Текст книги "Power of the Sword"

Автор книги: Wilbur Smith

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Yet Twenty-man-jones next words depressed him. I am afraid Mister Moses will head the list of those we will be laying off at the end of the month. He is a dangerous man.

We will simply have to get shot of him. They are getting rid of him simply because the two of us are friends. Shasa saw through it. 'It's because of me. He was swamped with a sense of guilt, and guilt was followed almost immediately by anger. Quick words leapt to his tongue. He wanted to cry, It's not fair! But before he spoke he looked at Twenty-man-Jones and knew intuitively that any defence he attempted of Moses would only seal the bossboy's fate.

He shrugged. You know what is best, sir, he agreed, and he saw the slight relaxation in the set of the old man's shoulders.

Mater, he thought, I will talk to Mater, and then, with intense frustration, If only I could do it myself, if only I could say what must be done. And then it dawned upon him that this was what his mother had meant when she spoke of power. The ability to charge and direct the orders of existence that surrounded him.

Power, he whispered to himself. One day I will have power. Enormous power. The work in the mill house was more exacting and interesting. The friable weathered ore was loaded into the bins and mg.

then fed through the hoppers into the rollers which crushed it to the correct consistency for the washing gear. The machinery was massive and powerful, the din almost deafening as the ore tumbled out of the hoppers into the feed chute and was sucked into the spinning steel rollers with a continuous roar. One hundred and fifty tons an hour; it went in one end as chalky lumps the size of ripe watermelons and poured out the far end as gravel and dust.

Annalisa's brother, Stoffel, who had on Shasa's last visit to the H'ani adjusted the timing on his old Ford and who was also the skilled mimic of bird calls, was now an apprentice in the mill house. He was delegated to show Shasa around, and undertook the assignment with gusto and relish.

You have to be goddamned careful with the mucking settings on the rollers or you crush the bloody diamonds to powder. Stoffel emphasized his newly acquired manliness and authority with oaths and obscenity.

Come on, Shasa, I'll show you the grease points. All points have to be grease-gunned at the beginning of every shift. He crawled under the bank of thundering rollers, shouting into Shasa's ear to make himself heard. Last month one of the other apprentices got his fucking arm in the bearing. It pulled it off like a chicken's wing, man. You should have seen the blood. Ghoulishly he pointed out the dried stains on the concrete floor and galvanized walls. Man, I tell you, he squirted blood like a garden hose. Stoffel climbed the steel catwalk like a monkey and they looked down on the roller mill tables. 'One of the Ovambo kaffirs fell off here, right smack into the ore bin, there wasn't even a scrap of bone bigger than your finger left of him when he came out the other end of the rollers. Ja, man, it's a bloody dangerous job, he told Shasa proudly. You've got to keep on your mucking toes all the time. When the mine hooter blew the lunch hour he led Shasa around to the shady side of the mill house and they perched comfortably on the ventilator housing. Under the sanction of the. work place they could associate quite openly, and Shasa felt grown-up and important in his blue workman's overalls as he opened the lunch box that the chef at the bungalow had sent down for him.

Chicken and tongue sandwiches and jam roly-poly, he checked the contents. Do you want some, Stoffel? No, man. Here comes my sister with my lunch. And Shasa lost all interest in his own lunch box.

Annalisa was pedalling down the avenue on a black-framed Rudge with the nest of canteens dangling from the handlebars. It was the first time that he had seen her since the meeting at the pumphouse, though he had looked for her each day since then. She had tucked her skirts into her bloomers to keep them clear of the chain. She stood up on the pedals and her legs pumped rhythmically as she came through the gates of the mill house and the wind flattened the thin stuff of her dress against the front of her body.

Her breasts were disproportionately large for her slim brown limbs.

Shasa watched her with total fascination. She became aware of him, sitting beside her brother, and her entire bearing changed. She dropped back onto the saddle and squared her shoulders, lifting one hand from the handlebars to try and smooth the windblown tangle of her hair. She braked the Rudge, stepped down off the pedals and propped the machine against the bottom of the ventilator housing.

What's for lunch, Lisa? Stoffel Botha demanded.

Sausage and mash. She handed the canteens up to him.

Same as always. The sleeves of her dress were cut back and when she lifted her arms Shasa saw the bush of coarse blond hair in her armpits tangled and wet with perspiration and he crossed his legs quickly.

Sis, man! Stoffel registered his disgust. It's always sausage and mash! Next time I'll ask Ma to cook fillet steak and mushrooms. She lowered her arms and Shasa realized he was staring but could not stop himself. She pulled the opening at the neck of her blouse closed and he saw a faint flush under the suntanned skin at her throat, but she had not yet looked directly at him.

Thanks for nothing, Stoffel dismissed her, but she lingered.

You can have some of mine, Shasa offered.

I'll swop you, Stoffel offered generously, and Shasa glanced into the canteen and saw the lumpy potato mash swimming in thin greasy gravy.

I'm not hungry. He spoke to the girl for the first time.

Would you like a sandwich, Annalisar She smoothed the skirt over her hips and looked directly at him at last. Her eyes slanted like a wild cat's, and she grinned slyly.

When I want something from you, Shasa Courtney, I will whistle for it, like this. She pouted her lips into a rosy cupid's bow and whistled like a snake charmer, at the same time slowly raising her forefinger in an unmistakably obscene gesture.

Stoffel let out a delighted guffaw and punched Shasa's arm, Man, she's got the hots for you! While Shasa blushed scarlet, and sat speechless with shock, Annalisa turned away deliberately and picked up the bicycle. She went out through the gates standing on the pedals and swinging the Rudge from side to side under her so that her tight round buttocks oscillated with each stroke.

That evening as he turned Prester John onto the pipe track Shasa's pulse started to gallop with anticipation, and as he approached the pumphouse he slowed the pony to a walk, afraid of disappointment, reluctant to turn the corner of the building.

Yet he was still not prepared for the shock when he saw her. She was draped languidly against one of the stanchions of the pipeline, and Shasa was speechless as she came slowly upright and sauntered to the head of his pony without looking up at the rider.

She held the cheek strap of his halter and crooned to the pony. 'What a pretty boy– The pony blew through his nostrils, and shifted his weight. What a lovely soft nose. She stroked his muzzle with a lingering touch.

would you like a little kiss then, my pretty boy. She pursed her lips, pink and soft and moist, and glanced up at Shasa before she leaned forward and deliberately kissed the pony's muzzle, slipping her arms around his neck. She held the kiss for long seconds and then laid her cheek against the pony's cheek. Beginning to sway, humming softly in her throat and rocking her hips gently, she at last looked up at Shasa with those sly slanting eyes.

He was struggling to find something to say, confused by the rush of his emotions, and she moved slowly to the pony's shoulder and stroked his flank.

So strong. Her hand brushed Shasa's thigh lightly, almost unintentionally, and then came back more deliberately and she was no longer looking at his face. He could not cover himself, could not hide his violent reaction to her touch, and suddenly she let out a shocking screech of laughter and stood back with both hands on her hips.

Are you going to camp out, Shasa Courtney? she demanded, and he was puzzled and embarrassed. He shook his head dumbly.

Then what are you putting up a tent for? She hooted, gazing shamelessly at the front of his breeches and he doubled up awkwardly in the saddle. With a disconcerting change of mood, she seemed to take pity on him and she went back to the pony's head and led him along the track, giving Shasa a chance to recover his composure.

What did my brother tell you about me? she asked, without looking round.

Nothing, he assured her.

Don't believe what he says. She was unconvinced. He always tries to make out bad things about me. Did he tell you about Fourie, the driver? Everybody at the mine knew how Gerhard Fourie's wife had caught the two of them in the cab of his truck after the Christmas party. Fourie's wife was older than Annalisa's mother, but she had blackened both the girl's eyes and torn her only good dress to tatters.

He didn't tell me anything, Shasa reiterated stoutly, and then with interest, What happened? Nothing, she said quickly. It was all lies. And then, with another change of direction, Would you like me to show you something? Yes, please. Shasa answered with alacrity.

He had an inkling of what it might be.

Give me an arm. She came to his stirrup and he leaned down and they hooked elbows. He swung her up and she was light and strong. She sat behind him astride the pony's rump and slid both arms around Shasa's waist.

Take the path to the left. She directed him and they rode in silence for ten minutes.

How old are you." she asked at last.

Almost fifteen. She stretched the truth a little and she said, 'I'll be sixteen in two months. if there had been any doubts as to who was in charge, this declaration effectively settled it. Shasa deferred to her and she felt it in his carriage.

She pressed her breasts to his back as though to emphasize her control and they were big and rubbery hard and burned him through his thin cotton shirt.

Where are we going, he asked after another long silence.

They had by-passed the bungalow.

Hush up! I'll show you when we get there. The track had narrowed and become rougher. Shasa doubted anybody had passed this way in months, other than the small wild beasts that still lived this close to the mine.

Finally it petered out altogether against the base of the cliff, and Annaliss slid down from the pony's back.

Leave Your horse here. He tethered the pony and looked around him with interest.

He had never been so far along the base of the cliffs. They must be three miles from the bungalow at least.

Below them the scree slope plunged downwards at a steep angle, and the ground was Tiven with gorges and ravines, all of them choked with rank thorny undergrowth.

Come on, Annalisa ordered. We haven't got Much time.

A it will be dark soon. She ducked under a branch and started down the slope.

Hey" Shasa cautioned her. You can't go down there.

You'll hurt Yourself.

"You're scared, she mocked.

I am not. The taunt goaded him onto the rock-strewn slope and they climbed downwards. Once Annalisa paused to pluck a spray of yellow flowers from a thorn bush, then they went on, helping each other over the bad places, crouching under the thorn branches, teetering on the boulders and hopping across the gaps like a pair of rock rabbits until they

reached the bottom of the ravine and paused to catch their breath.

Shasa bent backwards from the waist and stared up at the cliff that towered above them, sheer as a fortress wall, but Annalisa tugged his arm to gain his attention.

It's a secret. You have to swear an oath not to tell anybody, especially not my brother. All right, I swear. You have to do it properly. Lift your right hand and put the other on your heart. Solemnly she led him through the oath, and then took his hand and drew him to a lichenvered pile of boulders. Kneel down! He obeyed, and she carefully pulled aside a leafy branch that screened a niche amongst the boulders. Shasa gasped and pulled back, coming half to his feet. The niche was shaped like a shrine. There was a collection of empty glass jars arranged on the floor but the wild flowers in them had withered and turned brown. Beyond the floral offering a pile of white bones had been carefully arranged in a small pyrafind and Surmounting this was a human skull, with gaping eye sockets and yellow teeth.

Who is it" Shasa whispered, his eyes wide with superstitious awe.

The witch of the mountain. Annalisa took his hand. I found her bones lying here, and I made this magic place. How do you know she's a witch? Shasa had a bad attack of the creeps by now, and his whisper shook and cracked.

She told me so. That raised such frightful images that he did not question her further; skulls and bones were creepy enough, voices from beyond were a hundred times worse, and the hairs at the back of– his neck and along his arms itched and stood erect. lie watched while she changed the withered flowers for the fresh yellow acacia blossom and then sat back on her ankles and took his hand again.

The witch will grant you one wish, she whispered, and he thought about it.

What do you want? she tugged his hand, Can I wish for anything? Yes, anything, she nodded, watching his face eagerly.

Staring at the bleached skull his awe faded; he was suddenly aware of a new sensation. Something seemed to reach out to him, a sensation of warmth and familiar comfort that he had known before only as an infant when his mother held him to her bosom.

There were still small pieces of dried scalp attached to the dome of the skull, like brown parchment, and tiny peppercorns of black hair, soft furry little balls like those on the head of the tame Bushman who herded the milk cows at the way station on the road from Windhoek.

Anything? he repeated. I can wish for anything? Yes, anything you want. Annalisa leaned against his side, and she was soft and warm and her body smelled of fresh sweet young sweat.

Shasa leaned forward and touched the skull on its white bony forehead, and the sense of warmth and comfort was stronger. He was aware of a benign feeling, of love, that was not too strong a word, yes, of love, as though he were being overlooked by someone or something that cared for him very deeply.

I wish, he said softly, almost dreamily, I wish for enormous power. He imagined a prickling sensation in the fingertips that touched the skull, like the discharge of static electricity, and he jerked his hand away sharply.

Annalisa exclaimed in exasperation and pulled her body away from him at the same time. That's a silly wish. She was dearly piqued, and he could not understand why. You are a stupid boy, and the witch won't grant a stupid wish like that. She flounced to her feet and drew the screening branch over the niche. It's late. We must go back. Shasa did not want to leave this place, and he lingered.

Annalisa called from up the slope. Come on, it will be dark in an hour. When he reached the path again she was sitting propped against the rock wall of the cliff facing him.

I've hurt myself. She said it like an accusation. They were both flushed and panting from the climb.

I'm sorry, he gasped. How did you hurt yourself? She pulled the hem of her skirt halfway up her thigh. One of the red-tipped wait-a-bit thorns had rowelled her, raising a long red scratch across the smooth buttery skin of her inner thigh. It had barely broken the skin, but a line of blood droplets had welled up, like a necklace of tiny bright rubies.

He stared at it as though mesmerized and she sank back against the rock, lifted her knees and spread her thighs, holding the bunch of her skirts into her crotch.

Put some spit on it, she ordered.

Obediently he knelt between her feet and wet his forefinger.

,your finger is dirty, she admonished him.

what shall I do then? He was at a loss.

With your tongue, put spit on it with your tongue. He leaned forward and touched the wound with the tip of his tongue. Her blood had a strange salty metallic taste as he licked it.

She placed one hand on the nape of his neck and stroked the dense dark curl of his hair.

Yes, like that, clean it, she murmured. Her fingers twisted into his hair and she held his head, pressing his face to her skin, and then deliberately directed him higher, raising her skirt slowly with her free hand as his mouth travelled upwards.

Then peering between the spread of her thighs, he saw that she was sitting on a piece of her clothing, a scrap of white cloth printed with pink roses, and with a tingle of shock he realized that in the few minutes that she had been alone she must have removed her panties and spread them as a cushion on the soft moss-covered earth. She was naked under the skirt.

Shasa woke with a start and he could not think where he was. The ground was hard under his back and a pebble was digging into his shoulder, there was a weight across his chest making it difficult for him to breathe. He was cold, and it was dark. Prester John stamped and snorted and he saw the

4i pony's head silhouetted against the stars.

Suddenly he remembered. Annalisa's leg was thrown over his and her face was against his throat; she sprawled half across his chest. He pushed her off so violently that she woke with a cry.

It's dark! he said stupidly. They'll be out looking for us by now! He tried to stand but his breeches were around his knees.

He remembered vividly the practised way that she had unbuttoned them and worked them over his hips. He yanked them up and fumbled with his fly.

We've got to get back. My mother– Annalisa was on her feet beside him, hopping on one leg as she tried to find the opening of her panties with her bare foot. Shasa looked at the stars. Orion was on the horizon.

It's after nine o'clock, he said gloomily.

You should have stayed awake, she whined, and put a hand on his shoulder to steady herself. My Pa will lather me. He said next time he'd kill me. Shasa shrugged off her hand. He wanted to get away from her yet he knew he could not.

It was your fault. She stooped and grabbed her panties at the ankles, hoisted them to her waist and then settled her skirts over them. I'm going to tell Pa. that it was your fault.

He'll take the sjambok to me this time. Oh! he'll whop the skin off me. Shasa unhitched the pony and his hands were shaking. He could not think clearly, he was still half asleep and groggy.

I won't let him. His gallantry was half-hearted and unconvincing. I won't let him hurt you. It seemed only to infuriate her. What can you do? You're only a baby. The word triggered something else in her mind.

What will happen if you've given me a baby, hey? It will be

a bastard; did you think of that while you were sticking that thing of yours into me? she demanded waspishly.

Shasa was stung by the unfairness of her accusation. You showed me how. I wouldn't have done it if you hadn't. A fat lot of good that's going to do us., She was weeping now. I wish we could just run away., The notion held a definite appeal for Shasa, and he discarded it only reluctantly. Come on, he said, and boosted her up onto Prester John's back and then swung up behind her.

They saw the torches of the search parties down on the plain below them as they turned the shoulder of the mountain. There were headlights on the road also, moving slowly, obviously searching the verges, and faintly they heard the shouts of the searchers, calling for them as they moved about in the forest far below.

My Pa's going to kill me this time. He'll know what we've been doing, she snuffled and sobbed and her self-pity irritated him. He had long ago given up trying to comfort her.

How will he know? he snapped. He wasn't there. You don't think you were the first one I've done it with, she demanded, seeking to injure him. I've done it with plenty of others, and Pa has caught me twice. Oh, he'll know all right., At the thought of her performing those strangely marvelous tricks of hers with others, Shasa felt a hot rush of jealousy which was gradually cooled by reason.

Well! he pointed out. If he knows about all the others, it isn't going to do you much good to try to put the blame on me. She had trapped herself and she let out another brokenhearted sob, and was still weeping theatrically when they met the search party coming on foot along the pipe track.

Shasa and Annalisa. sat on opposite sides of the bungalow's drawing-room, instinctively keeping as far from each other as possible.

As they heard the Daimler pull up outside in a flare of headlights and crunch of gravel, Annalisa began to weep again, snuffling and rubbing her eyes to work up a few more tears.

They heard Centaine's quick light tread across the verandah, followed by Twenty-man-jones more deliberate storklike steps.

Shasa stood up and held his hands in front of him in the attitude of the penitent as Centaine stopped in the doorway.

She was dressed in jodhpurs and riding-boots and a tweed hacking jacket, with a yellow scarf knotted at her throat.

She was flushed, and relieved and furious as an avenging angel.

Annahsa saw her face and let out a howl of anguish, only half acting.

Shut your mouth, girl, Centaine told her quietly. Or I'll see you get good reason to blubber. She turned to Shasa.

Are either of you hurt? No, Mater. He hung his head.

Prester John? Oh, he's in good fettle. So, that's it then. She did not have to elaborate. Dr Twenty-man-Jones, will you take this young lady down to her father? I have no doubt that he will know how to deal with her. Centaine had spoken briefly to the father only an hour before, big and bald and paunchy with tattoos on his muscled arms, belligerent and red-eyed, reeking of cheap brandy and opening and closing his hairy paws as he mouthed his intentions towards his only daughter.

Twenty-man-Jones took the girl by her wrist, pulled her to her feet and led her snivelling towards the door. As he passed Centaine, her expression softened and she touched his arm.

What ever would I do without you, Dr Twenty-man-jones? she asked quietly.

I suspect that you would get along very well on your own, Mrs Courtney, but I'm glad I could help. He dragged Annalisa from the room and they heard the whirr of the Daimler's engine.

Centaine's expression hardened again and she turned back to Shasa.

He fidgeted under her scrutiny.

You've been disobedient, she told him. I warned you away from that little poule. Yes, Mater. She's been with half the men on the mine. We'll have to take you to a doctor when we get back to Windhoek. He shuddered and glanced down at himself involuntarily at the thought of a host of disgusting microbes crawling over his most intimate flesh.

Disobedience is bad enough, but what have you done that is truly unforgivable? she demanded.

Shasa could think of at least a dozen trespasses without really extending himself.

You've been stupid, Centaine said. You've been stupid enough to get caught out. That is the worst sin. You've made a laughing stock of yourself with everybody on the mine.

How will you ever be able to lead and command when you cheapen yourself like this? I didn't think of that, Mater. I didn't think of anything much. It just all sort of happened. Well, think of it now, she told him. While you are taking a long hot bath with half a bottle of Lysol in it, think hard about it. Goodnight. Goodnight, Mater. He came to her and after a moment she offered her cheek. I'm sorry, Mater. He kissed her cheek. I'm sorry I made you ashamed of me. She wanted to throw her arms around him and pull his beautiful beloved head to her and hold him hard and tell him that she would never be ashamed of him.

Goodnight, Shasa, she said, standing cool and erect until he left the room and she heard his footsteps drag disconsolately down the passage. Then her shoulders slumped.

Oh, my darling, oh my baby, she whispered. Suddenly, for the first time in many years, she felt the need for an opiate. She crossed quickly to the massive stinkwood cabinet and poured cognac from one of the heavy decanters and took a mouthful. The spirit was peppery on her tongue and the fumes brought tears to her eyes. She swallowed it down and set the glass aside.

That isn't going to help much, she decided, and crossed to her desk. She sat down in the wingbacked buttoned leather chair and she felt small and frail and vulnerable. For Centaine, it was an alien emotion and it frightened her.

It's happened, she whispered. He is becoming a man. Suddenly she hated the girl. The dirty little harlot. He isn't ready for that yet. Too early she has let the demon out, the demon of his de Thiry blood. She was intimate with that same demon, for it had plagued her all her life. That wild A passionate de Thiry blood.

Oh my darling. She was going to lose some part of him now, had already lost it, she realized. Loneliness came to her like a ravening beast that had lain in ambush for her all these years.

There had only been two men who might have assuaged that loneliness. Shasa's father had died in his frail machine of canvas and wood while she had stood by helplessly and watched him blacken and burn. The other man had placed himself beyond her reach for ever with one brutal senseless act. Michael Courtney and Lothar De La Rey, both dead to her now.

Since then there had been lovers, many lovers, brief transient affairs experienced only at the level of the flesh, a mere antidote for the boil of her blood. None of them had been allowed to pass into that deep place of her soul. But now the beast of loneliness burst through those guarded portals and laid waste her secret places. 1A If only there was someone, she lamented as she had done only once before in her life, when she lay upon the child-bed on which she have given birth to Lothar De La Rey's goldheaded bastard. if only there was somebody I could love and who would love me in return. She leaned forward in the big leather chair and picked up the silver-framed photograph, the photograph that she carried with her wherever she travelled, and studied the face of the young man in the centre of the group of fliers.

For the

first time she realized that over the years the picture had faded and yellowed and the features of Michael Courtney, Shasa's father, had blurred. She stared at the handsome young face and tried desperately to make the picture clearer and crisper in her own memory, but it seemed to smear and recede even further from her.

Oh Michael! she whispered. It was all so long ago. Forgive me. Please forgive me. I have tried to be strong and brave.

I've tried for your sake and the sake of your son, but She set the frame back upon the desk and crossed to the window. She stared out into the darkness. I'm going to lose my baby, she thought. And then one day I will be alone and old and ugly, and I'm afraid. She found she was shivering, hugging her own arms, but then her reaction was swift and unequivocal.

There is no time for weakness and self-pity on the journey that you have chosen. She steeled herself, standing small and erect and alone in the silent darkened house. You have to go on. There is no turning back, no faltering, you have to go on to the end. Where is Stoffel Botha? Shasa demanded of the mill house supervisor when the mine hooter blew to signal the beginning of the lunch hour. Why isn't he here? Who knows? The supervisor shrugged. I had a note from the main office saying he wasn't coming. They didn't tell me why. Perhaps he has been fired. I don't know. I don't care, he was a cocky little bastard, anyway. And for the rest of the shift Shasa tried to suppress his feeling of guilt by concentrating on the run of ore through the thundering rollers.

When the final hooter blew, and the cry of Shahile! It has struck! was shouted from one gang of black labourers to the next, Shasa mounted Prester John and turned his head towards the avenue of cottages in which Annalisa's family lived. He knew he was risking his mother's wrath, but a defiant sense of chivalry urged him on. He had to find out how much damage and unhappiness he had caused.

However, at the gates of the mill house he was distracted.

Moses, the boss-boy from the weathering grounds, stepped in front of Prester John and took his head.

I see you, Good Water, he greeted Shasa in his soft deep voice.

Oh Moses. Shasa smiled with pleasure, his other troubles forgotten for the moment. I was going to visit you. I have brought your book. The Ovambo handed the thick copy of History of England up to him.

You couldn't possibly have read it, Shasa protested. Not so soon. it took even me months. I will never read it, Good Water. I am leaving the H'ani Mine. I go with the trucks to Windhoek tomorrow morning. Oh no! Shasa swung down out of the saddle and gripped his arm. Why do you want to go, Moses? Shasa feigned ignorance out of a sense of his guilt and complicity.

It is not for me to want or not to want. The tall boss-boy shrugged. Many men are leaving on the trucks tomorrow.

Doctela has chosen them, and the lady your mother has explained the reason and given us a month's wages. A man like me does not ask questions, Good Water. He smiled, a sad bitter grimace. Here is your book. Keep it. Shasa pushed it back. It is my gift to you. Very well, Good Water. I will keep it to remind me of you. Stay in peace. He turned away.

Moses Shasa called him back and then could find 1, nothing to say. He thrust out his hand impulsively and the Ovambo stepped back from it. A white man and a black man did not shake hands.

Go in peace, Shasa insisted, and Moses glanced around almost furtively before he accepted the grip. His skin was strangely cool. Shasa wondered if all black skin was like that.

We are friends, Shasa said, prolonging the contact. We are, aren't we? I do not know.

What do you mean? I do not know if it is possible for us to be friends. Gently he freed his hand and turned away. He did not look back at Shasa as he skirted the security fence and went down to the compound.