by Katie Crouch
With the worst of it over now, the group let the dusty wind roar over them in the grateful, horrified silence of people who have just witnessed something awful yet spectacular.
“Well,” Persephone said after a few long seconds. “That would be our rhinoceros.”
Amanda still couldn’t speak.
“Why the hell did he charge like that?” Adam asked.
“Because he’s a wild animal,” Mila said. Her tone was polite, but Amanda saw her cut her eyes at him. “And he didn’t like the sound of your camera. Did you not hear Hector’s direction to remain silent?”
“Sorry,” Adam said. “I just got … excited.” He turned to Persephone. “The good thing, babe, is that I got some great shots.”
They got back to the castle at six. Eager to get home before dark, Adam promptly kissed Persephone and left. As soon as his car was out of sight, Persephone accepted a large gin and tonic from Hector, who hugged them all.
“Very lucky today!” he boomed before disappearing into the garage.
“Your husband is very attractive, and I certainly am enjoying working with him on the transportation safety campaign,” Mila said. “But perhaps he’s not the wisest around animals.”
“True,” Persephone said. “But then, who among us has ever been charged by a five thousand-pound animal before?”
Amanda glanced back and forth between the two women. They were trying, but it was clear enough that they’d never be the best of friends.
“Well, we’d better get going if we’re going to set up our camp,” she offered.
“You’re still going to do this?” Mila asked.
“Of course,” Persephone sniffed. “We came all the way out here. We have work to do.”
“Yes,” Mila said. “What’s this club called again?”
“It’s a nonprofit or-ga-ni-zay-tion,” Persephone said. “And it’s called Tusk. No. Sorry—Tusk!”
“Shall I lead you back to the spot?” Hector asked, reappearing.
“No,” Persephone said. “That’s okay. Thank you. I have a GPS, and I remember the way. Just give me a minute.” She went outside and disappeared into the camper, then reemerged wearing a khaki cargo miniskirt, a white tank top belted with a leather belt, and silver earrings shaped like rhino tusks.
“Nice touch,” Amanda said.
“So happy I happened to pack them. But only because of my Instagram duties,” Persephone said modestly.
“Let me just find Meg to say good night.”
She went back inside the cool, dark house, wandering around the maze of rooms. She could hear the low, musical voices of the staff in the kitchen, punctuated by the hysterical laughter of nine-year-olds coming from above. Upon climbing the stone stairs that curled like a shaving of wood, she found Meg in Taimi’s cavernous bedchamber. The girls were lying on the floor, listening to African pop and staring at a CD cover.
“So, you’ll be all right?” Amanda asked. Both girls startled and sat up.
“Yup!” Meg said so brightly Amanda felt her heart flip with happiness. “I’ve never slept in a castle.”
“Well, you know where I am if you need me.”
“Oh, she cannot reach you out in the bush, Mrs. Evans,” Taimi said. “Though if there is an emergency, such as a fire or an invasion, she will be quite safe with Hector.”
“Invasion?”
Taimi nodded. “Oh yes. There have been many farmers murdered recently. Poor farmers, I mean. Mostly by disgruntled workers. But my father has top security. Also, we are not white. Usually they only kill white farmers.” She smiled.
“I’m white!” Meg said.
“That’s all right,” Taimi said soothingly. “We like you anyway.”
“Have fun, Mom. Don’t worry, we’ll be fine.”
Reluctantly, Amanda went back downstairs. Then, after accepting wishes of good luck and a bit more gin from Mila, she followed Persephone to the truck and they pulled out, heading back down the road toward the rhino spot.
She was the sort of tired that only seemed to happen in Africa: the get-up-before-dawn, spend-hours-lurching-around-in-a-jeep, put-your-life-in-danger kind of tired. The sun was going down, and already the bush was coming alive with the noises of night animals: the chirpy purrs of mongooses, the lonely yowls of genets, the scratching mating sounds of millions of unidentified waiting insects.
“I’m going to suggest we don’t get right on top of him this time,” Persephone said. “I saw a really good spot right around, let’s see … 22.2566 degrees south, 15.4068 degrees east.” She steered the camper through the trees. Mila’s property really was otherwordly; the border mountains stood green-gold and deceptively lush in the evening shadows, while the heat that remained shimmered voluptuously on the red floor of the valley. Silver impalas, stick-thin and quivering, darted back and forth between the trees; above, hornbills, weavers, and starlings flew in frenetic patterns in a fierce fight for their suppers of long-legged insects, newly visible in the cooling sand.
When her friend turned off the camper with a percussive per-chunk, Amanda saw that she had indeed found the perfect location: a large, flat rock covered by a thicket of tall, shady trees, about a mile from where Adam had taken his witless picture. The two women ambled out of the vehicle and started unpacking. The sun was now a gentle-looking orange ball sinking sleepily toward the horizon; on the veld, the wind was beginning to pick up. Even Amanda, with her ambivalence toward Namibia, wasn’t immune to the cool, dry desert breeze as it brushed her cheeks and arms and made a soft rushing sound through the grass and trees.
The truck had so many gadgets attached to it, it was impossible not to get a little excited. Persephone popped the roof tent and made the beds, while Amanda set up the camping table, chairs, and unpacked the food. Persephone was serious about glamping: the sheets were sun-dried, ironed cotton (“Frida doesn’t mind too much”), the comforters goose down, the tablecloth white linen. She insisted on setting the table with silver, china plates, and candles. Hors d’oeuvres included kudu prosciutto, deviled eggs with truffle oil, Manchego cheese, and quince paste.
“Are you going to propose to me or something?” Amanda asked, looking at the table.
“Even Doni Oppenheimer would be proud,” Persephone said, beaming.
Amanda snapped photos of everything, posting them onto the brand-new Tusk! Instagram site. After a while the two women settled into their camping chairs with their cocktails. They’d done the best they could with the food, but the table was still covered with half-full plates.
The only sounds were the crickets, the wind, and the clinking of ice. The stars were beginning to pop out of the inky sky, and it was tacitly agreed that the two new friends would now get very drunk.
“Is this what life without Mark will be like?” Amanda asked, looking up.
“Why will there be life after Schmark?”
“There wouldn’t be,” Amanda said. “There won’t be.”
“Only that’s a strange thing to bring up,” Persephone said, wagging her finger at Amanda.
“What?”
“Life without Mark.” She leaned back, stretching out her legs. “What’s going on with that?”
Amanda shrugged, swirling the ice in her drink. The watery gin was slightly red with dust. “Nothing.”
“Nope.” Persephone shook her head forcefully. “Not nothing.”
“Well.” Amanda took her time, knowing this was something she had to admit to herself. “He’s … changed since I first knew him.”
“Why?” Persephone withdrew her marshmallow from the fire. It was perfectly toasted, brown but not burned. She spread it delicately on her graham cracker. “What was he like when you first knew him?”
“He was my rowing coach.” She frowned as her own marshmallow combusted into flames. “We all worshipped him. He could do no wrong.”
“And now he does wrong?”
“I don’t know. In the last few years it’s like he’s gotten lost or something. He was so i
nto his PhD at first, and now I swear I wonder if he’s working on it at all.”
“Maybe you’ve changed,” Persephone said between tidy bites. “Here. I’ll toast one for you. Put that down.” Amanda tossed her marshmallow gadget to the ground. “I mean, you got that big job in Silicon Valley. Maybe it makes him feel in-at-quite … inquiet…”
“Inadequate.”
“Exactly.”
“Mark does say I’m too controlling,” Amanda said. “Do you think so? That I’m controlling?”
“All mothers are controlling,” Persephone said crossly, spearing the pillowed sugar. “The good ones, anyway. If we weren’t, everything would slip into chaos.”
“I guess.” Needing more gin, Amanda got up—no small task after drinking in a low camping chair for the better part of an hour. She winced as her knees cracked.
“And speaking of chaos!” Persephone said, accepting Amanda’s pour, “I was about to kill Adam today. Idiot! There’s a wild rhino twenty feet away! None of us are breathing! Now is not the time to click your camera!”
“Well…” She agreed with Persephone, but she would never say so. Nothing good ever came of co-bashing a friend’s husband.
“And can I vent, darling?”
“Vent.” She took a long swallow. Who invented gin? It was so delicious.
“Do you know what he says during sex? The worst things. I’m going to f you in the c. I’m going to put my c in your a. Oh, baby, let me f your d.”
“Your d?”
“Of course, I did find out something today that makes him a bit sexier.” She leaned toward Amanda, as if there were anyone other than bugs and rhinos to hear her. “More than a bit. I’m not supposed to say anything, but—”
Suddenly, from far off, there was a sound that didn’t fit in.
“Oh my God,” Persephone said. “You don’t think—”
“The rhino? No. I read they wouldn’t charge unless they felt threatened because we approached. Like today. This is … hang on.” Amanda wrestled herself out of the camping chair again. “No. It’s an engine.”
“Poachers?”
“I don’t … Shit. Okay—let’s tap into those riflery skills you were bragging about.”
Persephone rose and put her hands on her hips to listen. “I would, darling. If I had actually brought a gun.”
“You packed capers and paprika, and no gun?”
The sound was getting closer now; it was most certainly an engine. It seemed to be stopping now and then, as if hunting for something.
“Let me just turn on the headlights,” Amanda said. “You know, to scare them off.”
She climbed into the seat and turned on the camper. Immediately the sound of the other car grew steadier and louder. There was no question. The truck was coming straight for them.
“Persephone,” she said, trying and failing to sound calm. “Come hide with me behind these rocks.”
“Oh, what a bother,” Persephone said. “And we were having such a good time.” She paused. “Do you think they’ll kill us? Or just plunder?” She staggered a bit. “I’m very drunk.”
“Shhhh. Come on. Pretend you’re at … pretend you’re at your father’s farm.”
“My father breeds alpacas as a hobby,” Persephone said. They climbed between the boulders into the bush, flattening down several yards away from the camp. “And we have a small polo field.”
“Just lie down.”
“Ants,” Persephone said. “Bitey ones.”
“Shhhh.”
They watched, breathless, as the blaring headlights of a truck approached their camp. The vehicle choked to a stop, and two people hopped out, both holding huge flashlights that beamed left and right.
“They found us,” Persephone whispered. “I’ll flank left and distract them. You run to their jeep and see if the keys are in the ignition. If they are, drive like hell. Don’t worry. I’ll get away.”
“Who are you, Rambo?” Amanda hissed. “Just stay here.” But Persephone had already scuttled into the darkness. Amanda crouched behind the rock, her knees aching. Damn it, Persephone. She couldn’t steal a vehicle. What if they had guns?
“Amanda?” a voice called through the darkness. Relief flooded through her, warming her limbs. She jumped up, brushing off the dirt and insects.
“Mila!”
“What are you doing?” Mila exclaimed. “Why are you back there?” Far off, there was a swishing in the bushes. “I believe the rhino is right over there. Hector, investigate?”
“It’s not,” Amanda said. “It’s Persephone, trying to distract you so I can make a run for it.”
“What?” Mila shook her head. “What is wrong with you ladies?” She put her hands on her hips, calling out toward the kopje. “Persephone Wilder! Come out from there! Leopards prowl on the rocks at night!”
“I know that,” Persephone scoffed, emerging from the trees and brushing her white clothes off with indignance. “What were you doing, ambushing us like that?”
“Hector forgot to give you the radio. Just in case.” Mila shook her head.
“You absolutely terrified us.” Persephone made a show of stomping to the bar table. “I now have ant bites on my cheeks.”
“Sorry, sorry,” Mila said. “Are you fine?” She looked at the table and the almost-empty bottle of Gordon’s. “Oh. You are.”
“Join us?” Amanda said.
“I’ll just take a ride around the perimeter,” Hector said, taking a camping chair out of the back of the truck and setting it down for Mila by the fire. Before she settled into it, he covered it with a blanket. “I’ll be back now-now.”
The women watched the cloud of dust dissipate as he drove away. Persephone was still silent, drunkenly fuming. She got up to make Mila a gin and tonic.
“Squeeze the lemon in first,” Mila commanded. “Over the ice. Then the tonic, then the gin. Stir it for ten seconds exactly.”
“The woman knows what she wants.” She made the drink to Mila’s specifications and another, sloppier one for herself.
“What were you ladies discussing, then, before we drove up?” Mila said, accepting the drink with a nod of thanks.
“Sex,” Persephone said, tipping her chin into the air; in response, Mila threw her head back, even more haughtily.
These women are going to need chiropractors if they don’t become friends soon, Amanda thought.
“Well, then, how did you meet Adam?” Mila asked finally. “You seem very well matched.”
“I don’t know what that means. But … college. He asked me to a fraternity formal.” She sipped her drink. The day’s extreme heat had now torn itself away, replaced by the heavy, cold air high above. It fell upon them quickly, cruel and damp as a wet blanket. Amanda moved as close as she could to the fire without burning herself.
Mila swiveled her head toward Amanda. Her cheekbones reflected the glow of the firelight. “How did you meet your husband, Amanda?” she asked.
Amanda dragged her hand through her own short brown hair, pulling out bits of leaves from her escape into the bush. “He was my coach. In college.”
“I see.”
“And you and Josephat?”
“I met him where I worked. At the Oshakati Country Hotel. Josephat was a customer of mine.”
“Hey,” Amanda said. “You know, my husband used to live in Oshakati.”
“Is it?” Mila said. “Why?”
“He was a Peace Corps volunteer,” Amanda said. “He worked at a health center. Not as a doctor, but as an assistant.”
“When was that again?” Persephone asked.
“The late nineties,” Amanda said. “In ’94 maybe? No—1997.”
“Such a long time ago,” Persephone said to no one. “I’m younger than everyone else here, I guess! I was still in college.”
Mila was looking at her glass as if there was something strange in it. Nearby, two unidentified small creatures made ecstatic shrieks as they mated in a tree.
“But it’s
a big town, right? I doubt he hung out at the Oshakati Country Hotel with the SWAPO bigwigs,” Amanda said.
“Yes, that doesn’t sound correct, that he would,” Mila said.
“He loves it here, though,” Amanda went on. “He talks about those two years all the time. I met him a couple of years after that.” She took a long sip and sucked on the ice. “Oh, and you know what else? This is so weird. He says people there didn’t even call him Mark back then. They just called him ‘meneer.’ Colonization is so fucked up.” She looked at her empty glass as if there were a surprise at the bottom. “I need to go to bed.”
Persephone, whose eyelids were fluttering, agreed. From down the path, they heard the growing roar of Hector’s engine.
“Ah. There is my ride.” Mila stood up quickly. “I believe you are safe now. No poachers, no rhinos.”
“Thanks, Mila. We’ll see you in the morning?” Amanda asked.
But Mila Shilongo had already disappeared into the bush.
Winter
Ovengi ve puka nu kave karara.
Many people get lost but do not sleep in the forest.
—Herero proverb
/ 19 /
There was something happening in the shepherd’s tree. Amanda was in the kitchen, checking the Tusk! Instagram page, which was going through a large uptick of activity. She and Persephone had posted daily photos of Mila’s rhino, whom they’d affectionately started calling Mr. Sharp, for no particular reason. Adam had taken quite a lot of pictures, after causing all that trouble, so there were enough angles to make it seem as if they were all exciting new shots. Persephone had even gone so far as having one of her UVA sorority sisters—now a style editor at The Washington Post—write a tiny profile of Tusk!, complete with shots of Mr. Sharp and Persephone looking uncharacteristically pensive on the game drive.
Yet the Post feature didn’t appear to be the cause of the uptick. Persephone’s profile had brought on a few hundred followers, certainly, but it was the addition of the tag #rhinopoaching that seemed to have pushed them into the thousands. Amanda tried to discern a pattern among the followers in order to target others, but the demographic was all over the place. Tusk! followers were from Europe, Asia, the United States, and a very few from Africa itself. And then there was a large subset who didn’t identify their nationality and represented themselves with photos of stuffed animals.
