They paddled along for three days without setting foot on dry land. The river became the vast swamp of the Hilenga Delta. The sun of noon barely penetrated the dense leafy cover overhead. Mosquitoes hung thick in the thick air; Wilson covered every inch of exposed flesh with a citrus-smelling insect repellent. Orange monkeys hung lazily from half-submerged trees. Aquatic snakes and muskrats the size of collies swarmed among the monstrous roots of the baobabs. Flocks of azure macaws clouded the uncertain distance.
Once Wilson let his hand fall into the green water and pulled it back covered with leeches. He pried the valuable little creatures off his flesh and repatriated them carefully in the muddy water.
At dawn on the fourth day, Tulj led them to a small island completely obscured by the tangled roots of mangrove trees. In a clearing at the center a lean- to covered with canvas tarp and fronted with mosquito netting sheltered crates of canned food and plastic barrels of freshwater. Wilson washed his face and his neck in the water, put on another layer of insect repellent, and broke open an aluminum package labeled “Yorkshire Pudding,” with the expiration date of 10/30/2037. Inside, he found a gelatinous substance covered with viscous liquid, a yellow and brown mess that was surprisingly edible despite its disgusting appearance.
When Wilson finished eating, Tulj took him to the west side of the island and pointed to a break in the trees. “This is a good place from which to watch,” he said. “My friends will arrive sometime late today, possible tomorrow.”
“What am I watching for exactly?” Wilson said.
Tulj gave a short laugh. “You will know when you see them,” he said, then he went off to take a short nap behind the mosquito netting of the lean-to.
Wilson watched the river for the next few hours.
The green light of the jungle didn’t seem to change. He had no idea what time it was. His old illuminated digital watch had stopped working way back during the rainy season at Quatre Sables. Just below, the river broke out of the clotted channels into a wider stream. Wilson thought he detected a breath of fresh air on his face, a slight briny tang that made him think of sea. He turned away for a half second at a snapping sound in the trees and, when he turned back, saw that the channel had undergone a remarkable transformation. The sun, now risen directly overhead, shone down in thick, smoky columns of light through breaks in the canopy of leaves. The effect was spiritual, like light shining through stained glass windows. White birds lifted off the water and flew in an upward arc through the smoky light. A few minutes later Wilson saw a vague something on the river in the distance.
Another hour passed before he could make out the approaching craft. It seemed to be coming along very slowly, but distances are deceptive in Africa. The craft grew no larger in perspective for a long while, then Wilson heard the steady burp and splutter of an old inboard, and it was right there, coming through the muck of the channel around the island, and he could hardly believe what he saw: In an odd, wide-bodied turquoise boat stood three naval officers wearing spotless white uniforms straight out of Madame Butterfly. They were stiff as statues; the humid breeze did not ruffle their short hair. Behind them, sitting on two rows of padded benches, a half dozen marines in dress tunics of blue and red. From the stern, the white ensign of the British Royal Navy flapped in the breeze.
Wilson watched until this strange vessel came up past his lookout. The flat keel of the thing seemed to be made of glass. Beneath the feet of the officers, monstrous carp swam along, their scales ancient as granite flashing in the green river. In the next minute the boat disappeared into the reed-choked channel.
Tulj and Colonel Saba squatted in the clearing in front of the lean-to, throwing dice across a stained bit of canvas.
“A bad habit I picked up in the army,” Tulj said, glancing up as Wilson came out of the trees. “But common to all soldiers, everywhere. Think of the Roman legionaries dicing for Christ’s clothes—” Then he saw the look on Wilson’s face and stood up. “Well?”
“This is going to sound ridiculous,” Wilson said, catching his breath. “On the river, a turquoise boat with a glass bottom full of naval officers in white dress uniforms.”
Tulj nodded gravely. “They are a little early,” he said.