The Seventh Scroll - Smith Wilbur - Страница 136

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rising roar as progressively the roof collapsed. They did not dare to

look back as the thunder of falling masonry swept towards them,

threatening to overtake and overwhelm them before they were able to

reach the entrance.

A jagged piece of rock as large as her head struck Royan a glancing blow

on her shoulder, and her legs sagged under her. She would have gone down

if he had not flung one arm around her and held her upright, dragging

her along the gallery. The dust obscured the passage ahead of them, so

that the square opening that offered their only chance of escape receded

in the choking fog.

"Keep going!" he yelled at her. "Almost there." As he  spoke, a thick

sheet of plaster came crashing down and smashed into the tripod stand of

the floodlamp. Instantly the gallery was plunged into utter darkness.

Completely unsighted, Nicholas's first instinct was to come up short and

try to orientate himself. But all around him the rubble of the roof was

falling heavier and faster.

He knew that at any second the entire roof would come down on top of

them, burying and crushing them. Running on without a check, he dragged

Royan along behind him in the darkness. He reached the end wall at full

tilt, and the impact knocked the breath out of him. Now, through the

swirling dust cloud, he was just able to make out the rectangular

opening in the plaster wall in front of him, back-lit by the lamps on

the landing at the head of the staircase outside.

As he reeled backwards he seized Royan around the waist and lifted her

bodily off her feet. He hurled her through the opening and heard her cry

out as she fell heavily on the far side. Another piece of rubble struck

him on the back of his head and knocked him to his knees. He felt

himself teetering on the very brink of consciousness, mail but crawled

forward, groping frantically until he touched the jagged edge of the

opening. With this handhold he was able to drag himself over the sill,

just as the full weight of the roof came thundering down along the

entire gallery.

Here on the upper landing of the staircase Royan was crouching on her

knees. She crawled towards him, guided once more by the lamplight.

"Are you all right?" she panted. A trickle of blood snaked down her

cheek from a wound in her scalp line. It cut a dark glistening runnel

through the caked white dust that powdered her face.

He did not answer, but dragged himself to his feet and pulled Royan up

beside him. "Can't stay here," he croaked, _1ro just as a thic '. lite

at  St. ug  mouth of the opening and swept over them, choking them and

dimming the floodlamps to a faint glimmer.

"Not safe." He pulled her away from the opening. "The whole thing might

cave in." His voice was rough, his throat closing with the dust.

He dragged her to the head of the steps and they staggered down

together, stumbling against each other, their feet sliding under them as

they came on to the algae.

slippery footing. Through the dust mist ahead of them loomed the broad

square figure of Sapper.

"What the ruddy hell is going on?" he bellowed with relief as he saw

them.

"Give me a hand here," Nicholas yelled back at him.

Sapper lifted Royan in his arms and together they ran back -down the

tunnel, only stopping to draw breath when they reached the causeway over

the sink-hole.

unburrit and glared like a mirror in the high mountain sunlight. The

public telephone should have been in its booth outside the front door.

However, the instrument had long since vanished - stolen, vandalized or,

more likely, removed by the military to prevent it being used by

Political dissidents and rebels.

Tessay had expected this, and hardly glanced into the booth before she

strode into the small room which was the main post office. It was filled

with a motley crowd of peasants and villagers, queuing to conduct their

leisurely business with the elderly postmaster, the only person behind

the barred counter. Some of the customers had spread their cloaks on the

floor and settled in for a long he post office in the village of Debra

Maryarri a small building in the dusty street behind was the church. Its

walls were of unplastered unpainted brick, and its galvanized iron roof

T

wait, chatting and smoking while their children romped and crawled

around them.

Most of the patient crowd recognized Tessay as soon as she entered the

room."Even those who had waited most of the morning in the lines at the

counter greeted her respectfully and stood aside to allow her to go to

the, head of the queue. Despite two decades of African socialism, the

feudal instincts of the rural population were still strong.

Tessay was a noblewoman and she was entitled to this preference.

"Thank you, my friends." She smiled at them and shook her head. "You are

kind, but I will wait my turn."

They were embarrassed by her refusal, and when the old postmaster leaned

over his counter top and added his insistence to the others, one of the

older women seized Tessay's arm and forcefully propelled her forward.

"Jesus and all the saints bless you, Woizero Tessay." The postmaster

clapped his hands in respectful greeting.

"Welcome back to Debra Maryam. What is it that your ladyship desires?"

The entire clientele of the post office crowded around Tessay so as not

to miss a detail of her transaction.

"I want to make a telephone call to Addis," she told the postmaster and

there was a hum of comment and discussion. This was unusual and

important business indeed.

"I will take you to the telephone exchange," the postmaster told her

importantly, and donned his official blue cap for the occasion. He came

around the counter shouting and hectoring the other customers, pushing

them aside to make way for Lady Sun. Then "he ushered her through to the

back room of the building, where the telephone exchange occupied a

cubicle the size of a small lavatory.

Tessay, the postmaster and as many of the other customers who could find

standing room pushed their way into the tiny room. The exchange operator

was almost overcome by the honour being accorded him by the beautiful

Tessay, and he shouted into his headset like a sergeant major commanding

a flag party.

"Soon now!" he-beamed at Tessay. "Only small delay.

Then you speak to British Embassy in Addis."

Tessay, who knew well what a small delay constituted, retired to the

front veranda of the post office and sent for food and flasks to be

brought from the village tej shop. She treated her escort of monks,

together with half the population of Debra Maryam, to a happy picnic

while she waited for her call to be patched through half a dozen

antiquated village exchanges to the capital. Thanks to the tei, spirits

were high amongst her entourage when finally, an hour later, the

postmaster rushed out tell her proudly that they had succeeded and that

her party was awaiting her on the line in the back room.

Tessay, the monks and fifty villagers followed the postmaster back into

the exchange and crowded, jabbering, into the cubicle. The overflow

backed up into the main post hall.

"Geoffrey Tennant speaking." The upper'class English accent was tinny

with distance and static.

"Mr Tennant, this is Woizero Tessay."

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