Chapter 10
Purcell and Vivian entered the long hospital tent, which was badly lit by candles and oil lamps. The air was filled with the stench of blood and excrement, and with the moans and cries of the sick and wounded. A bright Coleman lamp hung in the rear, and Purcell could see three men with surgical masks standing around a table, attending to a patient.
Purcell took Vivian’s arm and they picked their way between the rows of bandaged men who lay naked on dark blankets. Huge flies landed on their faces and Vivian covered her mouth and nose with her hand as she walked, her head and eyes darting around the darkness, looking for Mercado and Gann.
Doctor Mato spotted them and pulled off his surgical mask, and he and Vivian exchanged a few sentences in Italian, then Dr. Mato returned to his patient.
Vivian said to Purcell, “Henry and Colonel Gann were taken away as soon as Doctor Mato pronounced them well enough to be moved. They are under arrest.”
“We know that. Where were they taken?”
“He says there is a campo… parata militare—a parade ground where prisoners are kept. Due east about five hundred meters.”
Purcell took her arm and led her quickly out of the tent.
A nearly full moon was rising over the eastern hills, and the quiet camp was bathed in an eerie silver glow. Red sparks rose from a hundred campfires, and the air was heavy with the smell of burning straw and dried dung.
They headed east, avoiding the clusters of men around the fires, and avoiding the scattered tents as they tried to maintain their heading across the sprawling camp. In the dark, in their shammas, they attracted no attention.
No military camp, thought Purcell, was complete without a stockade where an army’s misfits and criminals were held to await trial and punishment, and he scanned the moonlit camp for a structure in a field that could serve as a stockade, but he didn’t see anything more substantial than canvas tents.
They continued on, and Purcell spotted the other thing that was a necessity in many military camps; the thing that Getachu had mentioned to Vivian. A long line of soldiers stood smoking and joking in front of a large tent, waiting their turn.
Vivian asked, “What’s going on there?”
Purcell did not reply, and Vivian said, “Oh…”
They moved on.
Vivian was becoming concerned, and she said, “I think we missed it. Let’s ask—”
“Let’s not.”
They continued on and ahead was a large sunken field, which formed a natural amphitheater. At the end of the field, Purcell saw a raised wooden platform, and he realized that this was the parade ground and the muster area where General Getachu and his officers could address their troops.
In front of the platform Purcell also saw a line of poles driven into the ground, which he recognized from too many other third world military camps as whipping posts, or tethering posts where soldiers were chained for punishment and humiliation in front of their comrades. He saw a movement near one of the posts and said, “There.”
They ran toward the posts, and as they got closer they could see three men with their arms over their heads, hanging by their wrists.
Purcell saw that Mercado and Gann were still wearing the clothes he’d last seen them in, but they were barefoot. The third man, a naked and unconscious Ethiopian, hung between Gann and Mercado.
Vivian ran up to Mercado and threw her arms around his chest. He, too, seemed unconscious—or dead—but then Purcell saw his chest heave. Vivian sobbed, “Henry… wake up…” She shouted, “Henry!”
He opened his eyes and looked at her. She stood on her toes and kissed his cheeks.
Purcell saw that the three men wore wrist shackles connected to chains that hung from iron rings embedded in the posts. Their feet touched the ground so they could stand until their knees buckled from fatigue or unconsciousness.
Purcell looked at the Ethiopian in the bright moonlight and saw that the man’s face was puffy and blistered, and his dark skin showed the result of a whipping.
Mercado was fully awake now and standing straight up as Vivian put her face into his chest and sobbed as she squeezed him in her arms.
Purcell moved over to Gann, who was awake and alert, and Gann said to him, “I’m very glad to see you and to see that you and Miss Smith are well and free.”
Purcell found he was slightly embarrassed by their relative fortunes. But that could change quickly. He did not want to give false hope to a man hanging by chains who was condemned to death, but he said, “I’ve spoken to Getachu and there is a chance—”
“Getachu plays with his intended victims. Save your breath.”
Purcell changed the subject and asked, “Is there anything I can get you?”
“We were fed by Doctor Mato and made well enough to hang here until dawn.” He added, “I will be able to walk to my own execution.”
Purcell didn’t respond.
Colonel Gann continued, “Just see if you can convince Getachu to make it quick and clean with a firing squad.”
“He said he respects you as a soldier.”
“I can’t say the same for him. But I’ll take him at his word and expect a proper firing squad.”
Purcell did not reply, but he nodded, then said, “We’ll stay with you through the night.”
“Good. Plenty of empty poles, old boy.”
Purcell smiled at the gallows humor despite the circumstances. He looked up at the shackles and saw they were held by a padlock, as were the chains on the iron ring. If he could find something to cut the locks or the chains, he could free Gann and Mercado and they could all make a run for it.
Gann saw what Purcell was looking at and said, “There hasn’t been a single guard by here, but if you look to your right, you’ll see a watchtower a few hundred meters’ distance.”
“Okay… maybe after the moon sets.” Purcell considered telling Colonel Gann that his old boss, Prince Joshua, had been captured and was no longer a prince or a man. But that wasn’t news that Colonel Gann would find helpful or hopeful. He said to Gann, “I’ll be right back.”
“I’ll be here.”
Purcell walked past the Ethiopian, who was still unconscious, and came up beside Vivian, who was murmuring to Mercado and caressing his chest and hair.
He stared at Mercado and they made eye contact. Finally Mercado took a deep breath and said, “Sorry about all this.”
“It’s been interesting, Henry.”
“Good story if you can file it.”
“Right.”
Mercado said to Vivian, “Go see Colonel Gann. He’s feeling left out.”
She hesitated, then moved past the Ethiopian, but then came back and looked at him. She put her hand on his face and his chest and said, “He’s dying.”
Purcell looked at the three men hanging from the posts. In the morning, Getachu would muster his troops so they could see what happens to people who annoy the general. If he was insane, which he was, he would harangue the troops and threaten them with the same punishment if they stepped out of line. But if he was an accomplished sadist, he would speak to them about their victory, or some other matter, without explaining the three men hanging there. The soldiers could draw their own conclusions.
It also occurred to Purcell that he and Vivian might be paraded out at first muster and also chained to the poles. Or… Vivian could be taken to the tent. Recalling the prince’s fate, he also knew that he, Mercado, and Gann could be serving time in that tent.
It was not a good thing to be at the mercy of an omnipotent psychopath who was probably also a sexual sadist. He realized he had to do something while he could. But what? Escape was still possible. But could he leave Henry and Colonel Gann? And should he take Vivian?
Mercado said, “My fault, really. Shouldn’t have left Addis.”
“Seemed like a good idea at the time.”
“Shouldn’t have gone to sleep. Gann asked if I could stay awake while he caught a few winks… I said, ‘Get some rest, old man,’ and next thing I know, we’re surrounded by soldiers and a donkey.”
“Mule.”
“Whatever. And now we’re all guilty by association.”
“Henry, we are guilty of nothing except being stupid enough to come here expecting to be treated as accredited journalists.”
“Well… it may have gone better if we hadn’t teamed up with Colonel Gann.”
Purcell thought that Colonel Gann had probably saved them all from the Gallas, but Henry needed to share the blame.
Mercado sensed that Purcell was not sympathetic to his interpretation of their predicament, so he said, “Fate. Fate is what brought us here. There is a reason for this…”
“Let me know when you find out.”
Mercado continued, “When Doctor Mato told me that you and Vivian were here and well, I knew that there was a higher power watching over us.”
“That thought never once crossed my mind, Henry.”
“You need to have faith, Frank. Faith will see us through this.”
Purcell was tempted to point out that he of little faith was not hanging from the pole, but instead he said, “Vivian and I saw Getachu.”
Mercado did not respond.
Purcell continued, “He’s basically held a court-martial in his head and condemned Gann to death.”
Again, Mercado didn’t respond, and Purcell looked at him to see if he was conscious. He was, and he was staring at Purcell waiting for news of his own fate. Purcell said, “You, I, and Vivian are to be court-martialed in the morning.” He added, to ease Mercado’s anxiety, “But maybe not.”
Mercado had no response, so Purcell related his and Vivian’s meeting with Getachu, trying to sound optimistic, but also realistic, though he didn’t mention Getachu’s thinly veiled threat to put Vivian in the camp bordello. Henry had enough on his mind. Purcell concluded, “Getachu may be waiting to hear from his bosses. Or he may have something else in mind for us that he’s not saying.”
Mercado did not respond immediately, then said, “We’re more useful to him alive than dead.”
“Unfortunately, that may be true.”
“Or the Provisional government will just order him to release us. In fact, I’m sure they will.” He added, “General Andom and I have a good relationship.”
“Good. I hope General Andom and General Getachu have as good a relationship.”
Mercado did not reply.
Purcell asked, “Did Vivian tell you that the Gallas captured Prince Joshua and two of his staff and turned them over to Getachu?”
“No… God take pity on them.”
“God is on holiday this week, Henry. In the meantime, I’ll do what I can for all of us as long as I’m not hanging on the next pole.”
“I know you will, Frank. If you can keep talking to Getachu—”
“But I have to tell you, Henry, I may decide to bust out of here. Without Vivian. If I can get to Gondar, I may be able to get a flight to Addis and get to the American, Swiss, or British embassy, and get you all sprung.” He looked at Mercado and asked, “Are you all right with that?”
Mercado seemed to be thinking, then replied, “You’ll never make it, Frank.”
“Worth a try.”
“You have no money, no credentials, no… no shoes for God’s sake.”
“I’ll try to do what Gann was going to do—find some friendly Royalists.”
“They can’t even help themselves. They’re finished. Hunted down like dogs.” He said, “You need to stay here. To help us all here.”
“I’ll leave you here in God’s hands.”
Vivian returned and embraced Mercado, saying to Purcell, “We need to get them some water, Frank.”
“All right. Stay here.”
He headed up the slope of the amphitheater, got his bearings, and walked west toward the hospital tent—the only oasis of humanity in this desert of death. Though to be less cynical, probably any man here would offer water, as the soldiers did at the outpost. These were not bad people, but war, as he’d seen too many times, in too many places, changes people.
Whenever he started to believe in humanity, he thought of the Khmer Rouge who murdered millions of their own people. And now he’d made the acquaintance of the Gallas, who were a barbaric throwback to the dark side of humanity. In fact, he admitted, his chances of making it to Gondar and Addis were nil.
Faith, said Henry Mercado. A higher power is watching over us. There is a reason for all this. Well, he thought, it better be a very good reason. And, he supposed, Henry, and also Vivian, thought the reason had to do with them coming upon Father Armano, which Purcell thought was pure chance, but which Henry and Vivian believed was divinely ordained. In any case, they’d see in the morning who was right.
He reached the hospital tent and helped himself to two canteens of water that he found among what was called the muddied and bloodied—the discarded uniforms and field gear of the dead and wounded.
He looked, too, for a knife or bayonet, or anything else that could be useful, but the pile had been picked over.
Purcell wrapped the canteens in a fatigue shirt and made his way back.
He wasn’t quite sure why Getachu had allowed him and Vivian to wander around freely, but his experience with sadistic despots had always had an element of inconsistency—random acts of cruelty, tempered with expansive acts of kindness. The despot wants to be feared, but also loved for his mercy. The despot wants to be like God.
Purcell got back to the parade ground and handed a canteen to Vivian, who held it to Mercado’s lips.
Purcell moved to the Ethiopian, but it appeared that the man was dead. Purcell put his hand on the man’s chest, then put his ear to his still heart.
Gann, on the next pole, called out, “Saw him go through his death throes.”
Purcell moved to Gann and held the canteen to his lips while he drank.
Gann said, “Save some of that.”
Purcell assured him, “This will all be over in the morning.”
“Indeed.”
There wasn’t much else to say, so Purcell moved toward Vivian, who was washing Mercado’s face with the water.
Purcell stood there, watching this display of womanly compassion and grief. Pietà. Which he knew in Italian meant both pity and piety. The dying son or husband, the warrior or father, comforted in the hour of death by the mother or wife, the pious woman, filled with love and pity. We should all be so fortunate, Purcell thought, to die like that.
He said to Vivian and to Mercado, “I’m going to go up on that platform and get some sleep.” He assured Mercado, “I’m here if you need anything.” He gave Gann the same assurance, then climbed the three steps onto the crudely built platform. The moon was overhead now and illuminated the large, empty field.
He counted ten poles running in front of the platform. Gann was to his left, standing straight, and the Ethiopian was also to his left, hanging dead by his wrists. He wondered what the man had done to suffer a death like that. Probably not much. To his immediate front was Henry Mercado, barely ten feet away, and he could hear Vivian speaking softly to him as she stroked his face. Mercado said something now and then, but Purcell couldn’t hear the words, and in any case he didn’t want to eavesdrop on their private moment—if one could call this place of public punishment and death private. He did hope, however, that Mercado was man enough, like Gann, to suffer in dignity, and that his words to his lover were as comforting as hers to him.
Purcell spread the shirt from the hospital on the logs that made up the floor of the platform and lay down. He was fatigued beyond sleep and found he couldn’t put his mind to rest.
At some point, maybe fifteen minutes later, Vivian joined him and without a word lay down beside him, though the platform was large.
He shifted to his left and said to her, “Lie on this shirt.”
She moved onto the shirt and lay on her back, staring at the sky.
A wind came down from the surrounding mountains, and she said, “I’m cold. Move closer to me.”
He moved closer to her, and she rolled on her side, facing him, and he did the same, and they wrapped their bare legs and arms around each other and drew closer for warmth.
He could feel her heart beating, and her breathing, and her breasts pressing against him. Their shammas had ridden up to their thighs, and she rubbed her legs and feet over his, then rolled on her back with him on top.
He hesitated, then kissed her, and she threw her arms around his neck and held her lips against his.
He pulled both their shammas up to their waists and entered her without resistance. She raised her legs, then crossed them over his buttocks and pulled him down farther as he thrust deeper into her.
Her body began to tremble, then stiffened, and suddenly went loose as she let out a long moan. He came inside her and they lay still, breathing heavily into the cool night air.
“My God…” Tears ran down her cheeks.
They lay on their backs, side by side, holding hands, staring up at the starry sky.
They hadn’t spoken a word, and Purcell thought there was nothing to say, but finally he said, “Try to get some sleep.”
“I need to check on Henry. And Colonel Gann.”
He sat up. “I can do that.”
She stood, took the canteen, and said, “Be right back.”
Purcell stood as she descended the steps, and he watched her as she moved first toward Gann.
The moon was in the west now and it cast moonshadows down the line of poles. Purcell realized that Mercado had walked himself around his pole and was now facing the platform.
Vivian checked on Gann, then moved slowly toward Mercado, who was not looking at her but looking up at him.
Was it possible, he wondered, that Mercado had seen—or heard—what happened?
Vivian approached Mercado and he seemed to notice her for the first time.
As she lifted the canteen to his lips and touched his face, he said in a surprisingly strong voice, “Get away from me.”
She spoke to him softly, but he shook his head and wouldn’t drink from the canteen. She tried again, but again he said, “Get away from me.”
Finally, she turned and moved back to the platform, and Purcell noticed that she was walking slowly, with her head down.
He glanced at Mercado, who was looking at him again, and they made eye contact in the bright moonlight.
Purcell turned and watched Vivian come up the steps. She threw the canteen on the floor, then lay down on the shirt and stared up at the sky.
Purcell knelt a few feet from her and said, “Sorry.”
She didn’t reply.
He put ten feet between them and lay on his back.
He heard her say, “Not your fault.”
No, he thought, it certainly was not. He said, “Get some sleep. We’re going to have a long day.”
“We’ll all be dead tomorrow. Then none of this matters.”
“We will be in Addis tomorrow.”
“I think not.” She asked him, “Will you make love to me again?”
“No… not here. In Addis.”
“If we get out of here, this won’t happen again.”
He asked, “Will you be with Henry?”
“Maybe… he’ll get over it.”
“Good. We’ll all get over it.”
“We will.” She said, “Good night.”
He looked up at the starry African sky. Beautiful, he thought. So very beautiful up there.
He closed his eyes, and as he was drifting into sleep he heard her sobbing silently. He wanted to comfort her, but he couldn’t, and he fell into a deep sleep, and dreamt of Vivian naked in the water, and of Mercado shouting her name.
