Essie heard the frustration in his voice, backed by a fascination with something that made no sense.
‘When I was in Berlin,’ Carl continued, ‘I read an entry in Stein’s journal. He collected ethnographic information from the Maasai. They told him that flamingos always know when the volcano is going to erupt. Lengai gives them a warning. They fly away.’
‘Could it be true?’ Essie asked. She knew it was not uncommon for traditional beliefs to be grounded in facts that were supported by scientific evidence. Uneducated people interpreted natural occurrences in their own way. Their conclusions might involve magical thinking but they originated from firsthand observation, which was the basic tool of the scientist. The quest for traditional knowledge such as what Stein had recorded – information that might spur modern research – was one of the reasons the Hadza were of such interest to Europeans. They were seen as primitive on the one hand, but a repository of unique understandings on the other.
‘It is a known phenomenon,’ Carl confirmed. ‘Zookeepers, farmers, amateur birdwatchers – they’ve all collected evidence of it. So have plenty of researchers. It’s to do with birds and animals – even insects – being able to pick up sonic signals. And changes in air pressure and magnetic fields. They can detect the P waves that precede the main events – whether eruptions or earthquakes. They use the same senses that help them navigate. When there is a disturbance, birds can start behaving erratically – even crashing into trees. Animals will flee from an area under threat. Pets escape from backyards and go missing. Snakes leave their burrows for open ground. Ants even evacuate from their mounds.’
Essie thought of the changing faces of the volcano – how plumes of smoke came and went, and wisps of steam spilled from different locations. She had become so used to watching the fluctuating activity, it was hard to imagine that one day it would actually build into an eruption. She accepted Ian and Julia’s reassurances that even if it did, there would be no danger to the Lawrences or their staff, or the people in the manyatta. Since records began there had been eight eruptions. The last event had been sixteen years ago. Ian had just returned to Magadi after finishing his degree in England. His parents hadn’t even evacuated the camp. Ol Doinyo looked close, its pyramid shape dominating the horizon – but really, it was quite a long way away from the Archaeological Reserve. The area would only be threatened if there were heavy rains at the same time as a powerful eruption. Then there could be a deluge of ash and debris, washing down the slopes. But even if that happened, the most likely place to be engulfed was the Steps. As a precaution against this, plaster casts had been made of the footprints and transported to the museum in Dar es Salaam. Fortunately, in 1954 there had been no anxiety about the Steps site. The eruption had been during the dry season – the same time of year as it was now.
Essie shifted her thoughts to the lake. She didn’t see how it could be affected by the volcano. Lava would have to flow from the summit all the way past the foothills to the shoreline.
‘How could an eruption harm the flamingos?’ she asked Carl.
‘There could be temperature fluctuations that would result in less algae,’ he replied. ‘There’s a period when the chicks are very vulnerable. They’ve left the island to feed along the shore but can’t yet fly. They need to develop fast.’ He looked thoughtful, one hand rubbing absently at his chin. ‘There might be other reasons, too. Disturbances that we aren’t even aware of.’
Carl fell quiet. He stared at the kettle, steaming on the stove. After a time, he turned back to Essie. ‘This predictive behaviour we’re talking about – it happens over hours, or days at the most. But it looks to me as if these flamingos decided not to breed weeks ago – when they didn’t begin courting. If they’re leaving now, because of an impending eruption, the volcanic activity should already have begun.’ He raked his hands through his hair, then left them poised on the back of his head. ‘There has to be another reason.’ His tone still conveyed frustration and disappointment, but there was intrigue as well. ‘I have no idea what it could be.’
As she listened, Essie became aware of Mara squirming in her arms. She realised she was holding on to her too tightly. She forced herself to relax. Taking a seat on one of the chairs, she focused on watching Carl as he set out the mugs, turned off the stove and opened the canister of tea.
‘No milk, I’m afraid,’ he said. ‘I packed up my supplies to drop off at the manyatta. The kids will have fun with it all.’ He grinned at Essie. ‘Weird white man food.’
Essie smiled back, nodding. She could picture just how the adults would pretend to view the items – tinned fish, dried vegetables, powdered milk, mustard – with disdain, and yet be unable to conceal their interest.
‘I’ll ask about the birds while I’m there,’ Carl added. ‘See what they think.’
Essie felt another pang of loss; if he did learn something from the Maasai, she would never know about it, unless she enquired at the manyatta herself. From this point onwards, her and Carl’s paths would diverge. Who could say where their journeys would lead them; whether they would ever meet up again.
Carl pulled up the second chair and sat down. For a while they were both quiet. Then he stirred the teapot and began to pour.
‘So, after the manyatta – what then? How will you know where to go?’ Essie asked him.
‘I’ll put out a radio bulletin. People will call in with reports. Tens of thousands of birds can hardly go unnoticed! I’ll find them soon enough. Then I just have to wait and see if they decide it’s still worth trying to breed.’
‘What if they don’t?’
He pressed his lips together. Essie watched him struggle with the loss that he might face – and then find a way to move on. ‘I’ll have to look around for another commission.’ He smiled suddenly. ‘Or take a holiday, maybe. Somewhere new, where I’ve never been before.’
‘Where would you go? If you could just choose?’ Essie asked.
‘I’ve always wanted to go to Kashmir and see the saffron flowering, and float around the lake in a houseboat.’
Essie felt a stir of excitement, almost as if the trip he described was one that could include her. ‘What else?’
‘I want to see the glaciers in Iceland.’
‘How about sailing in a dhow on the Nile?’ Essie suggested. It was a game, drawing them both in.
‘Why not off the Swahili coast? That’s closer. Let’s say somewhere near Mombasa?’
The sharing of destinations and experiences flowed back and forth. Then suddenly, Essie had nothing more to say. The reality of what the coming months would bring broke over her like an icy wave. She would remain here, at Magadi. She’d be working with Simon, and taking care of Mara. The dry season would stretch out ahead of her – but not for long enough. Too soon, it would be time to start making practical preparations for Nandamara’s return. The first step was to gradually withdraw some of the luxuries to which the baby had become accustomed. Simon had pointed out that Mara would have to get used to sleeping on hard ground, with the other members of her family. She could not expect to have an array of toys, or to be wrapped in soft, freshly laundered blankets. Essie was dreading witnessing the signs of discomfort, the looks of confusion, perhaps even fear. She would have to be cruel in order to be kind, and Mara would have no idea what was going on.
Essie stared down at the floor. When she spoke, it was in a half whisper. ‘I wish you could still be here – when they come to take her.’
These were the wrong words, she knew. It wasn’t a matter of the Hadza taking Mara away. It was up to Essie to give her back – freely, gladly – to her family, where she belonged. But even now, after less than two months of them being together, Essie found the prospect so hard to accommodate that it felt like an outcome that surely had to be wrong.
Looking up, she saw that Carl’s eyes were screwed up in the corners, as if he could feel her pain. She waited for him to reassure her that she’d find a way to survive the separation. Or to sugg
est that she focus on how good it would be for the Hadza baby to be back in her own tribe. But he said nothing. He just stood up and crossed the space between them, kneeling at Essie’s side. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders, bringing her and Mara together into his embrace.
Tears brimmed in Essie’s eyes, then overflowed. Carl wiped them away, drawing his thumb across her cheeks.
When, eventually, they moved apart, he rested his hand on Mara’s head. ‘Look at her, Essie. You saved her. Whatever else happens in your whole life, this will be one real thing that you did.’
Essie grasped his words like a lifeline.
One real thing . . .
When she finally spoke, her voice was fragile, like fine porcelain that could easily be shattered. ‘Can you send me the photographs?’
‘I’ll print them up as soon as I can. I’ll put them on a plane. I promise.’ Getting to his feet, Carl went over to where his camera was resting on top of its travel bag. ‘Let me take one more.’
He whistled for Rudie and clicked his fingers to draw Tommy’s attention. Essie stood up, holding Mara. When they were all grouped together he placed the camera on the window ledge. As the timer buzzed, he hurried across to Essie. His arm rested lightly over her shoulder. The adults’ faces were side by side. Mara’s head was between their chins. Tommy had pushed his nose in; Rudie was licking his ear. The baby was giggling, her eyes turned towards the odd sound that she could hear. Essie and Carl were laughing with her. The buzzing wound to a halt and the shutter clicked – freezing them together in time, within a single frame.
Carl put the camera back in its place. Then he tore open a Kodak box and wrote something down on the flattened piece of cardboard. As he handed it to Essie, she glimpsed the name and address of his agent.
‘You can always find me,’ he said.
He tucked the note into the pocket of her shirt and buttoned down the flap. Over his shoulder she could see the patch of sky framed by the window. An apricot glow was creeping into the grey. The horizon was now a stark black line edged with brimming light; it was the instant just before dawn. When she looked back, meeting Carl’s gaze, he nodded. They both knew: the time had come to say goodbye.
Outside, they stood by the Land Rover. A dense silence seemed to close in around them – as though the air was choked by all the unspoken words that would have made up the conversations that would now never take place. They didn’t linger. A spell was being woven around them; it had to be broken before it became too strong.
As they held one another’s gaze, Essie saw the first rays of light fall over Carl’s face, touching his skin with gold. The sun reached out to her and Mara as well. In that moment the three were brought together as one – wrapped in the warmth of a newborn sun.
SIXTEEN
Essie drove away from the Mission house, heading towards the plains. The route was very familiar to her now. She knew in advance where to slow down or where to speed up to keep traction over soft ground. She knew the place where the track wound between two tall anthills, and where it came close to a pile of boulders. It didn’t take long for her to reach the chain of pools. Her gaze skimmed over the Swimming Bath, where she and Ian had last swum together the night before the Marlows had first arrived here, a day early – the night before Mara came into Essie’s life. She barely noticed how the early sun turned the water into circles of gold, or how the yellow weaverbirds in the nearby trees dipped and fluttered busily with all the energy of a new day. Instead, she felt the pull of the place she’d left behind. Her thoughts were like a long line stretched out behind her, refusing to let go.
She pictured Carl preparing to leave, his boots making a hollow thud on the floorboards as he took a final walk through the house, picking up the last of his possessions. Very soon he’d be setting out along this same track – but instead of turning off to the camp he’d drive straight on towards Serengeti. The thought of him disappearing into the dust, leaving Magadi behind, brought an ache to Essie’s heart. She could hardly imagine how she – and Simon and Mara – were going to manage without him. Yet, only weeks ago they had not even met. It was as if the proximity to Ol Doinyo Lengai – the repository of so many stories and beliefs – had distorted all perspective. Under the watchful eye of the volcano, time had been played out on a scale that was nothing to do with days or weeks, let alone months and years. It was the only explanation for the fact that Essie felt as if she’d known Carl Bergmann for ages.
The pain of the parting was cloaked with shock; Essie was still struggling to absorb the reality that he was leaving, with no plan to return. As she steered the Land Rover along the track she could feel the presence of his note in her pocket, as if the scrap of cardboard were something alive, giving out its own warmth.
You can always find me.
Carl’s words circled in her head. They were comforting as well as tantalising, like the shared fantasy about travelling to exotic places. But in reality, the name and address of a photographic agent were of no use to Essie. The Lawrences’ lifestyle didn’t involve touring the world, looking up old friends. And there wasn’t much point in writing letters to someone you would probably not see again. It was possible that the Flamingo Project would be resurrected, and Carl would have a reason to return to Magadi next season, or in some other year to come. But Essie didn’t want to spend her time living in hope of an encounter that might never occur. She just had to let Carl go, accepting that their paths had come together for a while, and would now veer apart. As she bumped along the track, she spoke firmly to herself, quashing a stubborn hope that there might be some other future. When the time came to turn off towards the camp, she marked the moment to herself – there was the fork in the road, with the two paths leading in different directions. All she had to do was stick to her route and not falter. Very soon she’d be back where she belonged.
By the time the Land Rover reached the parking area, Mara had woken up again. Essie knew there would now be a short time of peace before the baby realised she was hungry. Then the round of feeding, changing, bathing and playing would begin again. But first, Essie would have to face Ian. Not only did she need to repair the rift caused by her sleeping in the nursery, she had to explain why she’d left the camp during the night. When she thought of how she’d even begin the conversation, her stomach twisted in alarm. On the drive back, she shouldn’t have been thinking about Carl, she should have been hunting for the right words to say to her husband.
Kefa was standing near the place where Essie usually parked. A smudge of blue at his feet caught her eye as she pulled up beside him. She recognised Simon’s precious winklepicker shoes. She guessed the houseboy had won them through gambling – that was the usual story behind possessions changing hands between the workers.
Kefa nodded politely as Essie climbed out of her vehicle.
‘Were you waiting for me?’ Essie asked.
He gave an equivocal shrug. ‘I saw you coming near.’
The morning greetings were exchanged. As she spoke Essie couldn’t help looking down at the suede shoes. She guessed Simon bitterly regretted wagering with them. Perhaps he’d been drinking at the time.
‘Simon has made me a gift,’ Kefa said, as if reading her thoughts.
‘That was kind of him,’ Essie said.
Kefa looked mystified. ‘He said he had no use for them any more.’
While Essie was still processing his words, the man pointed to the Dining Tent. ‘The Bwana is expecting you.’
Essie nodded. ‘I’ll go to him.’ She was aware of Mara fidgeting beside her. She looked towards the staff camp. ‘Where is Simon?’
‘He is waiting to begin work.’ Kefa glanced at the sun, drawing attention to the time.
Essie gathered herself. ‘Please take Mara to him. Ask him to feed and bathe her.’ She ignored Kefa’s raised eyebrows – it was none of his business what tasks she assigned to her assistant. Simon was as capable as Essie, these days, of taking care of Mara, and Essie didn’t want to be
juggling a hungry baby alongside dealing with Ian.
As she handed Mara over, she felt the baby tense. Kefa was not a stranger to her, but she wanted to stay with Essie. Her lips turned down and her hands reached out, clutching the air.
‘It’s all right,’ Essie said soothingly. ‘I’m coming back.’
Recently, Mara had begun objecting when she was handed over to anyone except Simon. Sometimes she could be distracted with a toy or a song. Other times she ended up screaming, as if in fear for her life. Essie tried to let the process play out, resisting the temptation to reclaim her. She knew that would only make Mara feel more anxious – it endorsed the idea that she’d been placed in unsafe hands. But often Essie relented. She would be swept away by an impulse to feel the weight of the baby in her arms. She wanted to hug her close. This had more to do with her emotions, she knew, than with Mara’s. Each parting – even the act of relinquishing Mara to sleep – felt like a rehearsal for the final goodbye. She wanted to put it off for another time.
Kefa eyed Essie uncertainly as Mara squirmed in his arms, making urgent whimpers.
‘Give her to me.’ Essie held out her hands. ‘Go and get Simon. Hurry back.’
As Kefa marched away, Essie stroked Mara’s hair. She felt the little body relax against her. An unneeded tear clung to the dark crescent of the baby’s eyelashes. As Essie watched it roll down the soft, curved cheek a feeling of deep gratification swept through her. It seemed like proof that Mara trusted her, perhaps even loved her. Essie had agonised over whether or not it was best to encourage the baby to bond with her. She knew Julia was right – it would make the parting more difficult. But Essie had come to the conclusion that love was a language Mara needed to learn. Being familiar with the emotion – and all the subtle means of giving love and receiving it – would matter much more to her in the long term than hearing Hadza spoken or acquiring other skills. When Mara rejoined Nandamara, Giga and the rest of her family, everything she’d learned to feel towards Essie could be transferred to them. Such a scenario wasn’t discussed in Complete Babycare, but Essie didn’t need any expert advice. It was a truth she understood instinctively. She could hear its voice inside her head – just as a baby bird knows to peck the tip of a parent’s beak until food is regurgitated, and a dog knows to bury food, creating a secret hoard in case of future hunger.
The Beautiful Mother Page 31
