The Angry Mountain (30 page)

He ignored my question. “Who's this?” he asked, staring at Hacket.

“An American. Mr. Hacket.” I turned to my companion. “This is Reece, a friend of Maxwell's.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Hacket said. It was ridiculous, standing there, cut off by the lava and yet maintaining the formalities of a way of living that lay beyond the lava.

“You're quite certain there's no way through?” I asked.

His blue eyes looked at me coldly. “Why the hell do you think I've got myself in this mess? There's a lava flow coming in from back there. It must have joined up with this flow about half an hour ago. There's a twenty-foot high band of lava hemming us in. I've been up to the top of one of the houses. There's absolutely no way through. It's hundreds of yards wide and it encloses us completely.”

“Well, there's more coming down from Santo Francisco,” Hacket said. “If we're not out by nightfall, I guess we'll have had it.”

“A fine lookout.” Reece turned to Hacket, ignoring me. “Is Maxwell badly hurt?”

“Pretty bad. His leg's smashed. We'd better go back and
have a council of war.” Reece nodded and they moved back along the track to the road. I followed. “How did you come to get caught?” Hacket asked him.

“I got into Naples last night,” Reece answered. “Maxwell had left a message for me to meet him out here. I got a taxi and drove out. That was about four-thirty this morning. The eruption was in full blast by then. We got held up by refugees and then when some stones fell my driver refused to go any farther. I came on on foot. The villa was deserted except for the body of an Italian. I walked up as far as the outskirts of Santo Francisco. Then I came back. I was just too late to get out.”

“Tough luck.”

We were back in the street now. The others were just as we'd left them, all huddled in a bunch on the cart. Hilda and Zina stared at us. I think they knew by the expression on our faces that we were trapped. Zina picked up the reins and screamed at the mule. She got the cart round and called to us to get on. “Where are you going?” Hacket asked her.

“Back to the villa,” she said. “It is comfortable there and—” She didn't finish but I knew by the starved look on her face and the feverish light in her eyes that she was thinking there were drugs there.

I think Hacket understood, too, for he nodded. “All right,” he said. “Jump on, Mr. Reece.”

Hilda had been staring at Reece and now she said, “Why didn't you go while you could?”

He told her what had happened. Her face looked drawn and wretched. “I'm sorry,” she said. “I feel it is my fault. It was I who asked Max to leave that note. I was so anxious about my father and I thought maybe you'd have some news from Milan.”

“Don't worry,” he said. “It's not your fault.” He looked at me. “It's you who've got us all into this mess, Farrell,” he accused.

I felt suddenly sick with tiredness. I hadn't the energy
to argue with him, to tell him I hadn't known what it was all about until last night. I just stood there staring at him dumbly, unable to meet the anger and contempt in his eyes.

It was Hilda who answered for me. “That's not true,” she told him.

“It is true,” he answered. “If he hadn't been so scared—if he'd done what we asked him in Milan—”

“He's done everything a man could do. He's been—”

“Have it your own way.” He shrugged his shoulders. He looked at me and suddenly laughed. “It's just as it was before. You've trapped the two of us.”

“How do you mean—the two of you?” I asked.

“Walter Shirer and myself.”

I stared at him.

“Please—get on. All of you. I wish to go back to the villa.” Zina was standing up, holding the reins ready.

“Okay,” Hacket said. “I guess she's right. We may as well be comfortable.” He climbed on to the cart. I followed.

“Wait!” Reece called out. “There's another of us to come.”

“Who?” Zina asked.

“I told you. Walter Shirer.”

“Walter Shirer!” Her eyes widened in a blaze of violence.

“Do you mean the guy that owns that villa?” Hacket demanded, and his voice was thick with anger.

“Yes.”

I began to laugh. I couldn't help it. It was so damned funny.

“What the hell are you laughing at?” Reece demanded angrily. His eyes glanced uncertainly round the ring of faces. “What's the matter with you all?”

A voice called from back down the street. Reece turned. “Ah! Here he is. Did you find a way through, Shirer?” he called out.

“No. It's all round us.”

He came up the street, running, his eyes wild. “You have not found a way through?” Reece shook his head. “What about those peasants. Perhaps they—”

He stopped then and his mouth fell open. I think it was Zina he'd recognised. He stared at her, then slowly, reluctantly his eyes turned first to Hacket, then to me. We didn't speak. We were quite motionless, watching and—yes, I'll admit it—enjoying the way the truth dawned on him and fear spread across his face.

“What the devil's the matter, Shirer?” Reece demanded.

The man gulped and then turned and bolted.

“Shirer!” Reece called. “Shirer! Come back! What's the matter?”

The man twisted into the track we'd just left and disappeared. Reece turned and looked at the set anger of our faces. “What's the matter?” he asked. “What's happened?” He was bewildered, suddenly unsure of himself.

“Ask Dick,” Hilda said suddenly. “He will tell you.”

Reece turned to me. “What is it?” he asked. Then suddenly threatening he came towards me. “Come on, damn you, what's the mystery?”

“That isn't Shirer,” I said.

“Who is it then?”

“Doctor Sansevino.”

“Sansevino? Of the Villa d'Este?” He suddenly laughed. “What story have you been telling these people?” He caught hold of my arm and shook me. “What's the game, Farrell? Sansevino shot himself. I checked up afterwards. Anyway, I'd know Shirer anywhere. Didn't I escape with him?”

“You escaped with Dr. Sansevino,” I said.

“Don't he.”

“It's the truth. Ask any of these people.”

“But I've been through his villa. I know it's Shirer. And he talked to me about our escape. Nobody but Shirer could have—”

“You escaped with Dr. Sansevino,” I said.

He swung round on Hacket. “Would you mind telling me what this man's talking about? That was Shirer, wasn't it?” His voice trailed away again as he met the set expression of Hacket's face.

“I don't know who the guy is and I don't care,” Hacket said. “All I know is if I get my hands on the bastard's throat I'll kill him.”

There was a movement in the bottom of the cart. Maxwell had half-levered himself up. “Alec. Is that you?” His voice was a dry croak. “Dick's right. That man was Sansevino. Get hold of him. There's a—” He slumped back, his head falling with a hollow thud on the boards of the cart.

“What was he going to say?” Hacket asked.

“I don't know,” Hilda answered. “He's fainted. If we could get to the villa—”

“Yes.” Hacket called to us to get on to the cart. “The sooner he's made comfortable the better. And there's some drink there. I could do with a drink myself.”

We clambered on. Zina swore at the mule and we started back along the road. Reece sat quite still, a dazed, almost horrified look on his face. I sensed what was happening behind the blankness of his eyes. He was remembering the night he'd escaped, how Shirer had gone first and then he'd followed half an hour later, remembering how they'd met at the ambulance and how they'd driven away together. He was remembering all the little details, seeing them in a new light, realising for the first time that the man he'd escaped with was the man who'd killed his friend.

“Forget about it,” I said. “We've enough to worry about without that.”

He stared at me. I think he was hating me like hell at that moment for having revealed the truth to him. He didn't say anything. He just sat and stared at me for a moment and then looked away towards the black shimmering horizon of the lava.

Nobody talked as we drove back to the villa. The only human sound was the crying of the little fellow Hilda was nursing. He seemed to have sensed that something was wrong. He didn't stop crying till we reached the villa. We got Max on to the couch in the room to the left of the door. It was queer going into that room again. It looked cold and unlived in in that queer half-light. Roberto's body still lay in a heap on the floor and there were unwashed glasses and ashtrays. By the time we'd got Tu
č
ek and Lemlin upstairs to bed, Hilda had found water and was busy cleaning Maxwell up.

“Let me do that,” I said. “You get upstairs and see to your father.”

She shook her head. “My father is all right. He is only drugged.”

“Better for him if he stay drugged,” Zina said. “Better for us all if we have drugs.” She stared down at Maxwell. Hilda had cleaned the dirt off his face. The skin was very white and the lower lip horribly bitten through. “You want some morfina?”

Hilda glanced up. “Morphia?”

“
Sì
,
sì
. Morphia. I think I know where it is.”

Hilda looked down again at Max and then nodded. “I think it might help—later when he becomes conscious again.”

Zina went out. “Well, what do we do now?” Reece asked.

“Clean up, I guess,” Hacket said. “We'll feel better when we've got rid of some of this ash.”

“But there must be something we can do. There's a telephone here, isn't there?”

“I wouldn't be surprised. But what good is that? You can't just ring for a taxi.”

“No, but I could ring Pomigliano. There's just a chance a plane could land here. There's a flat stretch beside the road leading up to the villa.”

“It's a chance,” Hacket murmured. “But I don't see any pilot risking being caught up in the mess we're in.”

“Well, I'll have a try.”

We followed him out to the hall. The telephone stood on a wall-bracket and we watched him as he lifted the receiver. For a moment we were buoyed up by the sudden possibility of hope. Then he began to joggle the contact up and down and hope receded. At length he put the receiver back on the rest. “No good. It's probably an overhead line.”

“It'd be the same if it were underground,” Hacket said heavily. “The heat would simply melt the wires. Well, I'm going to get cleaned up.”

Through the open door I saw George standing forlornly in the shafts of the broken cart. They'd all forgotten about him. I went out and he whinnied at me. I stood there for a moment in the blazing twilight, rubbing the mule's velvet muzzle. It'd be nice I thought not to know what was going to happen. I unhooked the traces and took him round to the outhouses where he'd have some shelter if more stones began to fall. I left him with the basket of asparagus and went back into the villa for a drink.

Hilda was alone in the room with Maxwell. Someone had removed the dead body of Roberto. “How is he?” I asked.

“He became conscious for a moment. He try to tell me something. Then he fainted again. I think he is in great pain.”

Maxwell's face was very white and blood was dripping on to the floor. “Can't you stop the bleeding?” I asked her.

She shook her head. “The leg is terribly torn right up to the thigh.”

I turned away to the drink table and poured her a cognac. “Drink that,” I said. “You look as though you could do with it.”

She took the glass. “Thank you. I am so afraid I have fixed the leg wrong. I have no experience of setting legs and he is in terrible pain.”

“Well, it's not your fault,” I told her and poured myself a drink. I was thinking it didn't matter very much. The lava would come and that would be the end of it. We could fill
him up with drugs. He'd be lucky then. He wouldn't know much about it. I knocked back the cognac and poured another. The best thing would be to get drunk. I took the bottle and filled Hilda's glass. She tried to stop me, but I said, “Don't be a fool. Drink it. Things won't matter so much if you keep drinking.”

“Isn't there a chance—” She didn't finish but knelt there staring up at me with her large grey eyes.

I shook my head. “None. The lava might stop, but I don't think so.”

“If only we could get a doctor.”

“A doctor?”

“Yes. I would feel so much happier if I knew he was as comfortable as he could be.”

I knocked back the rest of the drink. I was beginning to feel fine now. “You want a doctor?” I felt a gurgle of laughter welling up inside me. It would be so damned ironical. “Would it really make you feel happier if you had a doctor?”

“Yes, but—”

“All right. I'll get you a doctor.” I poured myself another drink, knocked it straight back and then I turned to the door. “I'll get you one of the best surgeons in the country.”

“I don't understand. Where are you going, Dick?”

“I'm going to find Dr. Sansevino.”

“No. Please.”

“Do you want a doctor or don't you?” I asked her. She hesitated.

“Sansevino's a damn' good surgeon. I should know.”

“Please, Dick—don't be bitter. I would rather anything than that.” Then as she realised that I was waiting for the answer to my question, she nodded. “Yes. Get him if you can.”

I got George out of the outhouse, clambered on to his back and we trotted off down the track to the road. I'd had nothing to eat that morning and I felt very light-headed. I think
I sang part of the way. Then I reached the road and glanced along it towards Santo Francisco. The sight that met my eyes sobered me up. Santo Francisco was gone, all except a few houses on the outskirts. Where the village had been was nothing but a long wall of black lava. It seemed to be fanning out, filling the whole gap between the two streams that had swung down to join at Avin. I suddenly realised there wasn't much point in getting Sansevino.