Dark Memory

by Jonathan Latimer

  “It’s somewhere near here.”

  “Please, let’s go, darling.”

  “But the rifle?”

  “Come on, darling.”

  He went again with the current, trying all the time to angle away from the noise of the water. Eve had hold of his belt. He bumped a floating log and caught his foot in grass and fell, tasting the muddy water, holding his breath until his lungs hurt, coming to the surface, pawing the slick trunk of a tree, gasping; and got to his feet and walked again with the stream, the wet leaves slapping his face, the thorns and the nettles biting his skin, his throat stiff with fear, blood in his ears, his heart pounding, his legs numb, his body exhausted, wanting to quit, wanting to lie in the water, envying Bill asleep under the sand and the water, deaf to rain and thunder and moving water; and then he fell again and touched slime with his hands, the slime deep and cool, comforting to cuts from thorns and nettles; and got to his feet and again went away from the noise of water, Eve clutching his belt, not talking, her breath coming fast; and he wondered if she would last much longer, knowing he would quit and die too when she gave up; and he walked on through the water, splashing, falling, stumbling, bumping trees, flinging aside vines, breaking through bushes, smelling the green odor of wet vegetation and the perfume of flowers and spices, strange at night and in the storm, and once the heavy decay of carrion and always the odor of damp earth, of mold, of green leaves, of rain coming down steadily; and he fell again and got up and rested for a moment, standing braced against the water, Eve close behind him, his soaked clothes tight, his woolen socks pulpy, his boots slippery wet, envying Bill dead and buried; and then he went on, hearing Eve’s breathing and the rush of water and the drip of water and the splash of water and the forest-muffled noise of thunder and the creak of limbs and the slap of a branch in the running current; and he fell and got up, knowing the cold feel of the water, colder than the air, but no colder than the steady relentless rain; and went on again blindly, seeing only the faint sheets of reflected lightning, pale violet, less real than the red flicker of exhaustion in his brain, and suddenly he thought the water was not as deep. He stopped and listened and heard the roar of the flood to his left. He took two steps to the right and slipped and fell, Eve with him; and the current carried them against a tree. His hands found moss on the tree trunk, soft as a carpet, and he groped his way to his feet. Eve clung to his belt. Under his hands something cold and slimy moved on the tree. He screamed hoarsely.

  “What is it?” Eve cried.

  He ran against the current for a few steps.

  “Jay! What is it?”

  “Nothing.”

  “It must have been something.”

  “No. Really.”

  “You touched a snake,” she said.

  “No. Something moved under my hand. A twig.”

  “Please don’t let it be a snake.”

  “There aren’t any snakes.”

  He could not let the current carry them back to the tree. There had been something there. He had always been afraid of snakes. It would be terrible to touch it again. He walked against the current until he was unable to go further. He was exhausted. It was no good trying to stand and rest. It was harder to stand, with the water building up pressure, than it was to go with the current. He stumbled and fell. Eve fell on him. The current swept him against a tree and held him with his head out of water. He could not get to his feet. He was too tired. Eve jerked his belt. She was on her feet.

  “Jay,” she said. “Get up. Please, darling.”

  She jerked the belt. He got up. He had swallowed water. He coughed some of it up. He wanted to lie down again. He wanted to go to sleep.

  “We must go on,” Eve said.

  He took a few steps with the current. He was not afraid of dying. He would like to die. The terrifying thing was to keep on fighting the water that moved powerfully and endlessly through the forest with a body that had been finished a long time ago. It was much easier to die than to fight. He took steps, counting them; one, two, three, four. The water was not so deep now. There was enough to drown in, though. He took four more steps and the water went down. He wondered where the water was going. He fell and this time met earth. Eve fell beside him. She clung to his belt. He did not try to get to his feet. He crawled on hands and knees, moving slowly and painfully, a foot at a time. Eve crawled with him. He crawled up an incline, using bushes and weeds to help him. He crawled until his strength gave out. He felt for Eve and found her and fell asleep.

  CHAPTER 31

  IN THE MORNING the rain stopped and the clouds went away and the sun made the forest warm. The light and the heat woke jay. He sat up, blinking at the sun, and looked for Eve. She was lying close to him, her face pillowed by her arms, dry mud caked on her clothes and hands and hair. Her breathing was soft in sleep. The high sun told him it was nearly noon. He saw where they had crawled up the incline during the night. Their trail came from a low marshy valley. There was wet mud in the valley at the foot of the incline, and through the trees he could see the glint of sunlight on moving water. The flood still covered the valley. He stood up to see where the valley went, but in the distance the trees made a dark green wall.

  Eve opened her eyes and looked at him. “Hello.”

  “Hello, sweet.”

  She sat up. “I say, you are a sight.”

  “I feel a sight. I’d like a bath. How do you feel?”

  “Very fit, considering.”

  “They say mud baths are fine for you.”

  “Darling,” she said, “I’m through with mud baths forever.”

  She left him and he opened the knapsack. Water had seeped in, but the tins had kept the crackers and the salmon dry. Even the piece of chocolate was dry under its silver foil. There were two tins of salmon. Enough for two more meals. He suddenly remembered the Springfield. He felt sick. With the rifle he might have shot something. It was a hell of a thing to drop. Just as important as fire. He felt for his matches and found they were dry in their box. Six matches. But no rifle.

  Eve came back. She had cleaned the mud from her face and hands with leaves. “What’s the matter, darling?” she asked.

  “I was thinking about the rifle.”

  “Don’t worry.”

  “I can’t help it.”

  “Don’t. Think how much better off we are than last night.”

  He didn’t know whether they were better off, but he didn’t say anything. It was a choice of drowning or starving. What was the difference? But she was right. It did no good to worry. He opened a tin of salmon and spread a cracker and gave it to her. Then he spread a cracker for himself. The salmon tasted good. He was hungry.

  “Isn’t this pleasant?” Eve said.

  “Yes.”

  “I’m so glad we’re out of that valley.”

  He thought of something. “Eve, have you still got the Mauser?”

  “Yes. In the little rubber sack.”

  He felt hope. He tried to make his voice casual. “And the cartridges?”

  “In the sack, too.”

  “Oh, wonderful! I’d forgotten the Mauser. Absolutely forgotten it. You’re a lovely girl.”

  “Poor darling. That’s why you were so upset about the rifle.”

  “You’re a wonderful girl.”

  “Aren’t I?” She gave him the rubber sack. “That’s my dowry, darling.”

  “No one ever had a nicer dowry.”

  They finished the salmon and ate some of the chocolate. Jay was still hungry. He wanted fresh meat. He took a handkerchief and cleaned the Mauser. It had given him hope. Maybe he could shoot something.

  “Should we move along?” he asked.

  “Are you strong enough?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “I do hate to be so close to the valley,” Eve said. “One of us might fall in it.”

  “We’ll go the other way.”

  “I’m so glad. I was afraid we’d have to cross it.”

  “I wouldn’t cross that
valley if we could see the roofs of Lubero on the other side.”

  “Nor I,” Eve said.

  There were no paths and they went east through the forest. They went in the direction of the afternoon shadows. The forest was thick and the undergrowth was wet from the rain. Damp leaves and vines and tall grass took the mud off their clothes. There were no clouds and no wind and the sun was hot. Steam rose in the forest. The steam and the undergrowth made their clothes wet. It was hard walking and insects annoyed them. Their necks and faces became raw from bites. In the middle of the afternoon Jay fired a shot at a fat brown-and-white bird on a limb. The bird flew away, leaving a single brown feather floating in the air. They could hear its hoarse, alarmed voice in the trees.

  “There goes dinner,” Jay said.

  They came to a very faint path, running almost east. It was easier going on the path. Jay’s scratches from the leopard had begun to burn and he felt a little feverish. He did not know if it was the heat or a real fever. His torn left arm hurt. The path went down a long incline and into a place with few trees. They saw below them a large river and a crescent-shaped sand beach. The river was a hundred feet down an embankment. It was in flood and logs and leaves and branches and grass and foamy bubbles floated on the surface. Almost below them, cut off from the river by sand, was a pool of water.

  “Let’s camp,” Jay said.

  “So close to the river?”

  “It can’t get up here, darling.”

  She smiled at him. “It does look very far down.”

  “And we can bathe and wash our clothes.”

  They gathered wood and built a fire and piled leaves for a bed under a small tree. Then they went down to the pool. Jay could see the sand bottom. He felt the water. It was cool.

  “Throw your clothes to me,” Eve said. “I’ll wash while you swim.”

  “I can wash them.”

  “No, darling. I do the washing.”

  She turned her back while he undressed. He did not take the bandage off his arm. He put his clothes in a pile and waded into the pool. The water felt good on his skin. “All right,” he called.

  “How’s the water?”

  “It’s very nice.”

  She went to the river to wash the clothes. He cleaned his body and hair with sand and then floated on his back, moving his fingers to keep on the surface. The cool water was wonderful. It was fine, too, to be clean again. He wondered about crocodiles, but he did not see how one could get in the pool before he could get out. He did not think crocodiles liked to cross land to get at their prey. They would sun themselves in the sand by a river, but they did not like to leave the river. And they were probably having trouble with the flood. He could not worry about them. After last night he would never worry about anything.

  There was a splash. He was frightened until he saw Eve swimming near him. Her shoulders were tan, but her breasts were white under the water. She looked lovely swimming in the pool.

  “I put the clothes out to dry,” she called to him.

  “You were quick.”

  “I’m a very good washerwoman.”

  “Could you support us by taking in clothes?”

  “Of course I could.”

  “And I’ll write sonnets on the backs of the laundry slips.”

  “That would be very useful,” she said. “A sonnet with every package over a pound.”

  “You’re a businesswoman.”

  “Aren’t I?”

  “You’re beautiful, too.”

  He swam towards her. She tried to swim away, but he caught her shoulders and turned her around. “I love you so, Eve,” he said. It was too deep to stand and when he kissed her they sank below the surface. They came up laughing. He held her with one arm and swam with the other and kissed her. Her skin was wet and smooth. He could see her white body in the clear water.

  “Oh, darling,” she said.

  “Let’s go ashore.”

  “Oh, no.”

  “Please. I want you so, Eve.”

  “You’re not strong enough.”

  “I am. I’m fine.”

  “You’ve been so sick.”

  “I’m fine. Come close. There. I’m strong enough.”

  “Oh, you’re strong enough, darling.”

  “Then come ashore.”

  “Darling, don’t! It’s not good for you.”

  “Please come.”

  “I shouldn’t.”

  “Please.” He held her to him. “Please.”

  “Darling, wait until we get ashore.”

  “Yes. But come now.”

  He swam with her to the edge of the pool, to the brown, water-packed, cool, damp sand.

  That night Jay built smudge fires beside the tree to keep away the insects. He let green branches smoulder on the fires. They ate chocolate and half the remaining crackers, saving the salmon for the next day. The flames hissed in the green branches and the smoke spread out heavily. They ate with their shoulders touching.

  “I wonder if our ancestors felt this way ten thousand years ago,” Eve said.

  “What way?”

  “Happy, and frightened.”

  “They weren’t frightened,” he said. “They were used to it.”

  “Are you frightened, darling?”

  “Not right now. I certainly was last night, though.”

  “It was like a terrible dream.”

  “There’s nothing to be frightened of now.”

  “No, I suppose not.”

  “Nothing except lions, elephants, pygmies, leopards, snakes, pneumonia, starvation and old age.”

  “Be serious, darling. Do you know something?”

  “No.”

  “What frightens me is what the professor said that night in the mountains.”

  “The blind alley business?”

  “Yes. It frightens me to think someday an animal or a fish will replace man. Jay, maybe someday our bones will be dug up and put in a museum, marked: ‘Extinct African mammal, believed to have been able to walk on two legs.’”

  “That’s a funny thing to be frightened about.”

  “Darling,” she said. “I can see you haven’t gone to church much.”

  “No.”

  “I have. My grandfather made me. He was very religious.”

  “My grandfather ran a bank.”

  “I was sent to a convent,” she said. “You learn such comforting things there. You learn about God. You learn he’s watching over you personally. And then you learn you have a soul, that you’re different from animals. That’s a nice feeling. And you learn heaven is waiting warm and comfortable and bright at the end of your life, with mother and father and Nana there to love you again. So it’s quite a shock, darling, to hear you’re a sort of a lungfish, blindly making the best of an environment that’s bound to change and destroy you.”

  “You don’t have to believe that.”

  “I know. But, darling, it’s so very logical.”

  “It has to be,” Jay said. “Any scientific theory has to be logical. Otherwise nobody would accept it.”

  “What do you believe?”

  “I don’t know. I’d probably be a Catholic, too, if I didn’t dislike the Irish so much.”

  “But doesn’t it frighten you to think you’re a lungfish?”

  “I just don’t think about it.”

  Eve was silent for a time. Insects hummed above the smoke of the fires. “I suppose that’s the best way,” she said. “We’re very philosophical, aren’t we?”

  He bent over and kissed her. Her lips were cold. He forced them open with his lips and kissed her again.

  “Not so very,” he said.

  Just before dawn Eve touched his shoulder. When he opened his eyes she put a hand over his mouth. He sat up quietly.

  “There’s something drinking at our pool,” she said.

  He got the Mauser and crept towards the pool. The sun was not up, but the sky was already blue. Some of the clouds to the east were red. The forest seemed ve
ry quiet. He reached the edge of the embankment. Three heavy black animals and a calf were drinking from the pool, standing with their forelegs in the clear water. The river had gone down in the night and the crescent of sand was wider. The animals drank silently. One of them raised his head and looked around the sandy clearing. Jay could see open nostrils and a wide boss of horn. They were buffaloes. He crawled to a place on the embankment directly above the pool. The calf finished drinking and came out of the pool and waited by the mother. It had soft brown eyes, and it nuzzled the cow’s flank. There was another cow and a bull. The bull was very big. His hide looked scabby, as though he had a skin disease, but his horns were a shiny black. Jay rested the pistol in the crook of his left arm and aimed at the base of the calf’s spine. He squeezed his hand, there was a flash of flame, a report and an echo from the river, the calf lay kicking by the pool and the three buffaloes were running clumsily across the sand. They went into the underbrush. Jay started down the bank. Eve had been watching and now she came after him.

  “Stay up there,” he told her.

  “Why?”

  “The big ones are very dangerous. They may come back.”

  “I don’t care.”

  The calf was trying to get up. It had got on its front feet, but the hind legs were paralyzed. Its brown eyes were frightened. He went to it and shot it through the ear.

  “What a piece of luck,” he said.

  “Poor little thing,” Eve said.

  “I had to shoot it.”

  “It’s so sweet-looking.”

  “I’d never have brought down a big one.”

  “I know, darling.”

  He cut open the calf’s belly and took out the intestines. The sun was just rising and the rays lit the tops of the trees across the river. The light was a yellow green on the leaves. He cut the calf into quarters so it would be easy to carry. He was worried about the other buffaloes. They were supposed to be very dangerous. He had heard of wounded bulls following hunters for miles and then charging them unexpectedly. He did not like to think of the other buffaloes following him and Eve. It was a risk they had to take, though. They had to take it or starve.

  The calf’s meat was pink. He carried the quarters to the fire. The fire had been burning all night and there were many coals. He took one of the hindquarters with the chops attached and laid it between two logs over the coals. The chops would cook first, and then the leg. They would have to eat as much as they could. He did not know how long the meat would keep.