The Last Place God Made - Jack Higgins [16]
'Kitchen through there,' he said. 'Shower-room next to it. There's a precipitation tank on the roof so we don't lack for a generous supply of decent water, it rains so damn much.'
'All the comforts of home,' I said.
'I would think that something of an overstatement.' He jerked his thumb at a door to the left. 'That's my room. You can share with Mannie over here.'
He opened the door, stood to one side and motioned me through. It was surprisingly large and airy, bamboo shutters open to the veranda. There were three single beds, another of those Indian rugs on the floor and there were actually some books on a shelf beside the only bed which was made up.
I picked one up and Hannah laughed shortly. 'As you can see, Mannie likes a good read. Turned Manaus upside down for that little lot.'
The book was Kant's Critique of Pure Reason. I said, 'This must have been like putting his pan in the river for water and coming up with a diamond.'
'Don't tell me you go for that kind of stuff, too?' He looked genuinely put out. 'God help me, now I do need a drink.'
He went back into the living-room. I chose one of the unoccupied beds, made it up with blankets from a cupboard in the corner, then unpacked my grip. When I returned to the other room he was standing on the veranda, a glass in one hand, a bottle of Gordon's gin in the other.
The rain curtain was almost impenetrable, the first few wooden huts on their stilts at the edge of town, the only other sign of life.
'Sometimes when it gets like this, I could go crazy,' he said. 'It's as if this is all there is. As if I'm never going to get out.'
He tried to re-fill his glass, discovered the bottle was empty and threw it out into the rain with a curse. 'I need a drink. Come on - if you're not too tired I'll take you up town and show you the sights. An unforgettable experience.'
I put on my oilskin coat again and an old straw sombrero I found hanging behind the bedroom door. When I returned to the veranda he asked me if I was still carrying my revolver. As it happened, it was in one of my flying-jacket pockets.
He nodded in satisfaction. 'You'll find everybody goes armed here. It's that kind of place.'
We plunged out into the rain and moved towards the town. I think it was one of the most depressing sights I have ever seen in my life. A scabrous rash of decaying wooden huts on stilts, streets which had quickly turned into thick, glutinous mud. Filthy, ragged little children, many of them with open sores on their faces, played listlessly under the huts and on the verandas above, people stared into the rain, gaunt, hopeless, most of them trapped in that living hell for what remained of their wretched lives, no hope on earth of getting out.
The church was more substantial and included a brick and adobe tower. I commented on that and Hannah laughed shortly. They don't even have a regular priest. Old guy called Father Conte who works with the nuns up at Santa Helena drops in every so often to say a Mass or two, baptise the babies and so on. He'll be coming back with us tomorrow, by the way.'
'You want me to go with you?'
'I don't see why not.' He shrugged. 'It's only a hundred-mile trip. Give you a chance to fly the Hayley. We'll have a passenger. Colonel Alberto from Forte Franco. He'll arrive about ten in the morning by boat.'
'What's he do? Some kind of regular inspection?'
'You could say that.' Hannah smiled cynically. 'The nuns up there are American. Little Sisters of Pity and very holy ladies indeed. The kind who have a mission. Know what I mean? The government's been trying to get them to move for a year or so now because of the way the Huna have been acting up, only they won't go. Alberto keeps trying, though, I'll say that for him.'
In the centre of the town, we came to the only two-storeyed building in the place. The board above the wide veranda said Hotel and two or three locals sat at