‘Well, be careful. Rhino aren’t domestic pets. They can kill you.’
‘I know that, Dad, I’m always careful.’
‘Be extra careful.’ He avoided mentioning the elephants.
David headed him off. ‘When will you be back?’
‘Saturday afternoon, around five.’
He left for Harare just after six Friday morning. It was only 100 kilometres but he liked to drive in the early morning. Besides, he needed a full day to do his shopping. Aside from buying presents for his family, and getting the food Wellington wanted, he had to buy presents for the house servants and his farm workers and their children.
It was a tradition he and Kathy started and it made Christmas Day a special time for all. The workers, dressed in their Sunday best, would arrive in a group around eight in the morning, singing carols, their deep and melodious voices ringing out, the laughter of their excited children mixing in. He loved to hear them sing. He would have their presents wrapped and stacked in a huge wooden crate on the verandah. There would be hot tea, cakes, sandwiches and soft drinks ready and Richard, who spent the year being waited on hand and foot by these people, would serve them, pouring their tea, offering snacks around, exclaiming over new offspring, spending time to speak with each of them. Then, when everyone had eaten and finished their drinks and the excitement of the children could no longer be contained, Richard would ask everyone to sit down.
A hush would descend over the assembled throng sitting on his lawn. The air of expectation as he reached into the wooden crate for the first present was strong enough to taste. He always shut his eyes as he reached for the presents so everyone could see there were no favourites. Soft cuddly toys or much-needed clothing for the very young. Books, games or clothing for the older children. Clothes for the teenagers. Blankets, cloth or beads for the women. Clothes or shoes for the men. No-one was left out. The lawn would be littered with wrapping paper. Samson would then come forward to make a speech of thanks. He would usually spend about five minutes, puffed up and important, telling everyone how lucky they were to work for such a generous man. He would end his speech with a tale calculated to have the people listening laughing at Richard, and Richard laughing at himself. Then out would come the jugs of beer and Richard would share a drink with his men and their families. The entire ritual took several hours until finally everyone left, singing as they went, their voices audible all the way up from the valley floor.
Until this duty was done, the Dunn family never opened their own presents. After the last strains of ‘Silent Night’ faded they would help Wellington and Elizabeth collect the wrapping paper and clear away the food. Then, and only then, they would go inside and gather around the tree. It was a discipline Penny had found hard to understand as a child and several times she was caught sneaking off to prod at presents with her name on them.
Until Kathy died, Christmas had always been a special time. Now Richard tolerated it, preserved the tradition for her memory’s sake, but derived none of the pleasure he used to get from it.
He drove into Harare a little after 7.30. He had breakfast at Meikles then went to the largest warehouse in town where he bought the presents for his workers. It took him several hours to do this. His list read: babies—12; youngsters—26; older kids—18; teens—4; women—27; men—18.
He chose gifts at random. Wellington and Elizabeth would have the job of deciding who should get what before they did the wrapping. He knew he never paid as much attention to the task as Kathy had. But Kathy had enjoyed doing it. Richard hated shopping.
Having completed the bulk of his purchasing, he tackled the more difficult task of trying to buy for his children. He usually bought too much to compensate for past fights or, in David’s case, his guilt over not being able to get close to the boy. At the end of the day, eyeing the family gifts, he ruefully reflected that he had done it again. Penny’s main present was an 18 carat gold necklace with a small diamond, set so it would nestle against her throat. In addition, he bought her diamond stud earrings, a beautifully carved jewellery box, a solid silver picture frame which she had admired once when they were out together, three small scatter rugs for her apartment and, in an impulsive moment of madness, a gigantic stuffed dog.
David fared nearly as well. His father splashed out on a leather jacket, a new watch, a variety of sporting equipment and a guitar. Then, having depleted his bank balance by nearly $8,000, he called it a day. He had just enough time for a shower, a drink and fifteen minutes of sitting alone peacefully before he collected Penny.
Dinner with his daughter was a pleasant affair where each buried their differences and tried not to antagonise the other. The subject of Joseph Tshuma was not raised. Instead, they talked at length about Christmas, about the traditions which had been started by Kathy, and about the things they remembered best about her. Penny surprised him by admitting she often thought about her mother and often ached terribly for her. ‘You’re okay, Daddy,’ she told him, patting his hand affectionately, ‘but there are times when a girl needs a heart-to-heart with another woman.’
‘Don’t you have a close girlfriend?’
‘Not that close.’
They spoke of Penny’s future plans. Richard always assumed she would want to get out into the world, maybe live in London for a while. But Penny never showed any inclination to go away. ‘I’m an African girl,’ she said. ‘I love Zimbabwe. I never want to live anywhere else.’
‘Not even for a little while?’ Her answer surprised him. ‘I thought you’d at least want to try South Africa.’
‘When I was at boarding school in Scotland I used to cry to be in Africa. I missed the sights and smells. People appeared grey. No character. I was frightened that, after the war, there’d be no place for us here. South Africa is okay but it’s still not the same as here. No, Daddy, I’m a true Zimbo. This is where I want to be.’
Richard told her how he had wanted to live in Africa from the time he was seven. He told her about Rhodesia, as it was called when he first arrived. He even told her about the fight he and Kathy had when she became pregnant. Father and daughter were relaxed and close. At the end of the evening, after he dropped her off at her flat, he felt more content than he had for ages. Joseph Tshuma was still a factor he did not like but he knew if he pushed Penny any more about him she would dig in her toes and keep on seeing the man just to spite him. If Penny thought he accepted Tshuma, there was every chance she might get sick of him and drop him. He chuckled to himself. Here he was adopting David’s method of dealing with Penny. ‘Maybe a man is never too old to learn new tricks,’ he thought as he got into bed.
He had to see his stock agent the next morning about some bulls he had ready for sale. Then he paid a visit to his bank manager. Finally, he met an old friend for lunch. It was after three before he had his car loaded and set off for home, the huge stuffed dog sitting in the passenger’s seat causing some amusement to pedestrians and passing motorists, especially since he secured the animal with the seat belt so it would not keep sliding sideways and getting in his way.
On the outskirts of Harare he passed a house which had a sign ‘Labrador puppies for sale’. Impulsively, he stopped the car and bought one for David, to replace the one he lost last holiday. The puppy howled and piddled all the way home but nothing could destroy the feeling of euphoria Richard was enjoying.
When he got home he gave the puppy to Samson to look after until Christmas Day. He smuggled the family presents upstairs, wondering how the hell he would wrap the stuffed toy, and he gave the rest to Elizabeth so she could sort and wrap them. Wellington carefully checked all the food purchases, not trusting his sometimes wayward boss to buy the right things.
David arrived back just after six, withdrawn, pale and visibly upset. He flung himself into a chair, legs over one of the arms. Richard knew what had upset him. He would have learned about the slaughter of the elephants by the river.
‘Bastards! Bloody fucking bastards.’ His voice, normally d
eep, strained against the tight emotion in his throat. ‘Bloody murdering fucking bastards.’
Richard was so surprised by his language he forgot to admonish him.
‘Bastards!’
‘You’ve said that already.’ He spoke mildly, realising that David, despite his anger, was testing how far his father would let him go.
David looked at him but the fury behind his eyes blurred his vision. Richard did not think his son could see him. He could appreciate David’s anger. He had been angry too at the time and had avoided speaking of it to anyone else, but perhaps he should have told his son, prepared him. He knew how David felt about the animals.
‘They’re all dead,’ David burst out. ‘Nearly 300 elephants. Dead. Two rangers. Dead. For what? Why? Jesus Christ, Dad, why?’
‘Three hundred! Are you sure?’ Richard had witnessed the slaughter of two small herds. He assumed that was all.
‘Ninety percent of the reserve’s elephant population, Dad. And two innocent men. One of them has a young family. They were shot. Cold blood. Shot in the head.’ David began to cry. ‘Adam is beside himself. Who could have done it, Dad? Why?’
Richard knew why. He even knew who. But he could not speak of it to his son. Not yet anyway. He had to think it through.
‘And the elephants, Dad. Some of them were still alive. They had such suffering in their eyes. They were learning to trust us, Dad.’ David was sobbing as he spoke. ‘We betrayed them. Yet again. Again and again. We always betray them. Oh, God, it was terrible.’ He put his head on his knees and cried like a heartbroken child.
Richard sat stunned. Murder. Were his three men guilty of murder? He knew them well. Or did he? Yes, damn it, he did. Mannus had worked for him since he was sixteen, a young trusting orphan with large hurt eyes. Both Richard and Philamon had befriended him. Richard had paid for the boy to finish his education by correspondence. One of Philamon’s wives had acted as his teacher. Mannus did not have a vicious bone in his body. Toby was a rogue, but a lovable one who was easily led, instantly contrite if caught out, and constantly smiling. And John? He was quieter, steadier, a man who was struggling to help an extended family of some thirty-six relatives. He would have been attracted to the money, but murder? Richard thought it unlikely.
David was stirring, wiping the back of his hand across his eyes, snuffling and sniffing as his young mind tried to come to terms with such brutality, such wholesale massacre.
Richard tried to help him. ‘So much ivory will be impossible to hide. The police will catch them.’
‘That’s the whole point, Dad. They used AKs. Most of the ivory is in slivers, useless.’ He sniffed loudly, then struggled to pull out a handkerchief from his jeans pocket. ‘They died for nothing.’ He blew his nose vigorously. ‘Young ones with no tusks died. Babies. Jesus Christ, Dad, they even shot pregnant cows. There are dead elephants all over the reserve.’
He watched his son’s pain. I can’t let this go. Not murder. I saw them, for Chrissakes. I’ll have to tell the police even if . . . Christ, what if one of them tries to get even? I could go away for years. He was thinking rapidly. I’ll get hold of Gabriel, tell him what I know. He’ll have to see I have no choice. Not with murder. And if he decides to drag me into it, well, I’ll just have to chance it.
David had himself back under control. ‘Was that you, Dad?’
Richard looked at him, startled. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I know you allowed poaching here. Were you involved with this?’
‘No way, David, what do you take me for? I stopped all that two years back.’
‘It’s still going on here, and in the reserve.’
He spread his hands. ‘What can I do, son? You know these people. They don’t see it as wrong.’
‘Why did you fire Mannus and the other two?’
He should have known David would know about that. Word spreads quickly on Pentland. ‘Okay, son, I knew some poaching had gone on. I was out looking for some cattle and I saw two herds destroyed down by the river. Toby, Mannus and John were in on it and that’s why they were fired. But I swear to God, David, I had no idea about the rest of it. I fired those men not because they broke the rule but because of the way they did it.’
‘Why didn’t you say anything?’
‘I assumed I’d seen it all. If I’d known about the rest I would have said something. I didn’t want to tell you because . . . well . . . quite frankly, son, I didn’t want to upset you.’
David nodded. ‘And now?’
‘Now? First I want to talk to Samson, then I’ll call the police.’
‘You promise, Dad?’
‘I promise, David. This is murder. I can’t protect those three against murder.’
‘And the elephants?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Would you protect them against the law finding out about the elephants?’
‘Jesus, David, you sure go for the jugular.’
‘Would you?’
‘I hadn’t planned on it but I didn’t know how big it was. Murder or not . . .’ he shrugged, helpless under David’s unrelenting stare, ‘no . . . I guess I would have said nothing if it hadn’t been for the murders.’
‘So the elephants don’t matter.’
‘They matter. But so do my men.’
He expected an outburst from his son. Instead, David looked sadly at him. ‘That’s the trouble with humans. There are too many grey areas. I don’t know if I would have reported them either.’
Richard rose. ‘That’s the wisest thing I think I’ve ever heard from you. You’re growing up. Being an adult is a bitch. And no-one ever prepares you for it. You just have to live and learn.’ He walked over and patted David’s shoulder. ‘I’ll be back shortly, I just want to have a word with Samson.’
Samson heard him out in silence, nodding occasionally and puffing on his old, hand-whittled pipe. ‘What will you do, Gudo?’
‘Tell the police. What else can I do?’
‘They will go to the prison.’
‘They should have thought about that before.’
Samson nodded, puffing. ‘They did not do this murder, Gudo. They are good men.’
‘I know, old friend. But murder was done and they were there.’
Puff. Nod. Puff, puff. ‘When the women wash clothes at the river and a crocodile comes and takes one of them, are the other women guilty?’
‘This is different. A crocodile cannot think. He acts because he is hungry. The other women are scared of him.’
Nod. Puff. ‘Mannus is hungry for more education. John is hungry for more money for his family. Toby is hungry for friends. This hunger in them makes their minds muddy.’
‘What are you hungry for, old man?’
Puff. ‘Me? I am hungry for nothing, Gudo.’
‘A farm of your own?’
Samson laughed at him. ‘Gudo, where would I get the money . . .’ he broke off, then clapped his hands, delighted. ‘Eh heh, Gudo, you have become too African.’ He shook his head. ‘I would not do this thing.’
‘And neither should they.’
‘But maybe they were too scared to say anything.’
‘Like the women with the crocodile, eh?’
‘A crocodile is a very dangerous thing, Gudo.’
‘Then they should not have been with the crocodile in the first place.’
‘No, it is true. But, Gudo, be careful. If the women at the river say the crocodile is bad and they chase it, it might bite them too.’
‘I know the risks, old friend. I will have to take the chance.’
‘The men in this village go with you.’
‘Thank you, Samson. I value your friendship.’
Driving back to his house he realised that Samson, in his gentle roundabout way, had first made certain that Richard was sure in his own mind of the men’s guilt, then had probed until he knew Richard was aware of the consequences of his actions, warned him of retaliation and then gave his assurance of support. And half
the time they had been talking about a crocodile!
As soon as he got back to the house he tried to call Gabriel Tenneka but the man’s house servant informed Richard, ‘My master had to go to London this morning. Very urgent business.’
‘I’ll bet,’ he thought grimly, hanging up. ‘I’ll bet he had flames coming out of his arse.’ He then contacted an acquaintance at Police Headquarters and gave him the names of his three men. ‘I don’t know where they went after they were fired,’ he said, ‘but the chances are they’ll make for Harare.’
Captain Norman May was a dour Londoner with little time for chitchat and a habit of confusing everyone who came into contact with him. ‘Bloody ’ell.’
‘Yeah. Sorry about that.’
‘Took yore bleedin’ time, cockie.’
‘I only just found out about the murders.’
‘All the same thing, innit?’
‘I felt sorry for them.’
‘Do wot?’
‘C’mon, Norm. You know what these people are like.’
‘Cor blimey, mate, you bleedin’ Scotch fink loik bleedin’ darkies.’
‘Well, if that’s all . . .’ Norman had done it again and Richard was losing the battle of trying to guess what he was saying and then make sense of it.
‘Ta, mate. Thanks a bleedin’ bunch.’
He hung up with the definite impression that Norman would have preferred it if he had not made the call. But then, he never knew with Norman.
The rest of the week was miraculously uneventful. David recovered from his anger and sorrow and spent every day helping Adam in the reserve. Gabriel Tenneka’s urgent business in London was clearly long term since Richard heard nothing from him. He tried to see Janie Roos but the man was nowhere to be found on his farm and his cook said he had not seen his boss for three days. Richard organised a search party, worried he might have had an accident and be lying out on his farm somewhere, but they found no sign of him. Norman May, mercifully, stayed out of touch.
Storms Over Africa Page 10
