2 Game Drive

by Marie Moore

  She bowed and everyone clapped.

  “Now Winsome will distribute your keys,” she concluded, smiling once more, “and your escorts will take you to your rooms. Mr. Wilson, Miss Marsh, you will be sharing Hut No. 1. Please follow Felix. Your luggage has already been delivered.” She continued down the list, assigning huts to our fellow group members.

  When she finished, everyone moved to collect the hand luggage. Jay and I followed yet another beefy giant in a tan, safari lodge uniform down a winding dusty path toward a small mud-covered, thatched hut on the bank of a narrow, dry riverbed.

  “This seems pretty grim, Sidney,” Jay whispered as we followed Felix down the dusty path through the scrub. “Not exactly what I was expecting. I think we’re screwed. I mean, the pavilion was nice enough, and the drinks were good, but that hut up ahead there is the pits. Just look at it. It’s authentic, all right. I think that’s real dung on the walls. And I thought we would at least have our own rooms.”

  “Hush. He’ll hear you. Silverstein signed us up together. It’s not the first time we’ve shared a room. Get with the program, Jay. Where is your spirit of adventure? This is the African bush. What were you expecting, Vegas?”

  Jay made a silent but meaningful gesture that Felix did not see. A little over halfway down, the path branched, with the right fork leading to Hut No. 1 and the left leading to Hut No. 2. Small, rustic signposts pointed the way.

  Felix unlocked the door of hut No. 1 for us, then headed quietly back up the path toward the pavilion, vanishing from sight among the thorn bushes.

  Chapter 9

  Hut No. 1 was fabulous.

  Jay and I were both stunned. The round, thatched, mud-daub building sure hadn’t looked like much from the dirt path outside. Its simplicity had deceived us.

  “Nice,” Jay said, taking it all in. “I was so wrong. This is really, really nice.”

  A pair of queen-size, hand-carved wooden four-poster beds with luxurious linens, each draped in gauzy white mosquito netting, dominated the spacious room. The beds faced a sliding glass wall that opened onto a small deck overlooking the river.

  Heavy, wooden floor-to-ceiling louvered panels were fitted into a track to slide closed over the glass wall as needed. The wooden panels were also equipped with locks so that the glass wall could be safely left open with the shutters closed. That feature allowed the wind and the sounds of the birds and animals to flow in through the louvers.

  Ceiling fans turned lazily, stirring the fragrance of flowers that had been placed in low vases all around the room. The floors were of gleaming dark wood accented with bright, handwoven rugs.

  The big bathroom also had sliding glass walls on the river side, a stone floor, and an enormous Jacuzzi tub. There were stacks of thick towels, jars of designer bath salts, soaps and lotions, and terrycloth robes. A separate glass shower had its own dressing room, which opened on an outdoor shower enclosed by a tall bamboo fence.

  “This bathroom might be bigger than your apartment in New York, Sidney. And check this out, babe, even the throne-room can be open-air.”

  He slid the shutters and glass wall aside to expose the toilet to the open air.

  “Thanks, but no thanks, Jay. I’ll be keeping that door closed and locked for sure.”

  Back in the main room, on the left side of the entryway, a cooler in the wet bar held crystal wine glasses and bottles of South African wine. Near it was a woven basket of cheese, crackers, and fruit.

  Jay grabbed a bottle and a corkscrew, while I peered into drawers and cupboards. Our bags had been unpacked and our clothes put away in massive wardrobes of carved wood. The primitive yet intricate carvings depicted abstract animals, trees, and birds. We admired the matching carvings on the four posts, headboards and footboards of the beds.

  “Don’t even start,” I said to Jay, reading his mind. “You could never get any of it home to your apartment. Too big, too heavy.”

  “Yeah, I know it,” he sighed, “but it would be really fabulous, wouldn’t it?”

  The sliding glass walls on the river side opened to a small deck with lounge chairs and a hammock.

  “Now THIS is more like it!” Jay said, pouring us each a glass of wine. “I like this. I like this a lot. This is more my style.”

  He opened the sliding glass wall and stepped out onto the little deck overlooking the edge of the riverbed.

  “Oh, poop. Sidney, look at this. Looks like Hut No. 1 had visitors last night.”

  I joined him on the deck and followed his gaze to a pair of uprooted saplings, some broken branches, a tree with stripped bark and lots of enormous brown balls of elephant dung, obviously fresh. Jay took a photo.

  “This dry riverbed looks like a main path for a lot of animals,” I said. As if to prove my point, a big, male eland appeared around the bend. He stopped when he saw us, head up, sniffing the wind. After deciding we were harmless, he continued on past, breaking into a run when he was just below our deck. Neither Jay nor I was quick enough to catch it on camera, though, so stunned were we by its appearance.

  After it passed, I noticed that the sandy riverbed was covered with spoor—poop and tracks of wild animals—and a few human footprints.

  We heard a tap just then at the main door. When I opened it, the small, lovely key-woman entered, bringing flashlights and a battery-powered lantern.

  “Hello,” she said. “I am Winsome, remember me? I am the night maid. Welcome to Leopard Dance. These lights are for your use if you should need them. Here in the bush, the power often fails. There are also lots of candles and matches just here, in this cupboard. But you must be very, very careful if you light candles. Never leave candles burning when you are not in the room or when you are sleeping, yes? Fire is a great danger for all of us. We are all afraid of fire.” She gestured toward the thatched roof, as if to emphasize her point.

  After placing the lantern on the shelf, she pointed to a cord just to the right of the door.“Ring this bell—this one, here by the door—if you need anything or to summon the guard. We want you to be very, very comfortable here. If there is anything at all that you need or want, you have only to ask. Is there anything else that I can bring you before I say good evening?”

  We had no requests or questions, so we thanked her and she smiled and bowed her way out as I closed and locked the door.

  “Want the first shower?” Jay called from the bathroom, though clearly he really did. He was already unbuttoning his shirt.

  “No, thanks, it’s okay, you go first. I’m fine.”

  I knew that he needed more time than I did to get dressed. Jay had been planning his safari ensemble for days and he needed ample time to fine-tune it. I just wanted a quick bath and a fresh change of clothes.

  I refilled my glass and stretched out in the hammock on the back deck to wait my turn. Just as I settled in, I heard a branch break and turned toward the sound in time to see Dennis walking steadily along the dry riverbed below, headed away from the camp.

  Now where could he be going? I thought. The shadows were lengthening, sunset was not far away. But he didn’t see me folded in my hammock, and I sure didn’t call out to him. In another minute he was around the bend and out of sight.

  “Sidney, it’s your turn,” Jay called.

  I stepped back into the room and got my first glimpse of Jay in full African Queen garb. He clearly thought he was channeling Bogart, or maybe Bacall. He kept turning in front of the mirror, admiring himself, making minor adjustments here and there.

  He was clad entirely in khaki, wearing canvas pants and a shirt with a lot of pockets topped by a photo vest. Expensive leather boots and a safari hat pinned up on one side with a feather completed the ensemble. A tooth or claw or something hung from a leather cord around his neck inside his half-open shirt. The only thing missing was a knife at his belt, but I guess maybe he couldn’t bring that on the plane.

  “Drum roll, please,” he said, striking a pose. “Well, what do you think? Looking good? Looking great?
”

  “Looking great, Jay. Really great. Is that your molar hanging around your neck?”

  He didn’t bother to answer that, just grabbed his camera and binoculars and marched out, saying, “I’m going to check out the spa. Come when the bell rings, smartass, or you’ll be left.”

  * * *

  I stayed way too long in that amazingly deep bathtub, so I barely had time to pull on some jeans, a T-shirt, and a pullover when the bell rang. Not wanting to be left, I ran down the path to the jeeps.

  Jay, still in a huff over my lack of appreciation for his outfit, had not saved me a seat, but bless his heart, George had. I climbed into the Land Rover, and in a few moments, we were off on our first game drive.

  Chapter 10

  The dark-green Land Rovers rolled out from the safari lodge in single file, each with a driver/guide and a game spotter riding on a seat mounted on the front fender. The two men worked as an efficient team, communicating almost silently to follow or find animals. It is amazing, really, the animals that an experienced spotter can see in the deep camouflage of the bush.

  Some of the group, including Chase, had chosen to stay behind at the pool and the bar. I couldn’t imagine that. I mean, why even come? I didn’t want to miss one single moment of a game drive.

  As the great orange ball of sun began to sink, the temperature dipped as well, and we huddled beneath green wool blankets. The cold air rushed through the open vehicles as we sped along the road, making conversation difficult, if not impossible.

  Jay had taken the seat behind the driver, next to Rich. I was in the next row with George, and Connie and Fernando were behind us. The lead jeep, just in front of us, held David, Wendy and Tilda Smithwick, Rose Abrams, and Mabel whatever from Iowa. I still didn’t know her last name. I only knew that she was trouble and should be avoided whenever possible.

  Mabel could have been the model for a cartoon drawing of an old maid schoolteacher, with her stringy reddish-brown straight hair, little squinty eyes behind sixties-era wire-rims, a long thin nose, thin lips, and a permanently righteous expression. Pinched-up. That’s what they would call her back home. She had been assigned to room with Rose Abrams for the trip, and it was clear that the pairing was not a success. Rose, a short, plump, pleasant woman with dark curly hair and a warm smile, sat as far from Mabel as she could on the leather seat.

  The last vehicle held five strangers, all of whom I had not yet met, and Irene, Connie’s roommate, who was French or maybe North African, and very chic. She was not a travel agent and was at the lodge on vacation from her job with some international company. I didn’t know if the others were late-arriving travel agents or regular paying guests of the lodge like Irene.

  The safari vehicles began to spread out from one another. The one in front of us turned off to the right, down a grassy track, while we continued on the main track.

  I realized then that I had not seen Dennis, who was George’s roommate, in any of the vehicles.

  “Where’s Dennis?” I shouted.

  “I don’t know,” George yelled back. “I didn’t stay any longer than I had to in the room. When I left he was lying on his bed, reading a newspaper. The front page had banner headlines identifying that dead guy they found in the hotel garden.”

  I had to wait a few minutes until we slowed down a bit to ask more. Finally I could speak without shouting. “Who was it?”

  “Who?”

  “The dead guy.”

  “Oh, I forgot the name. No one you’d know. He had a criminal record, was mixed up in a lot of bad stuff, smuggling, drugs, I don’t know. Bad stuff.”

  “Did he die of natural causes or was he killed?”

  “Killed. Stabbed. But no arrest has been made. If they have any suspects, they’re not releasing that information. The story said the investigation is ongoing.”

  My thoughts went back to that night, not for the first time. In my mind’s eye, I smelled the fragrant flowers, heard again the rustle of the wind through the trees. Had I heard anything else, anyone else? Who were those men I had seen?

  I remembered then, with a start, that the man I had met at Table Mountain had not contacted me before we left Cape Town. I wondered if he would. Or if he could. The front desk at our Waterfront hotel knew our destination and the contact information. Did they ever give that information out? We would be returning to the same hotel after the safari. Maybe I would hear from him then. Unless he was somehow involved in the murder and being questioned.

  “George, I’d like to see that article Where did Dennis get the newspaper?”

  “I don’t know. He was reading it when I came into the room. It might still be there.”

  “Why didn’t Dennis come with us on the game drive? Was he afraid, like Chase?”

  “I don’t think so. He said he was coming when he returned to the hut with the newspaper. But then he changed his mind, said he wasn’t feeling well. He had a headache and was going to skip the evening game drive and grab a nap. He hoped to sleep until dinner.”

  That’s odd, I thought. He wasn’t sleeping when I last saw him. He was marching down the riverbed as if he was in a hurry.

  “Look, y’all, oh, look!” Connie shrieked, “There’s an elephant.”

  Vincent, the driver, motioned for silence, turned off the engine, and rolled to a stop in the middle of the dirt road. It was blocked by a clearly unhappy bull elephant that stood about seventy-five feet in front of us, silhouetted against the setting sun, flapping his ears.

  “He is angry,” Vincent said in a low voice. “He thinks the road is his. We will wait. We will watch. Be very quiet.”

  The elephant spread his ears wide, held his head high, and made a false charge toward us. Then he stopped, shaking those big ears.

  “As far as I’m concerned, he can have this road,” George said in a nervous whisper. “The road is his. It’s his road. He was here first. Back up, Vincent, and let him have it.”

  Vincent motioned for George to be still. “He will not harm us unless we challenge him. He knows our vehicles. As long as we respect him, there is no problem. He knows we are not hunters. There is little the elephant fears except hunters.”

  “Well, what about lions?” Connie asked. “Isn’t he afraid of lions?”

  “No. Because they are so big, the adult elephant has no enemies other than people. Lions only attack young calves, or the sick or lame. Never a healthy adult like this one. He is not afraid of the lion. The lion fears him.”

  After what seemed like forever—but was in actuality probably only five minutes or so—the big beast lost interest in us. He left the road, flapping those big ears and heading off to the right into the bush. Only the setting sun, firing the horizon as it turned the sky orange and rose and crimson, was visible at the end of the road.

  Everyone started talking at once, excited about the elephant, excited about the pictures they had taken. The thrill of actually seeing an elephant so near—not confined in a cage or an enclosure but moving freely about—was unforgettable.

  Vincent started the engine and gunned it down the path. “We must hurry now. The sun is setting. We are late.”

  Jay turned around in his seat, apparently no longer mad at me for not appreciating his wardrobe.

  “I’ll bet he has to get us all out of the reserve before dark and that’s just fine. I like that. Dumbo’s daddy scared the hell out of me.”

  Just as Jay spoke, Vincent made a sharp right off the road and into the bush.

  “Not home,” George said. “Detour.”

  We lurched over a rock and up onto a faint trek. Thorn bushes scraped the sides of the vehicle.

  “Hold on,” Vincent said. “Watch your arms. Keep them inside.”

  Just ahead in the gathering dusk, we saw the other Rovers parked. Their passengers milled around a folding table that had been set up as a bar.

  “Nice,” Fernando said behind me. “Sundowners.”

  “What are Sundowners?” I asked.

  “
Drinks. Wine, cocktails, served al fresco in the South African bush. A lovely tradition.”

  “You have got to be kidding,” Jay said, twisting around in his seat. “They want us to get out of the car, when it’s getting dark, with a bunch of wild animals all around? That’s nuts. Risk my life for a little glass of cheap wine? No way.”

  The others climbed down, joined the rest of the group, and ordered drinks. Jay didn’t move and neither did I.

  “Jay. It’s okay. They wouldn’t do this if it weren’t safe.”

  “Sidney, I’m trying really hard to be a good sport about all this but when I signed on for the trip, nobody said anything about walking around at night in the open in a game park. That elephant was bad enough, but at least I was in a car that could drive away. Now they want me to get out of the car and stroll around like a target. That can’t be safe. That’s not my idea of fun. And you know how I feel about wild animals. I think they’re beautiful. I have photographs of them and I use animal print fabric in my apartment. But I don’t like close contact. You know that. Not happening, Sidney. No way.”

  “I know. It’s fine. Do what you want. Don’t worry about it. If you don’t feel comfortable, just stay in the Rover, but I’m going ahead with the others. Here, keep my binoculars. You might spot something while we’re gone.”

  I gave him a pat, climbed down, and started for the party, feeling sorry for him. I hated that he was missing such a unique and fabulous experience because of his fears.

  I am a country girl, from a little town in the Deep South. I played outside all the time as a child, learning the ways of the woods. My grandfather had a farm, and many of my relatives were hunters and fishermen. We all rode horses at an early age, and everyone had lots of dogs and cats. I grew up interacting with animals, only mine were not so exotic. I respect wild animals. I realize what they can do, but I am not petrified of them the way Jay is.