Cleaving (38 page)

"Well, I guess that's our cue." I start to gather the cards into their plastic case. But Elly just sits there, straddling
the bench, his elbows on his knees and his hands loosely clasped, looking up at me with a smilingly uncomfortable stare I
try for a moment, unsuccessfully, to ignore. Maybe I don't really want to ignore it.

"What?"

Elly laughs a little, shakes his head. "I'm thinking about asking if I can kiss you."

I find myself thinking back, trying to remember if anyone has ever asked to kiss me. It seems like something that happens
only in the movies. In real life, kisses always come after I've said something like "So, yeah, I gotta go home now," or "I've
got a dentist appointment tomorrow," or "I think I'm drunk." Some sloppy air of inevitability is always there, mesmerizing
but uncontrollable. I think maybe I like it this way, for a change.

"I've never kissed a
mzungu
before." He matches my wry grin with his own, and says, "May I?"

I pause a moment, pretend to consider, though of course I've already decided. "Sure."

And so he does. He kisses me, and his lips are soft and he tastes good. Since we both drank the same beer and smoked the same
cigarette, I detect neither of these things, only a clean smoothness and perhaps the slight sweetness of a mint. It has been
so long since I've kissed--or made out, actually, for that's rapidly what this is becoming, my knees between his, my hands
running along the outsides of his thighs, our tongues tangling, his fingers in my dirty, dusty hair. I'd forgotten how fun
it is.

After a while we stop. I'm not sure who stops first; I was just thinking about breaking off, but it seems that Elly pulls
away just slightly ahead of me. "Whew," I say.

"That was nice. Thank you."

"No, thank you!"

"I have to finish packing up for tomorrow's lunch now. I'll walk you to your tent."

"Okay." We stand up and start off into the moonlight.

Elly takes his voice down several notches. "And you won't tell Kesuma? He wouldn't like it."

"I was just thinking the same thing."

"Good." By now we've reached my tent, which I unzip as Elly gives me a little wave and steps away. "Good night. See you tomorrow
morning."

"Okay. Good night."

I'll admit that I'm feeling pretty proud of myself as I get ready for bed, changing out of my khakis, bra, and grimy long-sleeved
T-shirt, into soft cotton pajama pants and another clean shirt. I'm proud that I was kissed, and by a gorgeous young man who
must be ten years younger than I. I'm proud that I was brave enough to say yes, and then strong enough to bring things to
a stop, or help them to a stop, anyway. I'm proud that I'm alone in a tent on the Ngorongoro Crater, far from everything I
know, and that I like it. I could just about whistle a jaunty tune.

I've just finished taking out my contacts and running a toothbrush across my teeth a couple of times and am setting the alarm
on my phone--I get no service here, but I still use it as my clock--when I hear a whisper at the door of my tent. "It's me."

Elly, back to say good night again or tell me something about tomorrow or, most likely, ask for another kiss or something
more. I'm nervous, amused, and irritated in equal measure when I scoot over to unzip the door.

But it isn't Elly. The moment the zipper comes down, a large man pushes his way into the tent, blocking the exit. It's nearly
pitch-black inside the tent, but I know instantly, and with a violent lurch of the stomach, who it is. I have no flashlight.
I scramble for my phone as the man who'd sold us the beer and cigarette grabs me by the arms, running his hands up and down
them roughly in some absurd childish mimicry of passion. He's speaking to me, pleading rather:

"You are so beautiful. I have big dick for you, I have what you need, I'll be so good for you, yes, let me have the sex with
you--"

I push a button on my BlackBerry to light up the screen and get a look at his face. He's pulling me to him, his tongue probing
for my mouth, one of his hands abandoning my arm to grab at my breast. I wrap my arms tightly against my chest while still
trying to let the little glow from my phone illuminate the room, and push him gently--
why gently?
--away.

"Why do you have that on? Turn off the light. It's okay. Relax." I've backed into the corner of the tent, but he's getting
his hands everywhere he can manage.

"Hey, look. Look. I'm sorry if I"--if I
what?
--"gave you the wrong impression."
By being a white woman and staying up eating and playing cards with some black men
. "I'm sorry if you thought--"
I'm
a slut because you saw me making out with Elly
. "Look. Thanks."
Thanks??!!
"I appreciate
...
um
...
well. I think you need to leave now."

"No. I'll stay. We'll have sex. It will be very good, I promise. I am good man, big dick--"

"No." Still shielding myself from his hands by clapping my arm across my bosom, with my other hand I push, a bit more firmly,
against his biceps. My phone, still lit, clutched in that hand, illuminates the sleeve of his shirt as it presses against
him. It is red. "You need to go. Please."

"But--"

"No. Really. Please go."

"Okay." His hands cease to grab at me. He's already backing up through the unzipped door of the tent.

I'm shining the light of my BlackBerry on his face like I'm interrogating him.

"It's okay. Calm down."

"I'm calm. Really. Just... thanks, but go now, please. Really."

And he does.

I zip up the tent, and all the windows, which I'd had open to let in some air. Curl into my sleeping bag and zip it all the
way too, though it is not at all cold. All the noises outside seem magnified. At one point I can hear something--one of the
zebras, I presume--tearing up blades of grass with its teeth, seemingly right on the other side of the quivering tent wall
near my face. I clutch my BlackBerry in my hand like it's a weapon.

It never once occurs to me to cry out.

Somehow, at last, I fall asleep. When I awake, it's still pitch-dark, with none of the morning sounds of coming dawn. But
that's not what I take in. All I'm aware of, instantly, horrifyingly, is the smell, and the hot body pressing up against my
back.

For an amazingly long time--seconds upon seconds--I feign sleep, curled up on myself like a possum, my breathing deliberately
slow and deep and even, trying not to reveal myself to the man who has crept back into my tent while I slept and is now leaning
over me like a lover. As if I could make him go away by just pretending he isn't there. I flash suddenly on those horrible
nights, the worst nights, when Eric's rage boiled silently between us and I squeezed my eyes shut tight; I think about the
dreams of not being able to scream.

But he's slipping his hands into my sleeping bag, he's panting loudly into my ear, he's muttering under his breath, and then,
my God, he's clambering atop me, trying to work the sleeping bag down. I can feel his hard-on through the layers of polyester
and fleece and denim. And at last, at last I fight.

At first it's just a few girlish pushes against his shoulders, a few mewling whispered protests and wriggling, which doubtless
have the exact opposite effect I desire. But gradually I get more violent and, finally, angry. I end by slapping the top of
his bald head repeatedly, while hissing, "What the
hell
are you doing?!
Get off!
"

He cowers when I hit him and sits up, holding his arms up over his head to evade my blows, but I'm too busy pawing around
the floor of the tent for my phone to get in any more.

"What are you doing? What are you looking for?"

"I'm looking for my damned phone so I can see your face when I'm telling you to get
out of my tent
."

"Stop looking. You'll find it in the morning."

It's nowhere to be found. I'm patting around inside my sleeping bag and under it, in the far corners of the tent where my
clothes and backpack and shoes are bundled.

"I'll stay."

"No. You really, really won't." I've given up on the BlackBerry and am applying fairly heavy-duty pressure to his arms, forcing
him slowly back toward the tent door.

"I won't do anything. We'll just lie down together."

"What the
fuck?
Get
out!
"

He gets truculent, which seems a dangerous sign, but I'm now too angry to care. He says, "You don't want me to stay?"

I bug my eyes out at him, actually laugh. "Are you kidding me? Not sure how I can be much more clear on this."

"But I'd be--"

"Look. Do you want me to call out to my guide? He's right in the next tent. He'll get you in trouble." As if I'm going to
tell the teacher he pushed me down on the playground.

But that at last seems to do it. Finally he's scooting out butt-first, pouting as if I'd been the one to mortally offend him.
"Fine. If you want me to, I'll go."

"Thank you.
Jesus
." I zip up the tent door in a rage, pat around a bit more for my phone. It isn't here. I know the man took it. I have to
piss, but I'm scared to venture out into the darkness.

I manage somehow to fitfully doze until dawn, having dug out my chunkee stone and clutched it to my chest. I figure if he
comes back, this is my best choice of weapon. But he doesn't come, and soon enough I can hear people making reassuring noises,
not the tiny creeping sounds that might be either zebras cropping grass or furtive footsteps, but creaking truck doors opening
and slamming shut, the unzipping of tent doors, low conversations as the cooks from the various guide groups begin breaking
out the breakfast supplies. Still, I'm afraid to leave my tent--or maybe
afraid
is the wrong word now. I get dressed, then huddle by the window that faces the cooking area, knowing Elly will be heading
in that direction. I want to tell him first. I don't want to be the one who has to tell Kesuma.

It seems like hours--especially because my bladder is by now about to
burst
--but I probably spend less than ten minutes peering out the window before I spot him heading over from the tent to our truck.
"Elly. Elly!" I call in a hoarse stage whisper. He looks up, glances around, finds the source of the call. I wave him over
to the tent window with a sort of embarrassed grimace. "I've got a bit of a problem."

I tell him the short version first, just, you know, "That guy we bought the beer from last night got into my tent. He..." I'm
having a tough time coming up with the word. Elly's eyes are already wide in alarm, and I don't want to make a big thing out
of this. "He... well, he wanted to sleep with me, I guess."

"He came
into your tent?
Are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, it's fine. But the thing is, he took my phone. I don't want to make a big deal, I just--"

"Wait here."

Within minutes Kesuma, Leyan, and Elly are all gathered with me outside my tent, their faces taut with concern, as I go over
the story again. Kesuma bites his thumbnail as he always does when deep in thought or concerned. "So you bought a beer from
him."

"Yeah. Well, Elly did, really."

"And then he came into the tent after?"

"Right. Twice."

"Did you say anything to him to give him the idea you were--"

"I barely said anything at all."

"It's true, he was only there for a moment," Elly confirms. He's standing with his head bent, to hear everything I'm saying,
but also, I know, I feel it coming off him, because he feels ashamed and responsible.

"Elly, would you be able to find this man?"

"Yes, he works with one of the other tour groups. He's a cook. I'll find him." And off he strides toward the cooking area.

Kesuma crosses his arms and looks this way and that, taking in the breadth of the campsite. Dawn has fully arrived now, and
a steady trickle of tourists move back and forth from the dining area to the bathroom to the trucks. The tents are beginning
to come down. Everyone wants to be at the park entrance the moment it opens. Obscurely, this delay makes me feel guilty, like
I'm creating a mountain out of a molehill, making a scene.

"Look, he didn't hurt me, it's not a big deal, I just... I'd like to get my phone back."

Elly quickly finds the guy; a big man who looks sheepish and wide-eyed at once. As they walk toward us, Elly is talking to
him intently, and the man is shaking his head in exaggerated innocence. I'm angry all over again at the sight of him. Kesuma
straightens up as the two approach.

"Julie says you came into her tent twice last night. That you tried to take advantage of her."

"No, no, I swear--" His head is bobbing as if he's not sure if he wants to shake it or nod. "Okay, yes. I came to her tent.
I wanted to be with her, and she is very beautiful--" Kesuma interrupts in rapid-fire Swahili, and the man answers back, and
though of course I don't understand the words, it's clear that Kesuma is lambasting him. People are beginning to stare. The
man switches back to English, turns to me. "I am very, very sorry. It was very wrong of me to come to your tent. But I went
away, when you asked me to, yes?"

"Well, yes, but--"

"I one-hundred-percent swear, I didn't come a second time. Maybe it was another man, a bad man, it wasn't--"

"Look. I don't want to get you in trouble. I just want my phone back."

"I didn't... I don't have your--"

I'm being a castrating bitch
, I think.
I'm ruining this guy's life
. Look how terrified he is. I feel like walking away, letting it go. But now Kesuma and Elly have surrounded him and are taking
turns at him in rapid Swahili, maintaining a sort of good cop-bad cop routine, Elly clearly trying to persuade him to be reasonable,
Kesuma barely refraining from shouting. At one point he directs an order in Maa to Leyan, who throws a threatening glance
at the man before setting off for the park ranger's hut at the edge of the campground.