‘Wise. He’s a well-known spiritualist in these parts. Many of the Biafrans are devotees of his - some of the soldiers insist that he has the final say on whether to go ahead with military manoeuvres.’ The white cotton shoulders shrugged. ‘It’s crazy, of course. They think he can invoke spirits from the sky.’

It didn’t sound so crazy to me. As he had been talking, I had managed to raise my head enough to have another look at the room. There was something I didn’t like about it - there were no doors, just a flight of steps.

‘Where are the doors?’ I said. ‘And why are there no windows?’

The doctor shifted a little in his chair. ‘Because we are underground. This is usually a theatre for emergency operations, but we’ve converted it into an isolation ward to treat you.’

I looked around at the dank walls and low ceiling. The prognosis didn’t look too good - I had already been buried.

The doctor closed his pad, placed the top back on his pen and placed them both back in his coat. ‘Even though your fever has subsided somewhat, you are still in a critical condition, ’ he said, pushing his chair back and standing. ‘I’ll be back to check on you later. In the meantime, you have a visitor.’

As if on cue, there was a clanging sound and I looked towards the end of the room, at the staircase. Black boots tucked into khaki trousers appeared, followed by stocky legs, a stockier torso and, finally, the head of an African man with a bushy beard.

He walked over and nodded to the doctor, who turned to a trestle and picked up a white coat lying there. The newcomer carefully placed this over his uniform - it was a little tight on his shoulders. The doctor offered him a mask, but he shook his head and said something I couldn’t catch. The doctor nodded and walked away, disappearing up the staircase.

The African approached my bed and leaned over me. I had never met him before, but I knew who he was.

‘Hello, Mister Kane,’ he said in a deep velvety voice. ‘Welcome to Biafra.’

XX

XX

‘A bearded Othello.’ The phrase came into my mind, but I couldn’t place where I’d heard it. Then I realized I hadn’t - I had read it. I had been in an airport. That was it. The interview in the Newsweek I had bought at Heathrow.