by Tony Park
When she closed her eyes she saw the flash of light again, heard the boom and smelled the smoke. The men were banging on the door. She thought it was someone coming to rescue her from the fire. When the door crashed open she saw the face of nightmares long faded, leering at her, reaching for her.
She screamed.
Natalie sat up in the bed and clutched the sheet to her. She'd been more tired than she'd thought after the flight from Kenya and the long drive from Harare to Bulawayo, and she had drifted off to sleep, but the nightmare had woken her. She pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs.
It was irrational, she tried to tell herself. She felt suddenly embarrassed and hoped no one had heard.
It was still, and even hotter than before. Overhead, the ceiling fan had stopped turning. The power was out, which she knew was common in Zimbabwe. The president and his lackeys were more interested in making money for themselves than investing it in infrastructure. She'd read that water shortages were also common, although fortunately her grandparents had a bore on the farm.
Natalie crooked an arm behind her head and stared at the ceiling. She was thirsty. The wine had helped her relax back into the house, and kid herself she would be fine, but it had also dehydrated her. She swung her feet over the side of the bed. The polished concrete floor was fractionally cooler than the thick air that blanketed her. Natalie stood and padded, in her pyjama shorts and T-shirt, to the door. It creaked as it opened.
Without the starlight that illuminated her room, the hallway was pitch-black. She almost turned and went back into the bedroom. Don't be silly, she told herself. She hadn't been afraid of the dark as a child, until the attack on the farm in 1979. Since then she'd not so much been scared of the dark but of what it might conceal.
Natalie reached out and felt for a wall. She felt the hall runner, threadbare as it was, under her feet and started moving along the hallway. With each step she found her eyes adjusted a little more to the darkness. Her right hand, which had been running along the plaster, came to a void. Ahead of her was the door at the end of the corridor that led to the lounge room and kitchen.
Natalie realised where she was. This was the last room of the original building. Hope's room. Her room when she stayed over. She felt for the door handle and started breathing faster, suddenly afraid she couldn't get enough air into her lungs. She licked her lips …
It's all right, it's all right, she tried convincing herself. She failed. God, what was behind the door? She wanted to know, but couldn't bring herself to turn the knob. There was the light, the boom, the smoke, the smell of the man's sweat as he put a hand over her mouth and dragged her away. There was Aunty Hope's things, her pictures, her records, her perfume … There were the flowers on her coffin and Grandma and Grandpa crying as they lowered her down … There was …
Natalie gasped and spun around as a hand touched her arm.
‘Sorry,’ Braedan said, his wonky smile showing through the dark.
Her heart was pounding. ‘God, you nearly gave me a heart attack.’
‘Are you all right?’
‘I was thirsty.’
‘Kitchen's straight ahead, as far as I remember,’ he said.
She nodded, trying to compose herself. ‘This room … it's where I was sleeping that night.’ Her hand was still on the doorknob.
He reached out and wrapped his hand around hers. ‘You don't have to go through there.’
She looked at him, searching for his eyes to try to read them, but it was too dark. Was he just a muscle-bound grunt who'd saved her because it was his job, and slept with her aunt because he could … or was there more to him?
‘Myself, I'm all for a little compartmentalisation of the soul, but don't ask me to spell that,’ Braedan said.
‘Compartmentalisation?’
‘Some fears aren't worth facing.’
She laughed, and he put his finger to his lips as he lifted his hand from hers. ‘I'm going to get that drink of water.’
‘I'm thirsty too.’
He followed her through the next door and she felt safe with him behind her, watching her. She remembered burrowing her face in his uniform as he'd picked her up. She'd cried and cried as he'd carried her through the bush. ‘You're safe now, you're safe now, my girl,’ he'd said to her. She was just a child. And he had saved her.
In the kitchen Natalie opened the door of the fridge. ‘Water?’ she asked.
‘I see a beer in there. Do you think your grandpa would mind?’
‘He only has one a night, so I think you're safe.’
‘Right. I saw him have at least three. I think he was sneaking them on the sly while your gran wasn't looking.’
‘Shush,’ she said. She took out an old plastic Coke bottle filled with water and passed him a bottle of Lion, then closed the door. ‘We'll wake the house if we're not careful.’
‘Outside?’
She nodded, and followed him out onto the front stoop. Braedan sat down on the step. He had on the same shirt he'd worn in the car, but unbuttoned as though he'd just thrown it on, and she suddenly noticed he was only wearing boxer shorts. He pulled his cigarettes from his pocket.
‘Um … do you mind if I bum one of those?’ She sat down next to him, the concrete cool on the bare skin at the back of her thighs.
‘If any more of the Bryant family come out of the smoking closet I'll be forced to quit myself!’
‘What do you mean?’ She slid a cigarette from the offered packet.
‘Nothing.’ He leaned in closer to light her cigarette.
She coughed. ‘Rough.’
‘Zimbabwean – the finest sweepings from the floors of the finest empty tobacco sheds in the world. We can't even kill ourselves with decent cigarettes any more.’
She didn't laugh.
‘Sorry.’
‘It's OK.’ She took another puff and exhaled. ‘What does it feel like for you, being back here?’
He shrugged. ‘Place was just about in ruins last time I was here. I went to plenty of farms that had been revved. It was the same old story. You got used to the destruction, to the heartbreak of the families involved.’
She didn't buy the tough guy act. ‘Yes, but you didn't save a little girl at every farmhouse.’
He looked up at the stars and blew out a long stream of smoke. ‘No. At a couple of places we got there too late, and little kids died.’
Natalie felt her whole body sag. ‘I'm sorry, Braedan … I haven't really thought about what else you might have been through.’
‘Ag, forget it. Like I said, there's some things I like to keep locked away, in a compartment, in here …’ He tapped his heart. ‘But, yes, I could tell you some stories of the fun we used to have, hey. We used to jol like there was no tomorrow in those days.’
For many of them, she thought, that was probably still the case. Natalie looked up and the sky was studded with stars. ‘It's hard to imagine people having fun during a war, but I can remember my mom and dad having some big parties.’
His eyes caught some starlight and she could imagine how handsome he must have been in his youth – he was still a very good-looking man. There was something of that heroic youngster still in him, though dulled by too many years of hard living. She could see how Aunty Hope had been momentarily weakened by his mix of charm and bad-boy cockiness.
Braedan stubbed out his cigarette. ‘I haven't felt so alive since those days. Funny, because a few of my mates didn't make it. It was all for nothing.’
He looked at her, and she couldn't read the expression in his face. He reached out a hand, towards her, and she felt her heart stop. Was he going to touch her? Could he somehow tell that she'd just been thinking he was attractive? Had she given him some kind of sign? She didn't think so.
‘It's all right.’ His fingers brushed her shoulder. ‘Spider,’ he smiled, flicking the tiny bug away.
She exhaled. ‘Phew. For a moment, I thought …’
‘Thought what?’
His face was a picture of contrived innocence as he got to his feet. ‘Early start tomorrow. Night Natalie.’
‘Night Braedan.’ You cheeky bastard.
The next morning Tate awoke and went to the dining room to find Pip waiting for him.
‘Paul's taken Natalie and Braedan for a quick tour of the farm. He thought you wouldn't want to go, as you've seen it all before. You've probably seen more rhinos than any man in Zimbabwe.’ She gave a little laugh, but Tate knew she was embarrassed by the deliberate snub. The tour must have been arranged the night before, without his knowledge.
‘That's fine,’ he said, sitting at the table. Portia came in and asked him what he wanted for breakfast. ‘Some mealie-meal porridge, please, if you have it.’
‘Is that all?’ Pip asked. ‘We can do bacon, eggs, sausage … whatever you want.’
‘I learned to eat pretty sparingly during all the years I spent with parks and wildlife.’
Pip nodded, and when Portia had left the room she said, ‘My husband means well, Tate.’
‘I know he does, Mrs Bryant.’
‘Please, I've asked you a million times, call me Pip.’
He nodded.
‘He is worried about what will happen to the farm, to the rhinos, after we're dead, but he's right to believe they're currently safer here than anywhere else.’
Tate poured himself tea from a pot covered with a crocheted cosy. ‘What makes him so sure? Because he's appointed my brother head of security?’
Pip shook her head. ‘You two really don't get on, do you?’
He let the question hang as he took his cup of black sugarless tea and sipped it.
‘Well,’ she continued, ‘Paul has a good friend, an African friend, by the name of Kenneth Ngwenya. Kenneth and his children are very well connected with ZANU Popular Front. One of his sons is a government minister.’
Tate was surprised by the connection. ‘Not Emmerson Ngwenya?’
‘Yes.’
‘My God, Mrs Bryant … Pip … he's …’
Pip took a sip of her tea. ‘A little shit.’
Tate spluttered as his tea went down the wrong way. The profanity seemed so much stronger coming from this dainty old lady in her freshly pressed flowered pantsuit. He smiled. ‘A good summation. You know he's responsible for a good deal of rhino poaching.’
She nodded, then paused as Portia brought in Tate's porridge and a fried egg on toast for Pip. ‘Thank you, Portia.’ Once the maid left, Pip leaned forward, elbows either side of her plate. ‘That's the worst kept secret in Zimbabwe, but, yes, Emmerson is bad news all right.’
Tate shook his head. ‘I don't understand it. How can Paul think his rhinos are safe if he's friends with one of the most corrupt families in the country?’
Pip sat back in her chair. ‘No, no, no. Kenneth is a wonderful man, very highly principled. He was a schoolteacher when we knew him in the old days, and because of his service during the liberation war he was eventually made director general of the education department. He did some very good things in the early days, after independence. Also, his daughter, Thandi, is a lovely girl. She's an MDC minister. Brother and sister both in cabinet on opposite sides. The foreign media love that. Emmerson is the black sheep, so to speak, but Kenneth keeps him in check.’
‘Yes,’ said Tate, ‘I've heard of her, but this Kenneth … he must be, what …’
Pip nodded, knowing where his question was headed. ‘Yes, pushing ninety, like me. That's what worries me, Tate. There's this new round of land invasions going on, and if Kenneth were to pass away, Paul and I would lose our protection and Emmerson would be in here like a shot. He is, after all, Assistant Minister for Land Redistribution.’
‘The fox in charge of the henhouse.’
‘Exactly,’ Pip said. ‘What I'm trying to say, Tate, and I hate going behind Paul's back, is that I think you're right and that my husband is wrong. I think we need to move the rhinos to the conservancy before it's too late. But he's terribly stubborn, Tate, and he is absolutely devoted to those animals, as am I.’
Tate blew on a spoonful of porridge and thought about how terrible it would be if all the rhinos in Zimbabwe were killed by the likes of Emmerson Ngwenya and his cronies. He looked across the table into the elderly woman's piercing blue eyes. ‘We'll make a plan, Pip. I won't let your rhinos be taken and killed.’
*
The morning was cool enough for Natalie to put on a lightweight cardigan, but the sky was clear and blue, promising another warm day. Natalie sat next to Braedan in the first of three tiers of canvas-covered bench seats in the back of an open-topped Land Rover Defender. Grandpa Paul sat in the front passenger seat, next to an African man in a green uniform.
Natalie had her camera with her and when the Land Rover stopped she snapped a picture of a yellow-billed hornbill, which had landed on a tree next to them. The morning sun shone through the bird's semi-translucent beak. It was a beautiful time to be out.
The African guide, whose name was Elias Masian, stood on the driver's seat and held up a T-shaped aluminium antenna, attached to a black box about the size of a handheld radio, which hung from a strap around his neck.
‘We've got radio transmitters implanted in the horns of six of our rhinos,’ Paul explained as Elias donned a set of headphones and slowly turned around, searching for a signal.
‘We can't afford GPS transmitters, but with a property our size it's not too much of a drama as the rhinos can't wander far.’
Their drive took them from the farmhouse past the circle of six two-bed thatch-roofed chalets, where paying guests stayed, and a kitchen and dining room. The guest accommodation was empty, though, as usual. Tourists had been driven away from Zimbabwe long ago by stories of its ruined economy and the violence associated with the early rounds of farm invasions, not to mention a succession of elections in which the government maintained its hold on power through torture, beatings and murder.
Paul waved to a maid who was opening one of the chalets. ‘We still try and keep the place in good order, for when the tourists start coming back. It's a shame, you know, that people think Zim's a dangerous country. In fact, for travellers it's one of the safest places in Africa, but still governments around the world warn their citizens not to come here.’
Natalie nodded. She believed her grandfather, but she also knew it would be a long time before the tourists who had taken to holidaying in neighbouring Botswana and Zambia decided to give Zimbabwe another chance.
Natalie spotted a family of warthog nuzzling in the grass, and a herd of zebra that trotted away from the game-viewing vehicle once they realised they'd been spotted. Grandpa Paul told Elias to stop when they came across his herd of sable antelope.
‘Beautiful, aren't they? I never get tired of looking at them,’ he said to her, and she had to agree. The males were black with white blazes and impressive curved horns arching towards their backs. The females were a rich red-brown and the herd boasted half-a-dozen youngsters. The sable had been introduced to the ranch by her grandparents, but there were still naturally occurring populations of kudu and impala, some of which they spotted as they cruised slowly along a rutted dirt road. ‘Enjoy your African massage,’ her grandfather said when he turned and saw Natalie gripping the bar in front of her seat.
Braedan snapped his fingers. Paul swivelled in his seat and turned to look off to the left rear, where Braedan was pointing. ‘There's one,’ Braedan said softly.
‘Ah! Chete! Come, my girl!’ Paul called, then whistled loudly.
The rhino cow emerged from a thorn thicket and trotted towards the vehicle. Elias glanced at the animal, and then ignored her, returning his attention to rotating his antenna and listening into his headphones.
‘Do you have that apple I asked you to bring from the kitchen, Nat?’ her grandfather asked.
Natalie reached into her camera bag and pulled out the apple as the rhino came closer. She handed the apple to her grandfather, then snatched up her camera. She peered
through the viewfinder then leaned back involuntarily as the rhino's head fill the screen. When she lowered the camera she saw the huge animal was right next to the truck. Chete snorted and Natalie could feel her hot breath as Chete raised her big head. Grandpa Paul held up the apple and Chete reached for it with her hooked lip. Paul held onto the fruit as Chete leaned in close and bit off half of it. Her grandfather scratched the rhino behind one of her long ears.
‘What happened to her horn?’ Natalie asked. Her heart was beating fast, being so close to this huge prehistoric-looking animal.
‘We cut it off,’ Grandpa Paul said.
‘I have found Chengetai,’ Elias said, removing his headphones and settling back down into the driver's seat.
‘Good,’ Paul said. ‘We'll go find the cranky old cow just now. Now, what was I saying, Natalie?’
‘You were talking about cutting off the rhino's horn, Grandpa. I've read about that being done, but some experts have said it doesn't stop poaching.’
Her grandfather crooked an arm under the rhino's head and lifted it away. To encourage her to turn away from the Land Rover a little he held out the remainder of the apple with his other hand. When he had a gap he opened the door. ‘Come give me a hand, please, Elias.’
Paul got out of the Land Rover and for a second Natalie thought he might be crushed between the bulk of the rhino and the vehicle. Elias walked around the front of the truck. ‘Climb down, I want to show you something.’
Natalie climbed down, her heart beating a little faster at the prospect of being on foot next to the rhino, and Braedan got off the other side and walked around the rear of the Land Rover to join them. Once they were all present, Paul reached down and grabbed Chete's right front leg. Elias made soothing, cooing noises in the animal's ear and leaned against her, steadying her.
‘Look here, on her foot – see the notch?’
Natalie moved closer and bent down until she could see the narrow arrowhead groove in the animal's foot. ‘Is that naturally occurring?’
