Wolff said: “Shit!” He looked all around quickly. There was no one on the decks of the other bouseboats-it was the hour of the siesta. The towpath was deserted except for the “beggar”-Kemel would have to deal with him-and one man in the distance walking away. on the river there were a couple of feluccas, at least P quarter of a mile away, and a slow-moving steam barge beyond them. Wolff ran to the edge. Smith surfaced, gasping for air. He wiped his eyes and looked around to get his bearings. He was clumsv in the water, splashing a lot. He began to swim, inexpertly. away from the houseboat. Wolff stepped back several paces and took a running jump into the river. He landed, feet first, on Smith’s bead. For several seconds all was confusion. Wolff went underwater in a tangle of arms and legs-his and Smith’s-and struggled to reach the surface and push Smith down at the same time. When he could hold his breath no longer he wriggled away from Smith and came up. He sucked air and wiped his eyes. Smith’s head bobbed up in front of him, coughing and spluttering. Wolff reached forward with both hands, grabbed Smith’s bead, and pulled it toward himself and down. Smith wriggled like a fish. Wolff got him around the neck and pushed down. Wolff himself Went under the water, then came up again a moment later. Smith was still under, still struggling. Wolff thought: How long does it take a man to drown? Smith gave a convulsive jerk and freed himself. His bead came up and he heaved a great lungful of air. Wolff tried to punch him. The blow landed, but it had no force. Smith was coughing and retching between shuddering gasps. Wolff himself had taken in water. Wolff reached for Smith again. This time he got behind the major and crooked one arm around the man’s throat while he used the other to push down on the top of his head. He thought: Christ, I hope no one is watching. Smith went under. He was facedown in the water now, with Wolff’s knees in his back, and his head held in a firm grip. He continued to thrash around under water, turning, THE KEY TO REBECCA 241
jerking, flailing his arms, kicking his legs and trying to twist his body. Wolff tightened his grip and held him under. Drown, you bastard, drownI He felt Smith’s jaws open and knew the man was at last breathing water. The convulsions grew more frantic. Wolff felt he was going to have to let go. Smith’s struggle pulled Wolff under. Wolff squeezed his eyes shut and held his breath. It seemed Smith was weakening. By now his lungs must be half full of water, Wolff thought. After a few seconds Wolff himself began to need air. Smith’s movements became feeble. Holding the major less tightly, Wolff kicked himself upward and found air. For a minute he just breathed. Smith became a dead weight. Wolff used his legs to swim toward the houseboat, pulling Smith with him. Smith’s head came up out of the water, but there was no sign of life. Wolff reached the side of the boat Sonja was up on deck, wearing a robe, staring over the side. Wolff said: “Did anybody see?” “I don’t think so. Is he dead?” .,Yes.” Wolff thought: What the bell do I do now? He held Smith against the side of the boat. If I let him go, he’ll just float, he thought. The body will be found near here and there will be a house-to-house search. But I can’t carry a body half across Cairo to get rid of it. Suddenly Smith jerked and spewed water. “Jesus Christ, he’s alive!” Wolff said. He pushed Smith under again. This was no good, it took too long. He let Smith go, pulled out his knife, and lunged. Smith was underwater, moving feebly. Wolff could not direct the knife. He slashed wildly. The water hampered him. Smith thrashed about. The foaming water turned pink. At last Wolff was able to grab Smith by the hair and hold his head still while he cut his throat. Now he was dead. Wolff let Smith go while he sheathed the knife again. The river water turned muddy red all around him. I’m swimming in blood, he thought, and he was suddenly filled with disgust. The body was drifting away. Wolff pulled it back. He realized, too late, that a drowned major might simply have fallen 242 Ken Follett