The Cinnamon Tree (14 page)

‘Welcome to Nopani,’ she said. Then she saw a line of empty Coke cans on the bench. ‘Did you drink all those?’ she asked in amazement.

‘Dad and Birthistle left them for me. I’ve been here for hours!’

‘Come on,’ she said, ‘we have to carry your stuff to the jeep.’

‘J
ust keep to the path,’ Yola called back as she side-stepped down the steep slope from the road. She was carrying
Fintan’s
camera, as it was light. ‘This is the best part of the day. The heat has gone, work is over and I’m starving!’

She was in a hurry in case Hans was waiting for them, so she let Fintan follow slowly with the rest of his stuff. She was
looking
forward to showing him around. Hans had said Fintan could have the spare bed in the sickbay if he needed one.

The jeep came into view and she squinted against the
reflection
on the window to see if there were any sign of Hans, but he hadn’t come back yet; they could relax. She turned around. The path was empty. Surely Fintan had followed her? Then, with a stab of apprehension, she saw a pile of bags and cases in the middle of the path. Fintan was not in sight. She couldn’t believe it! He must have walked off the demined strip into the bushes.

‘Fintan,
stop
!’ she screamed, running frantically back down the path, her lopsided gait not helped by the swinging camera. ‘Don’t move, not a step, not an inch!
Stop
!’ She could see him. He was beside a tree, turning towards her, a look of astonishment on his face.

‘What’s the matter?’ he asked.

‘The matter, Fintan O’Farrell, is that you are in the middle of a live minefield!’

‘But they can’t be everywhere, Yola?’

‘Yes, they are! That’s what a minefield is. I should have shown you. The red and white stakes show where the mines start. Look, you see those blue stakes,’ Yola’s voice cracked, ‘that’s where we’ve actually taken up mines.’ She wanted to close her eyes against what she was seeing, then Fintan stirred.
‘Don’t
move your feet!’ she gasped. ‘You see that line of stakes? They often lay mines in lines. There: one … two … three … and look where the next one will be.’

Fintan put his hand out to steady himself against the tree. She could see him calculating the distances. If the soldiers had kept to a straight line and spacing, Fintan had just stepped on the fourth mine in the line.

‘Why did you go in there?’ she wailed.

‘I wanted …’ Fintan winced, ‘… I wanted a pee!’

Perhaps it was the relief that he was safe and that he hadn’t stepped on a mine, but Yola’s laugh rang out loud and clear. Fintan, however, was in trouble.

‘Yola, excuse me, I still need to go … like, urgently!’

Yola wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and asked
innocently
, ‘Should I go then?’

‘Oh yes, Yola, please!’

Frightened that he really might move, she relented.

‘All right, but be considerate where you aim. Then we’ll have to get you back safely onto the path. I’ll see if there’s a mine detector in the car.’

There were two, in fact. She took one out and held the
sensitive
disk over the car keys to test it, but got no response. She tried the other – no response either. If neither were working, she was badly stuck. They might have to go all the way back to
the barracks to get more equipment – while Fintan stood
motionless
and terrified among live mines. Then she remembered that the deminers had to tune the detectors first. She searched for the tuning knob, found it and sighed with relief when the familiar shriek rang out.

Fintan hadn’t moved and was looking more comfortable when she got back. He was standing about three paces from the path. She measured a meter-wide strip and commenced sweeping over the ground with the mine detector; it was a little like using a vacuum cleaner, but holding a disk about an inch above the ground. Fortunately, Fintan had chosen a place where the grass was short, starved of light and nutrients by the tree. Yola edged forward. She was now in the minefield – if she got something wrong they could both be blown sky high. At the first shriek they both froze. She brushed gently at the ground with her hand. She could see the corner of a cartridge case. She marked the place; she wasn’t going to risk touching it. Then she began her slow advance again. A telephone started ringing, how could there be a telephone here? She shook her head, the ringing was coming from behind her. She felt totally disorientated. Fintan woke up to the sound.

‘Yola, that’s Dad’s mobile phone. It’s in my bag there. It may be him. He’ll be worried.’ It kept ringing while Yola retreated.

‘Throw it,’ Fintan called.

Yola got as close to him as she could and threw. Fintan caught it and pressed a button. She heard a man’s voice. Fintan smiled.

‘Hello, Dad. Yes, yes, I’m fine. The taxi didn’t come. I’m with my friend … Yes, it did feel a bit dodgy on the bridge, didn’t it, but I’m quite safe now.’

Yola had to put her hand over her mouth. The voice on the phone came to her like a dog barking.

‘The day after tomorrow … in the Palace Hotel … I’ll be there. Bye.’

They looked at each other. Yola was ready to splutter with laughter, but Fintan was serious.

‘Well, at least he hasn’t me to worry about!’ he said.

Yola was only a short pace from Fintan when the mine detector shrieked again. It could be anything she told herself, a steel button even. She brushed gently at the loose soil and twigs on the surface. If she had uncovered a snake she couldn’t have pulled her hand back faster. There it was, two-thirds
covered
with soil, probably pushed up to the surface by a root, a little shoulder of green plastic, a mine. She felt sick, waves of fear and relief broke over her. She looked up at Fintan and smiled bravely; the cinnamon scent was thick in her nostrils – she mustn’t faint. Fintan’s foot must have fallen within inches of the mine.

Yola and Fintan sat out together in the velvet night and watched the stars. They had had a meal in a café on the way back from the bridge, and Hans had talked to Fintan about their work. Yola had enjoyed hearing their voices together,
enthusiastic
at first. She loved eating out, as she couldn’t
normally
afford it, so she concentrated on her meal and hoped that Hans would pay. It was only when she heard Hans say, ‘You must be tired,’ that she realised Fintan had gone silent. It was a small incident, but now, as she leaned back to bathe her eyes in the great sweep of the Milky Way, she remembered it.

‘Fintan,’ she asked. ‘What’s bothering you?’

His answer was so slow coming that Yola wondered how many stars she could count before he replied.

‘I think Dad’s in trouble.’ She half turned. Then Fintan went on dismissively, ‘but I’ve no real evidence.’

‘Go on,’ she said.

Fintan sighed. ‘Dad and me and Mr Birthistle – you
remember
who Mr Birthistle is?’ Yola said she did. ‘Well, we were
together
in a row of three on the plane, we’d asked for that, but the plane wasn’t full. I was really tired but I couldn’t get
comfortable
. My head kept falling forward with a jerk and waking me up. Then I noticed an empty row of three seats on the far side of the cabin. Dad and Mr Birthistle were asleep, so I took my blanket and slipped into the empty seats. There was a
partition
in front and just one man in the row behind. When I pushed up the armrests I could lie down full length.

‘I thought all I had to do was close my eyes and wake up in Africa. After a while, I felt the seat shake; someone had joined the man behind. Then, just as I was on the edge of sleep again, I became aware of their voices. I was intrigued, it sounded as if they were playing a game.’ Fintan paused while he thought. ‘There is a board game called Monopoly–?’

‘Catherine taught me,’ Yola interrupted, ‘I bought
Shrewsbury
Avenue and ended up in prison!’

‘Yes, that’s the official version. But their game was different; it was worldwide – countries, not streets. I thought they might be devising a game for kids. Then one of them said, “Yes, that’s how I got my break. Selling toys to the owner of a banana
plantation
, a real Treasure Chest card. This guy had labour
problems
so I sold him a lucky bag, just a few worn out ex-Soviet rifles, but it solved his labour problems.” What’s this about rifles? I wondered. Then he went on, “These people are cute; the rifles worked so well he decided he also had neighbour problems. I got him some real wind-up toys for that, AK47s mostly, but at three hundred rounds a minute they certainly solved his problems with the neighbours. He’ll be the next president of his country. But children forget Santa soon
enough, don’t they? Doesn’t want to know me now.”

‘Yola, it was all so plausible, as if they really were selling toys! They couldn’t be serious. Just as I was drifting off, one of them said: “OK, my throw …” and I remember thinking that there was something familiar about that voice. Then, in my dreams, I became a player in their fantasy board game. I raised an army and started buying weapons for it.’ Fintan stirred uneasily. ‘I can’t have slept for long because I suddenly realised I was
listening
to that familiar voice again.’

‘“OK my friend, you tell me you have just drawn a Treasure Chest card and you’ve a thousand out of date rifles. You could sell these for scrap, collect
£
1,000. But just think: aren’t there kids on the block who would like these? Why not be charitable, why not donate them to a good cause? Cast your bread on the water, as the Bible says. What about the Kasemban Liberation Army?’

Yola jerked upright, ‘Hey, the KLA is finished!’

‘Not if Mr Birthistle has anything to do with it.’

‘Mr Birthistle?’

‘Yes. It was then that I recognised the voice. It was none other than our Mr Birthistle. Yola, he’s an arms dealer!’

‘Are you sure?’ she asked.

Fintan looked at her grimly. ‘Yes, I am sure, and your saying that the KLA actually exists clinches it. I lay there, not daring to look, just listening. Birthistle went on: “Just think what you can do by being generous. If you give the KLA the weapons they need for their noble cause, we can start a small war.”’

‘It’s not a noble cause!’ Yola muttered.

‘Listen to what he said: “Soon they will need more weapons, ammunition perhaps, and then more expensive toys; only this time they will pay. But you must be fair – the Kasemban
government
will also need our guns, so they can fight the KLA.
They’ve got money for their schools programme that they can spend on weapons, and we can easily get these from the
European
manufacturers. The Europeans need the income to pay for their Star Wars weapons. You see, civilised people don’t want to fight anymore. It’s nicer to watch wars on television.”’

‘Why didn’t you stand up and announce him?’ demanded Yola.

‘Denounce him, you mean … To a pitch dark plane
somewhere
over the Sahara? I was horrified, but I wanted to sleep; there was nothing I could do. I woke when I smelled breakfast. When I got up, I looked at once but there was no one in the seat behind mine, and when I got back to Dad, there was Mr Birthistle asleep, apparently, as I had left him. The whole thing seemed too improbable for words. I had a headache and
decided
then that the whole thing must have been a dream.’

Yola looked secretly at Fintan in the glimmer from the stars, his face was etched and tired, she did like him, but she was
worried
by his talk about dreaming. Her people believed that their ancestors could speak to them in dreams. Then he went on.

‘After breakfast, Birthistle wanted to show Dad some papers, but he had lost his glasses. “Blind without them, boy!” There was a lot of hunting around, then he seemed to remember where they were and made off across the aisles. I stood up to see where he was going. Yola, he went straight to the seat
behind
the one where I’d been sleeping! It was a shock, but there were no doubts in my mind now. I had liked Birthistle. He had adopted me as a sort of son; he wants me to marry his
daughter
, Becky. But it all fits – he never answers a question directly, he always replies with a little story. The Arms Game is his way of fooling people into thinking he’s harmless, but he’s not. He’s evil, and he’s here on evil business.’

‘You mean with your Dad?’

‘Christ, no. Dad’s a complete pacifist, and the airbag project is life-saving, everyone says so. No. What Birthistle is doing is using Dad as a cover to get a visa into Murabende; he has some other purpose, and now I can’t watch him. I didn’t expect to be thrown out at the border and I haven’t warned Dad.’

‘Hans knows a lot about the arms trade, you should talk to him. All I can tell you about is mines, but I can show you around, would you like that?’

‘Mmm, yes, I would. Let’s stop talking about it now. Isn’t it quiet.’

They sat close, but not touching, and the silence of the night wrapped itself around them. An African silence as full of tiny sounds as the black night sky was full of stars. Yola leaned back and told him a story from the dry south of her country, where an ancient people lived who said that on a really silent night you could hear the hunting cries of the stars.