The Strange Land Read online

  He was staring at me and his voice trembled slightly with the effort of trying to make me understand. ‘When you have no country - nothing … to be the owner of a piece of land becomes desperately important. It’s a refuge, something to dream about. I remembered my promise then and I wrote to Caid Hassan.’

  ‘And he confirmed your title?’

  ‘No. He didn’t reply to my letter. And then, a few months later, just after I’d decided to get out of England and had answered your advertisement - Wade arrived. I knew then that my letter had never reached the Caid, but had been sent on to his son, Ali.’

  ‘Wade told you that?’

  ‘No, no, of course not. But I knew, because of what Marcel had told me. Marcel loved the Berber people. He gave his whole life, and his health, to them.’ He shifted his position, leaning towards me. ‘Listen, Philip. There’s an ancient, ruined city at Kasbah Foum. That was why Marcel was interested in the place. And it was whilst he was doing excavation work there that he came upon the entrance of some old mine workings. It was blocked and he never had a chance to open it up because, shortly after he discovered it, there was a landslide and it was buried, just as your Mission is buried here. But there is a local legend that silver was once mined at Kasbah Foum. That was what worried him when he was dying.’

  ‘Why should it?’ I asked.

  ‘The terms of those deeds are rather peculiar. Whoever inherited from Marcel had to get his title confirmed by the Caid and ownership registered with the Sultan’s government. If no new ownership were confirmed, then when Caid Hassan died, Kasbah Foum would belong to his son, Ali. Marcel wanted to prevent that. In his view Ali was a fanatic - not interested in the welfare of his people, only in fighting the French. He was afraid that if Ali discovered the mine and developed it, or sold it, he would use those funds to buy arms. At all costs he wanted to prevent unnecessary bloodshed.’

  ‘And he made you promise to get your title to the place confirmed by the old Caid before he died?’

  ‘Yes.’ He stared down at the deeds lying on the blankets in front of him. ‘I thought it was just a whim -you know how people build things up in their minds when they’re feverish. And back there at Skoda after the war it all seemed so remote and unreal.’ He looked up at me suddenly and said, ‘But it’s real enough now - now that I know Ali is trying to get those deeds. When Wade came to me in England, he said he had seen the lawyers in Rouen and they’d told him a man named White had been making enquiries — ‘ He stopped, his head on one side. ‘What was that?’ His voice shook a little.

  ‘It’s only in the wind,’ I said.

  But he got up quietly and went to the door and pulled it open. There was nothing there. He stood listening for a moment and then shut it. ‘That man,’ he said. ‘That Frenchman. He’s a member of the security police. I know he is.’ He started pacing up and down. ‘Karen and Kasbah Foum - they’re all I’ve got in the world.. And they’re both here in North Africa. I’ve got to stay in North Africa.’ He was talking to himself, gesturing urgently. He looked suddenly quite wild with his black hair standing on end.

  He swung round abruptly and came back to the bed, leaning down and catching hold of my arm. ‘Don’t tell them the truth tomorrow. Give me a week. A week is all I need. And you’ve got to come with me. You know the people. You speak the language. We’ll see the old Caid. Maybe there is silver there. If so, you’ll get your Mission. I promise you. You’ll have all the money you need. It’s what Marcel wanted; exactly what he wanted. I was to take what I needed and the rest was to go to the Berber people - hospitals and schools.’ He stopped abruptly, staring at me, panting slightly with the effort of his sudden outburst. Then he picked up the deeds and thrust them into their envelope. ‘Think it over.’ His voice had steadied. ‘A few days is all I ask. Afterwards — ‘ He shrugged his shoulders. He stared at me a moment as though trying to will me to agree, and then, when I still didn’t say anything, he crossed to the door. ‘Good night,’ he said and switched out the light.

  ‘Good night.’

  The door closed and I was alone again. I lay in the darkness, thinking about it all, trying to make up my mind what to do. But my brain wouldn’t concentrate and gradually I fell asleep through sheer exhaustion.

  The Berber boy didn’t wake me until after nine and when I went into the bar room, Bilvidic was already there, sitting at the same table, writing. He looked up as I entered, murmured ‘Bonjour’ and went back to his notes. Jan came in a few minutes later and we breakfasted in silence. Only once did he say anything and then he leaned close to me and whispered, ‘What have you decided?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I answered. I hadn’t decided anything.

  At ten minutes to ten Bilvidic put his notebook away and came over to me. ‘I believe you have an appointment with Monsieur le Controlleur at ten,’ he said. ‘Since I am also going to see him, perhaps you would care to come in my car.’

  I thanked him and got up, conscious of Jan watching me nervously. He went out to his Citroen and as he drove me down through Enfida he talked of nothing more alarming than mountain plants. He was a keen horticulturist.

  The administration block of Civil Control was a low, brick building and the offices opened off a single long passage. The Tribunal was sitting that morning and the whole length of the passage was crowded with indigenes from the country round. As I walked down to the Controller’s office I was conscious of a sudden hush.

  The men stopped talking and stared at me curiously. Many of them I knew, but they looked away as I approached.

  And then suddenly an old man stood in front of me. It was the chef de village from Tala. He touched me and kissed my hand, bowing formally, and then in a clear voice he welcomed me back to Enfida and expressed his deep distress at what had happened. I caught his hand and gripped it, and his old eyes smiled at me behind the glasses. ‘We understand each other,’ he said quietly. ‘You will have help from the villages of the Ravine if you build your house again.’

  ‘There are few, like you, who understand,’ I said. And I thanked him and we parted. But somehow the morning had changed completely now. I felt suddenly warm inside and full of vigour.

  I was shown into an empty office and though Frehel kept me waiting almost twenty minutes, I didn’t mind. I was thinking that if I had the villages of the Ravine with me - the very ravine where the disaster had happened -then it was worth fighting to start again. And then I began thinking about Kasbah Foum. Julie had said something would turn up. Maybe this was it….

  The door opened and Frehel came in. He was a tall, rather stooped man with lined, leathery features. He looked more like a professor than an administrator and, as always, his Civil Control uniform looked oddly out of place on his long, loose-jointed figure. He shook my hand and apologised for keeping me waiting. And then he began talking about the disaster and about the Mission. ‘A terrible tragedy, Latham.’ He shook his head and clicked his tongue. ‘Will you tell Mademoiselle Corrigan how sad I am about the death of her brother. Terrible! And he was a fine painter.’ And then he wanted to know what my plans were and I began to think that that was the only reason he had asked me to come to his office. ‘And this Dr Kavan?’ he asked. ‘You went to Tangier to meet him, I believe?’

  I nodded, conscious that there was suddenly more interest in his voice, a look of curiosity in his eyes. He hesitated, his hands in his pockets, rattling his keys. Then he said, ‘I am sorry to trouble you at a time like this, but I have a member of the Surete here who has come to ask you some questions. It is about something that happened in Tangier.’ He opened the door for me. ‘If you will come through to my office — ‘

  Bilvidic was seated beside Frehel’s desk, tapping his teeth with a silver pencil. ‘Monsieur l’Inspecteur tells me you have already met,’ Frehel murmured. Bilvidic got up and brought a chair for me. Frehel seated himself at the desk. He was obviously curious and his eyes glanced quickly at each of us in turn.

  Bilvidic turned his chair so that h
e faced me. ‘I think you understand, monsieur, why I am here.’

  I nodded.

  He produced a pack of American cigarettes and handed them round, ‘You were telling Madame last night how you rescued this Monsieur Wade from the wreck and took him back to your hotel.’ His manner was friendly, his tone almost conversational. ‘Would you kindly repeat the story so that I can check it against my notes. I would like every detail, if you please. You understand, of course, that this man has disappeared completely?’

  ‘I read the newspaper story,’ I said.

  He nodded. ‘Alors, monsieur.’

  So I went through the whole sequence of events from the moment I had sighted the yacht trying to make for the harbour at Tangier. He had his notebook in his hand and a sheaf of typewritten pages, and he constantly referred to these, checking my story with neat little ticks in the margin. He didn’t interrupt me until I came to the loss of the passport and the odd behaviour of the patrone at the Hotel Malabata. ‘Un moment, monsieur. The patrone says only that Wade had mislaid his passport.’

  ‘That’s not true,’ I said, and I explained what had actually happened. I was sweating a little and the palms of my hands were moist. I was reaching the difficult part and I found I still hadn’t really made up my mind.

  ‘Can you explain why the patrone should attempt to retain Wade’s passport illegally?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said, seeing an opportunity to gain time. ‘I think he had been bribed by a man called Kostos.’

  ‘Kostos?’

  ‘He’s a Greek,’ I said. ‘He used to be involved in smuggling,‘but now — ‘

  ‘Yes, yes. I know about Kostos.’ His tone was impatient. ‘But what is he to do with Wade?’

  ‘He came to see him at the hotel.’

  ‘Ah, out. I wished to ask you about that. We are curious about this Greek. He left Tangier suddenly two days ago. I think we trace him to Marrakech, but we are not — ‘

  ‘To Marrakech?’ I stared at him. Had Jan been right after all?

  ‘Oui, to Marrakech.’ Bilvidic nodded. ‘We believe he was accompanied by a notorious agent provocateur.’

  ‘You mean Ali d’Es-Skhira?’

  The name slipped out and he pounced on it. ‘How did you know that?’

  ‘Kostos mentioned the name that time he came to see Wade in my room,’ I said quickly to cover myself.

  ‘Ah, yes. Will you tell me exactly what Kostos said?’

  I gave him the gist of it without mentioning Kasbah Foum. And whilst I was talking, I was thinking that it must be true, the whole incredible story that Jan had told me. Ali d’Es-Skhira would never return to Morocco and risk being arrested by the French unless the matter was urgent. There was no doubt in my mind that the pair of them were headed for Foum-Skhira. It was this that finally decided me.

  ‘And now, monsieur,’ Bilvidic said when I had finished, ‘let us go back to your departure from the hotel. The patrone has withheld Wade’s passport and you have ordered the driver of the taxi to take you to the British Consulate. You were going to make a protest, eh?’

  I nodded.

  ‘But you did not go there, monsieur. Why? Where do you go after you leave the hotel?’

  ‘Wade changed his mind,’ I said. ‘He decided not to go to the Consulate after all. He asked me to drop him in the Zocco Grande.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘What happened then?’

  ‘Nothing. I was leaving Tangier by the evening train. I never saw him again.’

  He glanced down at the typewritten notes. ‘This would be about fifteen-thirty hours, eh? And your train did not leave until twenty-one thirty. Would you please tell me what you did during the rest of the day?’

  I filled in as best I could. And then, suddenly, he said, ‘Why did you book two berths on the wagon-lit?’

  In all my concern that he might know about my visit to the airport, I had forgotten all about the problem of explaining that extra berth. I improvised quickly: I had booked the extra sleeper for the man I had gone to Tangier to meet and afterwards I had found a letter waiting for me at the British Post Office saying that he was flying direct to Casa and would I meet him there. I think my hesitation could only have been fractional, for he didn’t seem to have noticed it. ‘And the man you went to meet was this Dr Kavan?’

  I nodded.

  ‘And that is the man who is here now, the man you were dining With at the auberge last night? You met him at Casa?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said.

  ‘Bon.’ He seemed relieved. He looked across at Frehel. ‘At least there is no mystery about the disappearance of this Dr Kavan from the boat. The British security officers have made an error. He was never on the boat.’ He chuckled, and then checked himself as though remembering he was on official business. ‘In fact, there is no mystery at all. There are not two men on the boat, only one. There remains only the disappearance of this man Wade.’ He glanced down at his notes, and then went back over my statement of what Kostos had said on the occasion he had come to the hotel. I knew it was all right then. Jan was clear for the moment.

  We went over several points and then finally he sat back and lit another cigarette. ‘You say you have checked Dr Kavan’s papers?’ he asked Frehel suddenly.

  The Civil Controller nodded.

  ‘And they are in order?’

  ‘Oui, Monsieur l’Inspecteur.’

  ‘Bon.’ He looked across at me. ‘What do you know about this doctor, monsieur?’

  ‘Not very much,’ I said, keeping a tight hold on my voice. ‘He’s a Czech refugee.’

  ‘Is that all he has told you about himself?’

  I didn’t say anything and he shrugged his shoulders as though glad not to have to go further into the matter. ‘Alors, monsieur - the statement…’

  It was almost midday before the statement was typed. When I had signed it, he drove me back to the auberge himself. ‘Au revoir, monsieur,’ he said as I got out. ‘I am going back to Casablanca now.’ His hard, grey eyes looked at me fixedly. ‘There is nothing you wish to alter?’

  ‘No,’ I said.

  ‘You realise that it will all be checked?’

  I nodded.

  ‘Bien, monsieur. We will hope there are no inaccuracies, eh?’ He gave me a thin-lipped smile. And then he asked me if I should be leaving Enfida during the next few days.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said.

  He nodded. ‘I quite understand. In view of the catastrophe …’ He gave a little shrug. ‘But if you do leave, monsieur, I should be grateful if you would inform. Monsieur Frehel and give him your new address. You understand?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said.

  He nodded again and turned the Citroen in a tight circle, disappearing in a cloud of dust down the road towards the bridge. I turned and went into the auberge, but Jan wasn’t there. I called Madame out of the kitchen and she told me that Julie had arrived shortly after I had left. She and Jan had gone off together.

  I went up the mountain road then and cut down to the caravan. They must have been watching the track, for they both came out to meet me. But then Jan stopped and Julie came on alone. She looked very pretty with her black hair hanging down over her orange shirt. She was wearing slacks. She looked slender and graceful and cool. ‘Is it all right?’ she asked. Her voice sounded nervous and I knew Jan must have explained the situation to her. I didn’t say anything and she took my arm. ‘I’ll get you a drink.’ And then she added, ‘Don’t keep him waiting, Philip. It’s important to him.’

  ‘All right,’ I said. And I called out to Jan and told him he needn’t worry for the moment.

  It was extraordinary. The man seemed suddenly to come to life. It was as though I had released a spring inside him. He caught hold of my hand and his grip was so tight it hurt. I’ll never forget this, Philip. I’ll never forget it.’ He was like a man reprieved. ‘What decided you? All through breakfast this morning … I wanted to get a decision out of you, but that
man Bilvidic was sitting there. What decided you?’

  ‘Kostos was in Marrakech two days ago,’ I said.

  ‘So, I was right. How do you know this?’

  ‘Bilvidic told me. And Ali d’Es-Skhira is with him.’

  Sitting in the caravan over a large cognac I told them about the interview. And when I had finished Jan said, ‘Well, that settles it. We slip out of Enfida tonight. Julie says if we leave shortly after midnight we’d be across the pass by dawn. By tomorrow night, if we drive hard, we can be at Foum-Skhira.’

  ‘We’ll need a car,’ I said.

  It was Julie who answered. ‘We’ll take the bus.’ She was smiling a little sadly. ‘I don’t want to stay here -not alone. And there’s no hotel south of Ouarzazate; not until you get to Zagora, and you aren’t going there.’

  I sat and looked at her. I thought I ought to say ‘No’ - that it was stupid for her to get mixed up in it. But seeing the way she looked - keyed up and excited - I thought maybe it was a good idea. It would take her mind off George’s death.

  There were a great many things to be done if we were to start that night - stores to get and the bus to be literally dug out. We agreed that Jan and I should feed at the auberge and retire to bed there in the ordinary way. We would slip out of Enfida at night, just in case.

  It seemed a long evening, sitting there in that dreary bar room, talking with Madame, watching the Arabs who guarded the olive piles at night drift in and out for coffee. But at last it was ten o’clock and Madame was seeing us to the door to the stairs. ‘Dormez bien, mes enfants. Dormez bien.’ Her deep, throaty voice was like a benediction and I heaved a sigh of relief. From the window of my room I saw that a light rain was falling. The night was black and quiet.

  Two hours later we slipped out by the terrace and the gate leading on to the road. Julie had the old bus waiting for us just below the road. It was exactly twelve as we drove down the winding road and across the bridge and up through the deserted street of Enfida on the Marrakech road. We left the olive trees behind, and the road and the red earth of the plain stretched ahead of us in the headlights. It was like that for hour after hour, except that the plain gave way to mountainsides that loomed like dark shadows on either side of us as the road began to climb.