Heart of Africa (15 page)

“What?” I whispered, fascinated by the simple tale.

“It’s the owl’s job to wake the sun. The owl is a night creature with huge eyes, but as her eyes grow sleepy, she hoots and makes the sun rise. But this night, since Owl’s eyes were filled with tears, she did not hoot. Darkness reigned over the land for several days and the sun never rose. Soon, King Lion, who struts majestically across the veldt, became very angry.

“‘Where is the sun?’ he said. ‘I wish to lie under it and raise my paws toward its welcoming rays. But alas, there has been no sun for three days.’

“So he demanded a grand council and all the animals assembled, except, of course, for Owl. Upon hearing the tale of Mama Owl’s woe, Lion sent Leopard to fetch Owl from her hole in the spiny thorn tree. When she arrived, her big eyes were round and wet.

“‘Why did you not waken the sun?’ demanded the king angrily.

“‘I shall never waken the sun again, for you see, the monkey climbed on a branch and a dead limb fell down and crushed my baby. Now that she is dead, I no longer wish to see the day.’

“‘
Rrooaaar
,’ let out the lion, who had a mighty temper. ‘Therefore it must be the monkey’s fault.’ But the vervet monkey jumped up and down, his gray fur trembling in fright at the huge lion’s roar.

“‘It was not me! It was not me! I only bounded up the tree because the crow gave alarm. It’s his job to warn us of danger!’

“Crow spread his wings, his large black beak pointing into the air indignantly. ‘It was not I,’ he cawed. ‘I only gave the alarm because the rabbit was running through the bush. Something frightful was chasing it.’

“The poor scrub hare shook in fear as the lion’s yellow gaze turned upon it. ‘It wasn’t me,’ it squeaked. ‘You see, the big rock python slithered into my burrow and I had to run for my life.’

“The lion turned to the huge, reticulated python. ‘And you? Why did you slither into the rabbit’s burrow? It is clear you caused all this mess!’

“‘Not I,’ hissed the rock python indignantly. ‘It’s all because of the iguana. I said good morning to him—he’s my best friend you know—and… and he
ignored
me.’

“‘Go get iguana,’ roared the lion. The warthogs rushed off and rounded up the poor lizard. When he appeared in front of the king of the beasts, all the other animals began to laugh because, you see, sticks still protruded from his ears.

“‘What are those for?’ the lion asked, but Iguana, of course, couldn’t hear him. Finally, the vervet monkey hopped over and shaking the iguana, plucked one of the sticks out of his ear.

“‘So you’re the one who caused the owl to forget to hoot for the sunrise,’ accused the lion.

“The iguana appeared startled and then changed color, so deep was his shame. He miraculously turned from green to yellow and then pink. ‘It wasn’t me,’ he stammered. ‘It was that mosquito. He was whining and whining and buzzing in my ears and finally, to shut off his annoying hum, I put sticks in my ears so I wouldn’t have to listen to him anymore.’

“The lion could not help but roar with laughter. ‘Bring forth the mosquito!’

“But the mosquito, who often lurks unseen, had heard all and quickly hid among the reeds in the marsh.

“‘Oh dear,’ whined the little mosquito. ‘I’m in big trouble now!’ So great was his fear that he only came out at dusk and the early morning, so no one could see him.

“‘I am very sorry about your owlet,’ said the lion to Owl, once the mosquito’s story had been told. ‘Please, promise me you will hoot for the day to break. Hopefully, by doing your duty, you will be granted another owlet to help dry your tears.’

“Owl obeyed her king and when she hooted, the bright sun came out, filling the world with warmth. But it is quite true that to this day the mosquito still feels he has been wronged and whines in your ear every morning and evening to tell his side of the story.”

I
clapped my hands in delight. “That’s a wonderful story,
Peter!”

“I have heard it told many ways. The Shona often sing it in repetition, but I thought you would prefer if I didn’t turn your ears into stone with my horrible voice.”

I laughed and gave him a sweet kiss before thrusting my hands closer to the fire. “We used to sing songs and tell stories around the campfire at Girl Scout camp,” I said huskily, longing for the security of those carefree days.

“I was speculating,” suggested Peter wisely as I scratched viciously at his mosquito bite, “that your fiancé resembled a mosquito in many ways, sucking you dry before throwing you away for fresher blood. Some men are like that.”

“My mother didn’t see it that way. She thought I should have stayed in Florida and joined a dating service.”

“And instead you embarked upon that honeymoon on your own, met me, and were hijacked. My sister believes everything happens for a reason,” said Peter. “Thus, it was your fate to come here. Each person has a destiny and you were meant to travel to Africa.”

“Perhaps.”

“Mandy…I knew the first time I saw you at The Vineyard that you’d change my life for the better.  I
believe
in fate.”

I peered up into the glorious heavens as an unseen night bird tittered in the bush only meters away. As the brave fire flickered, I took his hand and lifted it to my lips.

“I believe in you Peter.”

We sat for a long, contented while before Peter threw his prodding stick into the fire and using my bag as a pillow, indicated the place in the grass-lined sand for me to lie.

“Will you join me?” I asked hopefully, only desiring to once again hold his lean body close to mine and make love to him.

“I’m afraid I must keep watch for a while and plan our route for tomorrow.”

Disappointed, I lay with my back to the fire and wished its warmth was Peter before drifting away as the sounds of the night bird and crackling fire merged into nothingness.

I awakened to discover Peter adding wood to the fire. My glowing watch revealed it was not even five. I itched all over and, dreadfully uncomfortable and thoroughly chilled, stumbled to the rough log by the fire.

“You get some rest?”

“Some, though I’m incredibly sore. You sleep?”

“A bit,” he responded, returning my hug. “We’re in trouble, Mandy. We’ve got to find a road and fast. Luck has been our best friend, but it’s bound to run out soon. It’s a miracle I found you, and a bigger one that you survived all you’ve been through. Just think about our luck with the lioness. Generally she would have hunted with a pride, but most likely, this time she hunted alone for her cubs. You saved me, Mandy, but the question is: can I save you?”

I hadn’t ever imagined Peter would falter.

“We’ve come so far,” I declared. “We’ll reach the road and find assistance. I can feel it.” I reached for his hand but hesitated when I noticed that his burns, while less inflamed, still oozed from several of the popped second-degree blisters. He followed my eyes.

“We’re pretty beaten up, eh lass? To complicate issues, the lions have been active tonight and a hyena was pacing outside our campsite, just in the shadows. The grim reality is I don’t have a rifle, we’ve no additional food, and poachers lurk in the vicinity. We’ve
got
to obtain help and fast.”

I had sensed it all along, but since reuniting with Peter I’d always believed we were close to rescue.

“You rest, Peter, and when the sun rises, we’ll set out and find that road. We’re weary and overwrought, but think about what we’ve overcome—poachers, snakes, lions, Cape buffalo. I’m not going to give up on you or us, ever. Get some sleep and when it’s light we’ll begin our last leg of this grand adventure.

Peter stared at me for a long while before depositing a light kiss upon my cheek and warmly hugging my stiff shoulders. He reoccupied the indentation in the sand I’d vacated as I added more wood to the fire. An owl hooted in the distance and a strange, high-pitched cackle cracked the air. I flinched and pulled my staff nearer. Peter did not rouse. Determined, I kept watch over my newfound love and freedom.

Dawn had barely spread her orange glow across the sky
when Peter stirred, stretched, and scratched his bristled chin before smiling at me.

“Howzit?” he asked sleepily.

“Fine. I, um, really have to go to the bathroom, but unfortunately, all my tissue’s used up.”

Peter chuckled, rose and strutted to the edge of the fire’s glow, pulling at some tree before returning.

“Here, your Majesty.”

“What is it?”

“It’s called the weeping wattle. It has soft leaves and stems. Many Africans use it as paper for their toilet.”

I reluctantly took the soft wad of leaves and hurrying around a dark shadow of bush, did my business. I could hear Peter foraging about at the edges of our camp as I returned to the fire and placed another graying log upon its low flames.

“Bingo!” he chortled and soon presented, just like a grand chef before his best client, a handful of pale-tan eggs nearly the size of chicken eggs. I watched as he quickly set a flat rock near the fire and cracked four of the eggs upon its gray surface.

   “How did you find them?” I asked as I gathered my battered backpack that had served as our pillow and retrieved my Swiss army knife with its small, retractable fork. My stomach rumbled in anticipation.                

“Several fat guinea fowl were scratching in the clearing, so I poked around the outskirts to discover their clutch and raided the nest. They’re almost ready. We must move soon, before the animals gather for their morning drink.”

Peter used his knife expertly as a spatula and dished all four upon a wide leaf.

“What about you?” I asked as used my little fork to jab one of the cooked eggs into my mouth. Its searing heat forced me to gasp and suck cool air.

Peter laughed. “My four next. And here’s something
really
special.” He shoved a dirty, blue sports bottle towards me. “It was half-buried in the sand. I’ll scrub it out at the watering hole and we’ll have another drinking container!”

His mood had perked up considerably. Chewing another egg cautiously, Peter cracked the final four upon the scraped rock and
leaned back upon his heels. A small black and yellow bee buzzed near his head as the egg yolks slowly hardened.

“Thank you,” I said quietly as he scooped one of the cooked eggs into his mouth.

He seemed perplexed. “For the water bottle or the eggs?”

“For those, of course. But… but for caring enough to continue searching for me even when it seemed hopeless. To brave the bush with only… only your sharpened stick and a knife. For… ”

“Hush, lass,” Peter ordered, instantly at my side, both arms about my now-shaking frame. “You would have done the same for me.”

“Yes,” I agreed. “But no one has ever cared about me enough to risk anything… ever.” I stared down at my filthy backpack, heart pounding.

“It’s all because of Disneyland, you know,” said Peter thoughtfully after a time. I gazed at him, bewildered. “I only chased after you because I was certain you could secure me some free tickets to Orlando.”

“Oh, really?” I said shakily. “And it’s Disneyworld
in Florida, not
Disneyland.
That theme park is located in Southern California.”

“That’s what I meant. And of course, there are the Everglades. You’ll be my guide in the Everglades, hey? I hear fearsome creatures inhabit the swamps, like alligators, invasive pythons, and venomous water snakes.”

I laughed. “I’m afraid the most fearsome creature residing in Florida is my mother.”

“Precisely. Then this jaunt will make good training for whenever I meet her. One cannot be too prepared.”

I took his burned hand in my own. Amazingly, it seemed much better; its puffiness had diminished significantly over the past twelve hours. I cleared my throat awkwardly.

“Then I’d better get hold of those tickets, hadn’t I?”

“Lekker! Up and at ‘em then. Let’s go find that road and hope the buffalo have dispersed.”

Chapter 18

The buffalo herd had not completely moved on; a few males
still lingered and foraged. For thirty minutes we delayed, swatting persistent flies and gnats while waiting for them to disperse, their ample dung an irresistible draw for the pesky bugs. I sank onto an uncomfortable rock to wait the stray bulls out. Finally, the herd’s grunts and groans lessened. When I tried to say something, Peter lifted a finger to his mouth to effectively silence me. My heart began its runaway freight train routine. A lion or a leopard or, in the back of mind, a stray ornery Cape buffalo must be near! He moved a cautious finger as I slowly turned my head.

Two small, alert creatures sniffed the air. The closest lifted its mustard-colored head and waved it from side to side, analyzing me as a possible predator. A short, deep-throated warning growl caused the second to cock its head as well, waving it up and down in a rhythmic dance-like movement. I remained stock-still, no longer afraid, but fascinated by the slender mammals.

Deciding we weren’t a threat, the sun-basking weasel-like creatures began hitting their slender hands against branches to dislodge seeds before picking them up gently to chew upon. Every so often, their dexterous fingers grabbed a small branch again and battered it against the ground, the seeds zinging into the air as they dislodged. In a flash, the wily pair popped the kernels into their mouths. Holding their white-tipped tails upright, they alternated between crouching and standing erect like humans. Finally satisfied the small shrubs could offer them no more succulent seeds, they bounded off, disappearing under an umbrella of overhanging leaves.

“What were those?” I asked, dusting off my hopelessly soiled jeans.

“The yellow mongoose. Do you know that it rarely drinks, gaining most of its moisture from the dew on plants, the blood of insects, or the natural fluids from seeds and such? Once I witnessed a group of mongoose attack a cobra. The snake reared, but the mongooses lunged and snapped at the snake, distracting it. So many were they that finally the smallest one managed to grasp the snake’s hood without being bitten. The mongoose bit straight through the cobra’s head, and the pack later dined on his body. Quite amazing creatures, are they not, my lady?”

His calm tones and the way he was so clearly charmed by the little yellow mongooses served to deepen my love for him. I admitted it to myself now. I’d fallen hopelessly in love with Peter Leigh. His fascination with the rhythms of nature and everyday life endeared him to me. Even though we were lost in the bush, he still revered all our surroundings revealed to him. Whether it was the merciless lion or the energetic mongoose, Peter remained in balance with nature.

“I can barely hear the buffalo now,” he said. “It should be safe to move in five minutes.” He sucked on his new bottle before mentioning nonchalantly, “There was a pride of lions at the waterhole last night.”

I clutched my staff, my hands trembling. “Th…there was?”

“Yes, but they had caught a young wildebeest far away from the fire and weren’t interested in us. I didn’t tell you since you would fret. I think, however, that we need to be very cautious since more lions than your poor old Broken Nose wander about.”

As we set off again, I sidestepped massive deposits of buffalo droppings and noted a few huge, dry, deteriorating piles of elephant dung nearby. It had been several days since elephant had passed this way. Strange how, after only a couple of days in the bush, I was becoming attuned to its ways. The reassuring presence of Peter, armed with his hand-crafted spear, enabled me, as I traipsed directly behind him, to focus on the beautiful day around me. Only a chilly twelve degrees Celsius, the warmth of my pullover felt marvelous. The sky gleamed azure blue, cloudless and breathless, not a whisper of wind pulling at the dry branches of the shrub mopane. Small brown birds flitted here and there, making high trilling sounds as I followed the crunch of Peters’s boots. At his query, I lengthened my stride to catch up with him.

“Did you know,” he asked as I caught up, “that not far from where you were hijacked there is a SAPS post?”

“What is that?” I said, not certain to what this particular South African acronym referred.

“A South African Police post, not ten kilometers from Crooks’ Corner.”

I halted abruptly. “The police were that close?” I sputtered.

“Of course.” Peter halted and eyed me, his dark orbs amused. “What better location than at the border near Crooks’ Corner?”

His laughter cracked the morning and sent a pair of gray and pink doves diving for cover.

“Because they never got rid of all the crooks?” My smile was grim.

“Yes, as you unfortunately discovered. A notorious ring of hijackers operates out of Maputo, with ties to the north. I must say you were lucky to get away with your life. Very lucky.”

“Why don’t we head back toward the post?”

Peter paused a second too long. “Too much danger of being glimpsed by your very kidnappers. And the police are constantly roving the bush searching for poachers and those who cross illegally. Besides, they’re an unruly bunch.”

I thought his terminology strange. “What do you mean, they’re an unruly bunch? This is the South African police. They’re here to protect us.”

Peter gave a descriptive shrug as somewhere to our left a black-and-white bird warbled merrily.

“They are not here to
help
us, Mandy. They’re here on poacher patrol. After the opening of the tri-park borders, many refugees and poachers have tried to cross into Kruger. Both the soldiers and police shoot first and ask questions later. While I’m certain that they would not harm you, they’d have very little sympathy for me.”

“I don’t understand,” I said. Peter was a ranger and guide. What was the problem?

He fidgeted and picked at a short shrub, breaking off a dead twig and commencing to chew on it. “I didn’t wish to tell you this last night, but there is a rogue white poacher named Ian Voorhurst who leads a particularly nasty poaching ring. His nickname is ‘Little Mouse,’ since he’s quite the wily one. Voorhurst is about my age, coloring, and build. ” He paused significantly.

What he inferred took a while to sink in. I protested. “But you’re well-known in the park!”

“To many of the guides perhaps, but only a couple in the SAPS would recognize me. Normally I’d be armed with my jeep, identification, and rifle. The anti-poaching squad is large and they wouldn’t know me. There’s a real chance they’d mistake me for Voorhurst, shoot first and ask questions later. We need to be very cautious of
any
armed group.”

“Certainly
someone
must know you’re missing?” It was almost a plea.

“My sister Elizabeth is aware that I’m on a job in Kruger. I generally don’t stay in contact with her much while inside the park. Your travel agency knows where I am, and I registered in Letaba that I was guiding. No one would know you and I are missing, though. So we can only hope that when our room was not reoccupied, some of Shingwedzi’s camp staff would notice and send out an alert.”

I swallowed, trying to appear brave. “So what’s the plan?” I whispered.

“We continue on our way and hope to run upon the road. But Mandy… ”

“Yes?”

“If something
precarious
does happen, promise me you will look after yourself—don’t worry about me. It’s crucial we get you back to civilization and in the hands of the proper authorities.”

Peter’s intense brown eyes scrutinized me and I felt certain there was something more he wished to state. Silence loomed between us until I nodded reluctantly. Satisfied, he turned and began picking his way through the brush.

A rustle sounded to the left of me. It might simply be a small sand lizard burrowing into the deep band of shade, or it could be something else, like the Mama Mamba I’d encountered on my first day. Defenseless against my fears, I trailed behind Peter zombielike, scarcely noticing the startled leopard tortoise, who stuck his head protectively inside his shell, or the bemused vervet monkey who scratched his belly as I scurried through the bush, a rain cloud dampening my previous elation at discovering that I loved him.