The Eye Of The Leopard (12 page)

Sorrow and glistening eyes, a quavering voice that has turned
thick, that much he knows. But never this open surrender to
tears. What the hell is he going to do now? Hans wonders, with
his father's sweaty and unshaven face against his neck.

The elkhounds are skulking restlessly underneath the kitchen
table. They have been kicked and stepped on and haven't had any
food all day. The kitchen stinks of closed-in sweat, fuming pipes,
and spilled beer.

'We have to clean up,' says Hans, tearing himself loose. 'You
go and lie down and I'll clean up the mess.'

Erik Olofson slumps down in the corner of the sofa and Hans
starts washing the floor.

'Take the dogs out,' mumbles Erik.

'Take them out yourself,' says Hans.

The fact that Shady, the most contemptuous and feared drunk
in town, had been allowed to stretch out in the kitchen makes
him feel sick. They can stay in their hovels, he thinks, with their
old hags and brats and beer bottles ...

His father is asleep on the sofa. Hans places a quilt over him
and takes out the dogs and chains them up near the woodpile.
Then he goes to his altar in the woods.

It's already night, the light summer night of Norrland. Outside
the People's Hall some youths are talking loudly around a shiny
Chevrolet. Hans returns to his safari, counts his bearers, and
gives the order to march.

Missionary or not, a certain authority is required so that the
bearers won't succumb to idleness and maybe even start stealing
supplies. They should be encouraged with glass beads and other
trinkets at regular intervals, but also forced to witness punishments
for neglect when necessary. He knows that during the
many months, perhaps years, that the safari will be under way,
he can never permit himself to sleep with more than one eye
closed at a time.

As they pass the hospital the bearers begin to shout that they
have to rest, but he keeps driving them. Not until they reach the
altar in the woods does he let them put down the large bundles
they are carrying on their heads ...

'Mutshatsha,' he says to the altar. 'Together we will travel to
Mutshatsha one day, when your spine has healed and you can
get up again ...'

He sends the bearers on ahead so he can have peace and quiet
to meditate. Travelling might mean deciding to conquer something,
he thinks vaguely. Conquer the doubters who didn't believe
he would get away, never even as far as Orsa Finnmark. Or
conquer the ones who had travelled even further, vanished even
deeper into the wilderness. And conquer his own indolence,
cowardice, fear.

I conquered the river bridge, he thinks. I was stronger than
my own fear ...

He strolls homeward through the summer night. There are
so many more questions than answers. Erik Olofson, his incomprehensible
father. Why is he starting to drink again? After they
went to the sea together and saw that it was still there? In the
middle of summer, when the snow and cold is gone? Why does
he let the drunks in the house, let them get their hands on
Célestine
?

And why did Mamma leave, anyway? Outside the People's
Hall he stops and looks at the remnants of the poster for the
last movie programme of the spring.

Run for Your Life
, he reads. That's it, run for your life. And he
runs on silent feet through the warm summer night. Mutshatsha,
he thinks. Mutshatsha is my password ...

Hans Olofson says goodbye to Moses and watches the
car bearing the dead men vanish in a cloud of dust.

'You stay as long as you like,' says Ruth, who has
come out on to the porch. 'I won't ask why you're back so soon.
All I'm saying is that you can stay.'

When he enters his old room, Louis is already busy filling the
bathtub. Tomorrow, he thinks, tomorrow I will re-examine myself,
decide what I'm going back to.

Werner Masterton has gone to Lubumbashi to buy bulls,
Ruth tells him as they sit with their whisky glasses on the
veranda.

'Such hospitality,' says Olofson.

'Here it's necessary,' says Ruth. 'We can't survive without one
another. Forsaking a white person is the only mortal sin we recognise.
But no one commits it. It's especially important that the
blacks understand this.'

'Perhaps I'm wrong,' says Olofson, 'but I feel there is a state
of war here. It isn't visible, but it's here.'

'Not a war,' says Ruth, 'but a difference that is essential to maintain,
using force if necessary. Actually it's the whites that are left
in this country who are the ultimate guarantee of the new black
rulers. They use their newly won power to shape their lives like
ours. The district governor borrowed from Werner the plans for
this house. Now he's building a copy, with one difference: his
house will be bigger.'

'At the mission station in Mutshatsha an African talked about
a hunt that was ripening,' says Olofson. 'The hunt for the whites.'

'There's always someone who shouts louder than others,' replies
Ruth. 'But the blacks are cowardly. Their method is assassination,
never open warfare. The ones who shout aren't the ones you have
to worry about. It's the ones who are silent that you have to keep
a watchful eye on.'

'You say that the blacks are cowardly,' says Olofson, feeling the
beginnings of intoxication. 'To my ears that sounds as if you think
it's a racial defect. But I refuse to believe it.'

'Maybe I said too much,' says Ruth. 'But see for yourself. Live
in Africa, then return to your own country and tell them what
you experienced.'

They eat dinner, alone at the big table. Silent servants bring
platters of food. Ruth directs them with glances and specific hand
gestures. One of the servants spills gravy on the tablecloth. Ruth
tells him to go.

'What will happen to him?' asks Olofson.

'Werner needs workers in the pig sties,' replies Ruth.

I ought to get up and leave, Olofson thinks. But I won't do
anything, and then I'll acquit myself by saying that I don't belong,
that I'm only a casual passing guest ...

He has planned to stay for several days with Ruth and Werner.
His plane ticket permits him to return no sooner than a week
after arriving. But without his noticing, people gather around
him, taking up the initial positions for the drama that will keep
him in Africa for almost twenty years. He will ask himself many
times what actually happened, what powers lured him, wove him
into a dependent position, and in the end made it impossible for
him to stand up and go.

The curtain goes up three days before Werner is supposed to
drive him to Lusaka. By that time he has decided to resume his
legal studies, make another try at it.

One evening the leopard shows itself for the first time in Hans
Olofson's life. A Brahma calf is found mauled. An old African
who works as the tractor foreman is summoned to look at the
dead animal, and he instantly identifies the barely visible marks
as being from the paws of a leopard.

'A big leopard,' he says. 'A lone male. Bold, probably cunning
too.'

'Where is it now?' asks Werner.

'Nearby,' says the old man. 'Maybe it's watching us right now.'

Olofson notices the man's terror. The leopard is feared; its
cunning is superior to that of men ...

A trap is set. The slaughtered calf is hoisted up and lashed to
a tree. Fifty metres away, a grass blind is built with an opening
for a rifle.

'Maybe it will come back,' says Werner. 'If it does, it will be
just before daybreak.'

When they return to the white house, Ruth is sitting with
another woman on the veranda.

'One of my good friends,' says Ruth. 'Judith Fillington.'

Olofson says hello to a thin woman with frightened eyes and
a pale, harried face. He can't tell her age, but he thinks she must
be forty years old. From their conversation he understands that
she has a farm that produces only eggs. A farm located north of
Kalulushi, towards the copper fields, with the Kafue River as one
of its boundaries.

Olofson keeps to the shadows. Fragments of a tragedy slowly
emerge. Judith Fillington has come to announce that she has finally
succeeded in having her husband declared dead. A bureaucratic
obstacle has finally been overcome. A man struck to the ground
by his melancholia, Olofson gathers. A man who vanished into the
bush. Mental derangement, perhaps an unexpected suicide, perhaps
a predator's victim. No body was ever found. Now there is a paper
that confirms he is legally dead. Without that seal he has been
wandering around like a phantom, Olofson thinks. For the second
time I hear about a man who disappeared in the bush ...

'I'm tired,' Judith says to Ruth. 'Duncan Jones has turned into
a drunk. He can't handle the farm any more. If I'm gone for more
than a day everything falls apart. The eggs don't get delivered,
the lorry breaks down, the chicken feed runs out.'

'You'll never find another Duncan Jones in this country,' says
Werner. 'You'll have to advertise in Salisbury or Johannesburg.
Maybe in Gaborone too.'

'Who can I get?' asks Judith. 'Who would move here? Some
new alcoholic?'

She quickly drains her whisky glass and holds it out for a refill.
But when the servant brings the bottle she pulls back her empty
glass.

Olofson sits in the shadows and listens. I always choose the
chair where it's darkest, he thinks. In the midst of a gathering I
look for a hiding place.

At the dinner table they talk about the leopard.

'There's a legend about the leopards that the older workers
often tell,' says Werner. 'On Judgement Day, when the humans
are already gone, the final test of power will be between a leopard
and a crocodile, two animals who have survived to the end thanks
to their cunning. The legend has no ending. It stops just at the
moment when the two animals attack each other. The Africans
imagine that the leopard and the crocodile engage in single combat
for eternity, into the final darkness or a rebirth.'

'The mind boggles,' says Judith. 'The absolute final battle on
earth, with no witnesses. Only an empty planet and two animals
sinking their teeth and claws into each other.'

'Come with us tonight,' says Werner. 'Maybe the leopard will
return.'

'I can't sleep anyway,' says Judith. 'Why not? I've never seen a
leopard, although I was born here.'

'Few Africans have seen a leopard,' says Werner. 'At daybreak
the tracks of its paws are there, right next to the huts and the
people. But no one sees a thing.'

'Is there room for one more?' asks Hans. 'I'm good at making
myself quiet and invisible.'

'The chieftains often wear leopard skins as a sign of honour
and invulnerability,' says Werner. 'The magic essence of the leopard
unites various tribes and clans. A Kaunde, a Bemba, a Luvale; all
of them respect the leopard's wisdom.'

'Is there room?' Olofson asks again, but without receiving an
answer.

Just after nine the group breaks up.

'Who are you taking with you?' asks Ruth.

'Old Musukutwane,' replies Werner. 'He's probably the only
one here on the farm who has seen a leopard more than once in
his life.'

They park the Jeep a little way off from the leopard trap.
Musukutwane, an old African in ragged clothes, bent and thin,
steps soundlessly out of the shadows. Silently he guides them
through the dark.

'Choose your sitting position carefully,' whispers Werner when
they enter the grass blind. 'We'll be here for at least eight hours.'

Olofson sits in a corner, and all he hears is their breathing and
the interplay of night-time sounds.

'No cigarettes,' whispers Werner. 'Nothing. Speak softly if you
do speak, mouth against ear. But when Musukutwane decides,
all of us must be silent.'

'Where is the leopard now?' asks Olofson.

'Only the leopard knows where the leopard is,' replies
Musukutwane.

The sweat runs down Olofson's face. He feels someone touch
his arm.

'Why are they doing this, anyway?' asks Judith. 'Waiting all
night for the leopard, when it probably won't show up?'

'Maybe I'll figure out an answer myself before dawn,' says Olofson.

'Wake me up if I fall asleep,' she says.

'What is required of a foreman on your farm?' he asks.

'Everything,' she replies. 'Fifteen thousand eggs have to be gathered,
packed, and delivered each day, including Sundays. Feed has
to be found; 200Africans must be taken by the ear. Every day involves
preventing a number of crises from developing into catastrophes.'

'Why not a black foreman?' he asks.

'If only it were that easy. But it isn't.'

'Without Musukutwane there will be no leopard. To me it's
inconceivable that an African cannot be promoted to foreman in
this country. They have a black president, a black government.'

'Come and work for me,' she says. 'All Swedes are farmers,
aren't they?'

'Not exactly,' he replies. 'Maybe in the old days, but not any
longer. And I don't know anything about chickens. I don't even
know what 15,000 hens eat. Tons of breadcrumbs?'

'Waste from the corn mills,' she says.

'I don't think I have the temperament to take someone by the
ear,' he says.

'I must find someone to help me.'

'In two days I'll be leaving on a plane. I can't imagine I'll be
coming back.'

Olofson swats at a mosquito singing in front of his face. I
could do it, he thinks hastily. At least I could try until she finds
someone suitable. Ruth and Werner have opened their house to
me and given me a breathing space. Maybe I could do the same
for her. What tempts him is the possibility of escaping his sense
of emptiness. But at the same time he mistrusts the temptation;
it could just be another hiding place.

'Is there a lot of paperwork?' he asks. 'Residence permit, work
permit?'

'An unbelievable amount of paperwork is required,' she says. 'But
I know a colonel in the Immigration Department in Lusaka. Five
hundred eggs delivered to his door will procure the required stamps.'

'But I don't know anything about chickens,' he says again.

'You already know what they eat,' she replies.

A grass blind and a hiring office, he thinks, and he feels as
though he has become involved in something very unusual ...

Cautiously he shifts his position. His legs are aching and a
rock is pressing against the small of his back. A night bird
screeches a sudden complaint in the dark. The frogs fall silent
and he listens to the different people breathing around him. The
only one he can't hear is Musukutwane. Werner moves his hand,
a faint metallic sound comes from the rifle. Like in the trenches,
he thinks. Waiting for the invisible foe ...

Just before dawn Musukutwane suddenly emits a faint throaty
sound.

'Starting now,' whispers Werner. 'Not a sound, not a movement.'

Olofson turns his head cautiously and pokes a little hole in
the grass wall. Judith is breathing close to one ear. A faint sound
tells them that Werner has taken the safety off his gun. The light
of dawn comes softly, like a vague reflection of a distant fire. The
cicadas fall silent, the screeching night bird is gone. The night is
suddenly soundless.

The leopard, he thinks. When it approaches it is preceded by
silence. Through the hole in the wall he tries to make out the
tree to which the cadaver is tied.

They wait, but nothing happens. Suddenly it is full daylight;
the countryside is revealed. Werner locks the safety on his rifle.

'Now we can go home,' he says. 'No leopard tonight.'

'It has been here,' says Musukutwane. 'It came just before dawn.
But it sensed something and disappeared again.'

'Did you see it?' asks Werner suspiciously.

'It was dark,' says Musukutwane. 'But I know he was here. I
saw him in my head. But he was suspicious and never climbed
up in the tree.'

'If the leopard was here there must be some tracks,' says Werner.

'There are tracks,' says Musukutwane.

They crawl out of the grass blind and walk over to the tree.
Flies are buzzing around the dead calf. Musukutwane points at
the ground. The leopard's tracks.

He came from a dense thicket just behind the tree, made a
circuit to observe the calf from different directions, before he
approached the tree. Then he turned and quickly vanished back
into the thicket. Musukutwane reads the tracks as if they were
written words.

'What scared it off?' asks Judith.

Musukutwane shakes his head and touches the track carefully
with his palm.

'He didn't hear anything. But he still knew it was dangerous.
It's an old, experienced male. He has lived long because he is smart.'

'Will he come back tonight?' asks Olofson.

'Only the leopard knows that,' replies Musukutwane.

Ruth is waiting for them with breakfast.

'No shots last night,' she says. 'No leopard?'

'No leopard,' says Judith. 'But I may have found myself a foreman.'

'Really?' says Ruth, looking at Hans. 'Are you thinking of staying?'

'A short time,' he replies. 'While she looks for the right person.'

After breakfast he packs his bag and Louis carries it out to
the waiting Land Rover.

In surprise he realises that he has no regrets at all. I'm not
making any commitment, he tells himself. I'm just allowing myself
an adventure.