The Trespass(62)

It was a mesmerising moment, and as Dracup drifted off to sleep later that evening he carried the scene with him into his dreams. In the campfire circle of his imagination Natasha was beside him, her voice joining the others in song. The song was heartbreakingly beautiful; he could hardly bear to listen. The fire burned slowly down and the voices hushed into reverential silence. They stepped forward, bending to look into what appeared to be a deep trench filled with colours – a bowl of reflected light.

Dracup wanted to see and stepped forward but Natasha gripped his arm, shaking her head. We can’t, Daddy. It’s not for us. There was another, a tall figure by the light. Natasha shrank from it, clinging to his arm. The figure stepped forward, beckoning. She is mine. Dracup opened his mouth to protest but his tongue was impotent, glued to the roof of his mouth. Natasha let go of his arm and took a faltering step towards the light. No – NO.

Dracup woke with a start; he sat up, disoriented. It was freezing cold but sweat was running freely down his back. He crawled forward, opened the tent flap and went out into the night. The campfire had burned low, its embers glowing like fireflies, but there was no sign of the children, just a faint trace of perfumed bark in the air. He walked a few paces from the tent and relieved himself. The moon hung in the sky like a yellow orb, the distant mountains silhouetted against a backdrop of ochre. He raised his head to the stars, far-off pinpricks of blue, the dust lanes of Andromeda a distant smear of matter. For a long time he looked into the cosmos. And strangely, he found a prayer on his lips: Oh God, if you are there, please help me. I can’t do this on my own. Help me find her. Just help me find her.





Carey rose with alarming cheerfulness at first light. Dracup heard the Kiwi whistling, a tuneless parody of the children’s harmonies from the night before. The tent flap parted and a steaming mug of coffee presented itself. “G’day Prof – good sleep?”

Dracup groaned. His bones were ice. “I didn’t realise the nights would be so cold.”

Carey laughed. “Too right. We can get a few more blankets in Dessie this afternoon if you like – they’ve got a general store.”

Dracup eased his battered body into the chill dawn. A few scattered clouds drifted in the metallic blue of the new day. A faint drone from the north announced the presence of an aircraft, a speck in the huge canopy above. Like the flying machine, he felt very small in this huge country, diminished by its timelessness.

“Another coffee?” Carey offered the pot. “Warm you up for the journey.”

Dracup shivered and held out his mug.





They drove on in the ever-increasing heat of the day. Dracup looked up and winced at the brightness. Another aeroplane was heading in the same direction but parallel to the road, slowly pulling ahead. Dracup squinted at the small machine. He turned to Carey. “Seems to be a popular flight path.”

“Oh yeah,” Carey replied, shouting above the noise. “There’s a small airstrip at Lali – you can hire a two-seater in Addis. A lot of people do that – it’s a little quicker to get there.” He grinned. “I prefer this way, though. You feel part of the country.”

Dracup’s rear end had felt enough of the country by now, but he knew what the Kiwi meant. His thoughts strayed to the one subject he wanted to avoid: Sara. His anger, which had made it easy to exclude her from his thoughts, had slowly been replaced by the emptiness of loss. He thought of the last night in Aberdeen, remembered her expression of concern at the airport. How could he have been so wrong? Charles had theorised about her involvement in the diary episode, perhaps even Natasha’s abduction. He still couldn’t believe it. There were too many missing pieces to make a judgement. Perhaps Lalibela would change all that. The jeep clattered on, Carey spinning the wheel every so often to avoid a pothole. “How long to Weldiya?” he shouted in the Kiwi’s ear.

“A few hours. We’ll stop and rest up for the night, get something to eat – they do a good milkado there too.” Carey let go of the wheel with one hand and gave Dracup the thumbs up.

“Milk what?”

“Milkado.” Carey gave a wide grin. “Legacy from the I-ties – it’s similar to a latte. Milky coffee, but a little stronger. Good stuff. Almost worth a visit on its own.”

The route became progressively hillier as they climbed higher into the mountains. The sheer beauty of it took Dracup’s breath away. “What’s our altitude?” he asked.

“About three thousand metres I reckon. Look at this.” Carey honked his horn as they eased past a group of cyclists. “Crazy bastards.” He waved as they overtook the leaders. “Not the easiest way to travel.” He grinned. “They do a lot of bike tours up this way.” Dracup looked back at the bikers’ slow, sweaty progress. The front cyclist waved then pointed. All the bikes stopped at his signal and dismounted. Dracup half turned in his seat but was nearly flung out of the vehicle when the jeep veered sharply to the side of the road. He heard Carey let out a yell of surprise as he saw the oncoming silhouette of an aeroplane. It tacked lower on its trajectory and headed straight for them.