"What's your deadliest snake?" Reed asked Crispin, which brought a laugh from Lisa.
"Oh the viper," he said. "You are bitten, and in ten minutes you die." "Good heavens!"
"The black mamba is second, killing in ten or fifteen minutes. If you go to the zoo in Lusaka the snake man will tell you all about it. He will also tell you snakes neither see nor hear, they only sense vibrations." He grinned. "Therefore if you meet a snake and stand perfectly still it won't find you."
"I couldn't possibly stand still," said Lisa, shivering. "I'd run like blazes."
Mrs. Pollifax looked at Crispin, and then she looked at the dark, jungle-like banks of the river lined with twisted roots like claws, deep shadows, tangles of brush and palm and the white tracery of dead roots. She thought of the disciplines needed in this country to avoid sudden painful death and she acknowledged ruefully that survival here was a trifle different from crossing on the green light.
Some forty-five minutes later they reached Chunga camp again. They had seen an egret, a cormorant and a group of impala and hippos, and Julian was waiting on the dock to tell Mrs. Pollifax that a policeman from Lusaka had arrived to ask her questions.
"He arrived fifteen minutes ago," Julian said, helping her out of the launch, "and I told him I will bring you to him. He's seated over there in a chair behind the trees, very private."
There was no curiosity in Julian's candid gaze; in Mrs. Pollifax, however, there was considerable curiosity and she admitted to being startled. "You're quite certain it's me he wants to see?"
"Oh yes," said Julian simply, "he has driven all the way from Lusaka to see you."
"That's a long drive."
"Anything wrong?" asked Cyrus Reed.
Mrs. Pollifax realized that she had been the first person off the boat and now the others had arrived behind her and were listening. She smiled, shook her head and followed Julian to the appointed place, which was indeed private, being nearly encircled by palms. A slender young man in a dark-blue uniform rose. He looked self-contained and very polite, his black face thin and intelligent. "Mrs. Pollifax?"
She assured him that she was Mrs. Pollifax and sat down.
A small table had been placed in front of him on which rested a half-finished Coke and a notebook. He now placed the notebook on his lap and drew out a pen.
"I have come, madam," he said, pronouncing the word m'domm, "to inquire about your advertisement in this morning's Times of Zambia. A most curious advertisement, surely?"
"My adver—oh," she said, comprehension dawning, "it's been published today? I'm so glad. The young man said it would be, of course, but I've completely lost track of time, and—" She stopped, aware that her interrogator was waiting patiently for her to finish. "I'm sorry," she said. "I hope I didn't break any law?"
He looked as if he were seated at a garden party balancing a cup of tea on his knees instead of a notebook but his eyes were very watchful. "This man John Sebastian Farrell." He pronounced the name precisely and carefully. "You know this person?"
She nodded. "Yes, of course, or rather I used to. I'm trying to find him. You haven't—haven't come to tell me where he is, have you?"
"No, madam."
"For that matter," she added thoughtfully, "my name wasn't mentioned in the advertisement at all."
"The Times office gave me your name, madam, after which I contacted the tourist bureau to learn your itinerary. Now this man," he continued, courteous but resolute. "What causes you to believe he is in Zambia?"
Mrs. Pollifax started to reply and then stopped, suddenly anxious. "Is there something wrong? I don't understand—"
"If you will just answer—"
"Yes, of course," she said. "A mutual friend told me that he's living in Zambia and that he receives his mail in care of Barclay's Bank in Lusaka. I looked first in the telephone directory, but since his name wasn't listed I went to Barclay's Bank, where they told me his mail is collected very seldom and they had no forwarding address for him. So I thought of advertising." She paused, waiting, while he wrote this down. "Why?" she asked. "You surely haven't driven all the way from Lusaka to—"
"May I ask the name of your friend?"
"Friend?" she repeated blankly. "You can't possibly mean—"
"The mutual friend who told you this man lives in Zambia."
This sounded serious indeed. She said after a moment's hesitation, "Bishop. William Bishop."
"His address, please?"
"Bishop's address?" She was astonished but struggled gamely to remember where she sent Bishop's Christmas card. "Georgetown, in the District of Columbia," she said at last. "The Laurel Apartments, I believe. In the United States."
"Thank you," he said.
"And now that I've told you all this," she said firmly, "you will tell me, please, why it's so important?"
He put down his pen and folded away his notebook. "You are aware, madam, that you register and show your passport everywhere you go, so that no one may enter this country illegally."
"But I didn't enter—" She stopped in dismay. "You mean Mr. Farrell may be in your country illegally?"
"I did not say that, madam," he said politely. "I am checking into this matter."
"I see," she said, and then added accusingly, "Farrell is a very fine man, Lieutenant—"
"Lieutenant Bwanausi. Dunduzu Bwanausi."
"Lieutenant Bwanausi," she repeated bravely, and won a faint smile from him; in fact, he looked considerably friendlier as he rose from his chair. "That is quite possible, madam. We will see. I hope you enjoy your safari. Good day, madam."
She watched him go, her face troubled as she thought of the long dusty trip he had made here from Lusaka, and the long dusty trip back; it certainly did not imply any casual interest in Farrell. She felt, too, that there was something that she had missed during the interview, something wrong about it that she couldn't put her finger on. She sat and tried to reconstruct the interview.
A flock of tiny brilliant birds pecked at the earth around her. She heard the palms behind her stir once, convulsively, and then the sound of the launch starting up, followed by the steady putt-putt of its motor as it backed and headed downriver to return Lieutenant Bwanausi to his car. The sun was growing intense on the back of her neck, the air was dead-calm with a complete absence of wind or breeze.
There was no breeze, she thought, and yet the palms had rattled stridently a moment or two ago, a fact that her mind had registered without her being aware of it. Very odd, she decided, and swiftly, soundlessly left her chair. The palms were silent now, and quite empty. She moved in among them listening to the sound made as her shoulders brushed against the brittle dry fronds. She tried tapping a single branch with her fingers to see if a small bird or animal could have rustled them, but she found this quite impossible; someone human had to have disturbed the palms to make the sound she'd heard, someone standing and listening to Lieutenant Bwanausi.
She pushed through the bushes and out to the earthen path behind them and looked toward the dining hall. The distance was not far, and anyone could have reached it from this point in a matter of seconds. There was no one in sight. Walking quickly she passed the office and saw Mrs. Lovecraft leaning over the desk talking animatedly with Julian; she continued through the bar to the dining room and counted heads: the rest of the party were seated there waiting for lunch, relaxed, sprawling in their chairs, laughing at something Chanda had said.
She withdrew before she could be noticed, realizing that it could have been any one of them. It could have been Cyrus Reed, who seemed to be keeping a very firm eye on her, or it could have been Amy Lovecraft, who had already ferreted out something to gossip about in Mclntosh. But Amy so much preferred males that it was difficult for Mrs. Pollifax to imagine her curiosity extending to any female in the party.
Or it could, she reflected, have been the one person among them who would find the arrival of a policeman disturbing: Aristotle.
She did not like this thought. Remember
ing they were to leave for Kafwala immediately after lunch, she turned and hurried up the path to Leopard cabin to finish packing her suitcase.
CHAPTER
7
"The mwamfuli I could carry," Chanda said as Mrs. Pollifax prepared to board the pontoon boat after lunch.
Mrs. Pollifax was about to say that one multicolored parasol was no bother at all for her, but seeing the look on Chanda's face she promptly handed it over to him, and then demonstrated how it worked. The pontoon boat set off with them once again sitting on packing cases, but Chanda made the trip standing in the bow under her umbrella, a broad grin on his face.
There were three Land Rovers waiting for them when they reached shore. Mrs. Pollifax, who had not yet considered the logistics of supplying a safari, stood and watched as their luggage was piled into one of the Land Rovers, followed by a sack of potatoes, a huge bag of green beans, two cases of beer and an insulated box
filled to the brim with frozen chickens and steaks.
"Looks as if we'll eat well," Mr. Kleiber said in a pleased voice.
"Yes, doesn't it?" said Mrs. Pollifax, and recognizing the moment as an auspicious one—they were all standing in clusters watching—she lifted her camera and took a close-up picture of Mr. Kleiber.
"My yogurt lunches back home seem pathetic here," Lisa told Dr. Henry, and Mrs. Pollifax snapped a picture of them too, smiling at each other in the sun.
It was not the first time that she had noticed them smiling at each other. It had happened during the trip upriver this morning, and again at lunch, yet so far as she knew Lisa and Dr. Henry had exchanged no more than a few pleasantries, and Lisa was nearly always in the company of John Steeves, who seemed quite stricken by her. Mrs. Pollifax waited now for Tom Henry's response to this remark. He said, "Yes," and continued looking at Lisa until her smile deepened and she turned away—as if, thought Mrs. Pollifax, an entire conversation had just passed between them.
"I hope you're going to take my picture too," said Steeves.
"Oh, especially yours," Mrs. Pollifax told him, hating herself for gushing, "because my children will be so thrilled." She was conscious as she said this of Cyrus Reed turning and observing her with some astonishment. Really, she thought, Mr. Reed's attention, or rather his expectations of her, were going to prove extremely difficult on this trip. In a spirit of defiance she pointed her camera at him and took his picture too. She was completing her collection with a snapshot of Julian standing beside the Land Rover when he gestured to her to climb inside.
"You'll ride with me," he said, and helped her to climb up to the front seat.
She was joined almost immediately by a guard with a long rifle, the same guard who had opened the gate for them the day before, lean and graceful, dressed in khaki shorts and the same moth-eaten gray sweater. Then Lisa strolled over, followed by John Steeves, Mclntosh and Amy Lovecraft. The Land Rover with their luggage had already started; Julian shouted at Crispin, climbed in, waved, and they too were off, leaving the others still arranging themselves in the third vehicle.
"Will they have a guard too?" asked Mrs. Pollifax.
Julian turned and looked at her with amusement. "Yes, of course. You still do not believe?"
Lisa leaned over and said, "Well, it is a park."
"I've heard," said Mrs. Lovecraft, "that Americans are accustomed to feeding the animals."
Julian grinned and shook his head. "It is safe most of the time so long as one remains on the roads, and in daylight, but even on the road—one of the guides at Luangwa Park was driving along like this three years ago when he was charged by a wounded buffalo. There was not much left of the Land Rover, I can tell you, and if the buffalo had not been quickly shot by the guard there would have been not much left of my friend either."
"I see," said Mrs. Pollifax, blinking. "What—uh— happens if you do have an emergency out here in the bush?"
"Oh, we have marconis," he explained, deftly steering the car around a hole. "At Chunga there is a first-aid station too."
"Marconis?"
"Radio. Already this morning guests have used it. You sent a message to Lusaka, didn't you, Mrs. Lovecraft?"
"Yes," she said curtly.
"I did too," volunteered Mclntosh.
"And if there is a serious emergency a Flying Doctor comes, but with Doctor Henry here—"
"Nyalugwe" said the guard sharply, and Julian braked.
"He says 'leopard.' " Julian stopped the Land Rover, and the only sounds were of Mclntosh and Amy Love-craft bringing out cameras and checking them; Mrs. Pollifax already held hers in her lap.
"There," said Julian, pointing, and on the crest of a small hill they saw a leopard standing in a tangle of thorn bush, his spots melting perfectly into the background. He turned and looked at them for a long moment, and then he lifted his magnificent blond head and walked away into the bush.
"My God how beautiful," whispered Lisa. "When you think that some silly woman would turn that fabulous creature into a fur coat—"
"Thank heaven for game parks," said Mrs. Pollifax. "Did you see his eyes, did you see those muscles when he moved?"
"Splendid specimen," said Steeves. "I've seen panthers before but never a leopard walking free."
"I believe I caught him on film," Mclntosh said with satisfaction.
"Me, too," added Mrs. Lovecraft. "Thrilling."
"I missed," said Mrs. Pollifax sadly. "I was too busy looking."
They drove on along the dusty, shadeless road, of necessity driving slowly. Ahead of them a dozen black-and-white pin-striped fowl broke into a hurried trot. "Guinea fowl," said Julian, and honked the horn, which only caused the guinea fowl to scurry faster, their plump rear-ends registering their indignation until a second beep from the horn persuaded them to the right, and off the road. The Land Rover did not stop again, and as the road grew bumpier the interior of the car grew warmer; the guard in the rear slapped uninhibitedly at tse-tse flies and no one spoke. They came eventually to an intersection marked Kafwala 11 km. and headed down a new dirt road. Its surface was dotted with elephant droppings, and the Land Rover rattled ominously as it hit the holes left by their crossing during the rainy season. The terrain was becoming heavily wooded now, with trees on either side of the road.
It was nearing three o'clock when they reached Kafwala, entering it from the rear where a man stood patiently ironing clothes on a slab of wood with a heavy old-fashioned iron. Half a dozen men lazed around a fire watching him and talking; they looked up eagerly at the sound of the Land Rover, which bumped past them and came to a halt in the middle of a grassy compound encircled by tents and white cement huts with thatched roofs. Directly ahead of them stood a long white building with an arcade in its center; beyond it the earth sloped sharply down to the river. As soon as Julian cut the engine Mrs. Pollifax could hear the sound of rapids.
"This is Kafwala," announced Julian, and jumped down from the Land Rover. "Here we stay for two days, game-viewing, before driving north to Moshe."
"Now this looks like a real camp," said Lisa with satisfaction. "Primitive. I think I'm going to like Kafwala very much." She turned and gave Mrs. Pollifax a hand. "Can you still walk? I feel as if I've been massaged all over. Crispin said there's a bathtub here, can you imagine? How on earth do you suppose they manage it?"
"They manage it," said Mrs. Lovecraft, climbing down, "by heating the water in a Rhodesian oven." She glanced around and pointed. "There it is, do you see? There's a drum of water inside that huge square of cement, they light a fire under it and the pipes carry the hot water to the tub or shower."
"Damned ingenious," murmured Mclntosh. "I'll have to take a look at that."
"Yes, but how do you know such things?" asked Lisa.
"Oh my dear," she said in her slightly nasal voice, "I'm what you'd call a Colonial, I've lived in Africa all my life. In the Sudan, in South Africa, in Zambia, in Kenya."
Mrs. Pollifax looked at her with interest; she thought this explained her air
of being British without being English. "Army?"
Mrs. Lovecraft turned and looked at her. "My father, yes. Not my husband. We had a tobacco farm until his death. Not far from here, farther south."
"I'm sorry."
"Oh—sorry," said Mrs. Lovecraft, and a scornful, bitter look crossed her face. "But you're a widow, too, aren't you?" She turned away abruptly and smiled at Mclntosh. "I'm ready for a drink, ducks, aren't you?"
The Land Rover carrying their luggage bumped its way into camp and the Zambians surrounded it, laughing. Julian waved and then turned to Mrs. Pollifax. "Let me show you your room," he said, leading her toward the arcade set into the center of the long building. "Here," he said, pointing to a door set into the passageway, and then throwing open the opposite door he gestured to Lisa. "You and your father will be here, across from Mrs. Pollifax. Tea is at four, ladies," and with this he hurried off to distribute the others.
Lisa said, "Care for a look at the river?"
Mrs. Pollifax had opened the door to her room— there were no locks or keys—and was peering inside. It was dim because of the tall trees surrounding the building, but she saw the usual two beds shrouded in netting with a chamber-pot under each, a nightstand with a candle, but, most delightful of all, frosted glass windows and thick white walls. There would be no rustling noises tonight.
"A bit dark but very snug," said Lisa, looking over her shoulder. "I wonder if you'll have a roommate?"
"There's only Mrs. Lovecraft," pointed out Mrs. Pollifax.
She and Lisa exchanged a doubtful glance and Lisa laughed. "She's rather awful, isn't she? All that jewelry and pseudo-helplessness but under the fluff I'm beginning to sense the iron-hand-in-the-velvet-glove syndrome. My father had the effrontery to tell me last night that I'll end up just like her if I'm not careful."
"Now, that," said Mrs. Pollifax firmly, "is utterly impossible."
The Unexpected Mrs. Pollifax Page 29
