With Lucienne’s almost weekly visit to Mathew, their relationship had developed into a deep friendship and mutual affection for each other, although their intimacy was confined to a quick hug and a kiss on both cheeks on both their meetings and farewells, and sometimes to holding hands when they walked through some of the more negotiable parts of the forest. But in spite of Mathew’s ever-increasing desire to be in Lucienne’s company, he had to keep reminding himself that as a consequence of their very different backgrounds and heritages, he was unable to see just how his strong emotional feelings and admiration for her could possibly lead to any sustainable long-term relationship.
It had been during Mathew’s attempt to reconcile the complexities of his emotional turmoil regarding Lucienne that he reminded himself how his professor at Scaife University would have dealt with such sentiments. In his analysis of this type of scenario, he had highlighted how mankind was merely an evolutionary self-domesticated animal – a mammal, an ape, a social anthropoid ape, a human anthropoid in which the difference between male and female stemmed from a past, when the man hunted and the woman gathered. Also, how his professor had reflected that falling in love was mysteriously cerebral and highly selective, with sexual interactions being merely a genetic joint venture resulting from a degree of self-assurance and the priority for the male to perpetuate his genes. While Mathew reflected on his professor’s dispassionate scientific approach to such a state of mind, he attempted to pull himself together and be more realistic as to any future long-term involvement with the person he had now considered that he had fallen in love with.
It had been during their many discussions about primate behaviour that Lucienne had mentioned to Mathew that through her desire to increase her knowledge and, in particular, to learn as much as possible about the comparative psychology of anthropoids, she would very much like to embark on a university degree course. With this in mind, she had asked Mathew whether his mentor Dr W.C. Osman Hill would be willing to help her gain a place at Emory University and to undertake some behavioural research work with the gorilla colony at the Yerkes Primate Research Center. Although contrary to Mathew’s intended attempt to try to distance himself from Lucienne, the thought of having her in Atlanta during his final months of writing up his dissertation appealed to him greatly. He promised to write to his professor and to do as much as possible to promote her cause. At the same time, he suggested that she should tell Deschryver and ask him to write a letter of recommendation and reference on her behalf, which would be sure to carry a great deal of weight with Emory University’s Board of Admission.
During Mathew’s final ten days at the Hotel Metropole, prior to his departure from Bukavu, he found that his intention to separate his life from Lucienne had totally failed and he was therefore to be seen in her company almost on a daily basis. Deschryver had written an excellent supportive ‘To Whom It May Concern’ to add to Mathew’s letter to Osman Hill, requesting his help with Lucienne’s application. As Mathew was anxious to receive his professor’s reaction prior to his departure from Zaire, the correspondence was cabled to Osman Hill with the original top copies sent by airmail.
Now that Mathew had completed his field studies he had been able to get to know Deschryver on a more informal basis; although he had seemed to be rather reserved and outwardly self-effacing, the more he got to know him, the more relaxed and outgoing he became.
Deschryver’s home was situated high up above the township, with a spectacular view of Lake Kivu in the distance. The house, with its spacious veranda, was surrounded by well-manicured lawns, studded at intervals by impressive beds of the scarlet-flowered, purple-leafed, hybrid cannas, which were shaded from the heat of the midday sun by small groups of acacia trees. On several occasions they had talked here into the early hours of the morning about the constant political upheavals that had occurred in this eastern region of Zaire since the Congo’s independence from the Belgians, twelve years previously. Also about the increased human pressures that were currently being exerted on one of the eastern lowland gorillas most important remaining sanctuaries at Kahuzi-Biega. Mathew had concluded from his many conversations with him that if it had not been for Deschryver’s personal drive, dedication and hard work during the last seven years, it would have been unlikely that the national park would have been established, thereby giving the eastern lowland gorillas who lived there the opportunity to survive.
Prior to his departure from Bukavu, Mathew was anxious to take up Dr Peter Kunkel’s invitation for Lucienne and him to have dinner at his home near the IRSAC headquarters. Also, to have the opportunity to thank the botanists and the staff of the institute’s pathology laboratory for the painstakingly detailed analysis they had carried out, all of which had established some important new data about the gorilla’s varied diet and aspects of their digestive systems.
After Mathew and Lucienne had spent almost two hours at the research institute thanking all those involved, they followed Dr Kunkel’s VW Kombi several kilometres over a winding, rough earth road to his home at Tshibati, a sizeable white-painted villa with a courtyard at its rear. A large well-kept lawn to the front of the house sloped downhill with a view to some of the institute buildings. However, in the far distance was the dramatic backdrop of the magnificent mountains of the rift valley, with the sparkling waters of Lake Kivu nestled comfortably between them.
The dinner party guests included a number of the institute’s staff: the South African pathologist, Dr Kurt Jorgensen; the Rwandan botanist, Annette Sausman; and Patrice Daman. When Mathew had been told that Patrice was going to be one of the dinner guests, he had been quick to reassure Lucienne that his initial jealousy had been due to the enthusiastic attention his potential rival had shown her, but that as a result of their weekly meetings they had become good friends.
On learning about this friendship, Lucienne considered it prudent to inform Mathew that while he was undertaking his field research in Kahuzi-Biega, she had accepted an invitation from Patrice to have dinner with him at a small nightclub in Bukavu.
‘It started pleasantly enough,’ she explained, ‘but by halfway through the evening, he had drunk a lot of wine and he kept trying to touch me . . . It was getting very embarrassing. I shouldn’t say it, but what made the whole thing unbearable was that he absolutely reeked of garlic and was smoking Gitanes – the fumes were all over me – so I pretended to have a stomach bug and called a taxi to take me home as soon as possible!’
‘Well, friends or not, I’m very relieved to hear that you didn’t enjoy your evening with Patrice . . . Long may he continue to eat excessive garlic, smoke Gitanes and touch his dinner guests inappropriately.’
‘He still wanted to come back to my flat and tuck me into bed,’ Lucienne gently teased, ‘but of course I didn’t let him. The next day, once Patrice had sobered up and carried out a post-mortem on his behaviour, he sent me a beautiful bunch of white lilies with the sweetest note of apology. All is forgiven, but I haven’t seen or spoken to him since.’
Despite Lucienne’s regrettable encounter with Patrice, the dinner party was a thoroughly amicable and enjoyable evening. Dr Kunkel was the perfect host; the conversation and the wine flowed freely and Mathew and Lucienne ended the evening feeling very glad to have made the acquaintance of the IRSAC scientists.
A week prior to Mathew’s departure from Bukavu, he received a response to the cable to Osman Hill.
Dear Mathew,
I read your cable with great interest. I will certainly do what I can to help your friend Lucienne Luzembo gain entry to a degree course at Emory University, and also to assist her in carrying out some of her course work at the Yerkes Center. It sounds as though she already possesses a good deal of experience in the field and I look forward to having someone so enthusiastic on our team. I’m sure if she has gained your recommendation and that of Adrien Deschryver, she will possess the qualities needed to succeed as a student here.
I have some funds available for a student to help
with my literary research in connection with the next volume of my monograph on the comparative anatomy and taxonomy of primates. Lucienne may be particularly interested in this as Vol. 9 is going to cover Hylobatidae (Gibbons & Siamangs) and Pongidae (Orang Utans, Chimpanzees & Gorillas). If she would like it, the position is hers.
Warm regards,
Osman Hill
‘Oh Mathew! I can’t believe it – it couldn’t be better. Not only is he going to help me get a place, but he’s giving me a chance to help with research that is so closely connected to my interest in anthropoids . . . and he’s going to pay me for the pleasure of doing it! This is a godsend, an unbelievable opportunity. I can’t thank you enough for making it happen.’ Lucienne could not stop herself from throwing her arms around Mathew’s neck and kissing his cheek in gratitude.
Lucienne’s overflowing enthusiasm and joy was obvious to everyone as she talked excitedly about her future in the USA, rushing to and fro in a concerted attempt to keep her mind on her office duties. On Lucienne’s insistence, Mathew cabled Osman Hill back immediately in appreciation of his help and to say on her behalf that she would love to help him with the research for his primate monograph.
Lucienne had arranged with Deschryver to take the last few days of Mathew’s time in Bukavu away from the office in order to be with him as much as possible. In particular, she wanted to talk about her forthcoming time in Atlanta for she well recognised that she would require help to settle into such a new and alien environment. Mathew had already told her that he would be first returning to the UK for four to five months to be with his parents in Yorkshire, and to take the opportunity to embark on the writing up of his dissertation in the peaceful surroundings of the Yorkshire Dales. His return to Atlanta could well be after she had arrived.
* * *
Lunches at the Bistro Zanzibar had been full of joyous harmony on the one hand, and a degree of apprehension on the other. During some gaps in their conversation they had both sensed a degree of trepidation; their separation was imminent and their future relationship was uncertain. On the Saturday evening they had decided to visit the typically African nightspot of Le Tropicana, where the soft lights, the enthusiastic beating of the drums, small tables lit by flickering candles, all added to the intimacy of the place. In the centre of the room, the bodies, arms and legs of those who had succumbed to the seductive beat of the drums swayed in total harmony.
After a dish of lake fish and greasy fries, accompanied by some agreeable glasses of South African Sauvignon, Lucienne had suggested that they should take the opportunity to dance to the intoxicating music. Although Mathew had warned her that he was unable to jive and could only do ballroom dancing, he had taken her hand and led her onto the crowded dance floor. Thanks to not being able to follow the example of the other dancers, he had placed his arm around Lucienne’s waist and, as their dancing progressed, he had held her body close to him. As they swayed to and fro to the beat of the drums, she had rested her head on his shoulder so that some of her long, soft hair draped loosely over it. He gently ran his fingers through the silky curls.
As they returned to their table, a wine glass reflected the flickering of the candle that danced on Lucienne’s left cheek. Mathew could just detect a few small dew-drops of tears gathering beneath her now rather soulful-looking dark brown eyes. At the same time, he found himself experiencing some pangs of breathlessness and emptiness of spirit. However, after holding hands across the table, and being both aware of their respective emotional dilemmas, they soon pulled themselves out of despondency and happily danced with each other into the early hours of the morning.
‘As tomorrow is my last day here,’ ventured Mathew as they were leaving, ‘I was wondering if you would like to come on a picnic with me? Maybe somewhere on the shore of Lake Kivu . . . Somewhere quiet and beautiful.’
‘What a lovely idea!’ smiled Lucienne. ‘I know just the place, a little bay on the south-east coast. Why don’t I pick you up just after 12?’
After they had made arrangements, Mathew found a taxi to take Lucienne back to her flat and, after an emotional embrace during which he managed to maintain his customary disciplined ‘mind over matter’, he dutifully returned to his room at the Hotel Metropole.
By Sunday morning, Mathew had completed the majority of his packing and had made sure that all of his valuable field notes and photographic records had been securely placed into his hand luggage, ready for the following day’s early morning flight to Lubumbashi and onwards to Kinshasa. Lucienne had arrived at the hotel in her open jeep just after midday, and appeared to be in the highest of spirits. She was determined not to put any damper on the last afternoon that they would be together for so many months.
As they drove along the lakeside they passed a number of well-manicured tea gardens, within which the bushes were gently shaded from the strong rays of the sun by slender groves of tall trees. As Lucienne turned up a narrow track towards a small, isolated beach, they reminisced about the wonderful times they had shared together in Bukavu and at Kahuzi-Biega.
‘Mathew, I can’t tell you how much I’ve enjoyed your company here . . . It’s been a very special time and one I will remember for the rest of my life. But it may be six months until we see each other again and when we do, we’ll be in Atlanta – it will be completely different from our lives here. What I want to say is . . . well . . . let’s enjoy this afternoon for what it is, and face the future when it comes to us . . . Let’s not spend today worrying about what lies ahead.’
Mathew sighed. ‘You’re quite right, as usual. I don’t want anything to spoil this afternoon. Oh Lucienne, you’ve chosen the perfect spot – just look at that! And not another person in sight. I have you completely to myself.’
After admiring the view, they selected the top of a large, smooth boulder on which to spread their picnic rug, with the deep waters of the lake lapping gently at its base. The coastline was edged by a mixed woodland habitat with an assortment of dense evergreen vegetation and thick undergrowth, overshadowed by some tall trees whose canopies touched at mid-level to afford some welcome shade. A pair of shy, bespectacled weaver birds had flown noisily above the rock as if in protest for having been disturbed and the ubiquitous colourful butterflies fluttered to and fro, without a care in the world. An African fish eagle, with its white head which contrasted magnificently with its chestnut belly and shoulders and black wings, was perched nearby at the top of a sizeable dead tree with a commanding view over the lake. Seemingly aware of the occasion, it bid Mathew an African farewell by throwing its head back to utter its far-carrying gull-like call, which so well represented the characteristic and evocative ‘Cry of Africa’.
Lucienne had gone out of her way to provide a picnic to beat all the previous picnics that she had provided Mathew with during her almost weekly visits to his hut at Kahuzi-Biega. Slices of water melon, portions of smoked fish, legs of chicken, a salad with boiled eggs, tomatoes and spring onions, along with the added benefit of Lucienne’s special home-made garlic and olive oil dressing – her own carefully guarded recipe. This was followed by scoops of vanilla ice cream, skillfully wrapped to stop it from melting, each topped by a teaspoonful of Amarula cream liqueur. The drink is made from the small yellow fruit of the Marula tree, the berries of which are so much favoured by elephants that the trees are frequently referred to by locals as ‘elephant trees’. In addition to this, Mathew had managed to secure a couple of bottles of Chablis, which he had carefully brought along in a freezer bag to serve perfectly chilled.
After they had both enjoyed the delights of the picnic, the agreeable relaxing and rather intoxicating effects of having consumed a bottle and a half of the Chablis Premier Cru and amply sampled the special blend of the Amarula liqueur, they had both gone to sleep under the shade of an acacia tree on the top of the rock, with Lucienne’s head gently resting on Mathew’s chest. Some time later, Mathew had suddenly been awoken by the shot of a gun which had appeared to have been quite close
to them. His reaction had been to quickly jerk his body to a sitting position, which caused Lucienne’s head to slip off his chest and her slumbering body to slide down the boulder into the lake. As soon as she had been momentarily submerged, the coolness of the water was quick to bring her to her senses – she threw up her arms and cried out for help, and it was immediately obvious to Mathew that Lucienne was unable to swim and was well out of her depth.
‘Lucienne! Don’t worry. . . I’m coming . . .’ Mathew tore off his bush jacket and shoes as she thrashed helplessly around, gasping for breath and taking in mouthfuls of water. He slid down the rock and quickly swam to Lucienne’s sinking body, immediately putting into practice the life-saving exercise that he had learned from a St John Ambulance team that had once visited Wellington College.
‘Lucienne, stay calm, trust me . . .’ he shouted while swimming up to her, turning her struggling body onto its back and placing both hands on either side of her face. He turned onto his back and holding the now almost lifeless form of Lucienne above him, he swam to the nearby beach and managed to pull her on to its soft, warm sands. Then, to Mathew’s utter horror, he saw that her breathing had stopped.
‘Lucienne . . . come on, don’t do this to me . . . start breathing . . . please . . .’ He knelt by her and swallowing back the lump in his throat, quickly applied compressions to her chest, desperately trying to remember what those St John Ambulance men had shown him all those years ago. After approximately thirty compressions he lifted her chin to open the airway, pinched her nose then blew a couple of times into her mouth and, after having repeated this procedure on two to three occasions, to his immense relief she started to breathe lightly. Mathew resumed the chest compressions in a more composed manner; alternating thirty pumps with two more ‘kisses of life’ before he was satisfied that Lucienne had started to breathe regularly.
Someone Wishes to Speak to You Page 5
