The Cinnamon Tree Page 12

  ‘Come on,’ she said, ‘we have to carry your stuff to the jeep.’

  16

  The Arms Game

  ‘Just keep to the path,’ Yola called back as she side-stepped down the steep slope from the road. She was carrying Fintan’s camera, as it was light. ‘This is the best part of the day. The heat has gone, work is over and I’m starving!’

  She was in a hurry in case Hans was waiting for them, so she let Fintan follow slowly with the rest of his stuff. She was looking forward to showing him around. Hans had said Fintan could have the spare bed in the sickbay if he needed one.

  The jeep came into view and she squinted against the reflection on the window to see if there were any sign of Hans, but he hadn’t come back yet; they could relax. She turned around. The path was empty. Surely Fintan had followed her? Then, with a stab of apprehension, she saw a pile of bags and cases in the middle of the path. Fintan was not in sight. She couldn’t believe it! He must have walked off the demined strip into the bushes.

  ‘Fintan, stop!’ she screamed, running frantically back down the path, her lopsided gait not helped by the swinging camera. ‘Don’t move, not a step, not an inch! Stop!’ She could see him. He was beside a tree, turning towards her, a look of astonishment on his face.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ he asked.

  ‘The matter, Fintan O’Farrell, is that you are in the middle of a live minefield!’

  ‘But they can’t be everywhere, Yola?’

  ‘Yes, they are! That’s what a minefield is. I should have shown you. The red and white stakes show where the mines start. Look, you see those blue stakes,’ Yola’s voice cracked, ‘that’s where we’ve actually taken up mines.’ She wanted to close her eyes against what she was seeing, then Fintan stirred. ‘Don’t move your feet!’ she gasped. ‘You see that line of stakes? They often lay mines in lines. There: one … two … three … and look where the next one will be.’

  Fintan put his hand out to steady himself against the tree. She could see him calculating the distances. If the soldiers had kept to a straight line and spacing, Fintan had just stepped on the fourth mine in the line.

  ‘Why did you go in there?’ she wailed.

  ‘I wanted …’ Fintan winced, ‘… I wanted a pee!’

  Perhaps it was the relief that he was safe and that he hadn’t stepped on a mine, but Yola’s laugh rang out loud and clear. Fintan, however, was in trouble.

  ‘Yola, excuse me, I still need to go … like, urgently!’

  Yola wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and asked innocently, ‘Should I go then?’

  ‘Oh yes, Yola, please!’

  Frightened that he really might move, she relented.

  ‘All right, but be considerate where you aim. Then we’ll have to get you back safely onto the path. I’ll see if there’s a mine detector in the car.’

  There were two, in fact. She took one out and held the sensitive disk over the car keys to test it, but got no response. She tried the other – no response either. If neither were working, she was badly stuck. They might have to go all the way back to the barracks to get more equipment – while Fintan stood motionless and terrified among live mines. Then she remembered that the deminers had to tune the detectors first. She searched for the tuning knob, found it and sighed with relief when the familiar shriek rang out.

  Fintan hadn’t moved and was looking more comfortable when she got back. He was standing about three paces from the path. She measured a meter-wide strip and commenced sweeping over the ground with the mine detector; it was a little like using a vacuum cleaner, but holding a disk about an inch above the ground. Fortunately, Fintan had chosen a place where the grass was short, starved of light and nutrients by the tree. Yola edged forward. She was now in the minefield – if she got something wrong they could both be blown sky high. At the first shriek they both froze. She brushed gently at the ground with her hand. She could see the corner of a cartridge case. She marked the place; she wasn’t going to risk touching it. Then she began her slow advance again. A telephone started ringing, how could there be a telephone here? She shook her head, the ringing was coming from behind her. She felt totally disorientated. Fintan woke up to the sound.

  ‘Yola, that’s Dad’s mobile phone. It’s in my bag there. It may be him. He’ll be worried.’ It kept ringing while Yola retreated.

  ‘Throw it,’ Fintan called.

  Yola got as close to him as she could and threw. Fintan caught it and pressed a button. She heard a man’s voice. Fintan smiled.

  ‘Hello, Dad. Yes, yes, I’m fine. The taxi didn’t come. I’m with my friend … Yes, it did feel a bit dodgy on the bridge, didn’t it, but I’m quite safe now.’

  Yola had to put her hand over her mouth. The voice on the phone came to her like a dog barking.

  ‘The day after tomorrow … in the Palace Hotel … I’ll be there. Bye.’

  They looked at each other. Yola was ready to splutter with laughter, but Fintan was serious.

  ‘Well, at least he hasn’t me to worry about!’ he said.

  Yola was only a short pace from Fintan when the mine detector shrieked again. It could be anything she told herself, a steel button even. She brushed gently at the loose soil and twigs on the surface. If she had uncovered a snake she couldn’t have pulled her hand back faster. There it was, two-thirds covered with soil, probably pushed up to the surface by a root, a little shoulder of green plastic, a mine. She felt sick, waves of fear and relief broke over her. She looked up at Fintan and smiled bravely; the cinnamon scent was thick in her nostrils – she mustn’t faint. Fintan’s foot must have fallen within inches of the mine.

  Yola and Fintan sat out together in the velvet night and watched the stars. They had had a meal in a café on the way back from the bridge, and Hans had talked to Fintan about their work. Yola had enjoyed hearing their voices together, enthusiastic at first. She loved eating out, as she couldn’t normally afford it, so she concentrated on her meal and hoped that Hans would pay. It was only when she heard Hans say, ‘You must be tired,’ that she realised Fintan had gone silent. It was a small incident, but now, as she leaned back to bathe her eyes in the great sweep of the Milky Way, she remembered it.

  ‘Fintan,’ she asked. ‘What’s bothering you?’

  His answer was so slow coming that Yola wondered how many stars she could count before he replied.

  ‘I think Dad’s in trouble.’ She half turned. Then Fintan went on dismissively, ‘but I’ve no real evidence.’

  ‘Go on,’ she said.

  Fintan sighed. ‘Dad and me and Mr Birthistle – you remember who Mr Birthistle is?’ Yola said she did. ‘Well, we were together in a row of three on the plane, we’d asked for that, but the plane wasn’t full. I was really tired but I couldn’t get comfortable. My head kept falling forward with a jerk and waking me up. Then I noticed an empty row of three seats on the far side of the cabin. Dad and Mr Birthistle were asleep, so I took my blanket and slipped into the empty seats. There was a partition in front and just one man in the row behind. When I pushed up the armrests I could lie down full length.

  ‘I thought all I had to do was close my eyes and wake up in Africa. After a while, I felt the seat shake; someone had joined the man behind. Then, just as I was on the edge of sleep again, I became aware of their voices. I was intrigued, it sounded as if they were playing a game.’ Fintan paused while he thought. ‘There is a board game called Monopoly–?’

  ‘Catherine taught me,’ Yola interrupted, ‘I bought Shrewsbury Avenue and ended up in prison!’

  ‘Yes, that’s the official version. But their game was different; it was worldwide – countries, not streets. I thought they might be devising a game for kids. Then one of them said, “Yes, that’s how I got my break. Selling toys to the owner of a banana plantation, a real Treasure Chest card. This guy had labour problems so I sold him a lucky bag, just a few worn out ex-Soviet rifles, but it solved his labour problems.” What’s this about rifles? I wondered. The
n he went on, “These people are cute; the rifles worked so well he decided he also had neighbour problems. I got him some real wind-up toys for that, AK47s mostly, but at three hundred rounds a minute they certainly solved his problems with the neighbours. He’ll be the next president of his country. But children forget Santa soon enough, don’t they? Doesn’t want to know me now.”

  ‘Yola, it was all so plausible, as if they really were selling toys! They couldn’t be serious. Just as I was drifting off, one of them said: “OK, my throw …” and I remember thinking that there was something familiar about that voice. Then, in my dreams, I became a player in their fantasy board game. I raised an army and started buying weapons for it.’ Fintan stirred uneasily. ‘I can’t have slept for long because I suddenly realised I was listening to that familiar voice again.’

  ‘“OK my friend, you tell me you have just drawn a Treasure Chest card and you’ve a thousand out of date rifles. You could sell these for scrap, collect £1,000. But just think: aren’t there kids on the block who would like these? Why not be charitable, why not donate them to a good cause? Cast your bread on the water, as the Bible says. What about the Kasemban Liberation Army?’

  Yola jerked upright, ‘Hey, the KLA is finished!’

  ‘Not if Mr Birthistle has anything to do with it.’

  ‘Mr Birthistle?’

  ‘Yes. It was then that I recognised the voice. It was none other than our Mr Birthistle. Yola, he’s an arms dealer!’

  ‘Are you sure?’ she asked.

  Fintan looked at her grimly. ‘Yes, I am sure, and your saying that the KLA actually exists clinches it. I lay there, not daring to look, just listening. Birthistle went on: “Just think what you can do by being generous. If you give the KLA the weapons they need for their noble cause, we can start a small war.”’

  ‘It’s not a noble cause!’ Yola muttered.

  ‘Listen to what he said: “Soon they will need more weapons, ammunition perhaps, and then more expensive toys; only this time they will pay. But you must be fair – the Kasemban government will also need our guns, so they can fight the KLA. They’ve got money for their schools programme that they can spend on weapons, and we can easily get these from the European manufacturers. The Europeans need the income to pay for their Star Wars weapons. You see, civilised people don’t want to fight anymore. It’s nicer to watch wars on television.”’

  ‘Why didn’t you stand up and announce him?’ demanded Yola.

  ‘Denounce him, you mean … To a pitch dark plane somewhere over the Sahara? I was horrified, but I wanted to sleep; there was nothing I could do. I woke when I smelled breakfast. When I got up, I looked at once but there was no one in the seat behind mine, and when I got back to Dad, there was Mr Birthistle asleep, apparently, as I had left him. The whole thing seemed too improbable for words. I had a headache and decided then that the whole thing must have been a dream.’

  Yola looked secretly at Fintan in the glimmer from the stars, his face was etched and tired, she did like him, but she was worried by his talk about dreaming. Her people believed that their ancestors could speak to them in dreams. Then he went on.

  ‘After breakfast, Birthistle wanted to show Dad some papers, but he had lost his glasses. “Blind without them, boy!” There was a lot of hunting around, then he seemed to remember where they were and made off across the aisles. I stood up to see where he was going. Yola, he went straight to the seat behind the one where I’d been sleeping! It was a shock, but there were no doubts in my mind now. I had liked Birthistle. He had adopted me as a sort of son; he wants me to marry his daughter, Becky. But it all fits – he never answers a question directly, he always replies with a little story. The Arms Game is his way of fooling people into thinking he’s harmless, but he’s not. He’s evil, and he’s here on evil business.’

  ‘You mean with your Dad?’

  ‘Christ, no. Dad’s a complete pacifist, and the airbag project is life-saving, everyone says so. No. What Birthistle is doing is using Dad as a cover to get a visa into Murabende; he has some other purpose, and now I can’t watch him. I didn’t expect to be thrown out at the border and I haven’t warned Dad.’

  ‘Hans knows a lot about the arms trade, you should talk to him. All I can tell you about is mines, but I can show you around, would you like that?’

  ‘Mmm, yes, I would. Let’s stop talking about it now. Isn’t it quiet.’

  They sat close, but not touching, and the silence of the night wrapped itself around them. An African silence as full of tiny sounds as the black night sky was full of stars. Yola leaned back and told him a story from the dry south of her country, where an ancient people lived who said that on a really silent night you could hear the hunting cries of the stars.

  17

  Operating Theatre

  I couldn’t believe it. I looked up and she was standing there looking down at me. Well, it is a year I suppose – but she’s a young woman now. I didn’t know what to say. It felt good, the two of us just now outside, sitting together in the dark …

  ‘What time is it?’ the body in the bed complained.

  ‘It is the first hour in the day, that is six o’clock to you, and we have to exercise Sailor.’

  ‘Who’s Sailor?’ The body was stirring now, so Yola retreated.

  ‘Sailor is my dog – well, not really my dog – but I exercise him because no one else will; he eats people.’

  ‘Talking of eating …’

  ‘Later. We exercise the dogs first while it is still cool. I’ll see you outside.’

  Yola sat down on an upturned bucket beside the sickbay, where Fintan was sleeping, and watched the morning activities around her. The deminers were emerging from the barrack huts, polishing their boots and brushing the red mud from their overalls; they looked smart. Yola breathed in the cool sharpness of the morning air. The deminers were just preparing for their morning parade when Fintan emerged looking tousled. He looked over to where the men were lining up.

  ‘My God, it looks like an army parade! I’d better comb my hair!’

  They walked down the line of huts to the kennels at the far end. The barking rose to a frenzy as they approached. The Kasemban handlers seemed to be fighting and struggling with their dogs.

  ‘Those Alsatians, they’re huge!’ murmured Fintan apprehensively.

  ‘German Shepherds they call them. They are playing now.’

  One of the men shouted to Yola in English as they approached.

  ‘Hey, Miss Yola, I see you’ve brought Sailor some breakfast.’

  ‘What does he mean?’ asked Fintan suspiciously.

  ‘You are the breakfast,’ she laughed.

  A black-and-white collie had his paws up on the mesh and was barking with the rest when they arrived. When he saw Fintan however, he fell silent.

  ‘Careful,’ said Yola, ‘I don’t trust him when he goes silent like that.’

  ‘But he’s just like Prince, the dog on my uncle’s farm!’ exclaimed Fintan. He put two fingers in his mouth and produced a sharp whistle. To Yola’s surprise, Sailor jumped at the wire and barked.

  ‘Look! His tail wagged. How did you do that?’ asked Yola.

  ‘Years of practice!’

  ‘Show me how.’

  Fintan whistled again, this time a falling note. Sailor sank to the ground.

  ‘Sailor, what sins do you have in your past?’ He turned to Yola. ‘He was probably a sheep dog that got a taste for sheep.’

  ‘Now he has a taste for Kasembans,’ chuckled Yola.

  Fintan stepped back sensibly while Yola opened the pen and put the dog on a leash.

  ‘Don’t confuse him with whistles now,’ she said. ‘Let’s give him time to get used to you. This is his toy.’ She held up the chewed remains of a rubber bear. ‘He gets a game when he’s a good dog, don’t you Sailor … Down, Sailor! Down!’

  ‘How do the dogs work?’ Fintan asked.

  ‘I’ll show you in a moment.’

  They walked in file d
own a path through thick grass to a place where the grass had been cut back.

  ‘This is where I put Sailor through his paces,’ Yola explained. ‘I’ll put him on his long lead now, and you can watch.’ She snapped the lead on to his collar, ruffled his head, stepped back and told him to walk. ‘You see, Fintan,’ she whispered, ‘I must be able to stop him instantly. Let’s say I’ve seen a tripwire above him.’ She called out and Sailor froze in his tracks. Then she issued another command and he sank down and backed cautiously towards her. ‘See – he’s safe now.’

  ‘Do lots of dogs get hurt?’

  ‘I’ve never heard of one. Because they are on four paws they are too light to set a mine off on their own. As the handler’s in danger too, they are terribly careful.’

  ‘What does he do if he smells a mine?’

  ‘I’ll show you with a real one in a moment.’ Fintan looked startled. ‘It’s all right, they are safe now, the detonators have been removed,’ she laughed. ‘Dogs that look for drugs and things are trained to bark and scrabble when they get a scent, that’s their nature – like hunting rats. A demining dog has to go completely against its nature and stay calm.’

  There was a place where a large square had been marked off with stakes.

  ‘I’ll show you how he searches now. There is a mine planted in here somewhere.’

  As Yola concentrated on Sailor, she sensed that Fintan was beginning to relax, fascinated by the search. She kept the dog under strict control. She was using the figure of eight search pattern. Sailor would sweep the ground to her left, nose down, sniffing every inch of the ground, then he would loop around and pass in front of her to sweep a similar loop to her right. They progressed forward steadily. She didn’t know where the mine had been laid and was getting anxious when suddenly Sailor circled and sank to the ground.

  ‘Got it!’ she whispered. ‘What I do now is walk out over the area that Sailor has shown is safe, and mark where he’s pointing with this marker.’