‘If it’s shade you want, why don’t we all just gather under Edward’s beard?’
Professor Matthews frowned for a moment and then almost fell back with laughter. ‘I have a feeling we’re going to become great friends,’ he said, slapping Derek on the shoulder. ‘And though your brother’s beard may well provide shade, it does not serve whisky.’
‘Right,’ Derek smiled. ‘That is a point.’
9
Derek spent the next week at school. With the bush as his classroom and the unlikely trio of his brother, a British former professor and a Shangaan tracker as his tutors, he was taught many of the fundamental lessons of bush craft – from how to source food and dig for water to navigating by the stars. He was introduced to the ingenious art of the ‘bush shower’ which involved filling an old wooden bucket with river water, hoisting it over a tall branch and then removing its cork stopper. He then had roughly a minute or so to get himself clean. The warm and soft river water made it a pleasure and it quickly became something Derek looked forward to at the end of each sweltering day. A cleansing ritual after hours spent in the fevered sun.
His time was divided largely between studying the bush and learning about the elephants. They were everything his father had promised they would be, everything and more. In only a few days he had already discovered extraordinary things about them. They were graceful, intelligent and remarkably kind animals. Andrew explained that he had often witnessed Greys coming to the aid of other animals either trapped in mud or cornered in a hunt, mostly by lions. It helped, of course, that lions were really the only living things that elephants seemed to truly dislike. It was a fierce abhorrence, a deep-borne, almost ancestral loathing between the two monarchs of the bush. Yet, while capable of immense violence, the African elephant was largely peaceful by nature. When reunited with distant relatives, they were known to celebrate and rejoice, often trumpeting wildly and rubbing each other’s backs with their trunks. Derek had already seen them play together in the Shingwedzi River, actually swimming between the banks. Both Maquaasi and Andrew were adamant that many elephants loved to dance and would often do so, even when alone, swinging their back legs and stepping from side to side to the tune of a song to which only they were privy. It was fair to say, however, that they were often fairly drunk at the time, having dined on vast quantities of fermented fruit. Maquaasi further insisted that they could hear ‘between lands’ and would communicate to one another in a silent language over vast distances, often summoning each other to gatherings. They could also be more than a little mischievous when they wanted to and Derek had already witnessed one of the young adult males spraying water over his sleeping sister and then actually scampering back to the river. He discovered that herds were predominantly made up of females and young males, but were always led by a matriarch. Fully mature bull elephants were not permitted to remain in the herd and, for the most part, wandered alone through the bush. Partly, it was believed, to safeguard against potential inbreeding and to protect the purity of their bloodline, but also, the Professor felt, because male elephants were simply born to roam. And roam they did, often on an astonishing scale. They could embark on gruelling journeys that would cover hundreds of miles in only a few weeks, following a number of ancient elephant trails, both seen and unseen. The more Derek discovered about the great tuskers, the more moved he was by them.
As the week drew to a close and the volunteers returned to their lives, Derek could hardly wait to spend a few days alone with one of the herds. There was so much more he wanted to learn about them. But any thoughts of the elephants had to be accompanied by the black shadows that pursued them. Just as vultures ghosted behind the great predators, so poachers tracked the elephants. In some quarters they were perceived to be great adventurers; courageous and charismatic rogues who often placed themselves in harm’s way for the ‘thrill of the hunt’. People swarmed around them in bars, listening for hours to their seductive stories, most of which were largely fiction, containing only faint smatterings of truth. Women were frequently taken in by their charms only to be chewed on and spat out the following morning. By nature, poachers were also often thieves, smugglers, con artists and murderers, driven by greed and personal gain. While Derek was desperate to escape his memories of the war, something about poachers stoked some of the dying embers within him. He quietly began to relish the prospect of a chance encounter with one of them, an opportunity to test the true depth of their courage. It made him understand that, as much as he tried to deny certain aspects of his character, he would always retain some capacity for darkness. Under the right conditions, subjected to the right pressures, he knew he was capable of killing again. It was now a part of him, and always would be. It flowed, dormant, like a sleeping poison in his blood.
Derek tossed a log onto the fire and propped himself up on his elbow. The Professor and Maquaasi had already turned in for the evening, but neither Derek nor Edward were in the mood for sleeping. As licks of orange and blue stuck out their tongues at the night sky, Edward topped up his brandy and leaned back against a large rock. Around them the bush sang and danced, hunted and slept, giving life and taking it under the glow of a swollen moon.
‘There’s something we need to talk about,’ Derek said, stoking the flames with a stick.
‘What is it?’
‘Well, we still haven’t spoken about … that day.’
Edward had been expecting the conversation for a while now. ‘Look, why don’t we rather leave it in the past? Right where it belongs.’
‘In a minute. But first there’s something I need to say to you.’
‘I don’t want to hear it, Derek. Let’s rather–’
‘Stop talking. Let me say what I need to say,’ Derek insisted, throwing the burnt stick at his brother. ‘I just want you to know how sorry I am for what happened.’
‘Enough, Derek–’
‘Listen to me, damn it! I nearly got you killed.’
Edward, reacting to his brother’s tone, leaned forward and placed his drink down in the sand. ‘Well, your apology is not accepted.’
‘What?’
‘You heard me,’ Edward shrugged. ‘It’s simple, really. You didn’t do anything wrong. So there’s nothing to apologise for.’
‘Like hell there’s not. Stop being an asshole.’
‘If you’re going to apologise for an enemy’s bayonet, then I must ask your forgiveness for the war … the black death … famine … floods … dogs that bark all night … should I go on?’
Derek shook his head and stared up at the stars.
‘I tell you what,’ Edward continued. ‘Let’s drink to something right here and now.’
Derek kept his gaze on the sky. ‘What?’
‘Let’s resolve never to speak about the war again. Let’s consign it to where it belongs, buried in the snow ten thousand miles from here.’
Resigned, Derek took a breath and slowly nodded. ‘All right. It’s a deal.’
‘Wonderful!’ Edward cheered, and reached for his glass. He quickly drained his drink and then wiped his mouth with his arm. ‘Now let’s discuss something far more important. How’re you feeling about spending some time alone with the herd?’
‘I thought those bloody volunteers would never leave,’ he began. ‘I honestly can’t wait to get out there. What time do you want to leave tomorrow?’
‘Just before first light. We should be able to track down your elephants within an hour or so. They haven’t moved much lately. They’re sticking to the same area. At least for now.’
Derek shifted away from the fire and stretched out on the sand. The stars, like faraway grey suns, bathed him in a silver glow. ‘Do you really believe we can keep them alive?’
‘I do.’
‘But there are so few of us.’
‘And so few of them.’
‘But what happens a year from now? Five years from now? Aren’t we just plugging the holes?’
Edward understood the question, but knew
that there was no miraculous answer. ‘The government has plans to start a breeding programme.’
‘When?’
‘As soon as our young males reach adulthood and leave their herds.’
‘But even if that happens, they’ll just become fresh targets.’
‘We’re trying to get the authorities more involved, to offer the elephants some meaningful protection, but it’s a long process, I’m afraid. Unfortunately, it’s also our only real hope. Andrew’s money will not last forever. It could take years to get right.’
Derek closed his eyes, still coming to terms with the extent of the poaching. ‘How did it get so out of hand? I mean … how?’
‘I don’t know, but we just have to keep doing what we’re doing and hope the government makes a strong stand at some point. That’s all we can do.’
Derek watched as a star slipped from its pin in the sky and bled out over the horizon. After a while, he sighed and folded his arms behind his head. ‘Hey, Ed, do you think you’ll ever leave this place?’
‘Sure,’ he nodded, staring into the fire. ‘On my back and in a box.’
10
For the next month Derek watched over two small herds which, although not consisting of blood relatives, always remained within sight of each other. It was as if they were bound by an intuitive tether. He wondered if this was down to a shared understanding of the grave danger they were in, whether they were looking to help protect one another, deriving their safety in numbers. It seemed more than plausible. When it came to the Greys, nothing surprised him anymore. For their part, they tolerated his presence graciously enough, provided he remained on their periphery. Somehow, instinctively, they appeared to understand that he meant them no harm. Or so he hoped.
To ensure he had a decent view of the surrounding land, Derek made a habit of always seeking out the highest point in the area. He spent hours scanning the bush for any winks of light, telltale glints of rifle barrels concealed in the tall grass. So far he had yet to encounter a single poacher. It had been a good start, better than he had expected, but he knew it would not last. A confrontation of some measure, at some point, was inevitable.
The unrelenting sun forced him to keep a wet towel wrapped around his head and neck during the most punishing hours of the day. A normal hat was about as useful as a paper umbrella in the rain. Without the proper precautions, and in the height of a bush summer, you could have sunstroke by lunch and collapse into a coma by dinner. Africa’s hawkish yellow eye, as Derek was fast discovering, could kill you in the blink of a day.
As the weeks passed, blurring and buckling in the heat, Derek was increasingly taken by how gracefully the elephants moved, how elegantly they carried themselves. He was also astounded by how much they cared for each other and the remarkable consideration they afforded the animals around them. He had only been with them a few days when something happened that he would not have believed had he not witnessed it himself. The smaller herd was making its way down a narrow track when, one by one and for no apparent reason, they veered off the path and into an area thick with thorn trees, only to rejoin the track a few yards further on. Unable to contain his curiosity, Derek ambled down to see what had caused them to take such an obvious and uncomfortable detour. He expected to find some kind of deep ditch in their path, or perhaps a fallen tree. What he discovered, and what it implied, was difficult to comprehend.
It was a small tortoise.
A single creature, no larger than a football, had caused three enormous elephants to alter their path. If Derek’s obsession with the Greys was teetering on the verge of a precipice, that was the incident that sent him over the edge. As the lone tortoise shuffled into the shade of a thick bush, either oblivious to the great courtesy it had been paid or simply accustomed to it, Derek knew that nothing would ever be the same for him.
How could it?
11
The man pressed the rifle to his shoulder, the tattoos from his arms and neck reflecting on the polished barrel.
A voice, draped in a thick French accent, whispered over his shoulder. ‘Come on. Take the shot.’
While the gunman was tall and powerfully built, his brother registered far less of a presence. Coupled with his diminutive stature, his face also appeared vaguely malformed. If his features were a statement to the world, then his shadowed disfigurement was the hidden meaning lurking between its words. His eyes were small, set an inch too far apart, and his nose came to a blunt halt, giving him a reptilian appearance. But what lingered most in the memory were his teeth. Instead of emerging in neat and orderly rows, they splayed out riotously over his lips, stained and slanted like the leaning pickets of an old fence. Both men were in their early thirties but appeared far older, prematurely aged by the many months they had spent trawling through the bush.
‘What are you waiting for?’ Requin asked. ‘Those tusks. Look at them!’
Xavier ignored his brother, as he did the many insects crawling on the branches around them, and kept his gaze locked on the approaching herd. He had never seen such magnificent ivory. At least nine of the eleven elephants had tusks as thick as a man’s waist, extending almost all the way to the ground before curling expansively up to the heavens. Even the youngster was presenting two healthy white stubs. The animals were also remarkably tall, more elongated than any other elephants he had ever seen. He was struggling to make sense of what his eyes were feeding him. He half-wondered if it was not some kind of fevered apparition, a hunter’s mirage brought on by the incessant heat. He leaned forward and used the front of his shirt to mop the sweat from his brow. They had taken up a safe position in the branches of a large maroela tree so that, once the firing began, the elephants would not be able to charge and trample them. From their vantage point they would be able to fire and calmly reload, picking off the animals at will.
As was typical of herd movement, the matriarch walked out in front, her enormous frame shielding the young female from the morning sun. The remaining elephants travelled behind in a loose single-file formation. Although Xavier was tempted to take the early shot, to bring down the matriarch – who also possessed the largest and most valuable tusks – he knew that it would jeopardise his chances with the others. He had to bide his time and wait for the whole herd to enter the clearing so he would have clear shots at all of them. As it happened, the slope of the land would naturally funnel them to within yards of their position. So, unless one of the elephants picked up their scent and changed course dramatically, their fate was sealed.
In spite of this knowledge, as they drifted closer, Xavier struggled against his instincts. His shooting finger – the word legionnaire etched in blue ink along it – trembled against the trigger. The bloodlust was coming on strong now. He dipped his hand into his pocket and ran his fingers over more than a dozen bullets. He could feel the fresh cuts of the Xs he had carved into the casings. It was his signature, his mark. He would leave the shells behind to taunt the bush police and grow his reputation.
‘Oh … oh … oh come all ye faithful,’ he sang in a whisper, ‘joyful and triumphant … oh come ye, oh come ye … to Xavvvier.’
The matriarch was at the edge of the clearing where the clotted bush gave way to thin veld grass, when she drew to a halt. She raised her trunk and appeared to sample the air ahead of her.
Xavier paused and slowed his breathing. ‘Oh come let us … adore him.’
The elephant held her position, as if unsure of whether or not to proceed, before slowly lumbering forward.
Ninety yards.
‘Oh come let us … adore him.’
Seventy yards.
Fifty.
The last elephant crossed into the killing field.
‘Oh come let us … adorrrre him …’
Thirty yards.
‘Xavier … your … Lord,’ he mouthed silently.
Raising his Mauser away from the matriarch, Xavier shut his left eye and fired the first round. A female elephant at the back of the herd shuddered
at the impact and began to shake her head. Xavier had expected the rest of the elephants to fan out in disarray, but they instead formed a protective ring around her and the youngster.
Perfect, Xavier thought, now with clear shots at all of them. He fired a second and third round into the head of the same elephant and watched as she swayed and then fell onto her side, her left tusk carving a deep furrow into the earth.
The herd trumpeted and stamped their feet, but still held firm around the youngster.
Two more shots rang out and another elephant shook its head. Again, the others protested wildly, flapping their ears and swinging their trunks, but could do nothing to save her. She collapsed onto her back legs as rafts of blood poured down her face.
Requin positioned his own rifle between two thick branches and joined in the slaughter. Despite its questionable temperament, and its reputation for blowing off the hands of its owners, the French Lebel was a powerful weapon and carried eight rounds in its magazine, all of which he emptied randomly into the elephants.
As both men paused to reload, some of the less-injured elephants manoeuvred in front of their more-wounded family, trying to shield them from the onslaught.
Snapping his rifle back up to his shoulder, Requin took aim and fired a full five rounds at a tall male. Thick islands of flesh exploded from his front legs. He recoiled at the impact, but remained upright. Annoyed, Requin hurried off another three rounds. Two missed, the third ricocheted of his tusk. Anger curled up the corner of Xavier’s mouth. ‘Watch the tusks!’
Requin scowled and lowered the Lebel. He was out of ammunition anyway.
Turning his attention to the defiant male, Xavier fired into his face and chest, but still the enormous tusker refused to submit. He reached into his pocket, reloaded, and sent another two rounds into the male’s shoulders.
The elephant bull shuddered, but stood his ground.
The females on either side of him were using their weight to try to support him. He had now taken nine rounds. His head drooped and his tusks were pressed into the ground, but still he hung on.
Journey from Darkness Page 6
