by Webb, Peggy
Shambu looked as if he might challenge Malone, but the moment passed quickly, and they all settled down to wait their chance. By the time it came, they were drenched and dispirited. Shambu had not ceased grumbling, and even the pygmies were looking mutinous.
“Now,” Malone said.
The pygmies crept silently toward the fringes of Old Doby’s group where two of the females were huddled together with their young. There was a whirring sound as they hurled their spears. With startled grunts two of the females fell in a pool of their own blood. Shambu and one of the pygmies snatched the babies just as they began to scream. Old Doby stirred.
“Cover their mouths,” Malone yelled, but it was already too late.
The giant male silverback charged, his scream of outrage echoing through the rain forest like thunder.
“Get him,” Shambu yelled, dropping the baby gorilla and reaching for his spear.
“Get into the Jeeps.” Malone snatched the baby and ran toward the waiting vehicles as fast as he could go. “We can outdistance him.”
Shambu was sick of taking orders from a white man who had no balls, and the pygmies hadn’t listened to the orders in the first place. Their reaction was swift and automatic. Three spears hurled through the air, catching Old Doby in the chest and both legs. Still, he continued his charge.
“No! Not Doby! Stop!” Huddled beside the Jeep, Malone watched as Shambu’s spear felled the huge gorilla.
With shouts of glee the pygmies were all over him, taking their bloody trophies. The remainder of the gorilla group scattered in fear. Malone leaned his head against the side of the Jeep and retched.
“Stop! In the name of God! Stop!” Joseph Corday emerged through the rain like a wild man, arms flailing, glasses teetering on the edge of his nose, and raincoat flapping behind him.
He charged into the midst of the pygmies, fists flying. Paralyzed by horror, Malone watched as one of the pygmies held Joseph on the ground with a spear. In an instant his entire world had crumbled at his feet. His father hadn’t seen him yet. If he left now, he might get away and no one would ever know.
No one except him.
What would they do to Joseph? If they killed him, could Malone live with the guilt?
With a courage he never knew he had, Malone charged into the group of pygmies, the baby gorilla still clinging around his neck.
“Stop, you asshole bastards! That’s my father.”
The pygmies paid him no attention. It was Shambu who saved Joseph’s life.
“Don’t kill him,” he said. “It’s the Old Gorilla Man.”
“Malone?” Joseph lifted his head, and in one swift glance he took in the entire scene—the slain females, the orphaned babies, and the cages. He crucified his son with a glance.
“I had to do it,” Malone said.
“You had to? In the name of God. Why?”
“It would have been done with or without my cooperation. At least with me in charge, the Cordays still had some control over the gorillas.”
“How could you participate in this slaughter? How could you kill the animals we’ve worked all our lives to preserve and protect?”
The baby around his neck felt like a stone. The entire family would see his deeds as his father had, as a betrayal of the most heinous kind. Eleanor had never had a very high opinion of him, but Brett ... Malone couldn’t bear to think what his brother would do and say.
He made a last-ditch effort to convince his father that he wasn’t the total failure Joseph’s eyes accused him of being.
“Look on it as sacrificing a few for the benefit of the rest. The money ...”
“You took money for this?”
Money tainted in blood. The rubies he’d been so proud of had been tossed carelessly into a drawer in the bedside table. Ruth had worn them only once, and then at his insistence.
At the thought of his wife Malone sank to his knees. She would leave him now. There was no question about it. He’d as soon be dead. Covering his face with his hands, he began to cry.
“It’s not too late, Malone. We’ll turn this around. We can go to the authorities... .”
Joseph’s voice ended in a gurgle. Malone jerked head up in time to see his father fall backward, his throat slit and his head resting in the lap of his favorite gorilla. Two magnificent creatures, united in death.
“You bastards!”
He had no weapon, but he went into the midst of the murderers anyhow. For a moment he believed he was eighteen again, fighting his own battles. If he’d fought his own battles, maybe Brett wouldn’t have lost an eye.
A solid wall of bodies closed in on him. The last thing he heard was the chant in Swahili.
“Kill ... kill ... kill.”
Chapter 61
Brett found them in the early hours of morning. Except for the blood, Joseph looked as if he might be taking a nap on the great furry lap of Old Doby. Malone lay nearby, crumpled as if he were a set of dirty rags someone had tossed onto the floor of the jungle.
Rage and fear almost blinded him as he raced into the clearing. Blood spattered the legs of his pants and threatened his footing. He knew before he got to Joseph that his father was dead. His eyes stared sightlessly at the sky, and his body was already growing stiff.
“Malone ...” He bent over brother. The pulse was faint and thready.
“Brett?” Malone’s voice was a hoarse whisper. “I didn’t mean ...”
“Shh. Don’t talk. Save your strength.”
“Brett ... I ... I ... love ... you.”
Brett cradled Malone fiercely against his chest, willing his own strength into his brother. How could he have stayed on his mountaintop while this was happening? How could he not have known?
“I’m going to get you to a doctor, Malone. Hang on.”
His brother was no burden to him as he carried him through the jungle. Brett had left his Jeep two miles back, preferring, as always, to walk through the rain forest. He always saw more when he was walking.
The vision of his father haunted him as he raced down the mountain, but he didn’t dare go back for him. He didn’t even dare stop for Eleanor and Ruth. Every minute was crucial for Malone.
Lorena was just arriving for work when Brett pulled up in front of the clinic in Ruhengeri.
“My God,” she said when she saw his face.
“Help me, Lorena.”
She had never seen Brett Corday defenseless. Now he stood in front of her with all his feelings showing, naked and raw.
“Don’t let my brother die.”
One look at Malone Corday told her it was already too late.
“We’ll do everything we can. He’ll probably have to be airlifted to Nairobi.” She put her hand over Brett’s. “Don’t expect miracles.”
“Brett ... ,” Malone whispered. “I’m dying.”
“No! I’m not going to let you die. Do you hear me, Malone? I’m not going to let you die!”
Chapter 62
NAIROBI
“Promise ... ,” Malone whispered.
His breath came in labored spurts. Ruth held on to him as hard as she could, willing him to live.
With a mighty effort Malone fixed his brother with a bright-blue stare.
“Take care of Ruth.”
“I promise.”
She couldn’t bear to look at Brett, couldn’t bear to think what all this might mean.
Ruth heard the death rattle in Malone’s chest, and a fury such as she had never known rose in her. She wanted to shake some sense into her husband, to berate him for dying before they’d had a chance to straighten things out, before their child was even born. Instead she pressed her cheek next to his.
“You’re not going to die, Malone. I’ve got you, I’ve got you.”
“Ruth ...”
“I’m here.”
“Is the sun shining?”
The sun had long since disappeared behind a cloud as if it knew what was happening in the narrow hospital room and wanted to hide its fa
ce.
“Yes, my darling, the sun is shining.”
“Ruth ... I want to be ... buried ... in sunlight.”
“Malone ...”
“Promise... . Promise.”
“I promise.”
He was so still, so cold. She pressed her upper body flat against his, hoping her warmth, her vitality, would seep into him.
“He’s gone,” Eleanor said.
“No.” Ruth squeezed his hand and felt the slightest answering pressure.
“Ruth ...” She had to press her ear to his mouth in order to hear him. “I ... love ... you.”
She closed her eyes. Why was it that love had so many faces?
“I love you, too, Malone.” The stillness of death was upon him. Ruth lifted her face and stared at him. Had he heard her? “I love you, Malone. I love you.”
“Ruth.” Brett put his hands on her shoulders. “It’s over.”
“No.” She shook his hands off. “I want him to hear me. I want him to know.”
“He knew you loved him.”
The tears she’d held back since early that morning, when Brett had come to her door and whisked her off to the plane that would take them to Nairobi, suddenly found release. She tasted them in her mouth, her throat.
“Did he hear me?” she whispered.
Brett hated his brother for dying, hated him for abandoning Ruth and the baby, hated him for severing the lifelong bond between them. But most of all, he hated himself. He’d always taken care of Malone. And now, when his brother needed him most, Brett had failed.
“Did he hear me say the words?”
Ruth grabbed Brett’s lapels, then collapsed against his chest. She clung to him, wetting the front of his shirt with her tears.
“He heard you, Ruth.”
A lie seemed kinder than the truth. He put his arms around her, and behind them a nurse covered Malone with a sheet.
“I want the bastards who did this,” Eleanor said. “I want to see their blood run down the mountain just the way Joseph—” She covered her face with her hands. “Joseph!”
Brett put an arm around his mother, then led the two women from the hospital room. The remnants of the Corday family.
“I’ll find them,” he promised. “If it takes the rest of my life, I’ll find them.”
Chapter 63
ALABAMA
They buried Joseph near his beloved gorillas, but because Malone had always hated the Virungas and because he wanted to be buried in sunlight, they carried his body home to Eleanor’s people in Alabama. Ruth watched as they lowered him into the grave next to his maternal grandfather.
“He always loved this place,” Eleanor said. “When he was a little boy, he’d beg to stay here so he wouldn’t have to go back to Africa. Maybe I should have let him stay ... and then none of this ...”
Eleanor broke down, crying. She’d aged since the deaths of Malone and Joseph, grown more fragile—smaller, somehow— as if tragedy had shrunk her.
“None of this is your fault.” Ruth wrapped her arms around her mother-in-law and led her away from the cemetery.
Watching from the other side of the grave, Brett kept his distance. Grieving alone. He envied the women their ability to share grief. But he had to work out his problems alone.
Sunlight poured across the newly turned grave, and mockingbirds called to each other from the branch of a large oak tree that guarded the old iron gates. Brett knelt on the fresh earth for one last moment with his brother.
“I promise you I’ll find the man who did this.” The sound of the wind in the leaves might have been Malone’s voice, whispering one name. Ruth. Ruth.
“I’ll honor that promise, too, but I hope you never knew what you asked of me. I hope you never knew.”
A bright-red cardinal rose from the oak tree and hovered over the grave, its wings flashing in the sun.
“You’re in the sunlight now, Malone. You’ll always be in the sun.”
He stood over the grave for a long time, silently bidding his brother farewell; then he walked the short distance to the farmhouse. Ruth and Eleanor were seated at the kitchen table, nursing cups of hot tea, his mother’s eyes red from weeping. Ruth had not wept since the day Malone had died in the hospital room in Nairobi. Instead she seemed to grow stronger each day. He imagined her at thirteen, reshaping her life after she’d been sexually abused. Adversity robbed some people of will, but for the strong, it renewed their courage.
Malone had not known his wife at all. Ruth Corday didn’t need anyone to take care of her. She was perfectly capable of doing it all by herself.
He sat down in the chair opposite Ruth, glad her condition was hidden by the kitchen table.
“I think I’m going to stay here awhile,” Eleanor said. “It’ll give me a chance to spend some time with Mother in the nursing home, and Aunt Katherine says there’s plenty of room here for me.”
“That sounds like a good idea to me.” The fewer people he had to worry about, the more time he’d have to look for the murderers.
“Ruth, darling, why don’t you stay here with me?”
“Thank you, but no, I’m going home.”
The sense of loss almost overwhelmed Brett. How could he endure losing them both in one day—the man he loved above all others and the woman he loved more than life itself?
“Well, of course you want to go home.” Eleanor squeezed Ruth’s hand. “It’s only natural that you’d want to be with your mother when the baby is born. Maybe I’ll stay in Alabama till then and I can just drive over to Mississippi for the birth.”
“I’m a Corday. Home is not Mississippi; it’s with my husband’s people in the Virungas.”
There was a just God, after all. Brett gave silent thanks.
“It’s not safe there for you with all that’s happened. Brett, tell her it’s not safe there.”
“Mother, what happened was in the jungle, not in the compound. I think it’s perfectly safe there for Ruth and the baby.” Did he sound too eager? Was he thinking only of himself? “However, I do agree that it would be best if she stayed either here or in Mississippi.”
“It doesn’t matter whether you want me there or not. I’m going back to the Virungas.”
“I didn’t say I didn’t want you there, Ruth.”
They stared at each other, their eyes reflecting possibilities that neither of them could bear to contemplate.
“This baby will be born in the place his father and grandfather devoted their lives to. He’ll know what it means to love the mountain gorilla, what it means to be a Corday.”
In that kitchen in Alabama, the sunset poured through the west window and fell across her like a blessing. She stood up and leaned across the table for emphasis, and her belly, enlarged with his child, made him want to weep. He ached to touch the swollen flesh where his seed had found fertile ground, to claim mother and child as his own.
“I will not run away like a frightened rabbit. If I do, then the men who killed my husband have won. They’ve robbed me of a home, and my child of his rightful heritage. I’m pregnant and widowed, not helpless. I will stay in the Virungas and carry on Malone’s work.”
Brett couldn’t claim her, not now, perhaps not ever. Malone stood between them in death, just as he had in life.
“Can I say anything to change your mind?” he asked.
“No. My mind is made up.”
“Stubborn,” Eleanor said, not without pride. “Reminds me of myself when I was young.”
“You’re still young, Eleanor,” Ruth said. “And after you’ve had a time of healing, I expect you back in the Virungas helping me to give your grandchild a sense of how much his father and his grandfather wanted him and loved him.”
“I’ll be back—you know I will. I wouldn’t miss the birth of my grandchild for anything in the world.” Eleanor’s face softened. “Wouldn’t it be lovely to have a little girl—somebody soft and cuddly, dressed in pink ruffles?”
“You, dressing a grandchild in pin
k ruffles?” Brett said. “That’ll be the day.”
For the first time in days the three of them laughed. Eleanor always wore tailored slacks—had worn them even to the funeral.
“You don’t have to worry about pink ruffles. No son of mine would be caught wearing them.”
Ruth set her chin at such a determined angle that neither Eleanor nor Brett doubted for a minute she’d have a boy.
“What will you name him?” Eleanor asked.
“Malone ... after his father.”
Chapter 64
THE VIRUNGAS
It seemed natural to Ruth to be in Brett’s compound. He had been present in one way or another in all the major events of her life. She reached for his hand.
“Do you know what enormous respect I have for you?”
“I’m only doing what any decent man would do under the circumstances.”
“No. You’re doing more. You always have.”
Suddenly she was aware that she wasn’t merely holding his hand, she was caressing, almost clinging. It would be too easy to cling to Brett, to sit back and let him take all her burdens.
She let go of him and sat down in a chair on the other side of the room. She was tired from the long flight, more tired than she’d imagined she would be.
“My pregnancy seems to have sapped all my energy.”
“You expect too much of yourself, Ruth. Here ... put your feet up while I get my bedroom ready for you.”
“Your bedroom?” The flush that came over her had nothing to do with fatigue.
“It’s bigger than the guest bedroom. You’ll be more comfortable there.”
“I will not run you out of your bedroom.”
“I insist.”
“If you’re going to be that stubborn, I’ll leave and go back down the mountain to the house I shared with Malone.”
Funny how the sound of his name put a pallor on the evening. Both of them became silent.
Sounds of the jungle drifted through the windows—the elephants trumpeting as they staked claim to the watering holes, a faint drumming as the remnants of the male silverbacks vied for dominance of scattered and disorganized gorilla groups, the muted call of the hyrax and the muffled barking of a distant duiker.
