Storms Over Africa

by Beverley Harper

  ‘Relax,’ she called back.

  The buffalo swung its massive head towards the sound of his voice, and then looked back at Steve. Richard jumped up and down on the deck to attract its attention again. He waved his arms and made hooting noises. ‘Bugger off, hoo hoo hoo, get out of here,’ he shouted. The animal took an uncertain step backwards. Encouraged, he jumped down to the shore. The buffalo charged. In his scramble to get back on the boat, Richard missed what Steve later described as ‘the once-in-a-lifetime shot’. The buffalo tripped over the mooring line, sprawled unceremoniously on the ground, rose shakily, turned around and tripped over the line a second time. Totally humiliated, it galloped off at high speed. She took pictures of both events.

  ‘Damn it, woman,’ he raged at her, ‘have some bloody respect for these animals. They can kill you.’

  She was pale beneath her tan. ‘I didn’t know they could move that fast.’

  ‘If it hadn’t been for the mooring line he’d have had you inside of two seconds. You took an insane risk.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said meekly. Then her humour returned. ‘I got a couple of great shots, though.’

  And, angry as he was at the risk she had run, he admired the way she had coolly taken her photographs. ‘Well listen to advice next time,’ he huffed, slightly mollified. ‘Great shots are no good to you if you’ve been reduced to raspberry jam.’

  The next morning she crept to within ten metres of a lion and photographed him while he was asleep under a tree. Luckily for Steve, the lion was so startled by the sound of her camera it ran away. Encouraged by her good fortune and excited by the shots she was taking, Richard was only just in time to prevent her from trying the same trick on a sleeping crocodile. ‘But he’s asleep,’ she protested as he firmly propelled her back to the boat.

  ‘Watch this.’ He took a piece of steak from the refrigerator and threw it so it landed about 2 metres from the reptile. The crocodile moved so fast it was a blur.

  ‘Christ! He’s dynamite.’

  ‘They all are. They depend on their speed to fill their bellies. Stop taking chances, you don’t understand these animals. They’re not cute little koalas.’

  ‘But I’m getting such great shots.’

  ‘I’m taking you home if you don’t behave. My heart can’t stand the excitement.’

  ‘Poor old bugger,’ she said unfeelingly.

  ‘You have some kind of a death wish?’ he asked dryly.

  ‘Not me, daddyo. Just doing my job.’

  ‘Do me a favour,’ he said heavily. ‘Become a professional knitter. And don’t call me daddyo.’ He was acutely aware of the difference in their ages. Steve was twenty-eight.

  The cruiser had a generator which they used to give them electricity to cook dinner. As soon as dinner was over they turned it off. The silence, after the thumping of the generator, was almost as loud. Sitting on the top deck in the dark, rocking gently as ripples ran ashore, was the best time of all for Richard. Steve’s camera and computer were put away for the day. She had the capacity to be restful. She could sit silently and perfectly still for hours, soaking up the sounds and sights, thinking her thoughts, not intruding on his. He was amazed that she could do this because during the day, when she was working, she was in constant motion.

  Sometimes they would talk for hours. Perhaps it was because of the total darkness, the fact that they could not see each other clearly, but he found himself telling her things he only ever thought about before. He never shared such thoughts with anyone. Not even Kathy.

  He raised the matter of the difference in their ages as they sat in the darkness. ‘I’m much older than you.’ Terrific, Dunn, give her an out why don’t you.

  ‘I know.’ He heard the smile in her voice.

  ‘Does it bother you?’

  ‘You raised the issue.’

  He was silent.

  ‘Well?’ she prodded.

  ‘I guess it does.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I’m old enough . . .’

  ‘Please.’ She was laughing at him.

  ‘Well, okay.’ He huffed a little.

  Her hand crept into his. ‘It doesn’t bother me.’

  ‘You sure?’

  She squeezed his fingers.

  ‘Can I drop the subject now?’ He was smiling into the night like a fool.

  ‘God, I wish you would.’ She yelped when he pinned her down and said ‘Stephanie’ three times into her ear.

  ‘That’s not fair.’ She scrambled away from him.

  He grabbed her back. ‘Life’s like that.’ He kissed her deeply.

  They were incredibly good together.

  She had a boyfriend, he knew that. The fact bothered him only slightly. The man was in Sydney and Richard was here and now. ‘I don’t know why we still see each other,’ she confessed. ‘It’s comfortable I guess. We’ve known each other four years. It always seemed like too much of a hassle to break up and start over with someone else.’

  ‘You’ll meet someone one day and it will end of its own accord.’ He hoped he was the man to make it happen. He was falling in love with her.

  ‘I’m not very good at permanent relationships.’ Her honesty was painful to him. ‘I don’t believe humans were made to be totally faithful to one person. We’re too competitive, we like the challenge of attracting someone’s interest.’

  ‘Not necessarily,’ he replied, aware that her words mirrored his recent deeds to perfection. It was true. He did enjoy the challenge. ‘When the right person comes along you’ll lose interest in everyone else.’ He had his fingers crossed.

  On the last day they cut a path straight across the lake instead of meandering around the shores. As the harbour drew nearer Richard felt something special was coming to an end. They had had a magical time but now he had to go back to Pentland and she had to continue with her work which meant travelling to Victoria Falls and Hwange Game Reserve. She would be gone almost a month before he saw her again. He hoped she felt something of the same loss but, watching her total absorption as she took some last photographs of fish eagles, realised she was too committed to her assignment to tackle a new relationship. He just had to wait and see.

  On the road back to Harare and one last night together at Meikles, he was tempted to pin her down. He wanted to ask her to stay in Zimbabwe. He was even prepared to propose marriage. But her mind was on the words she wanted to use for her article and she was excitedly anticipating the results of her photographs so he kept silent.

  His last night with her was filled with tenderness and sparked by happy memories of their time on the lake. For the first time ever on a trip to Harare, he never once thought of contacting Penny. He felt this rosy glow would go on forever.

  Then they had a blazing row.

  It started innocently enough. They were lying together in the warmth of their recent lovemaking and she said, ‘What did you mean about man finding a way to poach?’

  Perhaps it was because he was feeling so good that he answered carelessly, without thinking. ‘The Africans have always taken animals. White man’s law called it poaching and made it illegal.’ He picked up her hand and played with her fingers. ‘They’re just doing what they’ve always done.’

  She withdrew her hand and raised herself on one elbow to look at him. ‘Richard, I’m a journalist. I know it’s more than that. Don’t fob me off.’

  He was startled but, as yet, not alarmed. ‘Yeah, I guess it’s become more than that.’

  ‘Don’t you care?’

  ‘Care? I dunno. I guess I care. Don’t think about it, really.’ He wished she would drop the subject. Right now he cared about nothing except Steve.

  ‘Does everyone think like you?’ There was an edge to her voice.

  ‘Pretty well.’ He swung out of bed, pulling on his robe, poured himself a glass of champagne from the half empty bottle on the table. ‘Want some?’ He waved the bottle at her.

  ‘No thanks.’ She too climbed out of bed and put on her
bathrobe, her back to him. She swung around, ‘Don’t any of you see what’s happening?’

  ‘Oh come on, Steve. Don’t you start. What am I supposed to do about it?’

  She breathed deeply. ‘Do what everyone else is doing about it. Become aware of it. Stop it, for Chrissakes. People here in Africa are better placed than anywhere else in the world to stop it.’

  He was slightly irritated. ‘How the hell can I stop it? I’m a farmer, for God’s sake. Go and ask Game Department what they’re doing about it.’

  ‘I intend to.’

  ‘Fine, I’ll give you some names.’

  ‘I’ll get my own names.’

  ‘Why are you taking this out on me?’

  ‘Because you don’t seem to care.’

  He took a deep breath. ‘Look, Steve, people who live here don’t take the same view as people who only read about these animals. We hunt regularly. We eat a lot of them. It’s part of our way of life. We have their skins on our floors and their tusks around our fireplaces and no-one bats an eyelid because everyone else has the same thing. This is Africa. This is part of the flavour of Africa. Christ, next you’ll be telling me I treat the natives badly.’

  ‘Well, you do.’

  ‘That’s ridiculous. The men who work for me have houses on my land, they each have a few hectares so they can grow their traditional crops. Each man is allowed to run some cows on my land. They’re treated a damned sight better than a lot of them, I can tell you.’

  ‘You behave as though you are the master and they are the slaves.’

  ‘Well, I am the master.’ Richard simply could not see what she was getting at. ‘How the hell else am I supposed to behave?’

  She was getting her clothes together. ‘You just don’t get it, do you? You white Africans are so damned arrogant. You act like little tin gods. You rape the land, you take what you want and then you expect everyone else to admire you.’ She shook her head and pulled on her jeans. ‘You’re all living in the dark ages.’

  ‘Where the hell are you going?’

  ‘I’ll find another room.’

  Richard slammed down his glass. ‘Don’t bother,’ he said furiously, ‘stay in this one. I’m out of here.’

  She shut herself in the bathroom while he dressed. He went out slamming the door. Passing the front desk of the hotel, he hesitated. Should he pay the bill? If he did it would infuriate her. If he left without paying he would feel like a cad. He finally paid the bill. ‘Bugger it,’ he thought as he went to get his car, ‘a man has to have some principles.’

  He drove back to Pentland Park, mulling over her words. She was new to Africa. She had no understanding of the way of things here. She was full of Australian idealism, he had seen it before. Australians seemed to think right and wrong, black and white, left and right were simple divisions. ‘It must be nice,’ he thought, as he drove. ‘But it doesn’t work here.’

  NINE

  The next morning Wellington told Richard that ‘Miss Penny’ had been trying to reach him for a couple of days. Anticipating resentment over Steve he was reluctant to contact her but he knew he had to. She was worse than a jealous wife if he stayed out of touch and she would be particularly displeased when she discovered he had been in Harare without contacting her. Penny’s need to know his every move was far greater than Kathy’s had ever been. Rather than speak to her at work he waited until after 6.00 before making the call.

  She launched straight at him. ‘Where have you been?’

  ‘The lake.’

  ‘Why?’ She was surprised, as he knew she would be. The lake, until now, had been a family holiday venue.

  Might as well get it over with. ‘I’ve met someone. She’s a journalist from Australia. She’s over here to do a piece about our endangered wildlife. I arranged for her to go up to the lake and decided to tag along.’ Richard had managed to convince himself that the fight with Steve would blow over.

  ‘What’s she like?’ Instinctively she knew her father had more than a passing interest in this woman.

  ‘I really like her, Pen.’

  ‘More than you liked Mummy?’

  This was outrageous. ‘That’s enough, young lady. Your mother’s been dead five years. What I do is my own business.’ He was ready to fight her.

  Typically, when he expected trouble, he got none. ‘Is she a conservationist?’ Good old Pen, bypass the jugular and go straight for the heart and lungs.

  ‘More of a romanticist, I’d say,’ he replied defensively. ‘What’s that got to do with anything?’

  ‘If she’s writing about endangered animals she must be a conservationist. Does she know about your poaching?’ Penny had never mentioned poaching before she met Joseph Tshuma.

  ‘Pen, I’m not poaching. I called a stop two years ago. I’m clean.’ He wanted her to know the poaching had stopped. It was his way of protecting her against herself. Penny, in the wrong mood, was more than capable of telling Joseph Tshuma of his involvement. She would do so in a moment of anger and then regret it. It was important she believe him. ‘I’ve cut all my connections with the network. It was too risky . . .’ he gave a short laugh, ‘. . . besides, I’m too old to go to prison, I like my creature comforts too much.’ Then he added, ‘That business with the elephants really turned my stomach.’

  ‘Good.’ She sounded relieved. ‘Game Department are staying on it. They’re going to make an example of the men involved. I have to tell you, Daddy, when those men are caught it will be touch and go as to whether they live long enough to go to trial. One of Joe’s friends told me there’s enough anger in the department over this to make them kill whoever is responsible.’

  ‘What does Joe say?’ He tried, but he could not keep the sarcasm out of his voice.

  She ignored it. ‘He doesn’t talk about it.’ She hesitated, then went on, ‘Have you heard about Janie Roos?’

  Warning bells. They clanged loudly inside his head. ‘What about him?’

  ‘He shot himself.’

  ‘What? Janie? There must be some mistake.’ He was shaken by the news.

  ‘He left a note. Joe won’t tell me what’s in it.’

  ‘How come Joe knows? I’d have thought the police . . .’

  ‘The note was addressed to Game Department.’

  ‘Christ! Poor old Janie. I guess that back of his finally got him down.’ Why on earth would he leave a note for Game Department?

  ‘Daddy?’

  ‘Yes, baby.’

  ‘Promise me. Promise you had nothing to do—’

  ‘Pen, I promise. Those elephants had absolutely nothing to do with me.’

  Abruptly she changed the subject. ‘This new woman of yours, she must be something. Are you serious about her, Daddy?’

  ‘I could get serious.’ Might as well tell the truth.

  ‘I guess I’d better meet her.’ He knew she had to but he was not looking forward to it.

  ‘She’s out of touch for about a month. Travelling. She’s gone up to Vic Falls.’ He was relieved to be able to put the meeting off.

  ‘When she comes back then.’

  ‘I thought we might go hunting, you know, the whole family. David will be back by then. We could go down to the Tuli area. We haven’t hunted together for ages.’ It was a new thought but, as he spoke, he realised how much he wanted to do it. He and Kathy and the children had hunted nearly every year before the war and he had not hunted since. Suddenly he realised how much he missed it.

  Penny brought him back to earth. ‘How will she feel about that if she’s a romanticist?’ She was not about to be sidetracked by her father.

  He grinned at her determination to make her point. ‘I don’t know. I haven’t mentioned it to her yet.’

  ‘She might not come.’

  It would be unbearable without her. ‘Perhaps not.’

  ‘Can Joe come?’ He could hear the battle lines being drawn. She was ready to dig her toes in.

  ‘Ah, Penny, don’t start that again. You know how I
feel about you and him.’

  ‘If he can’t come then I won’t go. I know he’d love to hunt, he’s always talking about it.’

  ‘So much for his Game Department image.’

  ‘That’s different and you know it.’

  ‘I don’t want him to come, Penny.’ What he really meant was he did not want Steve to see the racist in him. Her criticism of his treatment of Africans had rankled him. She would side with Penny on the issue, having no prejudice against people of different races. Steve had said, ‘Australians don’t think that way. If a bloke is a good bloke, then he’s treated as one. If he’s an arsehole, he’s treated like one. His colour doesn’t matter.’

  ‘Think about it, Daddy. I’d like to meet this girl . . . what’s her name by the way?’

  ‘Steve.’

  ‘Steve!’

  ‘Short for Stephanie.’

  ‘Funny name for a girl,’ Penny said, then added, ‘don’t say no to Joe now. Think it over and let me know in a few days.’

  When he hung up he was thinking, ‘No bloody way,’ but, in his heart of hearts he knew he wanted to show Steve off to his children and he would probably capitulate.

  He threw himself into farm work to get her off his mind. He refused to speculate that she might not want to see him after their fight. He worked long and hard hours alongside his men. One Sunday morning, as he was relaxing on the verandah after breakfast, Samson came to see him. He shuffled across the lawn, pausing to throw the ball for Winston and fondle the puppy, Maxwell. His delaying tactics alerted Richard to the fact that whatever his head man had on his mind, he was taking his time—a sure sign that it was an important issue.