Essie looked up to see Tommy trotting into the circle. His head was lowered; he was thinking of practising his butting technique. Diana shrank back in her chair as though she were being confronted by a dangerous carnivore, not a young gazelle.
‘It’s all right,’ Essie said quickly. ‘He’s tame.’ Diana didn’t show any sign of relaxing; perhaps she was concerned about the cloud-like fabric of her dress.
‘What is it – some kind of deer?’ Frank asked. He stretched out one hand towards the animal, perhaps wanting to prove he had a different response to his wife.
‘A Thomson’s gazelle,’ Ian said. ‘A juvenile male.’
‘He’s called Tommy,’ Essie added, reaching to grasp her pet’s collar. As she said the name she wished she’d come up with something a bit more imaginative.
‘You’ve got quite a menagerie here,’ Frank commented. ‘With all those dogs, as well . . .’
Essie wondered if he’d seen the collection of animals that lived at Olduvai. There were four or five mongrel hounds, as well as the pedigreed Dalmatians whose offspring Meg and Rudie were. In addition there was a serval cat, hyrax, mongoose and an African crow with one wing. The Leakeys probably had the good sense to keep them all out of sight during the philanthropist’s visit.
‘My wife has a tender heart,’ Ian explained. His indulgent smile betrayed no hint of the annoyance Essie knew he felt. ‘She rescued Tommy as a baby.’ He gestured towards the nearby tree where the dogs were resting. ‘That lot actually earn their keep. There are leopards in this area, you know.’
Diana looked around her. ‘Here?’
Ian shook his head. ‘No. I meant in the korongos.’
Essie stood up, still holding on to Tommy. ‘I’ll put him away. I’m sorry. I can’t have closed his pen properly.’
‘I’ll deal with him,’ Julia said.
‘No, no – I’ll do it,’ Essie insisted. His pen was too near the kitchen. Julia might decide to check in with Baraka on her return. ‘I’ve finished anyway.’ Essie handed the axe to Frank with a smile.
He turned it over, testing the edge against the side of his thumb before nodding his head admiringly. ‘Beautiful.’
Essie felt her face heat up. The way his eyes engaged hers, she wasn’t certain he was referring to the stone.
‘Keep it,’ Ian said. ‘A reminder of your visit.’
Frank slipped the artefact into his jacket pocket. He looked away, towards the plains. The sun was a round ball of gold floating in a pale green sky, not far above the horizon.
Ian followed his gaze. ‘It’s about time to make a move.’
‘I’ll tell Daudi to drive the Land Rover round,’ Essie offered. She was about to lead Tommy away when Diana got to her feet.
‘Can you show me to the bathroom? I need to freshen up.’
‘Ah – sure,’ Essie said. ‘Of course. Follow me.’
She and Julia had planned for this possibility. The cho tent had been perfumed with burning frankincense. An extra layer of earth had been piled into the long-drop hole to conceal its contents. There was nothing to be done about the elephant jawbone that stood in for a toilet seat. They could only hope that the Marlows would be intrigued by it, rather than put off. In the bathing tent next door, a near-new hand towel had been laid out and there were two pitchers of water standing next to the enamel basin.
Essie led the way around the side of the tent. ‘I hope your shoes won’t be damaged.’ Diana was wearing white snakeskin sandals. They were as modern as her dress, with block-shaped high heels. They were still shiny and clean. If she’d worn them to the digging sites earlier, she must have remained in the vehicle.
‘It doesn’t matter.’ Diana shrugged. ‘Frank bought them for me. I don’t like wearing snake. He should know that.’
Essie couldn’t think of anything to say. The remark seemed both disloyal and ungracious. The two women walked together in silence for a while. Tommy tore at a bunch of leaves as they passed a bush growing by the path.
‘Frank said you’ve been working here with your husband for years.’
Essie nodded. ‘I came in 1965.’
‘And there’s just the three of you? Don’t you get tired of each other’s company?’
‘There are the local workers, too,’ Essie explained. ‘But we do spend a lot of time together. Ian and me. And Julia.’
‘God. How can you live with your mother-in-law?’
Essie laughed softly, feeling guilty. ‘I know. I have my moments . . .’
Diana laughed too, but then looked thoughtful again. ‘She’s famous, though – isn’t she?’
‘She and William discovered the Steps together. Then there are the Australopithecine remains. You saw the model of the skull. They also found parts of a Homo habilis cranium. He’s like a slightly more developed Australopithecine. The first to make stone tools.’ Essie smiled understandingly; she guessed Diana would be struggling to make sense of what she was saying. For one thing, the Latin names were hard to remember. When Essie had first learned about Australopithecines, it had taken her a while to shake off the idea that they were somehow linked to Australia.
‘So you and Ian are the next generation husband-and-wife team,’ Diana said.
Essie felt a wave of pleasure at these words, but said nothing. She was grateful Diana didn’t seem to know that since Essie’s arrival at Magadi nothing important had been found. Not yet.
‘Then there’s your father, the Professor,’ Diana continued. ‘He’s well known for his collection. Don’t tell me your mother was famous as well?’
The idea was so foreign Essie took some time to reply. ‘No, she’s . . .’
She’s no one. ‘She’s dead.’
‘I’m so sorry.’ Diana’s tone didn’t change to match her words of sympathy. ‘So you landed on your feet here with the Lawrences. You must be happy.’
In the moment of silence that followed, Essie pictured her life. It was like a tapestry hung on a wall – colourful, complex, complete. ‘Oh, yes. I’m very happy. It’s a dream come true for me.’
‘What are you, exactly? I mean, what do people like you get called?’
‘In general terms, we’re archaeologists. But we’re researching the process of hominisation – the evolution of primates into modern humans. So we’re actually paleoanthropologists. We’re paleontologists, too, when we’re working with fossils.’ She smiled again. ‘It’s confusing. The fields of expertise overlap.’
‘I can’t even imagine what it would be like to be so . . . interested . . . in your work. It sounds like you never stop.’ Diana wrinkled her nose.
‘We do work hard,’ Essie confirmed. ‘There’s so much we want to do.’
Diana turned suddenly, to face Essie front on. ‘I hope you know how lucky you are – having a husband you can share everything with. A man that everyone respects so much.’
‘I am lucky,’ Essie agreed. In spite of her complicated relationship with Julia, the isolation of the camp, and the fact of being cut off from all her connections in England, she knew that in her marriage to Ian she possessed something most people only dreamed of. Yet Diana’s life must be enviable, too – in a very different way. Essie looked from the salon-perfect hairdo to the extraordinary dress. ‘But so are you.’
‘Lucky?’ Lifting one hand, Diana studied her red-polished nails. ‘Frank is a nice man,’ she said slowly. ‘But he can’t keep to one woman. Won’t even try.’
She looked back at Essie, her arched brows raised as if she’d asked a question. Essie had no idea how to respond. She knew lots of women had the ability to fall into instant intimacy – sharing troubles and advice with strangers – but she’d never found it easy. And after being at Magadi for the last five years, she felt even more inadequate.
‘I didn’t marry Frank for his money, you know,’ Diana added. ‘I’ve got wealth of my own. I was a Sherman.’
Essie eyed her blankly.
‘Sherman Hotels,’ Diana prompted. ‘They’re rig
ht across America.’
Essie had never heard of the family or their empire. She smiled vaguely. ‘So, which part of America are you from?’ The question seemed a good way to steer the conversation away from Mrs Marlow’s revelations about her husband.
‘Well, I was born and bred in Massachusetts,’ Diana replied. ‘But I haven’t been back there for years. I’m more or less Canadian now. I’ve lived there so long. Anyway, the point is, I chose Frank for who he was, not what he owned. I fell madly in love with him. I didn’t see what I was getting myself into . . .’ She let out a bitter laugh. ‘You know why we had to come here on the wrong day? There’s a film crew staying at the Lodge. We’ve been invited to go and watch them shooting tomorrow. Frank’s very keen. Needless to say, there’s an actress involved.’
By now they were nearing the small tents at the edge of the camp. ‘Ah – here we are.’ Essie spoke lightly, as if Diana had not just shared things that were deeply private. ‘The one on the left is the lavatory. You wash your hands next door.’
‘Thank you,’ Diana said. But instead of keeping on walking, she stood still, gazing about her. ‘I like it here at your camp. It’s so simple. Everything in its place, and nothing extra.’
Essie thought of all the things that were actually not in their place, because they’d been used up or worn out. She knew what Julia would be expecting of her, in this moment when she was alone with Diana Marlow. Rich men could often be influenced by their wives. Essie should be finding a way to bring up the topic of research funds. But she couldn’t afford to lose any more time if she was going to visit the kitchen before delivering her message to Daudi. She pointed back the way they had come.
‘Just rejoin the others afterwards.’
Dragging Tommy behind her, she strode away. When she reached his pen she shoved him inside and closed the door. She found a couple of large rocks nearby to lodge against it. With her flimsy shoes she was unable to kick them into place, so she had to bend over, her skirt draping the ground. She’d just finished the job when she heard a noise. Turning her head, she identified the call of a waterbird. It came again – high and plaintive. Her stomach tightened. It was too loud, too close. As she spun in the direction of the kitchen, the crying continued, winding up like a siren. Kicking off her shoes, she ran towards it, as if the sound was a physical presence that she could somehow stop in its tracks.
FOUR
Essie took two steps into the kitchen, then jerked to a halt. The baby was flailing in Simon’s arms, head flung back, screaming. Close-up, it was hard to believe that so much noise could be fuelled by such small lungs. Baraka was holding a bottle, the teat waving from side to side as he followed the movement of her mouth. Her face and neck were shiny with spilt milk.
‘She woke quietly.’ Simon raised his voice over the noise. ‘When we tried to feed her, she became angry.’
With a look of relief, he pushed the baby towards Essie. A damp towel fell to the ground between them as the weight was transferred to her arms.
Essie held the naked baby against her body, gripping tight, in fear of dropping her. Between screams, there were brief silences while the baby caught her breath. But then the cries erupted again. Essie tried to make calming noises but couldn’t even hear them herself. She could feel panic building, adding to the tension in the small space.
‘Has she drunk any milk at all?’ Essie asked Baraka.
He shook his head.
Closing her eyes for a few seconds, Essie tried to gather herself. She shifted the baby to rest her head against her breast, as Giga had done. But the baby just arched her body away. She was caught up, Essie understood, in a maelstrom of hunger, and perhaps fear of strangers as well. She would never drink until she calmed down. Dimly, Essie remembered how she’d struggled to get Tommy to feed at first. She’d had to wrap him tightly in a large towel to contain his legs, then hold his head still while she dripped milk into his mouth. When he had swallowed enough of it, he finally grasped the function of the bottle.
Hanging from a nail on the wall was an old Maasai shuka – a thin blanket that Baraka used on cool nights when he sat outside by the fire. Essie gestured for him to spread out the red and purple plaid cloth on the table. He faltered. It would be a breach of Julia’s hygiene rules, as Essie well knew. The table was meant for food, nothing else. Even food that wasn’t yet ready to be cooked – still clad in fur, feathers or dusted with earth – was forbidden. But Baraka didn’t object as Simon took over, flinging the blanket onto the scrubbed wooden planks.
The men stood back, watching, as if Essie would know what to do simply because she was a woman, or perhaps a European – she wasn’t sure. Regardless, it gave her an odd sense of confidence. She wrapped the baby briskly, remembering how she’d once handled her dolls. When she was finished, the little body was suddenly still, perhaps purely from surprise. In the quiet, Essie murmured soothingly. She held the swaddled shape against her chest. A bubble of pride formed inside her. She threw a look of triumph at the two men. Then the baby lifted her head and began crying again.
Essie loosened the blanket a little, in case it was too tight. One arm escaped and began batting her face. Fingers brushed the soft skin of her chest where it was exposed by the low-cut dress. As if recognising the sensation, the baby became still again. Essie leaned forward, exposing more of the round swell of her breast. The hand came to rest there – a little black star pressed against creamy skin that had rarely seen the sun. Wide, shiny eyes stared up at her. The contrast between light and dark was repeated there, the near-black irises surrounded by purest white. As Essie smiled down at the baby she noticed silver tear-tracks running back into the fuzz of her hair.
Without being asked, Simon brought a chair and placed it behind her. Slowly, Essie lowered herself onto the seat. Baraka handed her the bottle. She stayed bent over, so as not to dislodge the fingers that were now clutching her breast. Carefully she nudged the teat at the pursed lips.
Essie wondered, suddenly, if she should have questioned Baraka about whether he’d sterilised the bottle and made up the powdered milk half-strength. Had everything been done correctly? Was the milk warm? But she didn’t want to jeopardise the fragile peace. She glanced across to the man. His brow was furrowed with tension as he willed the baby to drink.
‘She needs to taste the milk,’ Essie said. With Tommy, she’d squeezed the teat for him, until he learned what to do.
As if reading her mind, Baraka squatted beside her. Essie felt awkward having him right there, with her dress pulled aside like this. She reminded herself that to a Maasai man, breasts were no different to other parts of the body. Their purpose was feeding the young and there was no need for them to be hidden away like a secret. As Baraka bent close, Essie picked up the smells of his cooking – yeast, cornmeal, honey. He squeezed the teat carefully. A dribble of milk came out, but the baby turned her head away, letting it run onto her cheek. Essie stroked the back of her hand.
‘Come on, little girl. You know you’re hungry.’ Essie fell into the singsong voice she used with Tommy. The way of speaking had felt natural to her from the beginning, even though it irritated Julia and Ian. It was like a language she’d always known.
As Baraka persevered, the baby’s tongue began trying to lap like a kitten. Then her lips closed over the teat. Essie held her breath. But after only a few seconds, the baby spat it out and began crying again.
Essie threw Baraka a desperate look; she didn’t know what to try next.
Baraka squeezed the teat again, dripping milk into the wide-open mouth. After a brief splutter, the baby swallowed. She looked surprised, but then parted her lips, ready for more.
‘Let her drink this way for now,’ Baraka said. ‘She cannot learn everything in one moment.’
The baby gradually settled into a rhythm, swallowing the milk as it pooled on her tongue. She closed her eyes as if the task needed all the concentration she could muster. Essie looked up, sharing a smile with the others. It was a slow pro
cess, but the baby was being fed.
There was a scrape of timber as the door opened. Essie’s jaw clenched as she saw Julia standing there. Her long dress made her seem tall, regal. Her eyes were wide with shock. Essie imagined how the scene must appear to her: her daughter-in-law inexplicably bottle-feeding a baby; her dress askew, the skirt stained with milk; Baraka at her side and Simon hovering nearby.
Julia turned to Baraka. ‘Whose is that? Where’s the mother?’ Her tone was low and calm – this was what happened on the rare occasions when Julia was emotional. The effect was much more daunting than a raised voice.
The cook looked at the baby, saying nothing.
‘I brought her here,’ Essie confessed. She was surprised at the tone of her own voice; she didn’t sound as apologetic as she’d intended. ‘She’s a Hadza. The people asked me to.’
‘Hadza!’ Julia moved closer. Essie saw her eyes travelling over the baby’s head, noting the shape of the skull, the jut of the jaw. ‘You can’t really see it. Maybe she’s too young. What’s the matter? Why is she here?’
‘Her mother died. There’s no one who can feed her.’
Essie decided to lay out all the facts, quickly and simply. She kept her eyes on the ground as she spoke. When she reached the part about her promise to care for the baby until the rainy season, and not to send her away from Magadi, she had to force herself to keep talking. Finally, she was finished. She waited numbly for Julia to react. Since nothing was said, she looked up.
Diana was standing on the threshold, looking over Julia’s shoulder. Her gaze darted from Essie to the baby and back. The sculpted eyebrows were arched with interest.
Questions burned in Julia’s eyes, but she just stared at Essie in silence. Diana eased past her, crossing the small kitchen to stand next to the chair. She bent over from the waist, flat-backed and elegant, like a ballerina. A cloud of strong perfume came with her. Like the lipstick, it must have been freshly reapplied. Essie had a flash memory of being in Harrods, spraying fragrances in long rows up both of her arms, while she waited for an interminable shopping excursion to be over.
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