The Gobi Desert (8 page)

‘It's quite possible. Here's the key. Nobody has been up to your room since the two of you left.'

I hadn't forgotten anything at all, as one might guess. I only wanted to see that room again, that poor room where we had lived, she and I, so many dreary and pitiful hours, which now began to gleam, to be adorned with radiant shades of colour, to shine with the most miraculous, the most wonderful beauty.

Little pieces of thin paper, half burnt and blackened, lay scattered on the dressing table, which Alzire had used to get the right heat for her hair curler. Here there was a hairpin, there some left-over lipstick. Religiously I gathered everything up and put it all in my pocket, and withdrew from the room on tip-toe, as if I was leaving a corpse behind me.

At three o'clock I was back at the Myako
.
As if by chance I found Sanders in the bar. He was laughing uproariously.

‘One last bottle of champagne, my boy. We must take advantage of it, I don't trust those bottles that may be waiting for us on board the
Sakaki-Maru.
But look at that idiot of a barman. He very nearly didn't get paid. He forgot to put my expenses on my hotel bill. It's about time, you moron! How much do I owe you?'

‘Two hundred and ten dollars, Mr Sanders,' said the man bowing very low.

‘Good! You heard, Michel, count out two hundred and ten dollars for him plus twenty as a tip. He's a good sort. He's deserved it.'

‘Two hundred and thirty dollars! . . . ' I stammered.

Sanders gave me a sharp look. The sound of my voice made him turn round.

‘Yes! And so?'

‘Well, Mr Sanders, it's just that, that amount, you see, I no longer have it all . . . ‘

‘Ah!' said Sanders, without batting an eyelid.

That was all. He took out of his pocket a fistful of banknotes, counted them out, and handed them to the barman.

‘Here, waiter!'

That was all, as I say. He didn't even seem to notice the mortal embarrassment painted on my face. He didn't say anything. No doubt he thought it would be pointless, and that for the next six months at least I would no longer have any need of advice or recommendations.

There was a glint in Sanders' eyes.

‘You see, Michel' he said, ‘if what we are looking for actually exists, it's here, believe me, that we will find it.'

I looked doubtful. ‘That's not very helpful, is it?' I said. ‘Three quarters of this map are blank.'

He shrugged his shoulders disdainfully.

‘So do you think that someone has drawn up maps of the Gobi Desert as detailed as those of Sydney, or even of Moscow? You should be prepared for some disappointment, my friend.'

The huge map which we were kneeling over was spread out on the deck of the junk, where it extended over a good part of the stern. I looked at the point where my companion was indicating, an area which was completely empty, as I said, in the region of about 107 or 108 degrees longitude east. The name which was closest to this area was that of a lake, the Ouroum Nor. A long way to the east, there was a chain of mountains, marked in a yellowish-brown, the Spiridovitch Mountains, the western arm of another chain bearing the name of Mount Yin-Chan. Here and there were lines of discontinued dots, no doubt rough outlines of tracks. As for railways or roads, you could be looking for them for ever.

‘And we, where are we at the moment?' I asked.

His look of pity increased.

‘We? We haven't even got on to the area of this map,' he said rudely. ‘But look, down here in the south-east corner, this river. It's one of the tributaries of the Tchanak, which we are now sailing up. We will get there in four or five days. It's true that we are not going to be lounging around for long on board a comfortable junk there, since the river almost immediately ceases to be navigable. But I think I gave you fair warning that this isn't a pleasure cruise that I've brought you on.'

By way of a reply I took his hand.

‘Have you once in the past month' I said with a reproachful smile, ‘ever heard me complain, chief?'

*

It was true. Besides to complain, ordinarily, is to compare, or contrast, the past with the present. As for my own past, I had got to the point where I could hardly talk about it anymore with Sanders. My past in effect belonged to just one person: Alzire. Now every time I pronounced that name in front of him, something which happened quite frequently during the first hours of our voyage, it seemed to me, for a reason I could never really make out, that Sanders' face clouded over. Anyway, he always let the conversation drop. Evidently, he wasn't happy talking about women. Many men, who are outwardly rough and brutal, are often rather prudish in these matters. He seemed to belong to this category. To be a bit more sure about this, I only had to think back to the unease which always took hold of him every time he was in the presence of Alzire. All in all, it was a subject which we had gradually abandoned. It had been difficult for me at first. Later I had come to terms with it, as soon as I had convinced myself that his attitude did not spring from any preconceived hostility. Besides, I hasten to add that my new life, hard as it was, was compensated for by many other advantages. Principally I refer to the sort of clean and masculine happiness which I enjoyed with Sanders, a feeling which I had not experienced for a long time.

Another mystery which it had not been possible to clear up: the real objective of our expedition. Oh yes, I knew full well that we had to give some thought to paying off as much as possible of the huge expenses which our leader had incurred. We would try to do this by buying furs destined for markets in Australia and Europe, from trappers who we would meet on the way, although this was in the expectation that we would be in the hunting grounds where we would actually be able to buy these furs.

But it was clear that Sanders never allowed the progress of our expedition to be disrupted or delayed. So what was it all about then? A wild cat, of a completely exceptional species, or a tiger, there was no doubt about that, but a tiger which did not belong, except very remotely, to any known family or type. Let's remember the daring allusions which Sanders himself had made about this, six weeks earlier in the bar of the Myako
in Fouzan, allusions to an animal of a rarity and a value which he prided himself would bring him three or four times what he would get for the Mikado. That was all the information I could get out of him, and for the time being he didn't seem to be in the mood to tell me any more. Of course, he was the first to bring the conversation back to a subject which he never wanted to be far from our thoughts. Then in response to the questioning which he himself had provoked, he would reply with just a smile, and put a finger to his lips. No, no, no! That would be in vain, you couldn't make him talk. The time for that hadn't come yet . . .

Two points, anyway, could not be disputed.
Primo:
given the nature of Sanders' profession itself, it could only be a matter of capturing a live animal, destined for some exceptionally wealthy zoological establishment.
Secundo:
the particular type of cynogenetic material which we had with us demonstrated beyond doubt that from now on our operation was not going to be a picnic.

*

‘Ilichine, you idiot, the way this lorry is tied up, was it really so difficult to do it properly?'

Our team and its composition, that was all credit to the practical genius of Sanders, and equally revealing of his intentions. Not one of our men doubled up in a different job: each had his own speciality. Seven in all, not counting us, Sanders and me, or the local helpers who we had taken on for a few days just to help out with our particular needs.

‘Ilichine, my dear Ivan Ivanovich, didn't you hear me? Don't you think that all this is going to sink to the bottom of the river?'

Sanders was right. Chains and ropes were coming loose and knots were coming undone after so many days sailing. In the turbulent waters of the rapids, the heavy lorry tied to the stern of the second junk began to sway in the most alarming manner. Ilichine, always a bit slow, bustled about as best he could. He was a naval mechanic from the battle fleet of the Amur. I had never been happier than when Sanders, on board the
Sakaki-Maru
and trying hard to be pleasant to me, informed me that I was going to have three of my compatriots under my command. Thank heavens, none of them had heard of my trouble with the law in our country. So apart from Ilichine, there was Welowski, Vladimir Welowski, a good lad who had opened a fur shop in Seoul and lost all the money he had made as a trapper in Ghirin province and on the Yalu. The third was a fellow called Neratov, a sort of taciturn fifty-year-old, who we never knew exactly what he did, but who gave me some tips when we trying to put a bullet through the neck of a bottle which he had earlier been trying to open.

As for the other four members of our little team, they also had all taken part of course in the expedition which had captured the Mikado. The first, Kailar, a Korean, had excelled in gathering
gin-sen,
the mysterious life-enhancing plant, in the depths of the Usuri taiga, until the day he met Sanders. Ou-Tsin and Youen, marksmen equally distinguished as Kailar, were also Koreans, and both were possessed of a herculean strength. Youen, who claimed to have the delicate skills of a cook, had only a few opportunities to prove himself. Lastly there was Nain-Sain, their leader, a Mongolian from Uliassoutai, a sour and morose individual, but who possessed over all of us, including Sanders, a superiority which can be summarised in a few sentences. The terrible and deadly Gobi Desert was for Nain-Sain something other than just a simple geographical expression. From his childhood it was his life. It was his native country. He knew the desert as much as any man could claim to know anything. As we progressed further westwards, it was Nain-Sain who we turned to, with ever-growing anxiety. He and Sanders held conferences which became more frequent with each passing day. It was he, without doubt, who was the guiding spirit on our expedition, and similarly he was probably the only one who had any idea of the adventures which lay ahead of us.

It was in northern Korea that the Mikado had committed the childish error of letting itself be captured; it was also there that Sanders had split up from his men. With Otto Streep and with his trophy, he took the train like any middle class traveller to Fouzan, where he knew that he could quickly load the tiger onto a ship bound for Australia. He had arranged to meet the others at Tien-Tsin. They had made their way there by train, via Ghirin and Chan-Kai-Keui. Thanks to these details one can see that the plan for the future expedition had already been drawn up by Sanders, probably in collaboration with Nain-Sain. Neither the Russians nor the Koreans asked for any explanation. The main thing for them was that their contract should continue to run. Sanders was a master who paid well, and whose demands were always to a good purpose.

This little group had been waiting for us for two days in Tien-Tsin when we arrived there. Seeing me instead of Otto Streep didn't seem particularly to upset these good lads. I had the impression that Otto Streep wasn't too popular among them. Sanders himself, while acknowledging Otto Streep's qualities of intelligence and organisation, was the first to recognise that his rather puny physique hardly suited him for the type of ordeals which we were preparing to confront.

Three days in Tien-Tsin were not too long for the preparations for our departure. After that we took the train again to Talung and Fenchen, heading towards the border with Mongolia. The only really practical means of transport in this country are the rivers and watercourses, especially for travellers laden down with all sorts of baggage, as we were. It was a great relief when, the following week, we found ourselves on the banks of the Hoang-Ho, and in the little Chinese port where the two junks and the motor vessel, which Sanders had taken the precaution of organising in advance, were waiting for us. Our equipment was loaded on board the same day. It consisted essentially of four ordinary cars plus two gigantic lorries, fitted out so that if necessary we could live in them, and inside which our reserves of guns, ammunition, and clothes had all been carefully stored. And just to mention once again the enormous cage with sliding sides, which took up the whole of the rear of one of these huge vehicles. Youen had stored his boxes of canned food there for the time being. Nonetheless it wasn't too difficult to guess what the cage was really going to be used for. All in all it was truly a constant source of admiration and reassurance to see to what extent nothing had been left to chance. If only Sanders had agreed to give me an address which I could have given to Alzire so that I could receive some news from her! But he didn't even acknowledge the timid attempt which I dared to make to him about this . . . . .

*

Where could she be? What was she doing? What was she thinking about? These were the questions which ran ceaselessly through my mind. Our two ways of life had now become so different. As long as she was all right, the poor child! One can often get a completely wrong idea of the sort of life led by young women employed at establishments such as the casino at Macao. Colonel Estrange Malone remarked on it in his interesting work on Manchukuou. ‘There is no reason at all,' he wrote ‘for them not to keep their reputation intact, as long as they have good strength of character.' This was certainly not a quality in which Alzire was lacking. Besides, we had both, she and I, done our research. In addition to the assurances, perhaps a bit biased, of good Mme Domestici, we had the word of Captain Lucas. He knew Macao, and he assured us that the casino there was considered to be among the most reliable establishments of a type that included many more than one might think. In the end, the overriding factor, and the one which ought to put my mind completely at rest, was that Azlire loved me, didn't she? This was what I constantly told myself, every day and every evening, when I fell asleep, lulled by the music of the water, in the little bay on the river where our junks were tied up for the night, while all around us the forests were full of the mysterious calls of reclusive animals, and while the moon, like a huge kite, swayed among the dark and obscure mountain peaks. Either Alzire loved me, in which case why should I worry myself with preoccupations and doubts? Or she didn't love me . . . . in which case, so what?

*

‘Now what's the matter, for God's sake?'

It was getting colder. Although every hour brought us closer to Spring, it seemed as if we were increasingly turning away from it. The fir trees through which we were making our way were still laden with slabs of white snow. You could only see the sun every other day or thereabouts. Then late one afternoon, without any warning, our boat was shaken by a violent jolt.

A blue-coloured block slipped past in the froth of our wake, an impressive lump of ice which our junk had just collided with.

Sanders grabbed my arm. ‘We've got to get used to this,' he mumbled, ‘winter is threatening to be longer this year than I thought. There is both good and bad in that as far as we're concerned. Never mind, I think this will be our last night on board. Tomorrow we'll have to disembark. That will be more prudent.'

The light was fading. The landscape, now more bare and rocky, was already different to what it had been the day before. The birds which circled above us in the iron-grey sky, with long, mournful cries, were also different. Sanders named some of them for me: grebes, curlews, ice petrels, snow eagles. I didn't say anything. He looked at me, shrugged his shoulders and then, still muttering, he crawled into the sort of rough lean-to in the middle of the junk which served as our accommodation. About ten minutes later he emerged, wrapped up in a heavy fur coat, and a fur hat on his head.