Читать книгу Chasing The Leopard Finding the Lion - Julie Wakeman-Linn - Страница 11
ОглавлениеIn the car park’s gray haze, Brett leaned against the idling Jeep for warmth. His boss David Colton emerged from the lodge lobby, trailed by his son Jeremy and a tourist family of three. The husband was in traditional khaki and the wife in a plaid dress but they had a kid, maybe five or six, which was the worst age to get bored and noisy on a game drive. Brett didn’t move so David wouldn’t change his mind and give him the group. The family climbed into the Land Rover and Jeremy drove out.
Brett chuckled at his luck. If nobody else was awake, he’d be free to drive Isaac right away. He started toward the kitchen wing.
David called, “Wait, you might have a single this morning. Don’t screw it up.”
A woman stood in the doorway, reading a waxy fax sheet. Outfitted in crisp linen and a sleek cascade of hair, she didn’t fit into the lodge’s weathered wood and fieldstone steps. She should be at the Ritz in Paris rather than their dark lobby with its trophy heads of kudu, lion, and warthog.
A straw hat dangled by blue ribbons from her arms. Slender and tall, the woman glided down the lodge steps. She telegraphed elegant and unapproachable, until she crumbled the fax and jammed it in her pocket. “Mr. Colton, I hope I’m not too late for a dawn safari.”
“Miss Elise Jorgensen, Brett will take you.” David gripped Brett’s upper arm. “He’s my best guide.”
She inclined her head, regal again and almost dismissive, and walked to the Jeep, her strippy sandals not skittering on the gravel.
Isaac positioned the step and helped her up the Jeep’s high running board. Elise threw Isaac a closed mouth smile and she murmured something. Isaac didn’t seem to answer; he grabbed the step, pulling his tan cap low on his forehead, probably trying to hide the black eye. Sitting, Elise twisted her blonde hair into a knot at the base of her neck. Brett mentally framed a portrait shot—she had a lush neck, but her nose was a bit too long in profile. Her mouth was rather attractive in its frown.
David hissed, “Keep her happy. No stupid stunts. No filming.”
“Me? Stunts? Never.” Brett winked. David must have her figured for a rich ex-pat with lots of diplomatic rich friends. “Don’t expect miracles,” Brett mock-punched David’s arm.
“Don’t expect your job is secure.” David dodged his punch and laughed, but Brett was glad to see him laugh; he’d been so damn serious lately.
Brett hurried to the Jeep and circled the lodge, planning to show her the bluff, the waterhole, the landing field, the lake, the works--quickly. He explained how the lodge buildings blended into the landscape. How their roads were natural, not tar. How the tourist bungalows were built into the side of the bluff, offering a nice view of sunrise and sunset on the lake. Elise pointed out the third one as hers.
“Let’s try our luck with a leopard. There’s a new female in the vicinity.”
“Somebody told me you never see a leopard on your first safari. They’re too elusive.” She stretched her fingers, no rings, toward the sky.
“Leopards are tough. Sometimes in the early morning, you catch them as they’re settling high in the trees to sleep.” Brett wheeled onto the gravel track. He’d love to pick up where he and the leopard left off. With only a single quiet tourist, he might get close again.
Barks of agitated baboons echoed around them. He hit the brake and the clutch. An alpha with yellow teeth shrieked as he lead the troop across the lane. Brett scanned the trees, hoping his leopard had caused the baboon panic.
Elise huddled in the middle of the bench seat. “Will they jump at us?”
“It’ll be all right. You have me to protect you.” Brett tapped the horn to make the alpha male move. “Humans are the only thing they hate worse than leopards. Maybe one is nearby.”
“Sorry, I’m edgy. I’ve never been on safari before.” Elise brushed trail dust off her jacket sleeves. If she disliked the safari, it would be easy to end this drive early and get away with Isaac.
Brett slipped out his video camera and focused on the baboons drifting into the brush. The mothers and babies first, then the young males, and last the beta male, a nice ambling parade. “No luck, no leopard.”
Elise asked. “Can I try?”
Her fingers squeezed Brett’s as he steadied the camera, but he wasn’t sure if she was aware of holding his hands so tight. He liked her interest, but even more he liked how soft her hands were.
The tape clicked off and she retracted her fingers from his. She was so close he breathed in a slight scent of juniper. “Here in the veld, I never know what will happen next. That’s my fun, finding and filming it.”
“I get it. Every day is different.” Elise began to slip off her jacket and Brett reached to help it off her shoulders. The sun creeping over the treetops warmed the air; it must be nearly 7 a.m.
An engine hiccuped about a half kilometer away. He slipped the camera into his bag and pushed it under the front seat, out of sight. If Jeremy saw the camera, he’d tell tales to his dad. The engine grinding grew.
“Jeremy is abusing second gear at the top of the trail. We have enough territory, we almost never have two vehicles crowding the animals. Let me show you the buffalo herd. I’ll find you some zebras and maybe a lion eating one of them.”
She settled against the passenger door and stretched her legs toward him.
Revving the starter, Brett began his quick history lesson as they wound down the trail past the lodge toward the lake front.
Brett rattled on about Bumi Hills as a paradise, how the animals outnumbered the people. His usual game guide riff was punctuated with her questions about the birds they heard and the impalas they zipped past. Elise tri-folded her jacket and checking her pockets, found a tissue which she used to wipe dust off her nose and cheeks.
They emerged from the trees on the long stretch of grasslands which bordered the lake and served as their airstrip.
Brett shouted over the engine noise. “We buzz a vehicle down the middle before every flight’s arrival to clear off the animals.”
“I had a rather rocky landing,” Elise braced against the dashboard as the Jeep bounced along. “The pilot banked to avoid a group of zebras.”
“Zebras--pushy little brutes. They think they own the place.” Brett slowed down as the outside wheels ran on the lakeshore sand. He rattled through his script about Lake Kariba being the result of a British-built hydroelectric dam across the Zambezi River, which provides power to Zambia and Zimbabwe. As the dam widened the river’s channel, during the five years for the lake basin to fill, a massive rescue and relocation project called Operation Noah moved all the people and thousands of animals to higher ground. He paused in his recitation to point. “Like this bluff above us where the lodge rests.”
Elise interrupted to ask how many animals and how they were relocated. It was a nice change to talk about the animals and not the current politics, but if he didn’t get back soon, Isaac would try that stupid hitchhiking home.
Fifty cape buffalo with an assortment of puku, impala, and some zebra were disappearing into the trees, but there at the edge was the bonus Brett wanted--puffs of ground dust stirred near the water’s edge. He braked and pulled out his video camera and scanned a faraway group of buffalo, moving faster than normal this early in the day.
“We’ve got a predator.” Brett accelerated down the landing strip until they were in the edge of the dust cloud. “There. To the right. Two lionesses.”
The last buffaloes had pivoted to face outward, presenting a wall of horns to the strolling lionesses. Brett dropped into first gear, rolling within about twenty meters.
“Are we going to see a kill?” Elise squeaked.
“You never know.” Brett narrowed the distance to fifteen meters. The two lionesses weren’t hunting, their tails swishing as they strolled past. Of course, Elise didn’t know that. Was she afraid again or eager? “Lionesses love the taste of buffalo.”
The lionesses, ignoring the last few buffalo, headed for the lakefront. Lions--always around but damn unpredictable. He hoped the cats would do something crazy for her; it would both please her and let him wrap up this drive. “It’s likely they’re littermates,” Brett offered. He balanced his video camera on the steering wheel. “Young adults, but fully mature by their size.”
The first lioness waded into the lake up to her knees, sniffing the breeze. “What’s happening?” Elise tugged his sleeve.
The lioness waded in deeper, the water level rising to her shoulders. The second lioness plunged in after her sister and Brett captured the water halo around her. The cats splashed and settled down to smooth strokes. Soon only their heads were visible.
“Do they eat fish, too? Where will they go?” Elise still held his sleeve. With the cats gone, she was curious and not so frightened.
Brett shut off his camera. “There are two islands about three to four kilometers away. Lions are great swimmers.”
“Could we follow them?” Elise clapped her hands. Her watch slid on her wrist, a man’s vintage Hamilton. “I love boats.”
Brett peaked at it. Nearly 8:00 a.m. Chasing the lionesses with her would be terrific, great company and great filming. Damn Isaac’s worries. “I’ve got to get us back. David expects us to check in before three hours.” It was not completely a lie; the radio was in the glove box. “How about if we track them down this afternoon? They’ll be on the island by then.”
“Chase the lionesses at sunset with you?” She tipped her head, this time it was a sexy nod, not at all dismissive. “Could be amusing.”
Brett shifted into neutral and smiled. She was playing with him; it would be fun while it lasted.
The lionesses had disappeared, their wake on the lake’s surface the only thing visible, so he drove to the lodge. Client flirtations could be pleasant, if a guy stayed careful. Careful to stay safe from the wasting disease and careful to stay unattached. Elise, with David’s warning, carried extra risks.
Brett rolled into the car park. Elise didn’t notice they were earlier than the others. She smiled, waiting while he ran around to help her step down. Jeremy swung the Land Rover in and the family of three halloed to Elise. Jeremy, in his best Irish brogue charm, offered to escort Elise to breakfast; the idiot would try to hang out with her all day. What would she, a sophisticated mid-20’s Euro, want with Jeremy, a raw 18-year old fresh out of school?
Elise joined the family. When the little kid extended his hand to Elise, she crouched to his eye level and started chatting. She and the little guy were deep in comparison of lions and zebras. Brett shrugged; she’d flirt with anybody, even five-year olds. Brett signaled to Isaac. They’d drive off while everyone else was getting settled at breakfast and be back before David realized they were gone.
* * *
Isaac braced against the Jeep’s dashboard as Brett spun gravel.
Isaac grunted--no use yelling--Brett always took the turn into the farm’s long driveway too fast. The cold air rushing over the open vehicle during the ninety minute drive made his shoulders ache. Through the lane’s peach trees, heavy with new fruit, Owen’s house seemed to be sleepily winking; the window shades were half way down.
Brett parked at the fork in the driveway between his parents’ long rambling house and Isaac’s father’s boxy one. The peacocks, three old roosters and a young hen, squawked, sweeping their tails like they had all day to cross the lawn.
Isaac surveyed the so familiar scene, his father’s lantern hanging next to the door, the machete standing ready to use on any wandering snakes. He mounted the three porch steps and swung open the door, “Baba.” No answer. He checked the bedroom and back porch.
“Why are you home in the middle of the day, middle of the week?” Isaac heard the voice of Owen, Brett’s dad, in the yard. Brett mumbled something.
“Ba-Owen,” Isaac called. His mentor, his other father, appeared in the doorway. Like always, his blue coveralls were messy with fresh oil yet had a stiff crease on the pant leg. “Is everything all right here with you?”
“Of course, laddie, welcome home. I’ve got a new engine for the combine. Would you like to see it?” Owen pumped Isaac’s hand, but, holding it, dragged him to the doorway. “What’s this nasty bit of business?”
“It’s nothing. Where’s my dad?” Isaac bent so his bruised eye was at Owen’s eye level.
Owen touched the edge of the bruise, touching his hair, palpating his scalp. “Good--no swelling past the eye. Your dad’s over at the Johannson’s, swapping tomato varietals. Seedlings anyway. He’ll be back soon. Come to the house and let me patch you up. Ruth is off, too.” Owen chuckled. “You’re lucky. If she saw this shiner, she’d make a terrible fuss. Did a Jeep hood clip your head as you shut it or is that just wishful thinking on my part?”
“Nah, I tangled with the Presidential Guard. Protests yesterday. Seke Flats. That’s why I came home to warn you.”
Owen whistled. “That even made the radio this morning. An ice pack will help the swelling and you can tell me all about it.”
They descended the porch steps and crossed the grass to the back door of the Owen’s house. Owen pointed out new roofs on both houses, his latest project. Brett trailed behind them, clucking for the peacocks and scattering grain for them.
Momma Ruth’s kitchen smelled like morning muffins and strawberry jam. No bit of disorder on any counter or sideboard. Isaac dropped into his favorite rocking chair next to the stove. Brett strayed into the pantry, no doubt looking for his mom’s fresh baked biscuits or rolls.
Owen dug in the deep freeze and bagged some ice. “I guess it’s only natural you’d find the opposition and the protest action, but have they talked enough--these two sides--before it comes to blows? That’s what your dad says.”
“Nobody in the government is talking at that level. The protest collapsed when security police surrounded Tsvangirai. We had to get him and everybody out of there. No chance to talk.”
“Times are certainly changing in the city.” Owen lifted a window shade and glanced toward the main road. The morning sunlight cast a rainbow, glistening through Ruth’s crystal flower vase.
Brett, holding a pickle jar and munching on a spear, walked to the window. “Things won’t change out here. Except I should get a fat photography job.”
“Ba-Owen, we have to be careful here.” Isaac gripped the chair’s arm, trying to stand quickly and wrenching his shoulder. He wished Brett would shut up. “My dad’s old friends aren’t still his friends.”
“It’s not like we were involved.” Owen winked. “Not this time, anyway.”
Isaac rested against the wall, touching the ivy wallpaper he’d helped Momma Ruth hang. He found himself shaking--was it the ache in his shoulder or was it the police threat? “I lied to the Presidential Guard.”
Owen puffed out first one cheek, then the other, like he was rolling a ball back and forth. “Isaac? Lies?”
“They surprised me. I didn’t know what to say.” Isaac swallowed. “I told them my dad’s old partner was dead. Now they can’t link you to him. Or the farm to me.”
“Lying. And about a death. That’s bad juju in any culture.” Owen exhaled. “What’s the chance that they’d be interested in us? Your dad and I have had nothing to do with the government or politics or anything in twenty years. Nobody has that long a memory.”
Isaac remembered the metals on Wattleneck’s chest.
“Our time has past. Remember--Mugabe was the heart of the revolution.” Owen laid his hand on Isaac’s shoulder. Isaac grinned so he wouldn’t wince. “You youngsters may have it all wrong.”
Brett crossed his arms high on his chest. “Ba Noah says Mugabe will never attack his own people.”
“They won’t sit down and talk. As for old friends, that’s not going to save anybody.” Isaac fell against the wall. “I was there.”
Owen guided him to the chair. “You relax until Ruth gets back. Come on, Brett, you can help me for once. I need to hook up the tractor’s combine attachment.” Owen stood square in the doorway, ready to get on with his day like nothing was happening.
“I can’t help here, Dad. David thinks we’re on a road test, so we need to get back. It’s my job.” Brett’s voice was angry. Owen scowled.
Isaac didn’t recognize what this particular excuse was about, but it was another of the same old battle cries these two had thrown at each other for five years. Owen believed Brett was wasting his time. Brett loved animals and photography but not machines. Isaac ached in his shoulder and deeper inside, too. He wished he could stay to help Owen with the machines and watch for government thugs.
“I’m sorry,” Isaac said. “My stupidity may bring them here.”
“Not to worry. Your dad and Ruth and I have a few tricks up our sleeve. You two get out of here now. I knew Brett wouldn’t lend me a hand. T’isn’t possible.”
“I’m sorry to miss Mom and Ba-Noah. Give them my love,” Brett muttered.
“I will. Now, dammit, Isaac, get that collarbone taped up proper. Don’t be a tough guy.” Owen surveyed the back fields. “Hey, come back in a week or so and let’s fix you two up with the old Jeep. Then you won’t have to sneak one of David’s.”
“Thanks, Dad,” Brett hugged his father and hurried out.
“Ba-Owen,” Isaac stopped on the threshold. The Jeep was an offering to both of them. Time for him with Owen to fix it and transport for Brett’s photography. “I don’t know what to say…”
“Don’t say anything, Laddie. We’ll be all right.”
