The Hill (23 page)

“No. I’ll be busy making arrangements for Stevens’s funeral.”

“Sir, are you going to let them shoot their mouths off in front of the Commandant and not be there?”

“You worried, Staff?”

Williams made no reply.

“Any cause to be?”

Williams stared fixedly at him with hostile eyes.

“I haven’t. Let them shout then I’ll have my say.” He moved to the door and stared with a mocking smile on his lips at Bokumbo. “Have to indent for some monkey nuts for you, lad. McGrath and Bokumbo both on Commandant’s parade. A spell in solitary will cool them down, then I’ll take them under my wing.” He opened the door and walked out.

Williams stared at McGrath then Bokumbo in turn and clenched his cane tighter in his fist, then stared at Bokumbo’s shirt and lifted it off the floor with his cane and threw it into Bokumbo’s face. Bokumbo ripped it down the seams then walked to the window and threw it out.

Williams pointed to the door with his cane. “Double out.” McGrath opened the door and doubled out. “Bokumbo, double.” Williams whacked the couch with his cane. Bokumbo strolled to the door and, taking his time, walked towards B Wing. McGrath doubled and then slow marked time as he waited for Williams and Bokumbo to catch up with him.

“Double,” shouted Williams again but Bokumbo walked on with his hands in his pockets. Captain Markham on his way to the Medical Room, walked towards them and Williams shouted “Eyes right. Two prisoners all present and — ” he stopped shouting as he looked at Bokumbo Walking with his hands in his pockets and threw up a salute. “Eyes right, Bokumbo.”

Markham stopped and stared at Bokumbo and Bokumbo stopped and deliberately spat on Markham’s boots then walked on. Markham shouted after him, “I want that man on Commandant’s parade this morning.”

Williams called back. “He’s on it already, sir,” and walked on a pace or two behind Bokumbo and repeated all the way to the cells, “You’ve done it all wrong, Bokumbo. You’ve done it all wrong. You’re going to be warmed up from here on. Warmed up.”

*

Bokumbo opened his kit-bag and tipped the contents on to the floor, then he opened his pack and shook out the contents, then he sorted over his kit and placed his underwear in one heap and all his army issue clothing into another. Then he squeezed his big pack and small pack flat, pushed them through the window bars and dropped them on to the sandy ground beneath the window. He did the same thing with his webbing equipment and kit-bag then he sat down and slowly and methodically ripped up his army issue clothing.

Bartlett watched him with his mouth open and a look of amazement on his face, then turned to McGrath who tapped his head significantly and Bartlett nodded. Just as he thought. The nig-nog had cracked on the hill. These blokes who think they’re iron men, they’re the first to crack when it comes to it. Well, there’s Stevens on a slab, Roberts in the M.O.’s hut, may as well write him off, and Bokumbo out of his tiny mind.

He glanced at McGrath. ‘And I reckon I’ll see him off too. He won’t last much longer. So if I can keep me nose clean for another day or two and see them all out then things should be back to normal, shouldn’t they, eh? Then if I play it right, show I’m willing, job in the cookhouse maybe. Yeah, reckon that’s on the cards. Things are gonna turn out all right after all.’ He leaned back against the wall and smiled.

McGrath watched Bokumbo ripping his army clothing to shreds and smiled too. His thoughts were much the same as Bartlett’s. So old Jacko Bokumbo had finally crumbled, had he. He was sorry. ‘The way Jacko had started out it looked as if he was built to last. He trod that hill well. Miss him on it. Nothing like a bit of competition to keep you on your toes. But he’s crumbled. Look at him. Out of his raving mind. So it just leaves me.’ He didn’t give Bartlett a second thought. ‘Well, I bloody showed them all. They’ll be taking the heat off me any day now.’ He leaned back and made himself comfortable.

“ ’E’s a clever boy, that one,” said Bartlett, nodding to Bokumbo.

McGrath smiled. “Aye, he’d do well as a rag picker.”

“I quit this damn army,” said Bokumbo.

“Och. Don’t be daft, man,” McGrath said.

Bokumbo moved to the window and pushed a tattered shirt, his boots and the rags that were once his shorts through the bars then turned and looked at McGrath leaning easy, and relaxed, against the wall, and said quietly, “What’s the clever thing to do, Mack. To crawl to Williams the way you do?”

McGrath sat up straight and scraped his boots on the floor as he brought his knees up ready to spring at Bokumbo. “Watch your big fat mouth, Bokumbo.”

“I’ll kill that man Williams if he lifts one finger to me.” Bokumbo walked back to his bed space and sat down and continued with the demolition work.

“You’re all shout,” said McGrath.

Bokumbo tugged at his battle-dress blouse. “Watch your mouth, McGrath.”

McGrath narrowed his eyes as he watched Bokumbo. ‘Looks as if he wants to chance his luck,’ he thought. ‘Well it’s high time I calmed him down. He’s not only daft in the head, he’s getting above himself.’ “You’re all bloody shout, darkie.”

Bokumbo went through the pockets in his battle-blouse and took out a few crumpled letters. A cheap wallet that contained a photograph of his wife and daughter, a number of yellowed visiting cards and scraps of paper with mostly forgotten addresses scribbled on them, and placed them carefully in a handkerchief and tied them up. “I know how tough you are, McGrath,” he said.

“Watch that big black trap of yours.”

Bokumbo showed his even white teeth in a broad grin. “A useless article made in Scotland and exported to the Middle East marked fragile.”

McGrath moved with incredible speed as he dived towards Bokumbo but Bokumbo was just as quick. He threw his battle-dress in McGrath’s face and by the time that McGrath had thrown it to one side Bokumbo was on his feet waiting.

McGrath moved back a pace or two and Bokumbo followed him then McGrath lunged forward and stopped as Bokumbo hit him in the mouth. He shook his head and moved in again, head down, punching with both hands and as Bokumbo went backwards, McGrath butted him in the face with his head.

Bokumbo snarled as he tasted blood and butted McGrath back then they stood toe to toe, throwing solid blows at each other until McGrath slipped and went down. Bokumbo danced round him shouting, “Come on, you’re a fighting man. The damn hero in this cell. Come on.”

McGrath stood up and moved in and again they stood toe to toe, making no attempt to avoid blows, relying solely on brute strength, hammering blows into each other until their faces were a bloody mask.

Harris ran into the cell and beat them with his cane and kept hitting them and shouting “Break it up,” until finally they moved away from each other but still full of fight. “You’re on Commandant’s orders, Bokumbo,” he shouted. “Get dressed and get outside, and you McGrath and let’s have no more bloody nonsense.”

“I’ve quit,” said Bokumbo.

Harris stared at him. “You’ve what?”

“I’ve finished with the army. This is what I think of British justice.” Bokumbo picked up his battle-dress blouse and using all his strength he ripped it in two.

“Stark raving bonkers. Outside all of you,” shouted Harris.

McGrath and Bartlett doubled out of the cell but Bokumbo continued to destroy his battle-dress and when he had torn it to shreds he pushed the pieces through the bars at the window.

“Bokumbo,” said Harris, looking at him in amazement. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“I’ve quit the army, Harris, so I don’t wear the uniform.”

Harris stared at Bokumbo’s bare feet and upwards to his blood-spattered pants and vest, then at his swollen, puffy, bloody face. “You going into the Commandant dressed like that?”

“Unless you’ve got a top hat and a bone to put through my nose, Harris.”

Harris struck out at the air with his cane and was suddenly convulsed with laughter. “O.K.,” he finally gasped. “My orders was to get you there any way I can. Something tells me this is one day the Commandant ought to remember. Double out.”

“I’ve quit doubling,” said Bokumbo as he strolled towards the cell door.

*

Bokumbo stood easy and relaxed outside the Commandant’s office and kept his eye on the door and wondered how he would fare when he walked in. Not that he cared very much. He had made his decision. He was through with the army, through with insults. Let the whites fight their own battles, let them destroy each other. To hell with them. ‘They ain’t going to destroy me,’ he thought, ‘and I’m taking no more insults. From here on if anyone does any insulting, it’s me. Yes, and all the screws in this damn prison won’t calm me down. They can beat the hell out of me if they like, and I’ll give plenty back until they get tired of trying to dent me. It’s the army,’ he thought. ‘This crazy system. That’s the damn thing that puts the wind up a man. For Chrisake, no civilian would stand for any of this crap. Jumping to attention, marching every place, siring any damn cheap skate. Don’t you forget that you’re a civilian,’ he told himself, ‘and from now on you’d better start acting like one.’

His face split into a broad grin. ‘Don’t know what you’re grinning at,’ he thought. ‘Your future’s blacker than you are, man. You’ll be inside until this damn war’s over. You’ll be in solitary. O.K. I’ll be in solitary. I’d just as soon be as have a lot of white rubbish around me. Well. I’m on my own,’ he thought. ‘So may as well make the best of it and get my laughs where I can.’

McGrath ran out of the Commandant’s office shouting at the top of his voice, “You’ve had me for a soldier. You wouldna get me in the boy scouts after that.”

“Get over there,” shouted Harris, “and shut up. Bokumbo, attenshun!”

“I ain’t doubling in, Harris,” said Bokumbo.

“You’re all out of your bloody heads,” Harris said. “Williams, stand by. The Commandant wants to see you after he’s seen Bartlett.”

“He wants his bloody head examined for seeing this shower,” said Williams.

“Bokumbo,” shouted Harris. “Attenshun, forward, double march, left, right, left, right, left, right — ”

Bokumbo strolled towards the Commandant’s office with Harris behind him shouting drill orders.

The Commandant, seated at his desk, looked up and stared at Bokumbo as he strolled towards him wearing only a bloodstained vest and his underpants. Bokumbo reached the desk, then pulled up a chair and sat down and stared impassively at the Commandant. The ticking of the clock on the wall sounded very loud in the room as the Commandant stared in disbelief at Bokumbo, then slowly got to his feet and threw a questioning glance at Harris.

“He’s round the bend, sir,” said Harris, standing ramrod stiff at attention. “Can’t do nothing with him.”

“Why is he improperly dressed, Staff?”

“Refuses to wear King’s uniform, sir.”

The Commandant stared at Bokumbo then turned to Harris again. “Get him on his feet.”

“Stand up, Bokumbo,” shouted Harris. “Stand to attention.”

Bokumbo crossed his arms and remained seated.

“Jerk him out of it,” snapped the Commandant.

“Sir, I’d need some help to do that,” said Harris. “You can see for yourself, sir, he’s a strong lad.”

“I want him on his feet,” the Commandant shouted.

Harris walked over to Bokumbo and put his hand on his shoulder. “Lad, I’ve plenty on my plate as it is, so will you stand up?”

Bokumbo looked at Harris, then nodded and stood up and pushed the chair away. The Commandant sat down and stared at Bokumbo, then snapped:

“Stand to attention.”

“I’m standing for Harris,” said Bokumbo. “But I’m not standing to attention for you.”

The Commandant’s face reddened but before he could speak Harris said, “Sir, the man’s not in his right mind.”

The Commandant leaned back in his chair and stared at Bokumbo then slowly nodded his head, convinced now beyond all shadow of doubt that the man facing him was out of his mind and not responsible for his actions.

“This man witnessed the fight between McGrath and Roberts, Staff. Is that correct?”

“Yes, sir,” said Harris.

“Under the circumstances his evidence will be of very little use, will it?”

“Well, he knows what happened, sir. He’s not that daft.”

The Commandant nodded. “Tell me in your own words, Bokumbo, exactly what happened.”

“McGrath and Roberts had a fight four or five days ago,” said Bokumbo, “but there wasn’t much damage done.”

“I see. You’ve been fighting as well, haven’t you?”

“That’s right,” said Bokumbo. “Me and McGrath had a fight.”

“I broke it up, sir,” said Harris.

The Commandant made a note on his pad and looked up as Bokumbo said, “Have you seen Roberts?”

“You address me as sir, Bokumbo.”

“If it’s going to make you happy,” said Bokumbo, “and if you’ll listen to what I have to say I’ll call you sir.”

The Commandant stared past Bokumbo at Harris and his lips tightened. “I’ll listen to you,” he said, still looking at Harris.

“Staff Williams and two other screws put Roberts in a cell and beat him up. He’s in the M.O.’s room now, flat on his back,” said Bokumbo.