“The manager just told me about that.” Nigel laughed. “You wouldn’t catch me in that river.”
I smiled. “How was Vic Falls?”
“Stunning.” Nigel held up his beer and took a sip. “Cheers.” He lit his pipe and shook out the match. “I’m sure Jon mentioned the news of the witch doctor’s murder.”
Since Jon hadn’t mentioned that to me, I didn’t know what to say. “The witch doctor was murdered?”
Nigel nodded. “Mate of mine in Vic Falls told me this morning.”
Why hadn’t Jon mentioned anything about the witch doctor? I was hoping not to have to talk to anyone about him at the moment because I wasn’t sure I could remain expressionless, having watched him get shot in the face at point-blank range. But, I was more concerned that Jon hadn’t mentioned it than the fact that Nigel had just brought it up.
He looked at me as if he knew where my thoughts had gone. “Jon’s got a lot on his mind. Christ, you shake a stick at a tree during the wet season and you’ll get a crook for every black mamba that falls out.”
I looked up, startled, not expecting him to read my thoughts. I brushed it off and happily latched onto this diversion. “Seems to me as if he pushes off help rather than inviting it.”
“That’s just his way. Particularly since I think he’s falling for you.”
This was not where I had expected the conversation to go. “You’re mad.”
“Am I?”
“Let’s stick to the point.” I pretended as best as I could. “Let’s talk about ivory smugglers.”
“Come on, Catherine, as a friend, I promise you, I’ve never seen him like this.”
“Either you’re a poor judge of character or the man is certifiable.”
“Both might be the case. But every time he complains about you, I see him fighting with an inner demon. If that’s a bad thing, I can help steer him away.”
“Can we change the subject?” I took another long drink, thinking that was everything and the last thing that I wanted. “I’m sure he wouldn’t appreciate you talking like this.”
“Oh, I don’t know. He might think I was doing him a favor. He hasn’t been in love in ten years.”
“Really?” I was surprised that I was reticent to want to think about Jon being in love with someone. “What happened?”
“He couldn’t stop drinking and she left.” He took a swig. “It was a bloody mess. She was the one, and he blew it.”
This caught me off guard. I sat for a moment to piece things together.
“I think you remind him of her,” he said as he took another drink. “He’s an odd chap, as I’m sure you’ve already discovered.”
“He’s always so theatrical—like he’s purposely trying to be mysterious.” I didn’t know where I was going with this, and maybe part of me was trying to counteract the feelings I had just had for him in my room.
Nigel shook his head. “He’s just trying to take the piss out of you.”
I took a swig. “So, how are you able to see so clearly through all the chaos of this place?”
“I only do that for my friends. I don’t have the same gift for myself. On that subject, I’m a complete balls-up.”
“That’s hard to believe.”
“Let’s just say that if you hear any rumors about the terrible mistakes I’ve made with some very nice women, they’re all true. I’ve sworn off women as penance.”
“That’s quite a stiff penance.”
“At least for a year. It’s the bloody least I could do.”
“That bad?”
Nigel shook his head. “Bloody well worse than that bad.”
“What about the Peace Corps ‘pigeon,’ as Jon called her?”
“He’s dreaming.”
I smiled. “Wow. I pity the girl of your dreams that comes along too soon.”
Nigel held up his beer and drank the last of it. “Cheers to that.” He put his empty beer down and went behind the bar for another. He lifted my half-empty bottle. “Another?”
“No, thanks.” I was drinking slowly on purpose. I wasn’t really ready to be on my own now that I had company, despite my original intentions when I walked in. Yet I didn’t want to have more than one drink with this guy. His company was a little too easy. I didn’t need to further complicate things. Something told me I needed to hold back.
Nigel grabbed another beer for himself. “Cheers.” He took a sip. “You’re in for a rare treat. This place puts out a bloody fine buffet, you know.”
I took another sip. “Oh, listen, can you tell the staff that I won’t be joining them for dinner?”
“Not hungry?”
“I have some pilchards back in the room.”
“Bloody hell, at least let me bring you something more civilized to eat.”
“No, thanks, I’ll be fine. I actually like pilchards.”
“Can’t beat a chili-chard sandwich in a pinch, but not when there’s a buffet at stake.”
I held up a hand. “I’ll be fine.”
“But I was counting on you to entertain the Germans.”
“I’m sure you have plenty of stories for them. I’m just not up to it.” I finished my beer. “I’m going to turn in, thanks.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
“Been a long day.”
“Any day in the Caprivi is long enough without having to start out by shooting a wounded elephant calf and end up with a trunk full of ivory. Hope you can sleep it off.”
“Me, too.” I got off my barstool, we said good night, and I left.
Chapter 27
After a fitful few hours, I woke with the memory of a terrified adolescent bull elephant getting sucked into the raging Victoria Falls. It had happened just after Sean had proposed and went off to get gin and tonics.
I noticed a small group of elephants crossing the strong current by swimming from tree island to tree island. The flow of the Zambezi was unusually strong that year, and an unfortunate young bull fell behind and drifted down past any possible exit points. He tried to escape the current just in front of the hotel, but there was a fence blocking him in, and the Zambezi had risen so much that there was no land for him to climb out on.
There was a commotion among the staff, and a gardener ran off to get some wire cutters to cut the fence as I looked on helplessly. The bull pressed his front feet against the chain-link surface, trying to gain a footing. I could see the terror in his eyes as his feet slipped. The current was just too strong. Finally, in his exhaustion, the elephant relented and let the current sweep him away.
Sean returned just as the elephant was turning in circles and was pulled over the falls. The tourists watching on the Zimbabwean side of the falls must have seen the horror of his legs and trunk flailing in the white wall of water as he silently plummeted to his death.
Strangely enough, reliving this memory was somehow a release. Like I, too, had fallen off a precipice, my quest to stop the doctor from killing more elephants no longer relevant as I plummeted into an abyss, feeling no fear, just acceleration. I fell into a deep sleep.
—
I shot the .458 from a crouched position, and the cannon blast nearly blew my shoulder off. I had aimed too high. His giant head and blood-smeared tusk snapped up at me. He paused, mid-charge. I dropped the rifle, cursing at the shock of pain in my now-dislocated shoulder.
His tooth nerve dangled from his shattered tusk. A botched hunt by poachers with bad aim. This poor elephant bull was in more pain than I had realized.
As I lunged for the rifle with my good arm, he came for me again, but I was too late. The raging bull grabbed me in his trunk and flung me in the air.
—
I woke with a start, falling out of bed and hitting the cold concrete floor hard on my shoulder, then my head. I lay there, rubbing my sore head, breathing slowly for a few minutes to get my bearings. Finally, I got up with a splitting headache, splashed cold water on my face, and went to turn the hot pot on. The room came equipped with tea,
milk, sugar, and mugs on the bedside table so that clients could have tea on a private porch overlooking the river before breakfast.
I sat on the misty porch of my rondavel with hot tea in hand, not as early as I had hoped because I had spent another tortured night in bed tossing and turning and trying to elude the mefloquine nightmares from the antimalarial drugs that Nigel lent me. When the morning came, I didn’t want to face it. But I had paid for lingering with the final deadly nightmare that forced me out of bed.
My plan for the morning was to meet with the rangers and review their most recent elephant mortality reports, then pack a bag and run some errands in town. I figured that since Nigel was staying with Jon that night, it would be okay if I did as well.
After my second cup of tea, I got a text from Craig that immediately changed my itinerary. He had gotten permission for me to show Jon the photos of Geldenhuis’s new partner. I was planning to print the images from my printer as soon as I got back to Susuwe and head to Jon’s office.
Nigel arrived to pick me up and take me back to Susuwe. We had a colorful drive as he recounted the dinner conversation he had had with the Germans. They told him about their last trip to Namibia when they went rafting down the Kunene. “You wouldn’t believe their bad luck, hey. Their bloody inflatable was attacked by a ten-meter croc.”
“What? Can they get that big? That’s like thirty feet.”
“Apparently the crocs over there get bloody huge from dining off the dead cattle that get flushed down with the floods.”
“Their raft was bitten?”
“Their guide reckoned that the crocs got used to large, bloated inflatable objects as food.”
I laughed incredulously. “Oh my gosh, that’s horrible!”
“Dumb bloody luck, isn’t it.”
We both broke out laughing even though the thought was more terrifying than funny. As I watched Nigel laugh, I couldn’t help feeling more and more comfortable in his presence. I appreciated the contrast to the tension that was always in the air with Jon—even though I couldn’t help being drawn to the tension.
After packing a bag, charging batteries, and printing out the photos from the airstrip that I had refrained from showing Jon, I stopped at the Kongola post office on the way to Katima. I wasn’t expecting mail, but I always liked to check anyway. It felt like checking on the lottery. There wasn’t much going on back in the States, but since I wasn’t allowed to give anyone my phone number—except for my father in case of emergencies—no one knew how to reach me otherwise. Not that I stayed in touch with anyone other than my old roommate from Berkeley, Ling-Ru, via email. But for security reasons I wasn’t allowed to use my email address on my phone.
My postbox was my only contact with the outside world other than my direct satellite line to Craig. I was glad I didn’t need to use the one phone line that the post office made available for outside calls, as the line of people waiting to use it wrapped around the building. Many people had cellphones, but no one could afford to use them for calls. They just bought minutes so they could get the free text credit that came with the minutes.
The need for phone calls by the locals was building, but the only calls I could discern were complaints relating to mistakes made in orders placed through mail-order catalogs. As the local economy slowly grew after independence, money started to trickle in to the communities, and with it, the desire for more luxury goods from South Africa. Access to the Internet wasn’t an option in most of the outposts I had seen, except those catering to tourists.
I slipped past the line to get to my postal box. I opened my box and the long hollow space stared back at me. I closed the door and left.
As I exited the building a man approached me holding an ax. He looked intellectually disabled so I wasn’t too concerned about his intentions until he lunged at me, baring his teeth like a mad dog. As I leapt away, a woman immediately jumped out of line and stepped in front of him, waving her hands and yelling authoritatively, successfully steering him off his path. He snuck off with his ax dangling at his side.
I recognized the woman as Nandi, the induna’s daughter whom I had met in their cornfield.
“Nandi, right?” I held out my hand.
The woman looked me up and down curiously, then recognized me, smiled, and took my hand. “Oh, yes, you are the elephant woman.”
“Catherine.” I nodded.
I could see by how casually she had treated the situation that she must have known that guy. “What’s the ax for?”
“He took special medicine to get rich, but he did not take it correctly and now he is not well.”
I gave her an incredulous look.
Nandi shrugged. “Witchcraft.”
“Witchcraft. I see.” I didn’t want to ask her to elaborate, so I changed the subject. “Listen, Nandi, I have to take off, but I look forward to seeing you soon.”
“I would like that.”
“Did you ask your father if I could come meet with him again?”
Nandi nodded. “But, you see, he suspects that you are not wanting to help with our elephant problems. He might not tell anything of what you are hoping. He told me you are going to work with the game guards to fill out forms about dead elephants. He thinks that is your real interest—to get us to inform for you. It is not our elephants that are dying. But it is our people that are suffering from the poison.”
“What do you mean?”
“There are people in the villages helping those very bad men transport ivory. Many, many ivories pass through the Caprivi.”
I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t want her to get scared if I asked the wrong question.
“My brother was put in prison because he was set up by those bad men.”
“So, whose tusks did the game guards find?”
“I do not know. He says they are not his. But these other men deal in many, many tusks, hundreds of them. Sianga is in jail while they are walking the streets and sitting in bars drinking beer. He didn’t used to be a bad man. He was a good man.”
“Do you think he would talk to me about those bad men?”
Nandi shook her head. “It is very, very dangerous. You cannot tell the rangers about this. Please do not tell anyone what I just said.”
“Do you think your father would be willing to talk to me about your brother?”
She shrugged. “Maybe. I don’t know.”
“Can you ask him?”
Nandi nodded.
“Great, thanks, Nandi. I look forward to seeing you and your father in the next few days.”
“You will find me here.”
“Okay, good-bye then, Nandi.” I made a quick exit.
Nandi waved good-bye as I drove off, heading to Jon’s office.
Chapter 28
I stood in the doorway of Jon’s dark office. He was sitting at his desk, focusing on a piece of paper he was holding. “Jon, why are you sitting in the dark?”
Jon turned his chair and looked distractedly out the window, playing with his pencil. “I’ve always wanted to open a restaurant,” he said in a wistful tone. “The Sated Rabbit. Has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?” He looked back at me with distant eyes. “My specialty would be rabbit stuffed with quail. Sounds wonderful, hmm, Catherine? Doesn’t it sound wonderful?”
I picked up the piece of paper. Jon’s case against Dr. Geldenhuis had been postponed until a key suspect, Ernest Mkanzi, had been found.
I threw the paper. “Jon, you can still do this.”
“I hope you are talking about a restaurant. I’ve already got the place picked out. A nice houseboat on the Zambezi.”
“No, I’m talking about Geldenhuis.”
“Then we have nothing to talk about.”
“What do you mean?”
He shrugged.
“I thought you said the photos would be enough for a trial.”
“Turns out our fine justice system is still subject to the same influences as always.”
“What happened?”
“Why?”
“The evidence was deemed inadmissible.”
My heart sank. “On what grounds?”
“Apparently, the judge didn’t feel I was privy to that information. I have an appointment with the magistrate tomorrow to review everything.”
I reached into my pack and pulled out some of the additional photos I had taken on the airstrip of Geldenhuis and his apparent new accomplice, hoping they would be useful to the case. “I might have some new information that could help.” I tossed the photos onto his desk.
“What is this?” Jon picked up the photos and shot out of his chair. “When were these taken?”
“Same day as the others I gave you. On the Sioma Falls airstrip in Zambia.”
“Je’sus bloody Christ! Lazarus has come back from the dead.” He quickly sifted through the images.
“Who is that other man?”
“It’s bloody Ernest!”
“Ernest? So, he wasn’t eaten by a croc?”
“Apparently not.”
“What about last night? Did you find anything at the Piggery?”
“Useless. But we did hear that Geldenhuis’s lodge manager got picked up on the main road outside Katima.”
“Alvares? Did he have anything on him?”
“No, but the Portuguese don’t just stroll around for their health in this region. If he was without a vehicle it was for a reason. I’m keeping that in the back of my mind. Bloody Portuguese.”
“You think he was one of the people in the car at Liadura?”
“Quite possibly.”
I sat down. “So, we still have a case, don’t we?”
Jon looked at me with tired eyes. “Things looked a lot different a few days ago.” He picked up the photos again. “But these have brightened my day.” He rubbed his hand down his face. “Listen, I don’t want to be morose, but the only thing to look forward to around here is gastronomical. Wait till you see the choice leg I got from the butcher.”
I hesitated. “We don’t have to do this if you’re not in the mood.”
He picked up a piece of paper from his desk and handed it to me. “I suppose I could get in the mood by celebrating the endless potential for the human race to be clever.”
Ivory Ghosts Page 17
