pilot stepped in. ‘Can I make a suggestion, you guys?’ They both turned to him. ‘As pleasant as it is out here, maybe we should leave for Addis before our brains fry, and before you miss your London flight. Explain everything to him on the way.’
Adrian turned his back on the pilot, saying to the nurse: ‘I’m taking your word for it, Anne, that he’s happy to come with us. So we’ll leave as soon as you’re ready.’
They were farewelled by the replacement nurse on loan from the sister clinic at Weldiya, and three of the local girls who helped out.
Back at the Korem airstrip, Tim opened the Cessna’s cockpit door, saying over his shoulder, ‘Don’t worry, Anne, he’ll definitely be better off coming with us than remaining here.’
She didn’t reply to this attempted reassurance. Instead, giving the Ethiopian a quick smile of encouragement, she climbed into the plane. When Adrian indicated that the young man should follow her, a look of sheer panic appeared on his face. His eyes opened wide, making his head look even more skull-like. He stepped backwards, his hand hovering above the hilt of his jile.
Oh my God, thought Adrian, this is all we need. Even if we get him into the plane, we’ll be up on kidnapping charges. He obviously has no idea what’s going on.
‘It’s all right,’ he said, giving a strained smile, ‘keep calm. We’re not going to harm you. We’re doing this to help you. Help?’ he added loudly, questioningly, throwing the one word directly into the stranger’s face as if on the off-chance it might lodge there, on his skull, on the shell of his brain. There was a mixture of sweat and sunblock in Adrian’s eyes and he was doing his best not to screw them up, but the stinging was making him blink furiously. Although the young man had his head down, he was watching Adrian intently from beneath his white, salt-crusted eyebrows, his right hand now firmly gripping the hilt of the jile.
Adrian put his head in the plane to speak to Anne. ‘I don’t think he’s been in a plane before.’
There was a roar of laughter behind him. ‘You’re joking, mate?’ Tim said. ‘Been in one? It’s quite likely he’s never bloody seen one before.’
Adrian swore into the cockpit and closed his eyes with exasperation and frustration. Was his dream finished before it had even started? ‘I don’t care how you do it, Anne, but we have to get him into the plane. We have to! We’re trying to help him – and his people. Does he not understand that?’
Anne, possibly startled by the vehemence with which he spoke, reached out and put a hand on his arm. ‘I’ll talk to him again.’ She climbed out of the plane and addressed the young man in a low, earnest voice. His head and eyes remained down, and his face expressionless, so it was difficult to tell whether he was either listening to, or understanding, what she was saying. She held out her hand, speaking quietly, without pause, her voice soothing and encouraging. She then took his hand, the one resting on his jile, and turned and stepped back towards the plane. Adrian and Tim watched, both men looking as if they might be betting on how far she’d get, the diminutive woman leading the giant, like a child trying to lure a stallion into a horsebox. The Ethiopian followed her, his head still down, one arm at full stretch, being dragged like a child unwillingly to school.
Anne climbed into the plane, crouching down in the doorway, still holding the young man’s hand. Adrian moved in behind him, as if to cut off his escape. The nurse continued talking, almost whispering, trying to reassure. The Ethiopian attempted to grasp the side of the door with the hand that was already holding his long, polished walking staff, but couldn’t manage it. His eyes were almost popping out of his head. Anne gently prised the staff from his hand and lay it on the floor of the plane.
Adrian reached out to support the young man’s arm. It was dry and dusty, and felt like bone, hard and brittle. He was scared of breaking something. He felt big and clumsy next to his skeletal neighbour, like a heavyweight boxer handling fine porcelain china. With a little pulling from Anne and some pushing by Adrian, they managed to manoeuvre him into the fuselage. There was then the problem of getting him off the floor of the plane and into a seat. It was a while before they succeeded. Anne put the safety belt round his waist, and even after tightening it as far as it would go, it still lay loosely across his lap.
Adrian struggled into the front seat of the plane next to the pilot. As Tim slammed the cockpit door closed, Adrian turned round and said: ‘Might be a good idea to warn him about the noise, Anne.’
She spoke to the young man, placing her hand on his. She nodded to Tim. He started the engine, and the propeller whirred to life. Immediately the Ethiopian threw himself against the window, scrabbling to get out. She took both of his hands in hers, clasping them, talking all the time, trying to pull him back from the window.
Tim looked across at Adrian. ‘Reckon this is still such a good idea?’ Because of the noise, Adrian didn’t hear the question. The pilot raised his eyes skywards, turned back to the controls and, almost with reluctance, released the brake. The engine revved louder and the aircraft started taxiing towards the end of the landing strip. The Ethiopian had closed his eyes and was now gabbling away in a panic-stricken voice. Adrian looked at Anne, questioning.
‘I believe he’s praying,’ she said. ‘To Wak.’
‘Who’s Wak?’
‘He’s their Sky God.’
Tim laughed. ‘That’s kind of appropriate. Maybe I should pray to him too.’
The aircraft bumped along the packed earth, quickly picking up speed, before lifting into the air. The young man opened his eyes. What had happened? He turned, almost as an afterthought, and looked out of the window. As the small township rapidly disappeared beneath them, he started to wail as if his death was now imminent and some evil spirit was already calling out his name. Anne spoke to him, patting his hands, trying to reassure him with smiles and words, until finally, in despair and totally spent, he sank forward in his seat, his chin on his chest and, looking as if it was all too much for him and he no longer had the strength to care what happened, he closed his eyes. He didn’t move for the rest of the flight.
The plane headed south, and for a while the only sound was the steady drone of the engine. There was a feeling of relief in the cockpit now that the young man had quietened down. Adrian twisted round in his seat and spoke to Anne: ‘Is he asleep?’
‘I think he may be.’
‘Does he need a blanket?’
She raised her eyebrows, as if surprised by his concern. ‘I think he’s all right, Adrian. Thank you.’
Turning further round, and putting an arm up on the back of his seat, he said: ‘You know I don’t expect anything of you, Anne, except to keep – what’s his name?’
‘Mujtabaa.’
‘That’s right, Mujtabaa. Just to keep him alive. That’s all.’ He stared at her for slightly longer than was necessary.
She looked small in the back of the plane next to her tall neighbour, like a schoolgirl. Adrian thought she could almost have been one of Emma’s friends if it weren’t for the white hair and the fine lines on the tanned face.
‘Yes, that’s quite clear.’
And it went through his mind that in fact no one was going to give a damn if the young man died. Two thousand deaths or two thousand and one deaths. Four thousand deaths, or four thousand and one
