Dark Memory

by Jonathan Latimer

  “Christ!” Mr. Palmer said.

  “I was sure you had him,” Jay said.

  “How could I miss?”

  “You didn’t miss. You hit him. We’ll find him dead.”

  “It was a perfect head shot.”

  “My God!” Jay said. “He was enormous!”

  Nygano and Mulu were already following the gorilla. The spool was easy to pick up. There were tracks in the mud and Nygano found blood on leaves.

  “You did hit him,” Jay told Mr. Palmer.

  The gorilla’s trail turned back up the mountain after fifty yards, climbing straight through the heavy underbrush. They followed, but the tangled vegetation held them back. It was bad going. They crawled up, slipping, clinging to vines, shoving aside branches, unable to get traction for their feet, often sliding back; then, braced by a tree trunk, crawled again, up and up, always shut in by leaves and vines and hanging moss. Jay began to sweat. His lungs hurt. Now, after ten minutes, each step, each time knee met hand in crawling, each pull on a creeper meant an effort of the will. The Springfield was a great burden. He began to hate Mr. Palmer. Why didn’t he call a rest?

  He would go only as far as the bush with the scarlet flowers. Leaning forward, one hand touching the wet earth, bringing foot to foot, stepping ahead, then bringing up the other foot, thinking five steps more, four steps more, three steps more, he reached the bush. The others went on climbing. He would go to the dead tree. Crawling that far, he fastened his eyes on a pile of yellow Spanish moss. And next a purple waterfall of morning glories.

  Finally Mr. Palmer halted on a slope bared by a landslide. Jay dropped face down on the ground, gasping for air, his eyes closed against the red lights in his head, certain he could never fill his lungs with the thick, cold air. At last he sat up. Mr. Palmer, sitting with his back against a tree, was grinning at him.

  “Going to live, laddybucks?”

  “I don’t know,” Jay said.

  Mulu had built a fire of twigs near Mr. Palmer’s tree. He was cooking a meal of bully beef and beans mixed in a pan that sat upon three rocks around the fire. He crouched by the fire, feeding it twigs. Jay saw they were high on the mountain. He could look down on the bamboo plateau where their camp was. He could not see the camp. Patches of mist, or clouds, floated below, drifting to the east. Nygano sat a little distance from them. He was watching the mountain for the gorilla. He seemed perfectly fresh.

  “What are our chances?” Jay asked.

  “Don’t know,” Mr. Palmer said. “He’s bled a lot.”

  “How can he keep moving?”

  “Tremendous vitality. All animals have, when you’re chasin’ them.”

  The tomato sauce in the beans began to bubble.

  “To think I’d blow a shot like that,” Mr. Palmer said.

  Mulu put two parts of the beans and beef on paper plates and gave them to Mr. Palmer and Jay. Then he took a loaf of bread from his knapsack and cut it into three parts. He gave each of the white men a part. When they finished this, they divided a Cadman’s chocolate bar. The pygmy, Nygano, ate two handfuls of grain and drank a cup of water from Mulu’s canteen. He was still shy of the white men and would accept no chocolate.

  “On we go,” Mr. Palmer said.

  Mulu put out the fire and they followed Nygano across the bare land to the forest. They had rested twelve minutes. The forest was dark after the sunlit clearing and Nygano went ahead slowly, watching the underbrush. Jay thought he was afraid the gorilla would surprise them in the twilight. He did not know how far ahead the gorilla was, but he saw blood on a fallen tree. It was spooky in the half-light of the forest. The gorilla could trap them easily. Now the weight of the Springfield was comforting. They were not climbing so much, but the underbrush was thick. Sometimes, even on the gently sloping ground, they had to crawl on hands and knees to keep below the forest’s second floor of creepers and moss. The nettles were bad and Jay’s skin smarted. His hands were covered with a rash.

  “Bwana!” Nygano called back over his shoulder to Mr. Palmer.

  The pygmy knelt in a small clearing. He showed them a hollow in the earth and a cluster of bloody leaves. The hollow was where the gorilla had sat while he wiped blood from his wound. Nygano motioned for Jay to touch the hollow. The earth was still warm from the gorilla’s body.

  “Catch soon!” Mulu whispered to Jay.

  They followed Nygano as quietly as they could. They came to a part of the mountain cut by deep ravines. The ground became so uneven they could not always tell whether they were looking down on the green tops of trees or on green underbrush. Now they went up and down, sliding, slipping, clutching at creepers, leaning back against the downslopes until they could see the treetops and the blue holes of sky above the trees, then crawling up the opposite sides, their eyes inches from the gray mud. They angled through a grove of paperbark trees, their low branches full of moss. Hemlock saplings grew in the ravines. They passed clusters of orchids. Suddenly Mr. Palmer plunged headlong down an embankment, crashing into the underbrush. He fell completely out of sight.

  “Oh, my God!” he said.

  Jay helped him crawl up the embankment. “Are you all right?”

  “This bloody country,” Mr. Palmer said.

  There was no more blood now and Nygano was having a hard time with the spoor. He watched for marks in the mud and, where the undergrowth was too thick, for broken and bent branches. He had marvelously keen eyes. They followed him as quietly as they could. Something whooped loudly near Jay and banged away through the trees, still whooping. Jay’s leap carried him against Mulu.

  “Hornbill,” Mr. Palmer said.

  They came to a level place where the forest ended and a marsh began. There was tall coarse grass and a few stands of bamboo in the marsh and a wall of forest on the other side. A thin cloud was in front of the sun, but the gray daylight in the clearing hurt their eyes. Four black gorillas were by the nearest wall of bamboo. They were not eating and they stood close to one another. The wounded gorilla was not with them.

  The four saw the hunters and fled awkwardly across the marsh. Again they looked back over their shoulders as they ran, their polished black leather faces frightened and bewildered. A baby gorilla clung to the neck of one. They ran into the forest on the other side of the marsh.

  “Where’s our man?” Mr. Palmer asked.

  “I don’t see him,” Jay said.

  Nygano led them around the edge of the marsh. The soft earth sighed under their feet, and they left a trail of crushed grass. They went into the dim forest. The gorillas were frightened again and their feces were frequent. It was possible to follow them by watching the feces. The forest was cleaner on this side of the marsh and they made better speed. They were close behind the gorillas and they could hear the crash of their bodies in the underbrush. The sky cleared and sunlight came through the trees, bringing out the colors of the Spanish moss and the flowers. The forest was still very wet.

  Abruptly, from a grove of hemlocks where he had been hiding, the big gorilla charged, roaring as he ran towards them. He came out of the hemlocks and threatened them from the top of a grassy mound. Jay could see his teeth and his red tongue. Mr. Palmer’s rifle exploded and the gorilla fell forward on his face, one hairy arm twisted under him. The shot startled the four gorillas in the hemlocks. They ran down the hill in clumsy terror, the last one looking back over her shoulder in bewildered fright. Jay aimed at her head, squeezed the trigger and saw her overbalance and fall, still going downhill, into a green thicket. Mulu shouted, “Piga!” and ran full speed with Nygano towards her, both of them leaping bushes and weeds. Jay watched them. Nygano ran ahead of the dead female and scooped up a ball of black fur. It was the baby, dazed by the mother’s fall. It looked like a potbellied teddy bear.

  Mr. Palmer had gone to the male. Jay walked over to them. The first shot had furrowed the gorilla’s neck below the left ear. The second shot had entered the right temple. Mulu came and helped them turn the gorilla, all three
working hard to lift the body. Jay thought he would weigh five hundred pounds. At last they got him on his back. His black leather face was shiny with sweat. In death his expression was not fierce. His face was wise and sad, as if he had expected such a fate.

  “A brave man,” Mr. Palmer said.

  Nygano came up with the baby gorilla. It was whimpering a little, hiding its face against the pygmy’s chest, afraid to look at them.

  CHAPTER 8

  AT THE EDGE of the deep forest Jay turned to look at the dead gorillas. He saw the shaggy, belly-swollen body of the male and, kneeling by him, Mr. Palmer. Down the slope he saw the black mound that was the female, the corpse half hidden in weeds. Mulu leaned against a tree with the baby in his arms. Back of the bodies the hemlock saplings moved with the wind, the leaves changing color in the sunlight, whispering as the air drove through them. The wind was fresh from the east and white clouds were coming into the sky.

  Jay turned and followed Nygano. There was no need for quiet now and the pygmy traveled fast, slashing a path through the undergrowth with his mgoosu, a big sickle-shaped knife. They went at a dogtrot down the mountain. By one of the beehive huts in the woodcutters’ village they struck the trail and followed it down to the plateau of bamboo and then took the elephant path to camp. They made the trip in an hour, but in that time the sky became overcast. A storm was coming up.

  There were fires burning in camp. Herbert stood in front of Mrs. Salles’s tent. He stared at Jay, but he did not speak. His emaciated face was hostile. He was standing as though he had been listening to something. Jay found Bill by the dining tent.

  “My God!” Bill stared at Jay’s clothes. “What happened?”

  “It’s just mud.”

  “Did you have any luck?”

  “Yes,” Jay said. “Two.”

  “Really? Two gorillas?”

  “Yes. And a baby.”

  Bill yelled. The noise brought the others from their tents. Nygano had already told the porters. They were shouting and dancing. They thought the gorillas were to be eaten. Bill told the professor. Then Cable and Mrs. Salles came and he told them. Everyone was very excited.

  “Who shot them?” Cable asked.

  “Mr. Palmer got the male.”

  “And the other?”

  “A female. I shot her.”

  “Good!” Cable said. “That’s great news, Boy Scout.” He did not sound as though it was. He sounded as though he had just learned of the death of someone he loved.

  “Was anyone hurt?” the professor asked.

  “No.”

  Bill said, “Old Jay, the Nimrod.”

  The porters and the Somali boys were dancing. They shouted things at Jay and danced around Nygano. The pygmy looked scared. He smiled shyly at Jay. The porters kept shouting one phrase. They made a chant of it.

  “Mr. Palmer would like Nygano to take the porters back,” Jay told the professor.

  Professor Huntley said, “I’ll start them.” He went to speak to the headman.

  Mrs. Salles asked, “Where’s the baby? I hope it wasn’t injured.”

  “It wasn’t. Mr. Palmer has it.”

  “Was it a boy or a girl?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Cable slapped Jay’s back. “I bet you feel wonderful.” He had achieved a sort of hollow heartiness.

  “Not particularly,” Jay said.

  “You look pooped,” Bill said. “How about a drink?”

  “That’s a swell idea.”

  “I envy you that gorilla, Boy Scout,” Cable said.

  One of the Totos brought Jay whisky and water. He sat in a camp chair by the dining tent to drink it.

  Eve Salles asked, “Did Mr. Palmer stay with the bodies?”

  “Yes. He was afraid a leopard might disturb them.”

  “It’s a great day for him,” she said.

  “I guess so,” Jay said.

  Cable said with his false heartiness, “I’d be willing to settle for the female.”

  Jay took a long drink of the whisky.

  “Very few people have shot gorillas, Boy Scout.”

  “The Prince of Sweden shot fourteen,” Jay said.

  The whisky was fine. He poured himself another drink. The others watched him a little dubiously. He was not acting the way they thought a man who had just killed a gorilla should act.

  “Did you have trouble finding them?” Eve Salles asked.

  “Look at him,” Bill said.

  “It was muddy. And we climbed a lot.”

  “Damn my leg,” Lew Cable said.

  The headman had lined up the porters. There were nearly fifty of them. Nygano was ready to lead them up the mountain. The porters were talking. They were excited. Some of them were chanting.

  Jay said, “We’d better send a bottle of whisky up to Mr. Palmer.” He looked at the sky. The clouds were heavy. “And a slicker.”

  “I’ll get them,” Bill said.

  The professor came to the dining tent. He was grinning. “Do you know what they’re chanting, Jay?”

  “No.”

  “The Mountain King is dead.”

  “I guess they’re right,” Jay said. He remembered the look on the dead gorilla’s face.

  “I wish you’d tell us about it,” Eve Salles said.

  “That damn leg of mine,” Cable said.

  “Finish your drink, Jay,” said the professor. “Then come to my tent. We all want to hear the story.”

  “I’ll come now,” Jay said.

  “Oh, no. Finish your drink.”

  The professor went to his tent. Nygano and the headman were leading the porters into the bamboo. Nygano smiled at Jay. He did not seem tired. Jay waved to him.

  “How far were they when you shot them?” Bill asked.

  “Not far. Twenty yards.”

  “Did they charge you?”

  “The male did.”

  Cable said, “You’ve certainly got the luck, Boy Scout.” He hit Jay’s shoulder again. “Why the hell couldn’t I have gotten one?”

  “You can have mine,” Jay said.

  “I couldn’t take it,” Cable said.

  “Sure you could. Nobody would care. Take it.”

  Eve Salles looked at Jay, her eyes thoughtful. “Was it really that bad?” she asked.

  While they were eating dinner under the big sunflap of the dining tent, warmed by a fire and the oil stove, a storm broke somewhere over the mountains. Above the gorilla mountain, when the lightning came, they could see the black clouds moving before the wind. The lightning was far away and they could barely hear the thunder. Probably the gorilla mountain shut out the sound.

  “I wonder if Palmer’s getting wet,” the professor said.

  “It looks further away than that,” Bill said.

  Lew Cable said, “What the hell is taking him so long?”

  The professor said, “It takes time to make litters for the gorillas, Lew.” His face had no color in the light of the safari lanterns. Even his lips were pale. Jay thought he looked ill.

  “Are they so heavy?” Eve Salles asked.

  Jay said, “Mr. Palmer thought the male might go five hundred pounds.”

  “Isn’t that awfully large?”

  “About average,” Bill said.

  “What about yours, Boy Scout?” Cable asked.

  “I didn’t look at her,” Jay said.

  “Oh, my God!” said Cable.

  Lightning over the gorilla mountain lit up the black rising clouds. The thunder now was a steady rumble. A queer wind, coming in short gusts, made the yellow flames in the safari lanterns move. Between the gusts it was absolutely calm.

  “They’ll be along very soon,” Professor Huntley said.

  Bill said, “Sure.”

  “Will the baby live?” Mrs. Salles asked.

  The professor smiled at her. “Until he’s exposed to human diseases.”

  “Gorillas are a lot like man,” Bill said, “but they’re pushovers for man’s diseases.”
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  “How interesting,” Eve Salles said. “What diseases?”

  “Colds, principally.”

  “Oh.”

  “Bill,” Cable said, “I won’t admit gorillas are a lot like man.”

  “You should watch one die,” Jay said.

  “I’d like to, Boy Scout.”

  “I don’t think you would, Lew,” the professor said. “I’m afraid the gorilla is more human than you think.”

  “They sweat like humans,” Jay said.

  There was a burst of thunder. The black boys were putting wood on the campfires. Herbert came with a bottle of brandy and some paper cups. He put them on the table, his face sullen, and went away.

  “Please everyone have some,” Mrs. Salles said. She poured them drinks. “And do go on talking.”

  “I’ll tell you what I think,” Lew Cable said. “Gorillas are like man. Maybe they’re even related. But some force selected man, not the gorilla, to conquer the world.”

  “Don’t tell us you mean God!” Bill said.

  Cable said, “It just happens that I do.”

  “Good for you, Lew,” Eve Salles said.

  She was looking at Cable, her eyes wide. Jay saw that God meant something to her. He was a little surprised at the Lew. Cable had evidently been making progress. Not that he cared, though.

  Bill said, “Find God with Mary Pickford and Lew Cable.”

  “Oh, hell!” Cable said.

  “Let’s don’t argue about God,” the professor said.

  “Oh, let’s do,” Eve Salles said. “You know, I’m a convent girl. I’ve only heard one side of the argument.”

  “The trouble is, Bill usually gets angry,” said the professor. “Sometimes I think he’s jealous of God.”

  Bill laughed. “I am.”

  “But, Bill, you will agree a gorilla has no soul?” Cable asked.

  “I’ve never seen a gorilla’s soul,” Bill admitted. “I’ve never seen a man’s either.”