to the city of Kandy. George sprawled sullenly in the leather rear seat of the open Rolls-Royce. His mop of dark hair blew in the wind. His blue eyes were heavy-lidded and blank; his mouth was partly open, showing small, uneven teeth. Durell wished he knew what the young man was thinking.
Now and then they passed irrigation tanks, artificial lakes that looked bloody in the light of the late afternoon sun. Spoonbills and ibis stood on spindly legs and stared at them as they went by. Hornbills and flycatchers flashed in the dark foliage of the foothill forests, and once he glimpsed a sambhur stag, standing magnificently at the edge of a tank. The tall trees were festooned with vines and wild creepers, each with their own colored blossoms.
They came to the crossroad at Mirigama, and a police car was waiting there.
Aspara bit her lip. “We’ll have to bluff our way through, dear Sam.”
Durell turned to meet the sullen gleam of George’s eyes from the rear seat. “Don’t make a peep, son.”
“What if I do, pig?”
“I’ll blow your head off,” Durell said flatly.
“Bluff. Shit. You won’t touch me, because of mom.”
“Don’t make a garbage dump out of every place you walk and breathe,” Durell warned.
A uniformed patrolman- strolled toward' them, thumbs hooked in his gunbelt. The other man remained in the car. Halfway toward them, he recognized tire distinctive Rolls-Royce and touched his cap with a forefinger. He waved them on. Aspara smiled at the two men and shoved the car into gear, stepped on the gas pedal. Beyond the first curve, she drew a deep breath. “I was worried. George, you behaved very well.”
“Just wait, mom. This p. D isn’t snatching me without paying for it. I didn’t come here to play cops and robbers with a fink like him.”
“Why don’t you like Sam?” she asked mildly.
“He knows why,” the boy said.
Durell watched George’s eyes. It was no accident that he had flown in from the States at this moment. It wasn’t filial love for his vague, scholastic father, Ira Sanderson that had brought him to Ceylon. George was not concerned about that. Durell had the feeling that the boy knew all about it.
“If he tries anything,” he told Aspara, “I’ll have to hurt him.”
“No, Sam.”
George snickered. “Big man, you don’t put a finger on me, right?”
“Just behave, then.”
“I’ll do what I’ve got to do,” George said.
“You mean you have to follow orders?”
“What orders?”
“From the people who sent for you.”
George shouted angrily, “Nobody sent for me! What are you talking about?”
Aspara took the heavy Rolls around a sharp curve it the dusty road, and they began a sudden, steep climb toward looming hills ahead. Beyond were sun-torched mountain peaks, some reaching a mile high, clad in the acid green of terraced tea plantations, more rice paddies dense forest, and the occasional village clinging to the side of an artificial blue tank.
“We’ll have to go through Kagalla,” Aspara said “From there, it’s straight on to Kandy—as straight as the mountain roads let us go, of course. There are several other towns on the way, and we’ll surely run into other checkpoints here and there. George, you must behave yourself.”
“Why are you helping this spook?” George demanded “I know my rights. He’s taking me with you against my will. It’s an abduction, that’s what it is.”
“Don’t talk nonsense.”
The boy snickered. “The spook will never find old Ira anyway.” Then he subsided into the back seat again.
The landscape changed abruptly. Beyond Kagalla the road climbed steeply. The wide paddies and little villages where country girls sold cadjanuts and pineapples to tourists gave way to sudden, dark gorges, where water rushed down from the towering mountains. Here and there were pools, and in one a herd of working elephants were being bathed by their keepers. The huge gray beasts lay on their sides in shallow water
Now and then they passed irrigation tanks, artificial lakes that looked bloody in the light of the late afternoon sun. Spoonbills and ibis stood on spindly legs and stared at them as they went by. Hornbills and flycatchers flashed in the dark foliage of the foothill forests, and once he glimpsed a sambhur stag, standing magnificently at the edge of a tank. The tall trees were festooned with vines and wild creepers, each with their own colored blossoms.
They came to the crossroad at Mirigama, and a police car was waiting there.
Aspara bit her lip. “We’ll have to bluff our way through, dear Sam.”
Durell turned to meet the sullen gleam of George’s eyes from the rear seat. “Don’t make a peep, son.”
“What if I do, pig?”
“I’ll blow your head off,” Durell said flatly.
“Bluff. Shit. You won’t touch me, because of mom.”
“Don’t make a garbage dump out of every place you walk and breathe,” Durell warned.
A uniformed patrolman- strolled toward' them, thumbs hooked in his gunbelt. The other man remained in the car. Halfway toward them, he recognized tire distinctive Rolls-Royce and touched his cap with a forefinger. He waved them on. Aspara smiled at the two men and shoved the car into gear, stepped on the gas pedal. Beyond the first curve, she drew a deep breath. “I was worried. George, you behaved very well.”
“Just wait, mom. This p. D isn’t snatching me without paying for it. I didn’t come here to play cops and robbers with a fink like him.”
“Why don’t you like Sam?” she asked mildly.
“He knows why,” the boy said.
Durell watched George’s eyes. It was no accident that he had flown in from the States at this moment. It wasn’t filial love for his vague, scholastic father, Ira Sanderson that had brought him to Ceylon. George was not concerned about that. Durell had the feeling that the boy knew all about it.
“If he tries anything,” he told Aspara, “I’ll have to hurt him.”
“No, Sam.”
George snickered. “Big man, you don’t put a finger on me, right?”
“Just behave, then.”
“I’ll do what I’ve got to do,” George said.
“You mean you have to follow orders?”
“What orders?”
“From the people who sent for you.”
George shouted angrily, “Nobody sent for me! What are you talking about?”
Aspara took the heavy Rolls around a sharp curve it the dusty road, and they began a sudden, steep climb toward looming hills ahead. Beyond were sun-torched mountain peaks, some reaching a mile high, clad in the acid green of terraced tea plantations, more rice paddies dense forest, and the occasional village clinging to the side of an artificial blue tank.
“We’ll have to go through Kagalla,” Aspara said “From there, it’s straight on to Kandy—as straight as the mountain roads let us go, of course. There are several other towns on the way, and we’ll surely run into other checkpoints here and there. George, you must behave yourself.”
“Why are you helping this spook?” George demanded “I know my rights. He’s taking me with you against my will. It’s an abduction, that’s what it is.”
“Don’t talk nonsense.”
The boy snickered. “The spook will never find old Ira anyway.” Then he subsided into the back seat again.
The landscape changed abruptly. Beyond Kagalla the road climbed steeply. The wide paddies and little villages where country girls sold cadjanuts and pineapples to tourists gave way to sudden, dark gorges, where water rushed down from the towering mountains. Here and there were pools, and in one a herd of working elephants were being bathed by their keepers. The huge gray beasts lay on their sides in shallow water
Similar Books
