The Heart Broke In by James Meek Read Free Book Online Page B

tin and old fertiliser bags, sunk in mud and woodsmoke, swarming with potbellied children and moulting, pestilential chickens whose heads sprouted bedraggled feather crowns.
    ‘It looks like the outskirts of a bigger place,’ said Bec.
    ‘Oh my God, isn’t it depressing?’ said Ruth. ‘These poor guys come down from the hills and try to set up shop in nowheresville. From the forest straight to the grid. No sanitation, no schools, no hunting.’
    Franz was a stocky, paunchy, bearded man exposing melon calves between the hems of baggy khaki shorts and the tops of his Timberland boots. Bec prepared herself not to underestimate his intellect but after shaking her hand he turned away without saying anything to her, took his wife to his laptop and began murmuring quietly with her as if Bec wasn’t there.
    Blushing, she went out on foot to explore, ending up in front of one of the shacks in the shanty town, learning pidgin words from a crowd of children and fending off the settlement’s punk chickens, which tried to perch on her head. After an hour Ruth found her and pulled her into the car, telling her she was crazy.
    ‘I’m crazy too,’ Ruth assured her, laughing her squeaky laugh for credentials. ‘But you don’t want to hang out there. There are rascals about. They’d kill you for your shoes.’
    Hefting a microbiology kit of field microscope, slides and powdered solutions on her back Bec trekked with the Nickells and their local guides up the trails to the cloudy mountain tops. They spent their first night in the hills in a broad green meadow sloping gently down from the trees to a fast-running river. The guides pitched the tents close together; one for themselves, one for Bec and one for Franz and Ruth.
    At sunset Ruth took Bec aside. ‘I hope Franz and I won’t keep you awake with our lovemaking tonight,’ she said. ‘When he’s inside me I can’t hold back. I’m kind of loud.’
    Bec looked across the meadow, which stretched for several hundred yards to the tree line. ‘It seems a shame the tents have to be pitched so close together,’ she said.
    ‘Rebecca, we’ve got to keep you safe,’ said Ruth.
    Bec lay awake that night, unable to sleep, waiting, but she heard only insects and birds. She dozed off. At around midnight she was woken by a woman’s cry. She heard Ruth shriek ‘Holy shit!’ Bec opened her eyes and waited for more. After a minute, the darkness was ripped by a tumultuous male snore.
    Franz snored intermittently through the night, falling silent long enough for Bec to believe he’d stopped and get to the threshold of sleep only for him to start up again.
    ‘I hope we didn’t keep you awake,’ said Ruth next morning.
    ‘After last night, I know you must really love him,’ said Bec.
    ‘It’s always tough being the single girl around a couple of lovebirds,’ said Ruth, putting her hand on Bec’s arm. ‘He’s hot, but don’t get tempted.’ She winked.
    ‘I’ll take cold showers,’ said Bec.
    ‘I think we’re going to be buddies,’ said Ruth. ‘Today we’re going to get you a shitload of blood.’
    Franz behaved as if Bec didn’t exist. He treated her as permanently temporary, as if she’d always just arrived and was always just about to leave, like someone delivering a package, to whom there was no point forming the slightest attachment. He planned their programme and decided their route and he controlled Pete, the chief guide and interpreter. He led them through the list of villages and bird species he’d worked out in advance, and Ruth and Bec followed in his wake, identifying insects, taking blood samples and questioning the locals as best they could. At breakfast and supper Franz spoke to Ruth or Pete, looked down at his food and scratched himself. When Bec spoke he didn’t respond. When she asked him a question or spoke about their work he would wince and look at Ruth, who would answer for him.
    ‘Did you notice those strange birds they keep in the shanty