through the thin red fleshing of earth.
Abruptly ahead of them the plateau over which they were flying was rent
through by a monstrous chasm. It was as though the earth had received a
mighty sword-stroke that struck through to her very bowels.
"The Abbay river!" Tessay leaned forward in her seat to tap Royan's
shoulder.
The rim of the gorge was Clear-cut, and then the slope dropped away at
an angle of over thirty degrees. The bare plains of the plateau gave way
immediately to the heavily forested walls of the gorge. They could make
out the candelabra shapes of giant euphorbia rising above the dense
jungle. In places the walls had collapsed in scree slopes of loose rock,
and in others they were up-thrust into bluffs and needles that erosion
had sculpted with a monstrous artistry into the figures of towering
humanoids and other fantastic creatures of stone.
Down and down it plunged, and they winged out over the void until they
could look directly down, a mile and more, on to the glittering snake of
the river in the depths.
The funnel shape of the upper walls formed a secondary rim as they
reached the sheer cliffs of the sub-gorge five hundred feet above the
Nile water. Deep down there between its terrible cliffs the river gouged
dark pools and long slithering runs through the red sandstone. In places
the gorge was forty miles across, in others it narrowed to under ten,
but through all its length the grandeur and the desolation were infinite
and eternal. Man had made no impression upon it.
"You will soon be down there," Tessay told them in a voice so awed that
it was almost a whisper, and they were both silent. Words seemed
superfluous in the face of such raw and savage nature.
.. Almost with relief they watched the northern wall rise to meet them,
and the high mountains of the Choke range stood up against the tall blue
African sky, higher than their fragile little craft was flying.
The aircraft banked into its descent and Tessay pointed over the
starboard wingtip.
"Lake Tana," she told them. It was a wide and lovely body of water, over
fifty miles long, studded with islands on each of which stood a
monastery or an ancient church. As they dropped in over the water on the
final approach, they could make out the white-robed priests plying
between the islands on their traditional little boats made from bundles
of papyrus.
The Otter touched down on the dirt strip beside the lake and rolled out
in a long trailing cloud of dust. It swung in -and stopped engines
beside the run-down terminal building of thatch and daub.
The sunlight was so bright that Nicholas pulled a pair of sunglasses
from the breast pocket of his khaki jacket and placed them on his nose
as he stood at the top of the boarding ladder. He took in the pock-marks
of bullets and shrapnel on the dirty white walls of the terminal, and
the burnt'out hull of a Russian T35 battle tank standing in the grass on
the verge of the runway. The' barrel of its turret gun pointed
earthwards, and grass had grown up between the rusted tracks.
The other passengers pushed forward impatiently behind him, jostling him
and jabbering with excitement as they saw friends and relatives waiting
to greet them under the eucalyptus trees that shaded the building. There
was only one vehicle parked out there, a sand-coloured Toyota Land
Cruiser. The roundel on the driver's do6r had at its centre the painted
head of a mountain nyala, with long corkscrew horns, and in a ribbon
below it the title "Wild Chase Safaris'. A white man lounged behind the
wheel.
As Nicholas came down the ladder behind the two women, the driver
slipped out of the truck and strode out on to the strip to meet them. He
was dressed in a faded khaki bush suit, and he was tall and lean and
walked with a spring to his step.
"Fortyish," Nicholas judged his age from the grizzling in his short
beard. "One of the hard men," Nicholas thought.
His ginger hair was cropped short, his eyes were pale killer blue. There
was a puckered white scar that ran across one cheek and up to twist and
deform his nose.
Tessay introduced `Royan to him first, and he made a short, choppy bow
as he shook her hand. "Enchant6, he told her in an execrable French
accent and then looked at Nicholas.
"This is my husband, Alto Boris," Tessay introduced him. "Boris, this is
Alto Nicholas."
"My English is bad," Boris said. "My French is better."
"Not much to choose between them," Nicholas thought, but he smiled
easily and said, "So we will speak French then. Bonjour, Monsieur
Brusilov. I am delighted to make your acquaintance." He offered the
Russian his hand.
Boris's grip was hard - too hard. He was making a contest out of the
greeting, but Nicholas had expected it He knew this type of old, and he
had taken a deep grip so Boris could not crush his fingers. Nicholas
held him without allowing any strain or effort to show on his lazy
smile. Boris was the first to break the handshake, and there was just
the trace of respect in those pale eyes.
"So you have come for a dikdik?" he asked, just short of a sneer. Most
of my clients come for big elephant, or at least for mountain nyala."
"Bit rich for my nerves," Nicholas grinned, "all that big stuff. Dik-dik
will suit me fine."
"Have you ever been down in the gorge?" Boris demanded. His Russian
accent overpowered the French words and made them difficult to follow.
"Sir Nicholas was one of the leaders of the 1976 river expedition,'
Royan intervened sweetly, and Nicholas was amused by her unexpected
intervention. She had picked up the antagonism between them very
quickly, and come to his rescue.
Boris grunted, and turned to his wife. "Have you got all the stores I
ordered?" he demanded.
"Yes, Boris," she answered meekly. "They are all on board the aircraft."
She is afraid of him, Nicholas decided, probably with good reason.
"Let's get loaded up, then. We have a long journey ahead of us."
The two men rode in the front seats of the Toyota, and the women sat
behind them with many of the packages of stores packed in around them.
Good African protocol, Nicholas smiled to himself: men first, women fend
for themselves.
"You don't want to do the tourist run, do you?" Boris made it sound like
a threat.
"The tourist run?"
"The outlet from the lake, and the power station," he explained. "The
Portuguese bridge over the gorge and the point where the Blue Nile
begins," he added. But before they could accept he warned them, "If you
do, we won't get into camp until long -after dark."
"Thanks for the suggestion,) Nicholas told him politely, "but I have
seen it all before."
"Good." Boris made his approval evident. "Let's get out of here."
The road swung away into the west, below the high mountains. This was
the Goiam, the land of the aloof mountaineers. It was well-populated
country, and they passed many tall, thin men along the roadside as they
strode along behind their herds of goats and sheep, with their long
staffs held crossways over their shoulders. Both men and women wore
shammas, woollen shawls, and baggy white jodhpur pants, with their feet