborn woman. He rubbed his forehead. He felt the sense of helplessness descend on him again as he thought of what he had to do. If only they hadn’t caught him outside Liesl’s house, if only…He could have patiently waited for the arrival of the British.
“The town is very quiet,” Liesl said. “They have made a line, north, about ten kilometres. Be careful. Here.” She handed him a stub of pencil.
“Thanks.” Gabriel put the stub in his pocket.
“Por jungen Werther,” she said. “A souvenir.”
Gabriel felt an intense sadness descend on him. He felt as if he were about to embark on some long, arduous voyage. His eyes were full of inappropriate tears.
He stepped back. “I’ll go now,” he said, trying to stop the quaver in his voice. “Down this way, then worKARound the town through the plantations.”
“Be careful. Just for two days. Find somewhere safe. Then come back here.” There was no note of pleading in her voice, just natural concern. She expects to see me again, Gabriel thought. He felt suddenly that it was only right that he should tell her something of his feelings for her. It would in some way justify what she was doing, the risks she had taken. He tried to think of safe words he could use.
She touched his elbow.
“You should go.”
“Thank you, Liesl,” he began. “I don’t know…I feel. What I—”
“Don’t worry. It’s not important. Come back when they have gone.”
“Right,” he said. “Two days.” He picked up the sack, gave a brief wave in the dark with his trembling left hand and set off carefully down the rutted track that led to the trees.
6: 22 November 1917, Nanda, German East Africa
Von Bishop and Rutke looked at the hole Gabriel had made under the wooden wall of the shed. A sweating, nervous Deeg came round the side, holding the metal hinge.
“This is it,” Deeg said in an outraged voice. “This is how he did it.”
“But how did he get it?” von Bishop asked. “What about the guard?”
“Ah, well. There was no guard last night. We had many duties and Cobb was a sick man. Weak. There were secure bolts on the door. I thought—”
“Someone helped him,” Rutke said. “It’s obvious. But who?”
A little man on a bicycle came free-wheeling down the slope from the main street and stopped beside them. He had a cigarette in his mouth. Von Bishop and Rutke saluted. Deeg went into a quivering attention, chin up, thumbs at trouser seams. He was General von Lettow-Vorbeck.
“He’s gone?” von Lettow confirmed. “The man who knows about the China Show?”
“Last night.” von Bishop said. “But he’s weak, he can’t be far.”
“I see,” Von Lettow paused. “You’d better catch him, Erich.”
“Me, sir?”
“Yes, take some of the irregulars.”
It was the last thing von Bishop wanted to do. “Are you sure, sir?”
Von Lettow frowned. He took off his sun helmet and wiped his stubby head with a handkerchief.
“Yes,” said firmly. “We are crossing the Rovuma up by the Ludjenda confluence. In two or three days. Meet us there. But don’t waste time, Erich. A Zeppelin is not going to make much difference once we’re over the river.”
♦
Von Lettow and Rutke left to rejoin the main Schütztruppe column some five miles away at Newala. It was from there that von Bishop had been summoned at first light by a message from Deeg. Nanda was now, to all intents and purposes, clear of troops. There remained only the large numbers of sick and wounded in the hospital, two dozen women and children from the surrounding plantations, Deeg and his squad of ruga-ruga and the sixteen NCO prisoners.
Von Bishop told Deeg to select three of his best men to form the tracking party. Deeg and the other ruga-ruga were to stay behind in Nanda and surrender to the British when they arrived.
Von Bishop walked wearily up the deserted main street towards the hospital. All the sick and wounded had been assembled here. The hospital was so crowded that many were laid out in the shade beneath trees. Others were lying in hastily erected grass shelters. Across the road from the hospital the NCO prisoners formed a curious group by the main gate of the stockade.
Von Bishop saw Liesl standing on the narrow stoop that ran along the front of the hospital. She stood like a man, her hands behind her, feet apart, gazing out over the drab view, rocking gently backwards and forwards. She was smoking a cigarette and, von Bishop noticed with a squirm of irritation, wearing her coloured glasses.
She saw him approach. “Erich!” she exclaimed. “What are you doing here? I thought the Schütztruppe were at Newala.” Some wounded men lying on stretchers at one end of the stoop looked up in mild curiosity.
“They are,” he said. “I came down this morning.” He paused, scrutinizing her face. “He’s escaped, you know.”
“Who? Gabriel? No, I didn’t know. When?” She seemed quite unconcerned. She puffed at her cigarette, then glanced at its glowing end. Von Bishop stared in frustration at the dark opaque lenses of her glasses. She had called him Gabriel.
“Yes, Cobb,” he said pointedly. “Somebody in the town must have helped him.”
She shrugged. “He’s been here a long time. All the boys know him.”
“I’m going after him,” he said. “Von Lettow’s orders.”
“As you wish, Erich,” she said and blew a stream of smoke into the sunlight.
♦
Von Bishop tightened the girths on his saddle. His mule munched contentedly on some dry grass. A few yards away stood three of Deeg’s ruga-ruga. He felt unsettled and irritated. He had said goodbye to Liesl, and it had turned out to be both infuriatingly formal and non-committal. He had told her that he would be rejoining von Lettow’s final column when he had recaptured Cobb and that she, no doubt, would be interned in Dar for as long as the war went on.
“We must continue to fight,” he said without much fervour. “At all costs.”
“Of course, Erich,” she had replied.
He said goodbye and stepped forward to kiss her. She removed her coloured glasses and, briefly, their lips touched. Von Bishop stepped back and held her at arm’s length, his hands on her shoulders. He looked uncomprehendingly into her eyes. His wife seemed a total stranger to him. He suddenly noticed the fleshiness of her shoulders and upper aims, how the material of her dress was creased and tight across her bosom. She used to be a handsome woman, he thought sadly to himself. How this war has changed her!
With a sigh he heaved himself up onto his mule. He saw Deeg walking over from the POW cage.
“I’m sure he’ll head north towards the British,” Deeg said. “I’ve told my boys to ask local villagers. They see everything. With a bit of persuasion…”
“Good, good,” von Bishop said testily. Really, people like Deeg were a disgrace. “Do your men speak Swahili?”
“Ah,” Deeg said apologetically. “I regret, very little. But they are obliging fellows, quick to learn. You can easily make them understand any order.”
Von Bishop looked round at the ruga-ruga. Two wore brimless felt caps. The third was bare-headed, his skull shaven apart from a round tuft of hair above his brow. They were draped in coils of tattered evil-smelling blankets and armed with old.70 rifles. Large machetes hung at their waists. They smiled winningly at him, revealing their filed, pointed teeth. Absolutely the worst sort of irregular, thought von Bishop. Still, they would know the country. Cobb wouldn’t get far.