Elephant Song - Smith Wilbur (читать книги онлайн бесплатно полностью без .TXT) 📗

Play dead!  he thought, even as he was going down.  His lower body was paralysed, but he forced his torso to relax.  He hit the floor with the loose unresisting weight of a flour sack and did not move again.

His head was twisted to one side, his chest pressed to the cold cement floor.  He lay still.  He heard the gunman cross the floor, the rubber soles of the combat boots squeaking softly.

Then his boots entered Johnny's field of vision.  They were dusty and worn almost through the uppers.  He wore no socks and the stink of his feet was rancid and sour as he stood within inches of Johnny's face.

Johnny heard the metallic snick of the mechanism as the Zambian moved the rate-of-fire selector again, and then felt the cold hard touch of the muzzle against his temple as the man lined up for the coup de grace.

Don't move, Johnny steeled himself.

It was his last despairing hope.

He knew that the slightest movement must trigger the shot.  He had to convince the gunman he was dead.

At that moment there was a burst of shouting from outside the room, and then a volley of automatic fire, followed by more shouting.  The pressure of the rifle muzzle was lifted from Johnny's temple.  The stinking boots turned away and retreated across the floor towards the doorway.  Come on!  Don't waste time!  the scar-faced gunman yelled through the open door.  Johnny knew enough of the northern Chinianja dialect to understand.  Where are the trucks?  We must get the ivory loaded!  The Zambian ran out of the office leaving Johnny lying alone on the cement floor.

Johnny knew that he was mortally hit.  He could feel the arterial blood squirting out of the wound in his groin and he rolled on his side and swiftly loosened the top of his trousers.

Immediately he smelled his own faeces and knew that the second bullet had ripped open his intestines.  He reached down into his crotch and pressed his fingers into the wound in his groin.  Blood spurted hotly over his hand.

He found the open artery and pinched off the end of the severe d femoral.

Mavis, and the babies!  That was his next thought.  What could he do for them?  At that moment he heard more firing from up the hill, in the direction of the domestic compound and his own cottage.

It's a gang of them, he realised with despair.  They are all over the camp.  They are attacking the compound.  And then, My babies.  Oh, God!

My babies!

He thought about the weapons in the room next door, but he knew he could not get that far.  Even if he did, how could he handle a rifle with half his guts shot away and his life-blood spreading in a pool under him?

He heard the trucks.  He recognised the beat of the big diesels and knew that they were the refrigerator trucks.  He felt a surge of hope.

Gama, he thought.  David .  . . But it was short-lived.  Lying on his side, clinging to his severed artery, he looked across the room and realised that he could see through the open door.

One of the white refrigerator trucks pulled into his view.  It reversed up against the door of the ivory godown.  As soon as it parked, Gomo jumped out of the cab and began a heated, gesticulating discussion with the scar-faced leader of the gang In his confused and swiftly weakening condition, it took Johnny several seconds to work it out.

Gama, he thought.  Gomo is one of them.  He set it up.

It should not have come as such a shock.  Johnny knew how pervasive was the corruption in the government, in all departments, not only the Parks Administration.  He had given evidence before the official commission of enquiry that was investigating the corruption, and had pledged to help stamp it out.  He knew Gomo well.  He was arrogant and self-seeking.

He was just the type, but Johnny had never expected treachery on this scale.

Suddenly the area around the godown that Johnny could see was teeming with the other members of the gang.  Swiftly Scarface organised them into a work-party.  One of them shot the lock off the door of the warehouse and the bandits laid aside their weapons and swarmed into the building.  There were shouts of greedy joy as they saw the piles of ivory and then they formed a human chain and began passing out the tusks, and loading them into the truck.

Johnny's vision began to fade.  Clouds of darkness passed across his eyes and there was a soft singing in his ears.

I'm dying, he thought without emotion.  He could feel the numbness spreading from his paralysed legs up through his chest.

He forced the darkness back from his eyes and thought that he must be fantasising, for now Ambassador Ning stood in the late sunlight below the verandah.  He still had the binoculars slung over his shoulder and his manner was impossibly cool and urbane.  Johnny tried to shout a warning to him, but it came out of his throat in a soft croak that did not carry beyond the room in which he lay.

Then to his astonishment he saw the scar-faced leader of the gang come to where the ambassador stood and salute him, if not respectfully, at least with recognition of his authority.

Ning.  Johnny forced himself to believe it.  It really is Ning.

I'm not dreaming it.

Then the voices of the two men carried to where he lay.

They were speaking in English.  You must hurry your men, Ning Cheng Gong said.  They must get the ivory loaded, I want to leave here immediately.

Money, answered Sali .  One thousand dollars.  . . His English was atrocious.  You have been paid.  Cheng was indignant.  I have paid you your money.  More money.  More one thousand dollars.  Sali grinned at him.  More money or I stop.  We go, leave you, leave ivory.  You are a scoundrel, Cheng snarled.  Not understand "scoundrel", but think you also "scoundrel", maybe.

Sali's grin widened.  Give money now.  I haven't any more money with me, Cheng told him flatly.  Then we go!  Now!  You load ivory yourself.

Wait.  Cheng was obviously thinking quickly.  I haven't got money.

You take the ivory, as much as you want.  Take everything you can carry.

Cheng had realised that the poachers would be able to take only a negligible number of tusks from the hoard.  They could not possibly manage more than a single tusk each.  Twenty men, twenty tusks, it was a small price.

Soli stared at him while he considered the offer.  Clearly he had milked every possible advantage from the situation, so at last he nodded.

Good!  We take ivory.  He began to turn away.

Ambassador Ning called after him.  Wait, Sali !  What about the others?

Did you take care of them?  They all dead.  The warden and his woman and children?  Them too?  All dead, Sali repeated.  Woman is dead, and her piccanins.

My men make jig-jig with all three women first.  Very funny, very nice jig-jig.  Then kill .  The warden?  Where is he?  Sali the poacher jerked his head towards the door of Johnny's office.  I shoot him boom, boom.

He dead like a ngulubi, dead like a pig.  He laughed.  Very good job, hey?

He walked away with the rifle over his shoulder, still chuckling, and Cheng followed him out of Johnny's field of vision.

Anger came to arm Johnny and give him just a little more strength.

The poacher's words conjured up a dreadful vision of the fate that had overtaken Mavis and the children.  He could see it as clearly as if he had been there; he knew about rape and pillage.  He had lived through the bush war.