Free Marabou Stork Nightmares by Irvine Welsh Page B

— That's right! You're a true Scotsman, Roy! A real Afrikaaner! He smiled at me. Gordon always seemed to hold you in his gaze a second or two more than felt comfortable. I didn't know what an Afrikaaner was, but it sounded alright; like a true Scotsman.
    I started to look at Valerie in a different light. She had had babies in the bush, knowing that she couldn't feed them, because as Gordon had explained, blacks couldn't organise themselves, couldn't do anything right. Even the good ones needed white people to look after them, to provide them with jobs and homes. It was important not to get too friendly with them though, he told me, because they got excited and reverted back to a primitive state. — You remember your dog, Winston, wasn't it?
    — Yes, I said. Winston Two was in kennels somewhere. He had to spend six months in quarantine before he could join us. I was not looking forward to his reappearance.
    — Remember you got him all excited?
    — Yes.
    — What happened?
    — He bit me.
    Of course, Winston did more than just bite me, he practically took my leg off. Even now, three years later, after skin grafts and intensive physio, my limp was still apparent.
    Gordon looked at me intensely, – Kaffirs are like that.

    You could do with some meat on these bones, Roy Strang. We're going to have to make sure you eat. That's what we're going to have to do. Yes we are.
    Leave ays alane ya fuckin daft cow
    DEEPER
    DEEPER
    DEEPER– – – – – We're driving back out through the shantytown and heading towards Lake Torto in an attempt to pick up the trail of the Stork.
    Sandy was recounting a tale from his lion-hunting days: — I recall one little girl running through the village crying: 'Simba mamma wae!', which means, roughly: 'A lion has one's mother', and sure enough, this beast had seized the child's mother by the thigh and bitten the poor woman through the neck. On hearing our cries, it had dropped its kill and made off into the long grass. I headed after it, making speedy progress through the foliage in time to see the brute entering a thicket on the other side of an open range. Taking a steady aim, I fired, the bullet striking the beast and rolling him over. The blighter rose instantly, however, and unfortunately my shot with the second barrel wasn't so keen; I completely missed him. Crossing the clearing, I heard a growling challenge. Imagining that the brute was severely wounded and would before long succumb to the effect of the bullet I'd dispatched into him, I considered that discretion was the better part of valour and thought it prudent to retrace my steps for about thirty-five yards and simply await developments.
    — Crikey, I said, enjoying the scent of eucalyptus in my nostrils, — What happened?
    — Well, after a lapse of about an hour I became a tad restless and decided the time was ripe to explore the bush. Of course, I fully expected to find the blighter dead. All was silent, so I cautiously entered the dense undergrowth and began to follow his trail. He had clearly lost a considerable amount of blood and appeared to be limping badly. After a few yards of progress I could discern the tawny form of the lion, crouching completely motionless, head between paws, eyes glinting in the shade and staring steadily at me; but the thing was, the bugger was only about ten blasted yards away!
    — Gosh . . .
    —Well, I raised the bloody rifle pretty damn sharply, but without giving me time to aim and fire the bloody brute somewhat unsportingly charged at me, roaring savagely. I promptly let him have it, the bullet striking the left side of his head and smashing his shoulder. My third shot knocked him down and I thought; that should be quantum sufficit, but I'll be blowed if the bugger wasn't straight up again and coming on as strongly as ever!
    — Bloody hell, Sandy, what did you do?
    — It wasn't what I did, old man. I was rather fortunate that Tanu, a stout-hearted native from the village, had followed me,