Читать книгу Oliver Strange and the Journey to the Swamps - Dianne Hofmeyr - Страница 8

A Whisper of Something Sinister

“You wouldn’t have, would you?”

“Are you saying I’m chicken?”

“Your eyeballs would pop out.”

“Did you see anyone with popped-out eyeballs, Ollie?”

Ollie thought of that downward rush. He knew his eyeballs would pop out. There was no way he could do it.

The driver was revving the engine to keep it rumbling over. The bus was crowded and smelt of fumes and brake fluid. Inside it was as hot as an oven. The aisle was blocked with sacks of rice and maize meal and the overhead racks were overflowing.

They found two seats in the back row. A huge tyre was propped up against the emergency escape window.

Ollie wiped a clear porthole on the dirty glass. He peered out to grab one last look. Clouds of water vapour mixed with the dust churned up by the bus.

At least they’d got rid of the creepy man following them.

Zinzi handed him a corn cob and a mango. Bobo immediately poked her head out and started to squeal. In the excitement of the bungee jump, Ollie had forgotten her.

Zinzi tore at a mango with her teeth, took a bite and offered a piece to Bobo. She ate quickly then searched Zinzi’s hand for more. Then she groomed her face and settled down to sleep again.

Ollie chewed on his corn cob. Around him people were talking loudly. Their voices rose up through the rumble of the bus like bubbles from water. But the man in front of him was oddly silent. Ollie stopped chewing and stared.

An icy flash of lightning streaked up his spine. Surely not? Could it be?

Yes, it was. No raincoat now. But dark sunglasses with a hat pulled down low. He was talking softly into a mobile phone cradled close to his face.

Ollie nudged Zinzi. “It’s him.”

“Who?”

“That creepy man again. The one who’s been following us.”

“He’s not following us, Ollie. He’s just on the same bus.”

“He looks suspicious.”

Zinzi laughed. “You’re suspicious. You’ve been reading too many spy stories!”

“But why’s he always near us? And why’s he dressed like that?”

Zinzi shrugged. “Maybe he’s a government man. If he speaks to you, you’d better be polite. And take off your cap and sunglasses. Government men don’t like cheek. In Botswana you have to use the correct address when speaking to your elders.”

“Such as?”

“Wait to be spoken to first. Then say Rra if you’re answering a man. Say Mma if you’re answering a woman. It’s rude not to.”

“I’m not going to say Rra to him. I’m sure he’s some sort of crook.”

“Even more reason you should speak politely.”

Ollie bit his lip. He didn’t feel like eating any more. The man was making him extremely nervous. He glanced at Zinzi. “How far is Kasane?”

“About an hour.”

“An hour? That’s a long time to be on a bus with someone like him.”

Zinzi shook her head. “Forget him. Who are you meeting in Kasane?”

“I’m supposed to meet my aunt there.” He looked out at the trees flashing past. “Do you know a place called Ilala?”

“Ilala?” Zinzi shook her head. “Never heard of it.”

“Ilala’s where my father is … I think.”

“You think?” Zinzi clicked her tongue. “Ilala’s not a place, Ollie. It’s the name of a palm tree! Everyone knows that.”

Ollie looked back at her. Everyone except him. “Are you sure?”

“Yep. It’s a tree that grows in salty soil. The leaves are used for weaving baskets and the sap is brewed for muchema wine. Ilala palms grow everywhere in the swamps.”

“Everywhere? But if we find the right tree …?”

Zinzi pulled a face. “Botswana’s huge, Ollie. Bigger than the whole of England. Bigger than Texas.”

Ollie stared at the broad shoulders of the man. He felt little knots tightening in his stomach. The rat was back there gnawing at him. Bigger than England? How was he going to find his father in a place bigger than England? He hoped his aunt knew what she was saying when she said she’d find him.

“You okay?” Zinzi asked.

Ollie nodded. “Yeah! Fine.” But suddenly the wheels of the bus were no longer singing …

We’re going to Ila-la. We’re going to find your fa-ther.

Their sound was more ominous.

His dad had written “Ilalaland” on his last letter. Now he finds there’s no such place? He felt punched. It was a puzzle with huge chunks missing. Try as hard as he could, he couldn’t find the missing pieces.

Next to him Zinzi had clapped on her earphones with the volume turned up loud.

He stared blankly out the window at some thorn trees with smooth, bright-yellow trunks. “Fever trees,” he said under his breath.

Zinzi gave him a look, then lifted her earphones. “What?”

“Fever trees!” Ollie snapped.

“How do you know?”

Ollie pulled a face. “Everybody knows. The great, grey-green greasy Limpopo all strung about with Fever trees.”

“The what? What are you talking about?”

“The Elephant’s Child. Rudyard Kipling.”

Zinzi shook her head. “You’re weird, Ollie.”

He turned away from Zinzi. He wasn’t the one who was weird. This was what was weird:

1. His aunt hadn’t been in Bulawayo to meet him.

2. He was travelling with a python.

3. A creepy, sinister man was following him.

4. Ilalaland wasn’t a place after all.

5. The plans he’d made with grandma in Tooting had gone upside down.

6. Tooting was far away … a zillion, million miles away. Another life.

7. And worse than everything, he wasn’t any closer to finding his father than before. Now his father had truly disappeared.