Used Book – Port-Soudan, Olivier Rolin

"It was in Port Sudan that I learned of A.'s death. The vagaries of the postal service in these countries meant that the news reached me some time after my friend had passed away. A ragged official, disfigured by leprosy, carrying a large black revolver whose holster was tied to his belt with a braided buffalo-hide whip thong, handed me the letter towards the end of the day. His lipless face, with ears like cockscombs, was a perpetual sneer. His body looked as if it had been carved from the sardonic wood of a macabre dance. Like almost everyone who survived in the city, his main business was racketeering and assassination. How he got hold of the letter, I don't know. Perhaps he had stolen it from Death itself."