Doctor Who_ Transit - Ben Aaronovitch [87]
They ought to come down here, he thought, and see how it's really done.
He tried to keep his mind off how well shaped the girl's legs were and the way her hips swayed when she walked. The British army frowned on serving officers fraternizing with native women, especially up-country and this close to independence. He was extremely pleased when they reached the village. The local headman was pleasant enough, one of his sons spoke a little English and soon several natives had been packed off to find his Land Rover.
The headman kept apologizing through his son for the deplorable behaviour of his daughter. Alistair said it was nothing, forget about it, which was pretty gracious considering his arms were threatening to drop off his shoulders. From behind the hut he could hear a long harangue going on in the native lingo. A woman, properly dressed thank God, brought him some water. From behind the hut the harangue ended in the unmistakeable sound of the flat of someone's hand hitting bare flesh.
There was a pause, then another, louder slap, followed by a howl of outrage. The headman's eyes practically glazed over with embarrassment. The girl came stalking round to the front of the flat. She pointed at Alistair, said something very fast and low in her own language, then she put her hands on her hips and waited. Alistair noticed that she was still holding the machete.
The headman said something to the son who could speak some English and the son translated. It took quite a long time to explain.
As they walked back to the Land Rover, located two hundred yards from where he had been sitting under the tree, Alistair asked himself once again how he managed to get himself talked into things like this. It wasn't as if he needed a houseboy, let alone a houseboy who didn't speak any English, or a houseboy who was a girl. He didn't even have a house; he lived in three rooms above a Lebanese trader on Wilberforce Street.
The girl put her machete on the dashboard and climbed into the passenger seat, as if she'd been riding in Land Rovers all her life. When she saw Alistair grasp the steering wheel she laughed and mimicked the action. 'A-car-around-here,' she said. He fished in his kit for his spare uniform shirt and gave it to her.
As they drove away down the trail that led to the road thai led to Freetown the girl grabbed her machete and standing on the seat waved it over her head.
Eight years passed in the village with no word from Mariatu. Then one day, a year after independence, a strange woman came to the village. She arrived in a Land Rover piled with goods. Beside her sat a fair-skinned boy with green eyes.
Chief Yembe waited on his verandah to see who this important-looking woman was. A government official perhaps? Her face was difficult to make out; the Chiefs eyes were not as good as they once were. He waited patiently, for he was the Chief and she must come to him.
When the woman came closer Chief Yembe saw it was his daughter.
'And that's what happened?'
'That's the way my father told it,' said Kadiatu. 'Her son grew up and became a soldier. He had a son, also a soldier, and a daughter who became a historian. I'm named after the daughter.'
The Doctor's faceplate was black in the last light of the small Martian sun: his face hidden. 'I'm beginning to see a pattern, he said. 'I asked you before if you believed in fate, didn 't I, and you said something flippant.'
'I was in shock at the time.'
'There's no such thing as fate,' said the Doctor. 'But there are patterns. Patterns and shadows.'
'What patterns?' asked Kadiatu.
The Doctor didn't answer. Instead he looked up at the sky. With the fading sun even the dimmer stars were becoming visible.
'Taxi's here,' he said.
Three stars in a triangular pattern fell towards them; out of the violet sky.
Kadiatu recognized the jet as it landed between the flares. The same matt black wedge of variable-geometry carbon fibre.