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back and answered, the
sudden quietness in his voice the only indication that he himself
was somewhat uncertain:
     
    “I want to stay out of trouble as much as you
do.”
     
    Ludwig drew on his cigarette once more, this
time exhaling briskly and adding hastily:
     
    “Good. That’s good. Thank you.”
     
    Ethan nodded in silence before the doctor
went on:
     
    “I just want to help these people, and stay
alive in the process. Is it too much to ask?”
     
    “No, I suppose it’s not.”
     
    Ludwig then put out his cigarette in the dirt
and wiped his forehead once more. He seemed to mumble to
himself:
     
    “Good man. A good man.”
     
    Ethan noticed and asked the doctor, his voice
right on the edge of doubt:
     
    “How can you tell?”
     
    Ludwig looked at him with some reluctance
before replying:
     
    “I can’t. But I have hope.”
     
    * * *
     
    Space inside the Land Rover was at a premium.
Not an inch of space had gone to waste; it almost seemed like the
passengers inside were intruding on the cargo space and not the
other way around. Ethan had come up with a very comfortable-looking
seating arrangement on top of a sack of rice, along with a wooden
crate against his back and a couple of flour bags to put his feet
up on. He and the doctor were riding along together at the rear of
the small convoy of Land Rovers.
     
    Ludwig was sweating profusely, and kept
dabbing his forehead and face with a small hand towel. It only made
his suffering a little less unbearable and a little more obvious.
Ethan had been sleeping on and off, the car’s continuous jerks and
road bumps having developed into a sort of lullaby. Their driver
was invariably focused on the task at hand, barely uttering a word.
Ludwig could not stop himself from asking, straining his voice to
be heard over the roar of the diesel engine. Even though at
previous times he hadn’t received an answer he could make good use
of yet, his pitch had an air of optimism about it:
     
    “Are we going to stop any time soon,
Olufemi?”
     
    The driver’s answer was curt and to the
point, as had been the case previously as well.
     
    “Yes.”
     
    Ludwig, who would otherwise consider an
endless talker a nuisance at best, appeared to be edging on
aggravation. Olufemi’s brusqueness felt like he was doing the
doctor a favor by even considering an answer.
     
    The doctor made another effort to engage in
conversation or at least learn some hopefully interesting
information about their whereabouts:
     
    “Well, could you refine that somewhat? How
soon exactly, is soon? More or less, of course.”
     
    Olufemi paused for a moment before answering
in his usual, quietly dry manner:
     
    “Before nightfall.”
     
    Ludwig nodded to himself and tried to clear
his parched throat with little success and barely a spit. Ethan had
a contemplating look drawn upon his face, his gaze darting from
bush to grove. He held his camera in hand, the inadvertent swarm of
flies seemingly rather fond of him. Ludwig tried to catch his
attention, engage in some kind of discussion to relieve himself of
the dullness:
     
    “That camera… It’s a Leica, right?”
     
    Ethan turned to face Ludwig with a furrowed
brow, and having been caught unawares asked rather plainly:
     
    “I’m sorry?”
     
    Ludwig repeated himself, this time almost
shouting:
     
    “The camera. It’s a Leica M3, right? Some
very good equipment you have there.”
     
    Ethan shrugged indifferently, effortlessly
shooting down Ludwig’s hopes. A prolonged silence followed once
again, regularly interrupted by the creaks and croans of the Land
Rover’s chassis. As the evening wore by, flies began to give their
place to mosquitoes. The grassy hills rushed by, lush with
vegetation, filled with tall, thin trees and distant mangroves. The
swampy savannah drew distant with every passing minute.
     
    Ethan turned and addressed Olufemi in Yoruba
with a ghastly accent, but decent enough to be understood. The
driver