Sacred Hunger - Barry Unsworth [245]
Neither Billy nor Inchebe said anything. Sullivan regarded the two small, limp squirrels hanging head downwards from Billy’s rope belt. ‘Dat all?’
Billy looked away from the mussels with assumed indifference. ‘De time come for trut,’ he said doggedly to Inchebe. ‘You tell Dinka you got rainstone, you show me dem rainstone. Where dey?’
Inchebe turned to Sullivan, twisting his mouth and widening his small expressive eyes. ‘You hear dis man? He tink rainman carry cargo rainstone aboard all de time.’ He turned a pitying glance back to Billy. ‘Dey kept secret place, close water,’ he said. ‘No tell where. Anyone know anyting bout rainstone know dat. Why you care soso much what ’pinion Dinka have? Dat no secret, I tell you why, you want get in Dinka bed, get you leg over.’
‘For the love of God,’ Sullivan said. His face had assumed an expression of astonishment. His green eyes glanced after a lost vision of human reason and decency. ‘You feller sniffin’ after dat no-good Dinka when you got a soso jool at home? Yeh, yeh, dat right, I talkin’ bout you Sallian. She cook good too much, she fuck much you want, she never naggy. What man do when he got woman like dat? I tell you what, he treasure dat woman, he put de grapple on dat woman, he climb aboard an’ stay aboard.’
At this point he found himself being regarded closely by Inchebe, who was more devious than Billy and so more prone to suspicion. ‘We glad too much get you idea on dis subjec’,’ he said. It was known to everyone that Sullivan, by one of those shifts of fortune sometimes occurring in the settlement, where relations between the sexes were a complex blend of the casual and the binding, now found himself having to share his woman with two others. ‘You say Dinka no good,’ Inchebe said. ‘Mebbe you tink Dinka not bootiful girl, not have bootiful butties an’ so on an’ so fort, what you say?’
This was a very cunning question and Sullivan, aware that he had possibly overdone Sallian’s praises, was thrown out by it. ‘Thim things you mention is steadily deterioratin’,’ he said. ‘Any man with a knowledge of commerce, like meself, will tell you it is no arthly use investin’ your money in a deterioratin’ asset.’
Some of Inchebe’s calm fell away from him. ‘What shit lingo dat?’ he said. ‘You want say me someting, you talk people lingo.’
‘Bootiful butties, what dat madder?’ Sullivan said earnestly. ‘You feller lucky have soso ugly woman. Bootiful go way soon soon, niver come back. Ugly go on gettin’ more ’n more.’ He cast about for a way of changing the subject. ‘What you talk about?’ he said. ‘Sallian look after you so good you like twin, you like bun same oven, one bake bit longer.’
This was a true observation. Both men were short and quick of movement; and both were dressed identically in clothes that had been made for them by Sallian. A tactful and loving woman, she made no distinction of any kind between them. They had exactly the same palm-leaf hats, deerskin drawers decorated with plaited fibre tassels dyed red, and sleeveless smocks of faded blue, made from a remnant of cotton from the trade goods that had been brought off the ship.
‘Subjec’ not Dinka, subjec’ not Sallian,’ Billy said austerely. ‘Subjec’ not bleddy twins. We talkin’ ’bout rainstone. Easy too much no tell where. Ho, yes. Last rain come late. Why you no knock stone tagedder fall rain before?’
‘De time no right.’
‘What you mean, time no right? Dat de time people need.’
‘Rain no come for people need, no care bugger people need.’
‘Aha! I got you in de corner now, Cheeby.’ Billy’s expression was again triumphant. ‘I got you pin down. You wait you see rain come den you knock stone.’
Inchebe nodded placidly. ‘Sartinly,’ he said. ‘Dat de right time knock stone.’ He raised a thin forefinger. ‘But only rainman ken see dat.’
‘He right.’ Sullivan had begun to take an interest in the argument.