African Laughter - Doris May Lessing [28]
Then a group of fifteen or so were sitting around a table, joking how, when the election was being prepared, the Security Forces were sent to get evidence that the ‘terrs’ were contravening Lancaster House rules, with the aid of the Australians ‘who distrusted the Brits as much as we did.’ The Security Forces were able to wriggle to the edge of clearings where the ‘terrs’’ meetings went on, and made recordings. ‘We got all this evidence they were cheating, but of course the Brits didn’t do anything.’
‘But we were cheating too,’ said the farmer who had told me his story. ‘Everyone knew that. Our cheating and theirs cancelled each other out.’ He laughed. After a moment the others laughed with him.
As Harry and I went to the car, the two youngsters from Harare were still sprawled under their tree in the dark. It was cold. Another youth bent over them, trying to shake them awake, while they groaned and complained but on a facetious note.
‘Never was anything like that in the old days,’ said Harry. ‘How can you say that!’ I demanded.
‘We kept up standards, then.’
‘Harry, I was part of the old days, have you forgotten? It was only when I got to England I realized how much we all drank. And you must have seen that too, when you got to England.’
But he was not going to admit anything of the kind. Back there, in the old days, then, was paradise, a shangri-la, a lost perfection.
At the security fence, he could not find the keys. I said, why not go to the neighbour’s house a mile away and get wirecutters. He did not like to think that a pair of wirecutters was all that had been between them and the ‘terrs’. No, he was going to climb it. Derring-do. There was I, a small girl again, watching my brother performing impossible physical feats, while I thought, intending the thought to show, Well, what’s the point of that!
He did not find it easy. The fence was not only high, but at the top there was a three-stranded leaning-out section. It was this that stopped him. Down he slid, a heavy man, out of temper, out of breath, and locked out of his safe place. He banged at the gate and shouted for the servant–who was asleep–while handsome Sparta, elegant Sheba, defenders of the lager, barked and bounded and whined inside. Just as we were off to borrow the wirecutters, he found the key. At once he became humorous and laughed at himself as the big gate swung in, and the dogs overwhelmed us with love. Then the gate was locked, and we looked out through the wire from inside the lager.
That evening, he asked what I had been talking about with Hugh. The fact there had been this long conversation had been reported to him. I told him, we were talking about the Bush War.
‘What did you want to do that for?’
‘Well, you don’t seem to want to talk about it.’
‘Nonsense.’ And he began on a careful statement, like a formal briefing. ‘The men of my age couldn’t do the real fighting, worse luck. We did police duties. We visited farms, to make sure everything was all right. Or we investigated villages that were supposed to be sympathetic to the ‘terrs’. Sometimes we just drove up and down the roads in army lorries. Showing our teeth, you know. Often we slept out in the bush. Yes of course I enjoyed it, wouldn’t you? The bush, you know. Anyway, you people don’t understand anything about it. We were