Instruments Of Darkness by Robert Wilson Read Free Book Online Page B

importarn ting. Jack is not careful. He no understand the word cushion.'
        B.B. sipped his drink. 'Respeck,' he said, holding up a different finger. 'Respeck is very importarn ting. If you no have respeck you no listen, if you no listen you make mistake. If you make mistake in Africa you get lot of trobble. Jack he no listen. He know everyting. He no respeck. You know Africa, Bruise?' he said suddenly, so that I wasn't sure if it was a question.
        'Not as well as you,' I said, throwing a handful of flattery.
        'Now listen.' He looked at me intently. 'You see, I am still small boy. In Africa you learn all de time. If you tink you know everting you stop learning, dan you get big trobble. It come up on you like a dog in de night.
        You hear noting until you feel de teeth.' He grabbed a buttock with a clawed hand so that I got the picture.
        'Smock?' he asked, and I looked puzzled, so he lit an imaginary cigarette.
        'I gave up.'
        'Me too,' he said, annoyed.
        He saw someone over my shoulder in the garden.
        'Ra-ra-ra-ra-ra-ra garden boy!' he yelled.
        Outside, the gardener was looking around as if he'd heard The Call. He ran towards the gate.
        'Bloddy fool!' said B.B., standing up, grabbing his shorts and walking with an old footballer's gait to the window.
        'Ra-ra-ra-ra-ra-garden boy!' he bellowed and banged on the window frame.
        The gardener worked it out, ran to the door and knocked.
        'Come,' said B.B., searching his pockets.
        The gardener, glistening with sweat, stood with his machete down by his side, naked apart from some raggedy shorts and a willingness to please. B.B. had performed the Augean task of cleaning his pockets out of old handkerchiefs and found nothing.
        'You have some monny, Bruise?' he asked.
        I gave him some money with Jack's words sticking in my craw. He told the gardener to get him some Embassy.
        He was about to walk back to the armchair when Mary came in with the food. It was chilli hot corned beef stew with rice and pitta bread. B.B. sat down and ripped the pile of pitta bread in half like a phone book. He reached over and scraped exactly a half of the chilli and a half of the rice on to his plate with his fork. He fell on it using the pitta bread as a shovel. Most of the food went in his mouth. I used a knife and fork and wore my napkin on the arm nearest to him.
        The gardener came back in with the cigarettes and B.B. grunted at him. He finished his food and tore into the packet of cigarettes and chain-smoked three of them without speaking. He picked rice out of his chest hair and ate it in between drags. I picked the Cellophane wrapping of the packet out of my corned beef. He stood up and walked back to the chair, cigarettes in one hand and the shorts in the other. I finished my food and sat down in front of him again. We sat in the silence left over from B.B.'s breathing. I was getting a little frustrated now and had started thinking about Heike. B.B. was fretting over what was on his mind.
        'You see, Bruise,' he said, 'I giff this man a job. He's a good man. He been here before. I know he haff no money. He haff big problem. So I giff him job and now he's gone. I no understand.'
        I didn't understand either, but I realized we were talking about what he wanted me to do for him in Cotonou.
        'Who is this man?'
        B.B. muddled about with some papers on a side table. The phone went and he picked it up.
        'Hello,' he said looking up into his forehead again. 'John. Yairs. OK. Cocoa?… Coffee?… Dollar?… Parn?… Fresh Fran?… Swiss Fran?… Arsenal?… Oh, my God! Tankyouvermush.'
        He put the phone down and went back to the papers. He pulled one out and waved it at me. I took it from him. It was a photocopy of a British passport. It belonged to a man called Steven Kershaw.
        'When you say he's gone, what do you mean?