Private Lies (22 page)

They started toward the tents. A lantern's light shone in
Maggie and Ken's tent. Obviously, she was still up, waiting for her man. Not
hers, mine, Carol thought bitterly. In the distance they heard a lion's roar.
Then, as they reached their tents, the clarion of the rogue elephant rang out
again, a chilling plaint of loneliness and frustration.

"Poor bastard," Ken mumbled.

"Like us," Carol whispered.

She heard Ken's greeting to Maggie as he entered their
tent. Taking the lantern from its outside hook, she lit it and let herself into
the tent she shared with Eliot. In the dim, vaguely orange light, she could see
Eliot, eyes closed, on his back, his chest rising in the steady rhythm of
sleep.

Standing above him, she stirred him gently, then more
forcefully. It had to be now, she had decided. No postponements.

"You up?" she asked.

His eyes flickered open.

"Oh, Carol," he said, swallowing, rubbing his
eyes. "Is it morning?"

"Not yet," Carol said, sitting on her cot,
looking at his face watching her in the dim light. She felt her courage falter
suddenly, and she had to buck it up before the words froze in her mouth.
"Just how important am I to you?" she asked him.

He looked at her calmly, his eyes narrowing as he focused
on her.

"What do you mean?" he asked, and she could
immediately sense his caution.

She repeated her question.

"Just how important am I to you?"

"Why do you ask?"

"I need to know."

He studied her carefully. She knew the expression. His mind
had entered its analytical mode.

"Have I done something?" he asked tentatively.

"Have you?" she asked, sensing a note of hope.

"Is something troubling you, Carol?"

Damned straight, she thought. With effort, she did not take
her eyes off his face. Set me free, she cried within herself. Let me take what
is mine and go.

"What I'm asking is..." She paused. "Can you
do without me?"

He grew thoughtful.

"Do you want to go home? Is that it? Leave Africa?"

"No."

"Are you having a good time?"

"Very much so."

"But something is disturbing you."

She paused, her courage really waning now. He had this
manner that could always intimidate her.

"In a way, yes," she mumbled.

She had turned her eyes away but felt him continue to study
her intensely.

"Something Maggie might have said?" The question
puzzled her.

"Of course not Maggie," she replied testily. He
seemed oddly relieved.

"Something about Ken, then?"

"Jesus."

The question came at her like a thrown spear aimed in her
direction. Did he suspect? My God. Were they seen? Paranoia began to attack her
now as she went over every risk in her mind. Did he know? Had someone told him
anything? Was he biding his time, ready to strike? Spring a trap?

"What the hell does Ken have to do with
anything?"

The lie bit at her insides as she searched his face for
some clue.

"I don't know. You spent the day with him. And you've
just come in. I thought perhaps you've had some argument."

"An argument?"

"He's really a grand fellow, you know."

Testing me, are you? She felt her anger rise.

"It's not Ken," she said.

"Then what's the trouble?" he asked. Yes, she
decided, he is suspicious. She had better retreat.

"I just wish you would show some feeling." Under
the circumstances, it was a bold strategy. But she had to deflect his
suspicion, hadn't she?

He reached out and touched her knee. She had all she could
do to keep from recoiling.

"The fact is," he said pleasantly, "these
cots are too damned uncomfortable for that."

Christ, she thought. Did he have that all wrong. Then he
turned toward the tent wall, hitched the covers up to his chin, and said
nothing further while she undressed and went to bed herself, emptied of all
courage.

MEADE, BLEARY-EYED, STRUNG out, and smelling of booze,
headed the van out of camp. All four of them were inside, configured as before,
Eliot beside Meade, Maggie in the rear, and Ken and Carol hip to hip in the
middle seat.

Meade hadn't shown up for breakfast. Eliot had seen one of
the boys bring a pot of coffee to his tent.

"Expect a rough ride," Eliot said, observing the
boy balancing the tray on his palm. "He gets pretty rocky when he's boozed
up."

"I think I set him off," Maggie confessed.
"I kept him round the fire spinning war stories, telling about the
elephants."

"It was something to tell," Ken said.

"You mustn't blame yourself, Maggie," Carol said.
"When he falls off, he falls off." She turned to Eliot. "That
hasn't happened for years, has it, Eliot?"

Eliot shook his head. No point in feeding this fire, he
told himself. He stole a glance at Maggie, blinking to show his support.

It had all been staged. Maggie had done her job zealously,
which was to keep Meade round the fire spinning his yarns. When he entertained
like that he needed oiling, lots of it.

"I'll try", Maggie had told Eliot when he had
asked her to do this as they had walked back to camp. He explained Meade's
propensity for drink and foreclosed on any questions before she could ask. The
idea had come to him in the river.

"Just trust me on this, Maggie."

"You know I do," she had told him.

"It's for us," he had reassured her. "To
hurry things along."

To spare her the pressure, he wanted her conspiring, but
not totally knowledgeable.

"We mustn't hurt them," Maggie had said.
"Above all, that."

"Never."

From his tent, he had watched the activity around the fire,
observing Meade's growing inebriation and loquaciousness, waiting for the
moment when he judged it safe to act. It was, of course, cruel work to take
advantage of a man's weakness. Under the right circumstances, Meade could be
plied with whiskey and the outcome was predictable.

When Eliot sensed the opportunity was at hand, he crouched
low, plunged into the darkness, and, cutting a wide swath through the forest,
came up behind Meade's tent. There he paused, peered out to observe the group
around the fire, then crept up to the far side of the van.

There was a charged moment of danger when he unlatched the
hood, making a clicking sound. He waited, and noted no reaction from the people
around the fire or the boys in their area at the other end of the camp.

With a hand shielding the beam from his smallest-caliber
flashlight, he surveyed the complicated inner works of the motor. Quietly, he
unlatched the toolbox and chose the wrenches he would need. Having helped Meade
on other occasions, he knew just enough about his vehicle to loosen various key
nuts to the end of their thread line. Eyeballed, they would still appear
tightly threaded.

He had chosen this method rather than disabling the van so
that it couldn't leave the camp. That would smack of sabotage. The canny Meade
would surely blame one of the boys and that would sour the trip. The idea was
to cause the breakdown along the road, hopefully sooner than later.

The job done, Eliot crept back to his tent and lay on his
cot until the acrobatics of cold logic and reason could justify to himself this
desperate act.

Such methods, of course, were new to him. He had never seen
himself as a man of action, or, for that matter, as an intriguing conspirator
in a scenario like this. But he had never seen himself as a lover either; had
never, until now, felt a lover's compulsion. The fact was that he had been
transformed, had passed through an emotional Rubicon and received an epiphany.
His life was now governed by this new equation.

Yes, he could envision himself with Maggie on some idyllic
island far from the madding crowd, nurturing their love in the splendor of
isolation. Hadn't he felt something of that during that time in the river? It
was glorious, unfettered joy. It baffled him that it had come so late in his
life. Unfortunately, for him, such a fantasy could not survive the cold light
of reality, or the pitfalls of his own ingrained habit of logic. Most of all he
feared that economic hardship, in the end, might overpower love. No, he
decided, he must never let that happen. Never.

He had fallen into a troubled half-sleep when he heard
Carol come into the tent with her odd and disturbing complaint. But it was only
when he suspected that these complaints might be rooted in the soil of his and
Maggie's objective that he became instantly exhilarated and alert. Were the gods
smiling? Was this devoutly wished for thing happening?

Or, and it was this "or" that chilled him, had
she read some sign that made her suspect that he and Maggie were emotionally
involved. His mind seethed with possible motives as he analyzed every psychological
nuance of Carol's words. What he needed to know was if something was happening
between her and Ken. Or the "or": Had she discovered what had
happened between him and Maggie?

By morning, the matter had resolved itself. The glowing
morning sun made the moist dew speckling the surrounding scrubs, grass, and
leaves seem silvery and sparkling. It put him in a hopeful mood. His act of
last night, he was certain, would swing the pendulum farther in his direction.
This was no morning to contemplate disaster.

At breakfast Carol showed no signs of upset. In fact, a
neutral observer would see a happy foursome, envied couple friends, preparing
for this outing in glorious Africa.

Only Meade looked the worse for wear. His foot was heavy as
he gunned the motor, sending the van forward onto the pitted road of the plain,
jostling them over the predictable rough spots, which seemed to add a green
tint to Meade's complexion.

Eliot concentrated on the welcome severity of the bumps as
the others held on and watched the now-familiar passing parade of gazelles,
impalas, and zebras, which seemed to claim the plains at that hour.

"That's an impala harem," Eliot explained,
pointing to a group of female impalas being herded by an alert male. "That
fellow controls a bevy of females, sometimes up to a hundred."

Meade, who would have provided the commentary, was not up
to speech.

"Poor fellow," Maggie said. "All those wives
to service and keep in line."

"He's just a caretaker," Eliot corrected.

"The eunuch of the harem," Ken commented.

"The assumption is that another male is guarding this
fellow's group of ladies," Eliot said.

"Not that they're above tearing off a bit or two of
the other's harem," Meade croaked.

About a mile out, by Eliot's calculation, the van began to
buck and clank. Then, after a final jolting metallic roar, the van stopped
completely.

"Bloody hell," Meade said, stepping out and
unlatching the hood.

Eliot and Carol exchanged glances as Meade poked around in
the motor works. He came up red-faced and angry, in no condition to put a kind
face on the dilemma.

"How the bloody fuck did these damned things come
apart? Where the devil are the nuts? Motor block's off her moorings." He
poked into the motor works with his hands. "Parts gone. Never happened
before. Bloody hell." In a fit of temper he kicked at the nearest front
tire. "Have to walk back to camp and pick up spare parts." He
squinted back in the direction of camp. "Hour or so might do it."

"We'll hang out, then," Ken said.

"Maybe take a stroll," Eliot said. "Take
some pictures."

"You do that, but be bloody careful," Meade said,
angrily muttering to himself as he set off toward camp.

"Little problem at this hour," Eliot said,
looking at Carol who nodded.

"I felt perfectly safe during our walk
yesterday," Maggie said, picking up the cue for reassurance.

"Might be fun," Ken said, surveying the horizon.
"It's a gorgeous day."

"We'll head for the river," Eliot said, striking
out, the others following. He moved leisurely at first, aiming for the tree
line as they moved through the herds of gazelles and impalas who looked at them
curiously, then darted away.

Occasionally they stopped to take pictures of the landscape
and the animals. This early-morning time on the plain was lovely, peaceful,
serene, with no sign of the violence of the night. Eliot scouted the terrain
for signs of buffalo or elephant, which could pose difficulties if confronted
head-on.

Crossing through the brush near the tree line, he followed
an animal track to where it led to another part of the plain, then moved
through a stand of trees and up a gentle rise. He knew exactly where he was. He
also knew that to a stranger it would be disorienting. So many African vistas
had the same basic look. The landmarks were subtle and often confusing.

"It's beautiful country, all right," Ken said.
"Be nice if they had street signs."

"If we get lost, we'll call for a cab," Maggie
said.

"What better way to see Africa," Eliot said. He
had subtly slowed his pace. The sun was rising, but it was still cool as Eliot
led them through loops and turnings sketched in his mind.

"You think we should start back?" Carol asked
when they had walked for nearly an hour.

"Meade will be wrong by half," Eliot said.
"Why lose the day?"

"It is so lovely out here," Maggie said, again
taking her cue from Eliot.

"We could use the exercise," Ken said. "Just
as long as you know where you are."

Eliot led them down an incline, then through more loops and
arcs until another half hour passed.

"He's probably back by now," Ken said, looking at
his watch.

"Really, Eliot," Carol said. "I think we
should head back."

"This is the way to really see Africa," Maggie
said. "Don't you think?" It was a question posed generally.

"An adventurous way, that's for sure," Ken said.

Eliot stood on a high knoll, shielding his eyes from the
sun. He brought his binoculars to his eyes and scanned the horizon.

"Buffalo herd," he said, pointing. All along he
had been hoping to spot a potential danger that could be validated, giving him
a logical excuse to widen the arc of their walk. "Take a peek." He
handed the binoculars to Ken and rotated him in the direction of the herd.

"Funny-looking bunch," Ken said with forced
cheerfulness. "I've been told they're not overly friendly critters."
He returned the binoculars to Eliot.

"They're not," Carol agreed.

"They're far off," Eliot said, "but heading
in the direction where we have to cross the plain."

"What does that mean?" Ken asked.

"A bit more leg power," Eliot said, deliberately
smiling, as he headed off in yet another loop.

When they had walked for almost another hour, Ken asked:
"I suppose you call this the long way, Eliot."

"More or less," he replied, hoping he sounded
somewhat tentative.

Eliot knew where he was, of course. He looked at his watch.
It was time to act. He glanced toward Maggie, who looked somewhat puzzled by
his actions, then he moved resolutely forward, putting distance between himself
and the others. Coming to a rise, he stopped abruptly and waited for the others
to catch up.

"Bit of a problem here," he said, surveying the
landscape with his binoculars. "We are dealing here with
alternatives."

"Alternatives to what?" Ken asked.

"In Africa the shortest way defies geometry. It is not
a straight line," Eliot replied.

"Meaning we're lost?"

"Not really. Merely temporarily disoriented. I should
have taken the compass," Eliot said. Meade had a compass attached above
the driver's seat of the van. "Bloody Africa, as Meade would say. Never
seems to stay put."

"You're really joshing, aren't you, Eliot?"
Maggie asked innocently.

"It's not like you to get lost, Eliot," Carol
said.

But there was no panic in the air.

"No real problem, folks," Eliot said as he
continued to scan the horizon. In the distance he could see the stand of trees
where their camp was pitched. Not much danger here, he decided.

"I can tell two things from the position of the
sun," Ken joked. "East is there." He pointed to where he assumed
the sun had risen. "And west is there."

Maggie chuckled.

Eliot appeared to contemplate a course of action. Suddenly,
he lifted his arm and pointed.

"Thataway," he said, striding forward, bringing
them up an incline in the plain and heading toward a kind of large copse. Tire
tracks crisscrossed the plain but there was no clear road. He had deliberately
led them away from the more traveled track. Just a little privacy, he told
himself, whispering the tune "Getting to Know You."

As they walked, a pair of spotted hyenas in search of
carrion crossed within fifty yards of them.

"Take comfort in knowing that you're not on the
menu," Eliot reassured them. Above all, he must not frighten them. He led
them through a path into the copse, stopping in a grassy clearing surrounded by
thickets of brush and trees.

"Things are beginning to look familiar again. I know
this place," he said. "But I think I'll have to hit a rise to get a
good look-see. There's a hillock about a half mile to the east. My suggestion
would be that you all stay here and conserve your energy while I stake out the
way."

"Suits me," Ken said, sitting on a boulder and
untying his shoes. "Might as well get this gravel out of my sock."

"We're not lost?" Carol asked.

"Not at all," Eliot replied. "But with the
sun heating up, I'd like to find the expressway back to the van."

"That makes sense," Maggie said.

They were standing near a tree that had fallen, its trunk
parallel to the ground. Carol swung one leg onto it to stretch out her
hamstrings.

"No sweat," Eliot said. "Chalk it up to a
very slight loss of bearings. We've just overshot our position a bit and
Meade's van should be just beyond the rise. If it's close enough, I'll hail
Meade and we'll come and get you in the van, which might be fixed shortly. Not
to worry. Just make yourselves comfortable."