I'm with Stupid (9 page)

“I’ll stop first,” Libby tells him.

“You won’t.”

“Oh yes I will!”

William asks if everyone is ready for the nature walk. As a very old man inexplicably wearing a polo shirt with a popped collar grumbles to his friend that they better not be walking far, Libby and Max shout that they are ready. William turns around and throws the rifle over his shoulder. It’s pointing directly at the old man and his friend. I move slightly to the left, having little interest in staring down the barrel just yet. Libby pushes Max and gets directly behind William. She’s first . . . to die. The rifle is now pointing at her. “I’m first,” she announces.

Max pushes her: “Get out the way, jelly bag!”

Before long we are walking three abreast, ignoring William’s rules in an effort to get a better view of his behind. William has no idea what we are up to; absorbed in his work, he begins talking over his shoulder, delivering a history of the different kinds of plant life found on the reserve in his ridiculously sexy accent, a cross between a British and an Australian accent, but better, I suspect, than anything found in either place. Max picks up a rock and throws it. “God, he is so fine,” he grieves. “I just want to have SEX—” As luck would have it, William stops the lecture immediately after the word
have
. Everyone turns their attention to Max, who basically just randomly screamed the word
sex
. He gives the guests a defiant look: “Sex,” he repeats a bit more softly. “Yeah, I do it.”

The object of Max’s passionate outburst seems to be the only person who didn’t hear. With a tranquil smile, he silently bends down, picks a little white flower, examines it briefly, and puts it in his pocket. This, aside from William himself, is the only nature-related thing we collectively notice.

“What was I saying then?” William asks.

Libby stops him before he can continue the lecture. “You’re picking flowers,” she observes gushingly.

Just then a red-and-green-striped grasshopper jumps across my path. I consider telling William to shoot it with the rifle. It scared me; I need protection. Libby takes a step forward. “Why were you staring at that flower like that?” she asks him.

William takes the flower out of his pocket and holds it up for everyone to see. “I don’t know what kind of flower this is,” he explains to the group. “I’m going to bring it back to my room and look it up in a book. It’s our job to learn what everything is, and when I see a flower or plant I don’t recognize I take it with me and look it up.” I picture Helga whipping the staff because they can’t identify a tulip in two seconds or less.

“That is so nice,” Max says.

“That really is nice,” Libby agrees.

That is so ridiculously adorable, I think to myself. I envision William on his bed in the ranger uniform, a leather-bound book about flowers open before him. William, trying to focus attention back on nature, picks another type of flower, this one yellow and significantly bigger. He informs us that anyone can make honey using it. It’s simple. He explains: “Just pick two hundred of these flowers and lay them out on paper for a few minutes, then put them in a pot, add one and a half glasses of water, and boil—” One of the guests, a woman whose sunburned arms look like they’ve been dipped in goat’s blood, complains that William is going too fast. She wants to write it all down. William apologizes and starts again. “Just pick two hundred of these flowers and lay them out on paper for a few minutes, then put them in a pot, add one and a half glasses of water, and boil. Set that aside and let the concoction—” The woman asks William if he has a pen and paper. What’s the matter with her, she didn’t have these crucial materials when she interrupted him the first time? It’s hot out here! William, accommodating as always, pulls a notepad and pen out of his breast pocket and hands them to her. When she takes them he says, “Pleasure.” Max mumbles something I can’t make out.

William tries again: “Just pick two hundred of these flowers and lay them out on paper for a few minutes, then put them in a pot, add one and a half glasses of water, and boil. Set it aside and let the concoction marinate overnight. The next day, drain the flowers and add half a kilogram of sugar and one to two teaspoons of lemon. Cook this mixture without a lid until it’s thick and syrupy and there you are, it’s honey!”

After reciting the recipe, which he explains he had to learn by heart when he became a ranger, William unexpectedly hands the yellow flower to me. He gives me a little smile as he does so. Thanks, honey! I examine the petals. Libby pipes up that she wants a flower, too. An older gentleman with a walker, whose son stands next to him, voices a request for one as well. William picks more flowers and passes them out. When he resumes the walk, Max grabs Libby’s flower out of her hand. “He meant to give this to me,” he tells her. Libby is furious. They play tug-of-war with the flower until all the petals fall off. This doesn’t take long. It’s not the kind of flower you can chew and spit out without consequence. Libby cries out: “Look what you did!” Max keeps walking and tells her to pick them up. She retaliates as best she knows how. She stomps her foot. “You pick them up!” she shouts, looking back at the petals.

Max tells Libby that he despises her. William turns around and asks what’s going on. Max hides the mangled stem behind his back. “I think we just saw a condor,” he says and points to the sky with his free hand.

William looks up. “A what?”

“It’s gone now,” Max explains with utmost sincerity. “It was beautiful. Carry on.”

After the nature walk we relax by the pool, which is empty save for a perfect leaf floating in the center. “It hurts me to say this,” Max announces while rubbing sunblock on the ridge of his nose, “but Lib and I concede: Tarzan has a major crush on you.”

Libby and I are sitting on towels, dipping our feet in blue chlorine. I look up and see a monkey watching us from a tree. I wonder if he’s ever peed in the pool. I bet he has, which is why he’s watching so intently. I ask Libby what they are talking about. “William,” she answers while unscrewing the top of a nail polish bottle, “we call him Tarzan.” William! William does not have a crush on me. I can’t believe what they are saying, though I want to, damn it. I take my feet out of the pool and start rambling. I tell them that he’s smitten with everyone; He’s always smiling; It’s his job; Helga would beat him otherwise; He’s running in circles trying to please everyone like some glorified servant; It’s actually kind of sad; He seems like a nice guy; I’ve never even heard him swear.

“Babe, he picked a flower for you,” Libby observes. “He didn’t pick one for me or for the guy with the walker until we asked”—she signs—“he likes you. I’ve given up flirting with him.” She applies red nail polish to her right thumb and blows on it.

Max frowns. “Too bad,” he tells her. “It was going so well.” They exchange dirty looks.

William has a crush? She’s imagining things and I tell her so. He looks at the lions more than he looks at me. Besides, I point out, what am I going to do with a guy I’ll never see again after tomorrow?

“I can think of a few things,” Max says.

Out of fairness, so can I. I shake my head—I don’t think I want to discuss this—then begin to nod emphatically: I need to know everyone’s thoughts on the subject immediately. Max unrolls his blue yoga mat: “He has a crush on you,” he says. “I was watching him and he kept stealing these glances at you. It was obvious. There’s nothing more to say.” I look at the monkey, then put my feet back in the water.

Max starts doing yoga, contorting his body in ways that look outrageously painful. “How do you stand it?” Libby asks while watching him. Max does a headstand. “It relaxes me,” he says. “And I’m better in the sack for it.” Does he do headstands in the sack? That seems troublesome. Oh well. I light a cigarette and take a deep breath. The air smells so fresh here. It really is relaxing. I can’t believe the cute ranger likes me! I honestly didn’t think he did. Okay, maybe I had my suspicions but he’s just so cute. Not that I would admit this to anyone but, well, he’s completely out of my league.

After an hour of yoga Max gets up. He’s going back to his room to lift weights and asks if anyone wants to come. Libby just stares at her nails: She’s staying put while they dry. Besides, she’s tired. He reminds her that earlier she had boundless energy. She was lifting submarines. She in turn reminds him that she only has energy when William is near. Without him, there is nothing. Max looks at me next. What’s he looking at me for? What am I going to do, lift weights with him? Since when? He urges me to come and keep him company: talk to him, tell him my hopes and dreams. I shake my head. I don’t want to. I talk to him enough as it is. He sighs: “You guys are no fun. I miss Richard.” I crack a little smile. “No, I do,” he says with mock sincerity. “I really do. Which is why”—he rolls up his yoga mat—“I’m going to crank-call him right now. My dad gave me one of his cell phones and I can make international calls.” I’m glad my mother doesn’t have the number.

He starts walking away. “I just want to hear Richard’s voice. I have so many great things planned for the little guy . . .”

Almost immediately after Max leaves I get really hot sitting in the sun. Whatever distraction he was providing is no longer at my disposal, and I am starting to feel like my organs are boiling. I pick up my towel, frantically wipe sweat from my brow, and hop across the cement to a deck chair under an umbrella. I take a long drink from a bottle of water as Libby carefully rolls herself over. I don’t understand how she can look so relaxed when her body resembles a stick of butter on a frying pan. All I know is that my chest hurts, and I think I just figured out what sweat is: It’s the body crying.

I spend the next few minutes idly thinking of William. Was he really stealing glances? I can’t believe we leave for Cape Town tomorrow. Our time here is going by so fast. As I slowly get up from the deck chair—if I don’t go back to the chalet and take a cold shower I might explode—Libby opens her eyes and asks what language people in South Africa speak. I tell her that the official language is Afrikaans (I read it in my guidebook). “That’s so weird,” she mumbles and starts snoring.

I wear a skirt to dinner that evening and hope my friends don’t notice. I rarely wear skirts. It’s not that I don’t like them, I do, it’s that when I wear one I immediately feel more girly and, by extension, somehow more vulnerable. I’m sure it’s all in my head but then, what isn’t, right? Before leaving my room I check my reflection no less than twenty times.

“You’re dressed up,” Libby teasingly points out when we take our seats for the last supper. I dismissively tell her that I am not dressed up. Dressed up. What would I be dressed up for? I’ve had this skirt forever. She tells me that my hair looks cute, too (I’m wearing it down, which I rarely do), but that I needn’t worry, she didn’t notice that, either. I want to defend myself but can’t find the words. Libby just caught me trying to impress William, something I said I would not do, under any circumstances. There is no reason to embarrass myself by having this conversation. “Never mind, Libby,” I say.

“You look very nice, babe,” she says approvingly as I look up to see William standing before me. I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. Hi, handsome ranger. His eyes are as big as saucers. He blushes. “You got some color today,” he observes, taking a seat. I explain that we went to the pool after the nature walk. William asks if it was nice. I offer that it was. What’s not to like? Max tells him that we are planning to hit the pool for a late-night swim later if William would like to come. William looks down at his linen napkin and says he can’t. “It’s for guests only,” he explains. “I’m not allowed.”

“You can’t eat or swim!” Max exclaims in disbelief.

William shakes his head no as plates of food are passed around. He looks sad and we are sad for him. Max studies William’s face and cocks his head. When Max tilts his head like that it usually means there’s going to be mischief. The last time he tilted his head like that he was informing me of his plan to put a wad of bubblegum on Richard’s doorknob. I pour myself a glass of wine. “I’ll sneak you into the pool,” Max slowly says to William, as if already working out the strategy.

Libby objects: “But he’s not allowed,” she says with concern before taking the bottle of wine from me.

Max, who is very good at making people feel guilty about having morals and fear, looks in her direction.
Not allowed
is not in his vocabulary. “What?” he challenges. “I can sneak William into the pool if I want. It’s my vacation.”

William seems reluctant. “Thanks for the gesture but I don’t want to get in trouble or worse—sacked,” he says. “This job means a great deal to me. I love animals.”

“Sacked,” Libby repeats. “How cute.”

“I mean fired,” William clarifies.

Libby nods and smiles. I look at Max but think of Helga. I don’t want to do anything to get William in trouble. “I’ll figure this out,” Max insists, annoyed at our lack of creativity. “It’s my last night.” His last night? What, am I staying behind or something? “Everything is so regimented here,” Max complains. “I’m starting to feel suffocated.” He starts bouncing in his chair. “No offense, William, but we go on walks, take the same safari rides. I want to see what else this place has to offer. I want to go off the beaten path—or at least see you in a pool.”

William nods to himself. “I’ll tell you what,” he says. “After dinner I will take you on a private ride in the truck. It will be an adventure, I promise.” Just then Manuel walks past the dinner table with this mother, who is holding him by the arm. She will not let him stop. He waves to Libby anyway and blows her a kiss, which causes his mother to pull with more force. William looks over at Manuel. Max pats William on the knee to get his attention. “What were you saying?” Max asks. “Like, can we go do peyote with some natives somewhere?”

“Some what?” William asks. Max waves his hand dismissively: Nothing. “I was thinking,” William continues, “that so far you have only seen three of the Big Five.” Libby asks what the Big Five is. “The Big Five game!” he tells her excitedly. “You’ve seen the lion, leopard, and rhino, but you have yet to see an elephant or buffalo, or at least a live buffalo. You saw a dead one being eaten by lions.” We nod, we vaguely remember that, yes. “It is said that a successful safari entails seeing all five. Tonight we’ll go on a nocturnal hunt, and if we’re lucky you’ll see the remaining animals. But we have to keep this just between us. Supervisor Helga would not be happy.”