I shall order a bottle of good champagne. The dust was chalky in his

mouth so he went on hurriedly, and a Malay girl from the Opera.

No, why be mean, ten Malay girls. I'll have them dance for me, that'll

pass the time. I'll promise them a sovereign each to bolster their

enthusiasm.

He continued the search, but there was nothing else. Gumboots, socks,

well-cut trousers, shirt torn I'm afraid, overalls, a tin hat, and

that's all. With his possessions laid out carefully beside him and his

cell explored he had to start thinking. First he thought about his

thirst. The mud in which he lay was too thick to yield water. He tried

straining it through his shirt without success, and then he thought

about air. It seemed quite A fresh and he decided that sufficient was

filtering in from the loosely packed rock around him to keep him alive.

To keep him alive, alive until the thirst killed. Until he died curled

up like a foetus in the warm womb of the earth. He laughed, a worm in a

dark warm womb. He laughed again and recognized it as the beginnings of

panick!

he thrust his fist into his mouth to stop himself, biting down hard on

his knuckles. It was very quiet, the rock had stopped moving. How long

will it take? Tell me, Doctor. How long have I got? I Well, you are

sweating. You'll lose moisture quite rapidly. I'd say about four days,

he answered himself. What about hunger, Doctor? Oh, no, don't worry

about that, you, will be hungry, of course, but the thirst will kill you

And typhoid, or is it typhus, I can never remember.

What about that, Doctor? If there were dead men trapped in here with

you there'd be a good chance, but you're alone, you know Do you think

I'll go mad, Doctor, not immediately, of course, but in a few days? Yes,

you'll go mad. I've never been mad before, not that I know of anyway,

but I think it will help to go mad now, don't you? If you mean, will it

make it easier, well, I don't know!

now you're being obscure, but I follow you. You mean in that sleep of

madness what dreams will come?

You mean, will madness be more real than reality? You mean, will dying

mad be worse than dying thirsty? But then I may beat the madness. This

cocoPan might buckle under the strain, after all there must be thousands

of tons of rock bearing down on it. That's quite clever, you know,

Doctor; as a medical man you should appreciate it.

Mother Earth was saved but, alas, the child was stillborn, she bore down

too hard. Sean had spoken aloud, and now he felt foolish. He picked up

a piece of stone and tapped the cocopan with it. It sounds firm enough.

A most pleasing noise, really. He beat harder on the metal body, one,

two, three, one, two, three, then dropped the stone. Soft as an echo,

distant as the moon, he heard his taps repeated. His whole body

stiffened at the sound, and he started to shiver with excitement. He

snatched up the stone: three times he rapped, and three times the answer

came back to him. They heard me, sweet merciful Christ, they heard me.

He laughed breathlessly. Dear Mother Earth, don't bear down, please

don't bear down. Just be patient. Wait a few days and by Caesarian

they'll take this child out of your womb. Mbejane waited until Sean

disappeared down the Number Three shaft before he took off his new

jacket. He folded it carefully on the driver's seat next to him. He

sat and enjoyed the feel of the sun on his skinfor a while, then he

climbed off the carriage and went to the horses. He took them one at a

time to the through for water then returned them to their harnesses,

buckling them in loosely. He picked up his spears from the footboard

and moved across to a patch of short grass next to the administrative

building. He sat down and went to work on the blade, humming softly to

himself as he honed. At last he ran an expert thumb along each edge,

grunted, shaved a few hairs off his forearm, smiled contentedly and laid

his spears beside him in the grass. He lay back and the sun warmed him

to sleep.

The shouting woke him. He sat up and automatically checked the height

of the sun. He had slept an hour or more. Duff was shouting and

Francois, mud-splattered and frightened-looking, was answering him. They

were standing together in front of the administrative building.

Duff's horse was sweating. Mbejane stood up and went across to them; he

listened closely, trying to understand their staccato voices. They went

too fast for him, but

something was wrong, that much he knew. It's caved in almost to the

Number Ten lift station Francois said.

You left him in there, accused Duff. I thought he was following me, but

he turned back. What for, why did he turn back? To call the others

-'Have you started clearing the drive? No, I was waiting for you You

stupid bloody idiot, he might be alive in there . . .

every minute is vital. But he hasn't a chance, Mr Charleywood, he must

be deadShut up, damn you. Duff swung away from him and started running

towards the shaft. There was a crowd gathered beneath the high steel

structure of the head gear, and suddenly Mbejane knew it was Sean. He

caught up with Duff before he reached the shaft. Is it the Nkosi? Yes.

What has happened? The rock has fallen on him Mbejane pushed his way