Page 97 - The Tigris Expedition

The Tigris Expedition

where in Australia. I had accepted him blindly on the recommen­
dation of Japanese friends. In Japan, more than in most countries,
national pride and self-control tends to reduce the danger of acquir­
ing a problem-maker on an expedition. Toru’s English was
remarkably fluent; he was a well built athlete of few words, but
always ready with a bright smile and a helping hand. I felt I had
hand-picked him myself
In this mixed company the two Scandinavian students seemed
like twins. Both were chosen on the recommendation of the United
World College headmasters, and were graduate students from
Atlantic College in Wales. Asbjorn Damhus from Denmark,
twenty-one, ‘HP’ Bohn from Norway, twenty-two, typical
descendants of the Vikings. Men like Asbjorn were probably with
the Danes when they invaded medieval England and carried off
giggling girls, while HP might well have been waving in the mast
top when Leif Eiriksson sighted Vinland. They were always up to
something, working together to devise the most unexpected practi­
cal jokes. Full of resource they were technically minded and clever
with their fingers. They were as much at home in turbulent water as
in a bathtub, and looked forward to any form of adventure before
returning to their university desks.
Youngest of all was Rashad Nazir Salim, twenty years old, an art
student from Iraq. Slender but athletic, the young Rashad had a
keen brain, always eager to listen and learn and yet not without his
own strong opinions. He was an impassioned Arab patriot but full
of good humour and far from aggressive. He had come to the
Garden of Eden with his letter of recommendation and spoke
modestly of himself in flawless English. He knew Europe since the
days when his father was an Iraqi diplomat; now the diplomat had
turned into one of Baghdad’s most notable painters, and Rashad
wanted to follow in his footsteps.
Half a head taller than all the others at the table, I could see the
eleventh man: Norris Brock. Professional US cameraman, forty
years old. Tall and thin but remarkably agile. I did not know him. I
had not chosen him. He was, until we met him, an inevitable clause
in the contract with the consortium that had lent me funds for the
enterprise. Norris used his eyes more than his mouth. He seemed to
be everpresent and always with his baby at his chest, a specially built
i
and waterproofed sound camera with a long microphone on top
that looked like a baby’s bottle. He would nurse it at the top of the
mast and even dive with it from the cabin roof while it was
working. Until I got to know him and his abilities I thought the
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