Not Untrue & Not Unkind by Ed O'Loughlin

Author:Ed O'Loughlin [O'Loughlin, Ed]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

10

Two days after Fred went mad there was an outbreak of street protests that the police and army put down with an oddly restrained degree of brutality. I don’t know where they found the energy: with the rebels so close there was little to be lost or gained. On the second day of the troubles I found myself scrambling over a gate into an office compound in Gombe, choking and weeping from the tear gas, my snot soaking my shirt. The yard was crowded with other fugitives from the riots, local people who kept grabbing my hand, thanking me for being there, as I collapsed against a wall, gagging and gasping. A couple of kids appeared in front of me, blurred shapes, to dab at my eyes with rags soaked in water. I could see again, and I watched the yard slowly empty as the fugitives stole away, hopping walls and fences, while outside the police and army still roamed the frightened street. Alone again, I slowly climbed back over the gate and dropped to the ground on the other side.

The street was wide and lined with dusty trees. Little white dots bobbed in the haze, the helmets of civil guards blocking a distant junction, but where I stood the street was empty. A vehicle was approaching, driving too fast in too low a gear, and I flattened myself back into the gateway as a civilian pick-up truck sped past. A group of Presidential Guards was standing on the back, swaying with its motion. Between them slumped a young man who was naked to the waist.

When the truck had gone I stepped into the street again, and at that same moment another figure emerged from the next gateway, twenty yards away: it was Fine. He was staring up the street and didn’t see me. I drew back into my gateway and considered what to do next, and when I heard his footstep he was almost on top of me and I had only a moment to step out of hiding.

‘Oh, hello, Nathan,’ I said, a tone of mild surprise. I was pleased to see him fly sideways in shock.

‘Owen! Jesus! Where the hell have you come from?’

‘I was hiding in there. I got tear-gassed.’

He gestured with his head towards the next compound. ‘I was hiding in there.’

Fine was sweating, and his jeans and jacket were thick with the dust of whitewash. His face was smeared with dirt where he had clawed away the tears and snot. I must have looked the same. Shots sounded somewhere off towards the river.

‘What the hell are you doing here?’ I demanded, and fell in beside him as he started to walk again, towards the river and the shooting. ‘I thought the Chronicle didn’t want you in Kinshasa.’

‘It couldn’t be helped. Tommo and I jumped on the last plane out of Lubumbashi, and this is where it brought us.’

‘You mean you didn’t stay to cover the fall?’

He paused before answering, not turning to look at me.

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