by Ramsay, Anna
She jumped to her feet and punched the air like a triumphant athlete, threw some funky disco shapes. A huge and wonderful relief surged through her. Today she had worked all the way through from six-thirty to nightfall, showered and changed and was ready for supper with a huge and healthy appetite. Even for that gruesome goat stew! And tonight, for the first time, she wouldn't have to disappoint Matt Blarney with another lame excuse.
As her new friends in Dar-es-Salaam had so confidently forecast—yes, she was getting acclimatised, learning to pace herself in the enervating heat. Paul was away at Mission Headquarters in Dar. Ross was not at supper. Nor was Sylvia. No one knew where they had gone, but the Red Cross Land Rover was missing. Jenni pushed speculation about those two from her mind.
As ever, the common-room radio was tuned to the BBC World Service. No one ever seemed to switch the thing off, but Matt had his own CD player and he cleared a corner of bamboo tables and cane chairs and played his funky music. ‘Shake yo’ shimmy babe, it’s Saturday night! Yeay — Go girl!’
When the doctor and nurse arrived, late and dishevelled and demanding food, Jenni pretended not to have noticed, dancing even more uninhibitedly to demonstrate her lack of interest and her abundance of energy. 'This'll show you, Dr Boss!' she muttered beneath her breath, hips gyrating beneath a brief white broderie-anglaise skirt, Matt stomping away in his cowboy boots, only the limited space inhibiting their antics.
'Come outside,' he panted, 'more space out there. I got plenty of batteries. Tadpole, you are one amazing dancer!'
But Jenni protested that she wasn't going to ruin her white skirt in the red dust of the compound. Peering through the convenient fronds of a six-foot potted palm, she met Sylvia's chilly eye. Ross wasn't talking much; he seemed more interested in his food.
They changed CDs and put on a very old and slow Phil Collins number. Jenni linked graceful arms around Matt's neck and he held her as close as he dared. Sister Joanna was waving a hand to the rhythm and saying, 'You young people mustn't overdo it, you know.'
'Your turn next, Sister Jo!' teased Matt.
'It's the heat,' he murmured, rubbing his cheek against the hazy curls drifting over Jenni's ears and shoulders and gleaming like beaten copper in the lamplight. 'We've all got sex on the brain out here. Care to join me in the bushes, darling?'
'Matt, stop it.’ He was trying to prise up her silky cream top. ‘I say,' she lowered her voice to a whisper, 'Sylvia and Ross don't look very happy. Do you think they've had a lovers' tiff?'
Those two?' Matt gave a snort of amusement. 'Y'must be joking!'
Jenni shrugged. Yes, the doctor was a very unlovable man—but maybe love wasn't what Sylvia was after. What Matt had said about sex on the brain ... Those two must get thrown upon each other's company more than somewhat.
Sylvia's handsome face wore a look of weary petulance. She looked as lethargic as Jenni had lately felt. Perhaps it was the malaria again. Across Matt's shoulder, Jenni intercepted another of Sylvia’s bad-tempered glances at the entwined pair. She lifted her head and gave the older woman a sympathetic smile, only to see her turn her head sharply away.
Ross was ignoring them entirely.
Oh hell! thought Jenni, biting her lip. What more can I do to convince her I'm not after her precious doctor? If Sylvia kept an eye on her own man, she'd realise he's hardly glanced in my direction since he came in—contrary brute that he is. Just when I want him to notice me, he's not interested. Other times he stares as if I'm curiouser than a dinosaur! Can't win, can I, Dr McDonnell?
Another peep seemed permissible. Ross had fetched coffee for the two of them, and from his pocket was producing a hip flask. Unscrewing its silver cap, he dosed both cups, and Sylvia was smiling at him now. Jenni saw her lay her hand over his, as if to say, no more, that's enough. She wished she were close enough to overhear what they were saying. Ross lifted a hand to Sylvia's hair and tucked an untidy lock behind her left ear. An extraordinary pang pierced Jenni to the heart. From such a man it came as a shock, a rare and tender gesture ... imagine what it must be like to be on the receiving end of this disturbing doctor's caresses.
Dwelling on this made Jenni's heart beat faster. She was quite taken aback with herself for letting physical attraction get the better of her judgement.
After Ross and Sylvia got up and left the sparkle disappeared from the evening.
Matt protested when Jenni sighed and said she had really enjoyed herself, but it was time to turn in. 'I'll walk you back, then. Never know what's out there, lurking in the night.'
He laughed when Jenni shivered and pulled her close to his side, his arm reaching right around her small waist.
Sylvia's room was in total darkness. Either she was in the shower or had already turned in. Or else…
Feeling the slight tremor, Matt tightened his grip.
Jenni knew she shouldn't encourage him. Because of the way she felt about Paul, it really wasn’t fair. But when you were lonely and far from home, and Paul wasn't there and—
'Will ya listen to th-at!' exclaimed Matt.
Jenni mimicked his Southern drawl, 'Listen to wh-at?'
They paused on the verandah steps. Lazily, on the smoky night air, throbbed the slow seductive beat of some long-forgotten melody. Jenni began to hum along with it. Were there words? She didn't know them.
'Who's that?' she asked curiously.
'That'll be Ross the Boss loungin' on the verandah and smokin' a mean cigar. Sometimes you could almost believe that guy's ornery flesh'n blood when he sits outside in the dark and listens to his old jazz music. Reminds me of my Pa—he likes Miles Davis too.'
'It sounds very sad.’
'Kind of Blue.’
‘Yes, it does sound kind of blue.’
‘You never heard it before?' Matt grabbed her elbow. 'It’s famous – Kind Of Blue! C’mon we can smooch to this. ’
Jenni wrenched herself from his grasp. That comment about Ross reminding this medical student of his father only emphasised Matt's youth and inexperience. Encouraging the crush he was in danger of developing on her would be downright mischievous. She checked her watch. 'Shouldn't you be doing a round right now? Bea'll have your scalp if you’re late.’ Turning the corner, Jenni saw the doctor and smiled to herself. He had set a deckchair and table plonk in the middle of the square. A half-burned candle guttered on the table, and a small cd player was placed near his elbow. Ross leaned back with his hard-muscled legs stretched out and his hands clasped behind his head. His eyes were shut. He hadn't seen her. And there was no sign of Sylvia.
Quietly Jenni opened her door and gathered her washing things. To get to the bathroom she must cross where Ross was sitting, or take the chicken route, creeping round the verandah to escape notice.
The keening melancholy sound concealed the flip-flap of her espadrilles as wrapped in her black-rose kimono Jenni sauntered past Ross in his deckchair. His back was towards her. Neither acknowledged the other.
Sylvia was in the showers. Jenni called out, 'Good night, Sylvia,' and heard the spray switched off, followed by a friendly enough, 'Night, Jen!' that lifted the younger girl's spirits.
Ross's presence had turned a two-minute stroll into a minefield. Wasn’t it typically egotistical to switch off the outside lights and park himself smack in the middle of the open square so one had to weave one's way round him in the darkness. His candle had burned away now to the merest glimmer, but the doctor was so engrossed in his mood music and his reverie that he hadn't noticed. A penny for your thoughts, she'd have liked to offer. Ross drew deeply on his cigar. The glowing point intensified and above it his eyes suddenly glittered in the darkness. You demon Doctor, thought Jenni with a shiver of fascination.
It was still Kind of Blue; he hadn't changed the cd and the combination of music and starlight was sheer magic…
All of a sudden it came to her, the most amusing idea. Dr Boss seems to need cheering up tonight. I'll ask him to dance with me! Why not? He can only bite my head of
f! And if he turns me down then I'll know for sure that man is inhuman—for who could resist a slow dance beneath the stars on a night such as this?
Hardly dressed for it, are you, you brazen hussy, pointed out the voice of common sense. You haven't even got your knickers on. Remember what Matt said? They're all sex-mad. You'll get thrown into the bushes and—
'Good night, Dr McDonnell,' she murmured as she passed, her eyes demurely downcast, biting her lips to control the laughter rippling through her voice.
'Ah ... good night—' His eyes dwelt on the slender figure, a sylph mingling with the velvety night.
He seemed momentarily to have forgotten who she was, preoccupied by his own deep thoughts. Jenni's mood altered on the instant. Her laughter faded from her lips. She was glad she hadn't intruded with that silly impetuous suggestion. What was it Bea had once said? That she sensed a great unhappiness in Ross's past. At the time, not knowing the man very well and not liking what little she did know, Jenni couldn't have cared tuppence. But now she sensed that he was feeling sad, and she was sorry.
Concealing herself behind one of the wooden posts, Jenni watched the lone figure. Cigar smoke spiralled upward through guttering candlelight just to the right of the shadowy head.
Yes, Ross could be rude and impossible and casual; but these in themselves were provocative qualities and set the adrenalin flowing in a most exciting way. And of course, he was an admirable doctor, she reminded herself as she let herself back into her bedroom.
Every night her hair must be plaited before she got into bed - the only way to tame that riot of curls so it would be easy to style in the early morning. 'My hairbrush!' exclaimed Jenni in annoyance. 'I've left it in the bathroom. Oh, flip!'
She tightened her kimono belt and crept stealthily along the passage. There was no one about. The early-to-beds had been snoring their heads off for hours; the late-birds were still playing Uno in the common-room.
The deckchair was empty and the candle had gone out. And Ross was gone.
'Well! How strange.' Jenni folded her arms and shivered. Something wasn't right, something was ... different. She peered shortsightedly into the dimness as if a clue might lie in the deserted deckchair or the dribble of candlewax.
Her ears proved sharper than her eyes. The music had been replaced by a new and frightening sound, the unmistakable throb of African war-drums, beating in ominous rhythm. And seeming to come from the village down by the river. What could it mean? Should she wake someone? Had Ross gone to investigate, alone, a white man in the mysterious spirit-haunted African night?
Jenni forgot all about her hairbrush. Swiftly she pulled on jeans and a light sweater and went back into the compound. Not another soul was in sight. It seemed as if she and Ross were the only ones who had noticed the drumbeats.
Following the string of naked lightbulbs, she came to the generator and turned left along the path along which early each morning young boys led the village's herd of cattle and goats to the higher pastures beyond the Mission. Now there was no illumination other than the stars, and the thorn bushes scratched her arms and legs if she veered from the track. 'Ross!' called Jenni. 'Ross, are you there? Ross, come back!' She plunged on, too anxious to be frightened for herself—then stopped abruptly at the sight of native huts silhouetted against the light of flickering wood fires not a couple of hundred yards distant.
'Ross!' she called again uncertainly, and this time there was an answering call from somewhere ahead. 'Who's that? Who is it?'
At that moment, just when her heart was gladdened by the sound, from behind a black thicket stepped the tallest, most terrifying figure Jenni had ever seen. Her arms were grabbed and a calloused hand smelling of earth and animals pressed cruelly over her open mouth ready to scream.
Too late. As if she were featherlight, Jenni was plucked from the path. And when the doctor himself came strolling out of the village, a puzzled frown on his face, throwing his searching torch-beam in all directions, there was no sign of anyone at all. Just a size four espadrille lying abandoned on the dusty track.
Chapter Six
'DAKTARI!' demanded the fearsome stranger, dropping Jenni right way up but still gripping her wrist as if he suspected she'd run for her life if he released her.
'Daktari? I'm not the doctor. Do I look like daktari?' In her indignation Jenni sounded a good deal braver than she was actually feeling. 'Ouch, let go of me! OK.' She repeated the one word that many Africans recognised, 'OK, I won't run. What's your problem? Why you need daktari?'
The flickering light of a makeshift campfire showed her captor to be a very tall, skeletally-thin man, the red shuka of the Masai wrapped around his bony haunches. In spite of his height and erect carriage the Masai's hair was grey, his features strained and hollow with fatigue.
Though her heart was thumping and her knees quaked, Jenni made an effort to keep her wits about her. The Masai, she knew, were a proud but reserved people. They roamed the bush, wearing these distinctive red robes and armed with spears, driving their herds of Boran cattle on long treks to the waterholes. One of the most difficult tasks was to get them to visit the hospital or the outreach clinics and accept medical care for themselves and their children. 'You are ill, mzee?' she questioned, addressing him politely and using the term of respect for an old man. 'You need medicine, mzee? Er—what's the word for it ...dawa? Dawa?' she urged, concern replacing the fear in her freckled face.
With a nod of his proud head the old man grunted and pushed her towards the fire. For a moment Jenni had a horrible feeling she was going to end up in a native cooking pot, the traditional fate of the missionary. She almost lost her balance when he gave her another little shove of encouragement and she suddenly realised that the bundle of red clothing near the fire, which she had taken to be bedding, was in fact a body.
She dropped to her knees on the bare soil and feeling her way cautiously discovered the warmth of bone and flesh under her hands.
'Yoh!' encouraged her kidnapper, folding up his stick-like legs and squatting on his haunches beside her. At such close quarters the smell of cattle was more pungent than ever.
Jenni helped him to part the folds of red cloth, but it was too dark to see properly.
The old man reached into the fire and picked out a stick which he held aloft like a burning brand. Now Jenni could see pain-glazed eyes and a fore-head dewy with chill perspiration: the smooth-skinned features of a handsome young Masai doing his level best not to groan out loud as he lapsed in and out of consciousness.
For a fleeting moment it occurred to her that this was the most bizarre situation she had ever found herself in! She tucked her hair behind her ears and bent low over her patient, testing his breathing against her cheek and feeling expertly for the carotid pulse.
'Respiration shallow ... heartbeat surprisingly strong,' she muttered aloud, noting the clammy skin and the dilated pupils. 'Seems to be in shock, but I don't think —'
At that moment a beam of torchlight illuminated the trio. Jenni flung up an arm to shield her eyes and the old man was on his feet in a flash, spear menacingly poised.
Out of the bushes, her left espadrille in his hand, guided by the light of the wood fire, stepped Ross McDonnell.
Jenni grabbed at the father's robe. 'Daktari! she said urgently. 'Here is daktari—' she was going to add 'Don't shoot!’ like in the movies, but Ross had taken in the situation at a glance and his command of Swahili, though limited, was enough to reassure the Masai, who now abandoned his threatening stance.
The doctor crouched down at her side. 'Are you all right?' was the first thing he wanted to know, his mouth close to her ear, his voice urgent with concern but betraying none of the fear that had shaken him when he found and identified Jenni’s shoe.
'Perfectly,' she breathed a sigh of pure relief. 'I am SO glad to see you! Shine your torch down here. I can't see what's wrong, but I think he's got a pain in his stomach.'
Ross squatted down and shone his torch beam on the exposed abd
omen. 'Holy smoke!'
Jenni's jaw dropped: in all her nursing days she'd never come across anything like it.
'How did this happen, mzee?’ In his limited Swahili Ross began to question the dignified old Masai, translating as best he could for Jenni's benefit.
Two days ago while the two were hunting deep in the bush, the son had been gored by a rhino, his stomach ripped open so horrifically that the intestines had spilled out. The desperate father had carried out the most ingenious first aid. Fashioning a needle from a sliver of bone and drawing tough cotton threads from his red cloak, he had sewn the edges of the wound together with three crude red loops. Crude they might be, but they had kept the boy alive ... so far. Then across thirty kilometres of bush with his son's semi-conscious body tied to his back, he had struggled to the Mbusa Wa Bwini. Too proud and too shy to demand help at the hospital door, he had lain in wait until, driven by desperation, he had made his 'kidnap' attempt.
Ross rapped out instructions. 'Take my torch. Get Matt to back the Land Rover up as far as he can. Ask two of the orderlies to prepare theatre for immediate surgery. I'm going to need your help tonight.'
To pinpoint the exact location in her mind, Jenni looked back at the two men kneeling by the camp fire. She saw her arrogant, cold-hearted doctor warming the son's chilly hand between his own and reassuring that admirable father in halting Swahili, 'Mzee, you have saved your son's life. You can entrust to him to our care now.'
As she ran through the dark night she could hear the native drums still throbbing, the stamp of dancing feet and voices chanting down in the village. They did not disturb her now.
Two hours later Matt wheeled their drowsy patient along to the men's ward. Paul and Father Thomas between them had had the devil of a job keeping the old Masai from bursting into the operating theatre to see what was going on. Now it was all over and Jenni was clearing up the aftermath of surgery.
She worked on like a zombie, collecting up empty saline bottles, stacking trays of dirty instruments ready for the autoclave, mopping down the theatre floor. Ross had saved yet another life, but to him that was a matter of routine and nothing out of the ordinary. He didn't appear to know about fatigue. His arteries—Jenni's twitch of a smile turned into a gigantic yawn—must pump neat adrenalin!
