2 Game Drive (15 page)

A
s we neared the largest of the tents, I spotted Henrik van der Brugge standing at the entrance, talking with Willem. It was the first time I had seen him since my hasty retreat from our disaster of a dinner party. I wondered what he would say, or if he would pretend it had never happened.

As usual, he looked handsome in tan safari clothing and tall, polished boots. On his broad shoulders, the safari clothes looked absolutely right. On Jay and Chase, they looked like a costume.

The platform of the largest tent was elevated, encircled on all sides by a deck with a bamboo railing and reached by a set of wooden steps. Folding canvas lounge chairs and small tables had been placed at intervals around the deck, allowing for leisurely comfort within view of the river. A workman was stretching a white rope hammock between two poles in one corner. Another hammock, in the opposite corner, was already in place.

Two sides of the canvas walls had been rolled up and tied, allowing the breeze to pass through. The wind caused the branches of the great trees flanking the tent to sway gently.

As we started up the steps, Willem went back inside and van der Brugge began greeting the first of the group. Mabel pounced on him with her questions. He pulled her aside, down a partitioned hallway, away from the entrance, to answer them.

“She’s giving him hell,” Connie laughed. “Look at her pointing that bony finger in his face. She jumped on him like a duck on a June bug.”

Willem had walked away from van der Brugge and Mabel and resumed directing the arrangement of a buffet lunch. Men from the camp’s kitchen staff set out large serving platters filled with salads, meats, and vegetables on a long rectangular table. A round, skirted table nearby was loaded with desserts.

The main buffet table was covered with a broad white cloth and centered with a lavish arrangement of fruit and flowers. Just to the left of it, a side table held stacks of folded linen napkins, white china plates, and trays of silverware.

It looked elegant and glamorous. Even after our big breakfast, everyone was ready to eat, drink, and relax.

Rebecca was welcoming guests near the entrance where van der Brugge had been standing before Mabel jumped him. She offered tall drinks from a nearby tray stand. I took one, glad to have it after the long, hot ride.

“They really do this up right, don’t they?” said Chase.

I had to agree.
It was perfect, reminding me of scene in a movie.

I knew
Jay thought so, too. He was in his element. I could see his imagination at work, as he pictured himself starring in a classic scene from the movie
Elephant Walk.

That old film was one of several we had rented before coming to Africa. Jay and I always do that before big trips
—rent movies and read books about the country we plan to visit.
If you can find the time in the rush of packing and last-minute chores, it really enhances a trip. It puts you in the mood for the trip you are about to take and whets your appetite for the places you are soon to see.

Elephant
Walk,
one of the films we watched, is one of Jay’s all-time favorites. It is actually set in old Ceylon, rather than Africa, but it is just the sort of sweeping epic that Jay loves. Even with that setting, Jay insisted that we could include it on our list along with
Out of Africa
because elephants are important in the film. The plot centers on a proud man who willfully builds a splendid mansion directly across the path of an ancient elephant trail, forcing the huge beasts to alter their customary path.

As Jay strolled around the handsome tented pavilion in his safari suit,
I could see him getting into character in his mind. I could tell from the way he stood, drink in hand, overlooking the river. In his imagination, Jay
was
Montgomery Cliff, the leading actor from the old film.

In my imagination,
the role of the proud, defiant master would be far better suited to Henrik van de Brugge. There was a sense of command about him, in the way he stood, in the way he walked. Not arrogance exactly, just the assurance of a man who knew exactly what he wanted from life. Whatever that was, watching him, I was sure he would achieve it, if he hadn’t already. He seemed fully in control of his surroundings.

I expect the reason I was attracted to him in the first place was that he reminded me a bit of another commanding man, one from whom I had recently parted. The thought of that man cast a shadow over my day. I still wasn’t sure that I had made the right decision in suspending our relationship
. My friend Brooke’s words rang in my memory, “Think carefully, Sidney. Be sure you know what you are doing. He may not wait for you to come back to him.”

I remembered the grave look in her blue eyes, usually so merry, when she said it.

Ting-ting-ting-ting.

The sound of David tapping on a glass for attention roused me from my reverie.

“Attention, please. Attention, ladies and gentlemen. An
absolute feast
has been prepared for us. Please come.”

The lunch line was forming, with David and Tilda and Wendy in the lead, as always, followed by Mabel. Connie and Rose had gone to the ladies’ room.

Van der Brugge, having escaped Mabel’s tirade, had stepped to one side of the buffet table where he stood talking quietly with Willem.

Jay, George, Chase, and Rich were at the bar on their second round of drinks. They didn’t look as if they would be lining up for the buffet anytime soon. As predicted, Chase and Rich had made up.

“Come,
cara mia
,” Fernando said, interrupting my thoughts. “Let’s get our plates and take them out on the deck so we can see the river. It is a beautiful day. We may spot something interesting.”

It may have been childish of me, but I was glad to lunch with handsome Fernando while Henrik van der Brugge watched. I still had not spoken with him because Mabel pounced before I got a chance.

The line began to move, and Fernando and I joined it, filling our plates with fruit, baked chicken with a delicate lemon sauce, and rice pilaf. I also took a large serving of okra, onions, and tomato, stewed together with basil.

Fernando peered at my plate. “What is that vegetable, Sidney? I’ve never seen it before.”

“It’s okra, Fernando. Try some, I think you’ll enjoy it. It’s an African vegetable that grows on tall, stalky plants. We also grow it in my home state of Mississippi. Okra originated in Africa. Where I’m from, in the South, okra is a staple. As a child I didn’t like it, but I love it now. My mother serves it many ways—by itself, in a gumbo, and of course, fried. It really is delicious.”

He gave me a puzzled look. “Gumbo?”

“A sort of soup, made with a dark roux, served with rice. Gumbo almost always contains okra and usually shrimp and crabmeat.”

We took our plates and drinks to the far corner of the deck. Fernando pulled a small table and two chairs a bit away from the others and out of the sun, into the deep shade. He had chosen a good spot. Though we could see all that went on in the tent as well as a full view of the river, we were out of the way. Our chairs were set back from the others.

Lunching with Fernando on the open-air porch near the great river was delightful. Laughing at amusing tales of his life as an international airline rep caused the shadow of my earlier thoughts to fade into the background. Intent on his stories, I was barely aware that most of the others had finished lunch and moved back inside, out of the sun and heat.

The temperature had risen steadily along with the sun, which now blazed overhead. In the shelter of the great fever trees, with the breeze blowing, our table was cool and pleasant despite the temperature.

Everything seemed to have slowed in the heat. No animals were visible just then in that section of the river, only some wading birds. Birds were everywhere, standing in the shallows, flying overhead, calling from the branches of the trees.

“It’s hard to believe that a scene so tranquil can become violent so quickly,” Fernando said, as we finished our meal. He placed his napkin on the table and moved his chair closer to mine, out of a patch of sunlight.

“Violent, really? Here? It seems so serene.”

“I do not know about this exact spot, but yes, violence can erupt at any time anywhere along this border. The Limpopo is the boundary, the border, between South Africa and Zimbabwe. Zimbabwe, which was formerly known as Southern Rhodesia, is there.” He pointed. “See?” he said. “That’s Zimbabwe, just across the river.”

As if to disprove his disturbing words of potential violence, two Oryx appeared on the opposite bank. The pair moved gracefully on delicate-looking legs toward the water’s edge. They bent their white-masked heads, crowned with long, straight horns, for a drink. It was hard to imagine a more peaceful scene.

Just as their lips touched the water, a crocodile, which had been lying concealed nearby in the reeds, lunged for them. One Oryx escaped in a flash, moving too quickly for the monster. He bolted away from what would have been certain death.

The other was not so lucky. Thrashing in the shallows, he struggled in vain to pull his leg from the croc’s powerful jaws. The ancient beast pulled his prize into deeper water and began his death roll. We watched in horrified fascination until the crocodile and his catch sank beneath the surface and the roiling water became still again.

“It is as I said.
You see?” Fernando smiled, “Danger is everywhere here,
tesoro.
Death can come swiftly, without warning.”

I looked into his smiling eyes, wondering what he was really saying
. “Are you just speaking of the animals, Fernando, or of men, too?”

“Well, they are all animals, aren’t they, the violent ones? This is a land of great poverty and great riches, Sidney. Gold, diamonds, the extremely profitable horns and tusks of animals ... it is all here for the taking. Only the law and the efforts of a few good men stand in the way. Greed is a powerful force. The veneer of civilization becomes very thin when so much treasure is at stake.”

A waiter approached with a tray, collecting plates, followed by another passing desserts, and yet another with cups of coffee. We refused dessert, but gladly accepted the coffee.

“Anything bad here is much worse across the river in Zimbabwe,” he continued. “Their economy is in shambles. In 2009, they even had to abandon their currency. They use the U.S. dollar now.”

Settling back in the chair with his mug of coffee, Fernando’s somber mood changed as he began telling me another string of amusing tales, this time of his prior African adventures. His stories were light and funny, his serious words of warning seemingly forgotten.

But they were still there, beneath the laughter, somewhere in the shadows of his dark eyes. The warning remained, underneath the surface like the crocodile, lurking in the
“grey-green waters of the Limpopo.”

“L
adies and gentlemen,” David called, clapping his hands, from the center of the pavilion, “gather round, please, gather round. That was a
splendid
lunch, wasn’t it? A
magnificent repast!
Please join me in thanking our
gracious
host, Mr. van der Brugge, for bringing us to this
spectacular
place and giving us this
unexpected treat.
”

He swiveled his head, looking for our gracious host, but van der Brugge was gone.

Miffed that Henrik was not there to receive his flowery compliments, David plunged instead into a torrent of words, describing the options available to us for the afternoon and evening. What it basically boiled down to—when you winnowed out all the puff—was an optional afternoon game walk, cocktails, then dinner with entertainment by a local folkloric group performing traditional songs and dances.

“This special treat will be an
unexpected delight
. Please feel free to join in the singing and dancing at this
most unusual
entertainment.”

“Crass commercial exploitation, that’s all it is,” was Mabel’s acid comment. For once, however, she didn’t follow up her complaint with an impassioned speech. Mabel was definitely off her game.

David gave her a hard look, which she ignored. Then he introduced Rebecca, who gave housekeeping details and issued sleeping assignments, along with cautions about keeping our tents zipped shut when leaving them. She warned everyone not to venture out alone anywhere, particularly near the river.

“Don’t you worry one minute about that, sister,” Connie said.
“I ain’t going
nowhere
near that river!”

Wendy and Tilda were whispering and giggling to each other as usual, but Mabel was still strangely silent.
Again, I wondered what was going on with her and resolved to ask at first opportunity.

“The game walk will begin from this place at four o’clock p.m.,” Rebecca said. “Please be on time or you will be left behind. We must finish our walk before sunset. Remember to bring your cameras and binoculars.”

I hung around the deck until everyone headed to their tents. Then, instead of going to my tent, I found Mabel’s.

* * *

“Yes? What is it?”

Mabel poked her head out of the tent opening, clearly annoyed at being disturbed.

“Hi, Mabel. I’m sorry to bother you, but I wondered if you could spare a few moments to talk with me in private. I think it might be important.”

She looked to be on the verge of telling me to go away, but then she must have changed her mind. Unzipping the opening all the way, she motioned impatiently for me to enter.

“What’s on your mind, Sidney? Make it quick, I want to take a nap. I didn’t sleep much last night.”

“Mabel, I think we started off on the wrong foot, and I just wanted to say that I am in total agreement with you about the poaching of the rhino and elephants.”

“That’s nice,” she snapped. “But that’s not why you are here. You could say that anytime, in front of anyone.”

“Yes, you’re right. I could
.”

“Well then, what is it? What did you come to tell me?”

“Mabel, Jay and I agree that there’s something strange about this particular camp. We think there might be things going on here behind the scenes that escape the notice of the regular visitor. Today, I noticed that you have been really quiet and distracted, and I wondered if you shared some of our misgivings about this operation. I even thought you might have noticed something or discovered information that we need to know. Jay and I are responsible to our agency for checking this tour out for our clients. We certainly don’t want to recommend anything that might be illegal or even dangerous for them.”

She gave me a searching stare, squinting those beady eyes at me. It made her look meaner and more wrinkled than ever. She was sizing me up, wondering if she could trust me.

Finally, she spoke. “Yes, Sidney, there is definitely something wrong here. I realized as soon as I got to this game lodge. I have a lot of experience in these matters. Before I retired and became a travel agent I used to work for the government. There is something going on here behind the scenes. I’m not ready yet to speak openly about it, but when I have one or two more facts nailed down I will. I’ll shout it to the heavens. I’ll tell the world. But I’m not quite ready. I am still finding things out. That’s why I’m so tired. I was up most of the night.”

“What is it? Will you tell me what you think is happening?”

“Like I said, Sidney, I’m still gathering information. When I have it all sorted out I’ll be happy to tell you and everyone else. I’m very close to finding out everything I need to know. Another piece of the puzzle fell into place today. That’s all I’ll say for now. But I wouldn’t plan to send any clients here if I were you. This operation may look beautiful to the casual observer, but underneath, it’s rotten.”

“I could help you—”

“No, you can’t,” she said, cutting me off in her rude way, “I don’t need your help. I don’t want your help. Actually, you’ve already helped me more than you know. If I need your assistance, I’ll ask for it. Now please leave. I have to sleep.”

With that, she clamped her mouth into the usual thin line, hustled me out of her tent, and zipped it shut.

* * *

On the way to my tent, I thought over Mabel’s words. She obviously shared our misgivings about Henrik van der Brugge’s safari operation, and was, by her own account, hard at work investigating it.

I felt a great relief. Our misgivings were clearly not just the products of overactive imaginations. It bothers me more than I want to admit that trouble seems to follow me around on trips. Mean old Diana says I attract trouble, as if that were somehow possible. Jay teases me and calls me “MM” for “murder magnet.” Even my friend Roz says I shouldn’t leave New York without a gun and a rabbit’s foot. It’s bad enough that all this bad stuff seems to happen on my trips. It would be even worse if I started imagining trouble where none exists.

So my relief after talking with Mabel was
twofold. First, my suspicions were confirmed. That was comforting in an odd way. And secondly, Mabel’s dedication to her mission meant Jay and I weren’t going to have to snoop after all. We could leave it all up to Mabel.
I sure didn’t want to get involved in any trouble if I could avoid it. Diana had given me strict instructions to steer clear of “unsavory situations.” There
was
something odd going on for sure, but it looked as if I wasn’t going to have to run point on this one.

Stop worrying
, I told myself.
Punt! Can the curiosity and leave it all up to Mabel
.

The birds were singing overhead as I neared my tent, and
the first of the spring flowers were popping out along the path. I resolved to stop worrying.

It was a beautiful day in a beautiful setting that was far removed from the concrete streets of my adopted home,
New York, the city I love. I was lucky to be there and knew I might never have the chance again, so I made up my mind to shelve some of my misgivings about the camp operations and Dennis’ strange demise, relax, be happy, and enjoy the safari while it lasted. That should please both Jay and Diana. But Mr. Silverstein was not going to be happy. If what we suspected proved to be true, no High Steppers would be coming to Leopard Dance. We wouldn’t be recommending it.

Diana would just have to find him another safari lodge
.

* * *

Once again, Jay and I were assigned to share accommodations. This time he wasn’t griping about it. I thought he was glad to have a roommate because we would be sleeping in tents without true walls or doors. He had calmed down about the animals at Leopard Dance, but here, in a new environment, his fears were returning. As soon as we entered our tent I learned that my guess was correct.

“A zipper,” he ranted. “A zipper! That’s all that will be keeping God knows who or what out of our tent tonight, Sidney. I’m not going to sleep a wink
.
A zipper
. I ask you again, what on earth are we doing here? I wish I were back in camp, in good old Hut No. 1.”

I was
sprawled in a rattan camp chair under the slow-moving blades of an old-fashioned ceiling fan and sipping a lemonade in a tall, frosted glass.

“I think it’s exciting, Jay. I love camping out, but camping for me is usually in a tiny dome tent with a Coleman lantern, not anything like this.”

“Well, this is pretty posh, but I wish we were back at Leopard Dance. It felt a lot safer than this does, no matter how fancy it is.”

The white canvas tent was huge, with a gleaming wooden floor
and mahogany and rattan furniture. Twin four-poster beds, draped in white mosquito netting, were in the center of the room. There was a small ensuite toilet and shower. Really glamorous. I knew that once Jay conquered his fears,
if
he conquered his fears, he would love it.

“Jay, don’t get all spooked about the animals again. You sound just like George. Relax. We have a little time before the game walk.”

“
You
have a little time,” he said, hooking the netting back up and stretching out on his bed. “
I
have lots of time, because I’m not going.”

“What? Why not? You know the guards will be with us
for the entire walk. It’s safe. They are armed.”

He
waved his fingers at me. “Go! Bu-bye. Run along, Nature Girl. While you have fun, frolicking in the jungle, I’m going to the bar. I’ll see you when you get back.
If
you get back. If not, I’ll send a nice bouquet to your memorial service.”

* * *

I thought about Jay’s funeral flowers two hours later when a monster elephant angrily trumpeted not fifty feet in front of me.

“Please be very still and quiet,” Jerome whispered. “We are so close to him that he may charge if we anger him.”

Everyone froze, even Wendy and Tilda. Their round blue eyes were huge.

With Jerome, our local game spotter, in the lead, we had walked west along a grassy track out of the tented camp. We followed Jerome and a local guide named Simon. Vincent brought up the rear with his big rifle.

The path started near the river, wound through the brush, then came alongside the river again. David, Mabel, Rose, Tilda and Wendy, Rich, Fernando and even George had chosen to join the excursion. Chase, Connie, and Jay stayed at the bar. Just before we left, I had tried one last time to get Jay to go with us, but he still refused.

I was really surprised t
hat George actually showed up at the meeting point. I’d have bet a week’s pay that he would have been too frightened to go. The fact that even George was willing to do the nature walk should have changed Jay’s mind, but it hadn’t.

“I don’t care if George is going,” he insisted, “or anybody else. It makes no difference. I’m staying right here, and that’s final.”

Willem, placing a bowl of snacks on the bar, overheard what Jay said and shook his head. His sly blue eyes crinkled with laughter. Eventually I gave up on Jay and joined the group on the steps.

The first part of the walk was uneventful. It was peaceful, really, with the calls of the birds and chatter of monkeys.
I was happy. Walking in the sunshine, after the delightful lunch, I thought it was a near-perfect day.

We had only been gone about twenty minutes, merrily strolling along, when the huge elephant came up the bank from the river and blocked our path. At least, some of us were merry. Rose and Mabel were not speaking because Rose had finally gotten up the nerve at lunch to demand that she have separate accommodations from Mabel. Rose told David that she would no longer room with Mabel, either in the tented camp or back at Leopard Dance. Mabel, insulted,
also had some choice words for Rose, so the two were not exactly chummy.

The path was well-worn, bordered with tall grass and scrub. Fresh tracks and spoor of numerous animals marked it, including giant balls of elephant dung. The dung beetles were hard at work trying to move those.

“Stand perfectly still and do not speak,” whispered Vincent, his eyes locked on the elephant. “This is his normal path, his territory. We should not have invaded it. If he approaches us, ease backwards, off the path. Move quietly into the weeds.” Sliding his rifle from his shoulder, he clicked off the safety.

The elephant’s massive ears flapped
straight out as he stared at us, a sure sign of irritation. He raised his head and trumpeted. That did it for us, so we each started scooting backwards into the brush, hoping to appease him, or at least remove ourselves from his view. I thought we must be annoying him, as Vincent said, with our intrusive presence.

But I was wrong. We were not the objects of his anger.

Now hidden in the relative safety of the tall grass, I watched the massive beast trumpet again. Then he whirled and charged down the path in the direction of the river toward a small group of armed men, all wearing camouflage clothing. They had emerged suddenly from the reeds of the riverbank. One of the men raised his rifle.