Free A Good Man in Africa by William Boyd Page B

nearby river—but these were not major, they could be overcome without difficulty. Villagers can be persuaded to resettle, rivers can be diverted.” He sighed with exasperation. “Unfortunately for all of us, Dr. Murray is very thorough. A very thorough man.” He took a cigarette pack from a pocket in his robe. “Perhaps you know,” he said, lighting a cigarette from it, “that my family are tribal chiefs in this part of the world. In fact, we own a great deal of the land around Nkongsamba. But, alas, the expenses of political life are very considerable, and so two years ago I was obliged to sell some of my family’s land. Some land which now borders the proposed site for the new hall of residence.” Adekunle smiled emptily. “I was chairman of the Nkongsamba Chamber of Commerce at the time and so it was—shall we say convenient?—for me to sell it to the Nkongsamba Town Council. They own that land now.”
    Morgan frowned. He wondered if in his naivety he was missing something very obvious. He still couldn’t see how it all tied in. Perhaps Adekunle’s ponderous euphemisms were a code he should have picked up on immediately. “Does Murray know you own the land?” he asked.
    “No,” said Adekunle. “No, no. I am sure of that. None of these transactions occur under my own name,” he said condescendingly, as if suppressing his frustration at Morgan’s slowness. “I don’t think,” he went on, “that the University of Nkongsamba would spend hundreds of thousands of pounds if they knew it was going to their own Professor of Economics and Business Management. No,” he continued, “the problem lies with the Town Council. The land I sold two years ago is today the new Nkongsamba municipal rubbish dump.”
    “Oh,” Morgan said, suddenly seeing. “I see.”
    “They started dumping there about six months ago. At present the dump is still fairly small and insignificant and at some distance from the proposed hall site. However, in another year it will be most obvious; in fact, if they continue at this rate the rubbish will be pressing against the walls of the buildings. But if by then,” he said fake-sadly, “construction is under way it will be too late to find a new site.” Morgan was impressed by his concern for his students’ welfare. “Nobody,” Adekunle said emphatically, “nobody could know this now. Unless they consulted the town planning records.”
    “And Murray has consulted the … yes.”
    “You have it, my friend. A very thorough man, as I said.”
    “But can’t you get them to move the dump or something?” Morgan asked hopelessly.
    Adekunle gave a scornful laugh at the impracticability of this suggestion. “And where will you put thousands of tons of decaying rubbish? Besides,” he added, “since entering politics I have been obliged to abandon my more influential positions within the council for the sake of—what shall we say?—probity.” The word seemed to leave a sour taste in his mouth. “I am sorry, my friend, but there is no other way. And in any case it is vital that this deal goes through now. I cannot afford to wait.” He spread his hands. “Election expenses. And when, I mean if, we win I will need substantial reserves. No, Murray mustchange his report. Without Murray there would be no problem; the land would have been sold already.” He looked at Morgan. “You are a white man, a representative of Her Majesty the Queen’s Diplomatic Service and a friend of his. I am counting on you to change his mind.”
    Morgan gazed bleakly heavenwards. He felt the weight and menace of the invisible black rainclouds above him as a personal threat, a final vindictive rebuff from a surly and spiteful God. The Canutian impossibility of the task Adekunle had set him made him want to laugh hysterically; the sheer audacity of the suggestion made him want to weep with helpless despair. Did the man know nothing of Murray? he wondered. Could he not see in those stern features the