On the riverside of promise Read Online Free PDF

behind him.
     
    Ethan stood frozen in his chair, unable to
fathom what exactly had transpired. The only certainty was that Mr.
Bloom had probably been for too long in the service. Ethan’s
thoughts were interrupted by the phone ringing. Ethan picked up the
receiver reluctantly:
     
    “Hello? Ian? It’s Ethan Whittmore. Well, what
can I say? Didn’t expect to hear me on this end, did you? What am I
doing here? Well, first of all… Yes, I know I’m terrible. No, it
wasn’t… I know I shouldn’t be even talking to you like this but I
need some help, Ian. No! I’m not married. Can you be serious for a
minute? How you’re working for Six I’ll never understand. Well, now
that I saw the guy in the Nigerian desk perhaps I do understand.
Listen. Just listen. I need some cover. It’s Andy, my brother. I
need to go into Biafra. No joke. There will be no widow to comfort,
so stop being a cunt and help me over here. Right, then. A piece of
paper? I’m on it.”
     
    * * *
     
    James rolled a cigarette. Real imported
tobacco, confiscated from Customs. A smile, a joke and a tap in the
back usually go a long way. Especially when you’re six feet tall
and slightly less stocky than a bull. That was something that Ethan
had said when they had first met. A piece of wisdom from Britain’s
finest.
     
    He lit his cigarette and sat down on a chair
across the kitchen table. A hefty fish lay half-eaten, its maws
showing a slightly serrated set of tiny teeth. The smell of roast
dominated the room and through an open window the grill on the
small porch could be seen; a few coals were settling down, their
heat meaningless in the suffocating summer night of Lagos.
     
    A wedding feast was being held down the next
street, the gathered crowd milling about like a colourful circus
troupe, dancing and singing with vigor despite everyone being
thoroughly drenched in sweat. James peered at the small spectacle
and stared blankly for a minute or two, as if his thoughts were
completely disconnected with what was going on in front of him.
     
    The crowd brought the groom to the fore, the
improptu stage the middle of the street and made a circle around
him. He was all dressed up, smiling brightly. Everyone showered him
with flowers and small gifts, while they danced to a deep, rhythmic
beat of drums. His face seemed to shine almost imperceptibly with a
gold sheen that somehow looked only natural under the light of the
torches.
     
    The burning tip of the cigarette fell on
James’ arm. He shook instinctively, ash marking the spot of the
slight burn on his skin. His face didn’t flinch though, nor did he
seem to notice his cigarette was out. The phone in the bedroom was
ringing with a mindless persistence that only a salesman would
envy.
     
    When James finally got up from his chair, the
phone was ringing again. He stormed outside dressed in nothing but
his shorts and ran towards the moving wedding feast barefooted. As
he ran, he traced his tongue across his lips but couldn’t tell his
tears from his sweat. It could have been Enkele's wedding
feast.

    Well met on an ill road
     
    “Hello, Richard Owls. London Times. I presume
you must be Dr. Ludwig Manteuffel. Glad you could take me in on
such a short notice.”
     
    A somewhat plumb, blond-haired man with a
scruffy look and a thin, wiry receding hair line looked up from his
writing pad through thick glasses and saw a red-haired, tall and
almost gaunt man smiling and squinting under the uncomfortably
radiant morning sun:
     
    “There’s room for more, actually. Your
editor-in-chief was very pleasant on the phone and quite
convincing.”
     
    Ethan laughed politely and replied, tilting
his head only barely so he could shade his eyes at least:
     
    “He’s a wily bastard, I’ll say. When he can
tell his arse from his elbow that is.”
     
    The doctor extended his hand casually and
smiled, a bit puzzled:
     
    “I hope he’s not exhibiting a cognitive
disfunction of such proportions. It could