Promise the Night (13 page)

“Arap Maina, where are the animals who drink this water?” she asked.

“Only the creatures that are safe in the daytime are out today,” he whispered.

“There is nothing here,” Tepli said sullenly. “The others have found it. I should be with them.”

Perspiration ran into Beryl’s eyes. She shook her head, disturb-ing the gnats that seemed to swarm around only her.

“Look there.” Arap Maina pointed a long finger to a grassy thicket, on the far side of the watering hole. “Do you see?”

Tepli looked for several moments. A slow smile spread across his face. He nodded, stroking his spear. Beryl screwed up her eyes against the sun and stared. But she could not see what they saw.

“What is it?” she asked around the dryness in her mouth.

“Wait here.” Arap Maina carefully placed his shield on the ground. Holding his spear firmly at his side, he began to move forward. Tepli followed.

Beryl grabbed at Tepli’s arm. “Don’t leave me alone!”

He shook her off, but Arap Maina glanced back. “Tepli, stay with Beru.”

“Arap Maina, you cannot face the lion alone,” Tepli urged. “You may injure him, but he will kill you. You need me at your back.”

“Your duty is to guard Beru.”

“My duty is to kill the lion.”

“Stay.” Arap Maina ran toward the thicket without even looking to see if Tepli obeyed.

Tepli took a few steps after him, glanced back at Beryl, and, with a disgusted growl, returned to her side.

Beryl quietly sighed in relief.

Tepli watched Arap Maina’s progress intently, one hand gripping his spear, the other holding his shield of buffalo hide. Beryl shaded her eyes, trying to make out the lion.

“Maybe Arap Maina is wrong?” she asked. Tepli didn’t answer.

Without warning, the lion burst out of the cover of the donga and charged toward Arap Maina.

Beryl screamed, “Arap Maina, watch out!”

“Eele!” shouted Arap Maina. He hefted his spear to his shoulder. “Eele! Arap Maina!”

To Beryl, it seemed as if the world had slowed to a crawl. The lion floated off the ground, drifting down to earth to push off with its massive paws. Arap Maina braced himself against the impact. Next to her, Tepli muttered an oath and began to run, too slowly, toward the battle.

Beryl wanted to run away, but Arap Maina’s danger tugged at her, like a rope tied around her waist. She followed Tepli, her eyes fixed on the solitary figure facing the lion’s charge. When the lion was upon him, Arap Maina did not flinch. The great claws raked his shoulder, but he thrust his spear into the shoulder of the beast as he leapt. The lion roared in pain and fell to its uninjured side.

“Arap Maina!” Beryl cried, her heart pounding.

Hunter and lion rolled away from each other. Arap Maina’s spear was lodged deep in the lion’s shoulder, and blood flowed down its forelegs. Arap Maina came back to his feet. His blood turned his shuka a darker red. He and the lion circled each other warily. Arap Maina held only his knife now.

Beryl and Tepli were a dozen yards away. Tepli hesitated, his eyes judging how best to help Arap Maina.

Thinking only of distracting the lion, Beryl held her spear in front of her and rushed closer. “Eele! Eele!” she shouted.

The lion angrily shook his mane and turned his great head toward Beryl. His eyes were dilated from his battle with Arap Maina, but now they focused on her. She wasn’t a warrior, she was prey. In an instant, the lion abandoned Arap Maina and went after Beryl.

Beryl froze. Her hands gripped her spear as tightly as though it were her only hope. The lion roared, and she could see his large teeth and a surprisingly pink tongue. The lion gathered himself to leap.

But Tepli was there. He swept Beryl away from the lion’s path and then knelt in the dirt. As the beast passed over his head, Tepli used his spear to pierce its chest from underneath. Beryl curled up on the ground, trying to make herself small.

“Eele! Eele!” he shouted. “I am Tepli and I shall kill the lion!”

The lion was impaled on the spear, but still alive. From Beryl’s vantage point on the ground, Tepli was terrible to watch. His neck muscles swelled like an angry snake. His mouth foamed with white flecks of rage. He was so brave! But the lion, even wounded, was still so very dangerous.

The beast whipped around and clawed Tepli’s shoulder. Arap Maina appeared and started stabbing the lion’s back with his knife. The lion’s body heaved back and forth, knocking Tepli to the ground.
Terrified, Beryl saw that Tepli was not moving. Arap Maina kept stabbing. Finally, the lion’s lifeblood pumped itself out and the great animal toppled over.

Beryl was trembling all over. She felt dampness between her legs, and realized she had wet herself. Her hand still gripped her spear, still unblooded. She pushed herself up off the ground and forced herself to move past the still lion and toward the warriors, who had placed themselves between her and danger. They lay in the dirt, bleeding freely into the grass.

“The dead don’t bleed,” she chanted. “The dead don’t bleed.”

Arap Maina’s eyes were open. He grimaced in pain, panting hard.

“You’re alive!” she cried.

“Of course,” he said.

“What can I do?” she whispered.

“Get my spear,” he replied.

Beryl nodded. She knew a murani’s weapon was a part of himself. Arap Maina’s spear was still in the beast’s shoulder, and its great head hung down over the weapon. She was relieved to see the lion was not still bleeding. She reached out, hardly daring to breathe, and touched its mane. It was rough and tangled to her fingertips. Gathering up her courage, she grabbed a hunk of mane and pulled. She had to use both hands to lift the heavy head away from the spear embedded deep in the lion’s chest. She braced her bare foot against the soft hide for leverage to pull it out. It finally came loose with a horrible sucking noise.

She carefully wiped the steel blade on the grass and brought the spear to Arap Maina. He raised himself up, despite the bloody claw marks on his shoulder, and examined his weapon.

“Thank Enka that the blade is not chipped.” He looked up at her, and she saw that his eyes were as clear as ever. “Now bring Tepli his spear.”

Steeling herself, she returned to the lion. Tepli’s spear was not so deeply stuck. She carried it to her reluctant bodyguard, who lay motionless on the ground. His chest was covered with crimson blood, his own and the lion’s. She reached down gingerly to touch his arm. At that moment, his eyes flew open. She said nothing but she wanted to shout for joy.

“Beru,” said Tepli in a faint voice. “You smell.”

She almost laughed out loud with relief. “I know,” she said. “I was afraid.”

“You were a fool to come so close.”

“I know.” Beryl stared at the ground. “It was stupid. Please forgive me.”

“But…” he went on. “It was something a warrior would do.”

Beryl burst into tears of relief and gratitude. Tepli shook his head irritably at her weakness. Only then did he seem to notice the gashes on his chest. He prodded them with the tip of a finger and cursed. He saw his spear in Beryl’s hands and reclaimed it with a scowl.

“Eele, eele!” The other warriors finally returned. Their faces fell when they saw the lion was already dead. Tepli told the others that the white girl had helped to fight the lion.

Later, the warriors cut off the lion’s ears and paws. One murani came over to Arap Maina and shoved the ears onto the tip of his spear. Another warrior brought a paw to Tepli’s spear, and two more
brought a paw to push onto Beryl’s small spear. The remaining warriors slit open the beast’s belly and began to cut away its fat.

Beryl squatted beside Arap Maina, where he was resting against a tree trunk. “Arap Maina, what are they doing?”

“Lion’s fat is good for our wounds. They will bring it to the tribe’s healer.”

Beryl glanced guiltily at Arap Maina’s wounded shoulder. “I’m sorry I didn’t obey you. I wanted to help.”

“I know.”

“I never meant for you or Tepli to be hurt!”

“Of course not. But let me tell you this. A warrior does not run from battle. As you did not run. The lion is dead. We are alive. A good day’s hunt.”

“But your shoulder…Tepli’s chest.”

“Beru, being bitten or clawed is no tragedy for a murani. Our scars are proof that we were in the battle. Ask the others—they wish they were in our place.”

Beryl watched the men who had finished bandaging Tepli and were now skinning the lion. The warriors chanted in praise of the three who faced the lion, but there was envy in their singing.

“Beru, you did well,” said Arap Maina.

“So today I am a murani?” she asked hopefully.

He laughed, and choosing his words carefully, he replied, “As much as a white girl can ever be a murani, you are one today.”

Tired as she was, Beryl had no trouble keeping the slower pace the warriors set on the way home. As they walked, she dropped back to ask Arap Maina one last question.

“Why did you shout your name before you stabbed the lion?”

“It is the murani way. We claim the kill so no other warrior can take away the glory.”

“But you were facing the lion alone. No one else could have claimed it.”

“Beru, in that moment, between me and the lion, he needed to hear the name of the man who would kill him. And I needed to remember that I fought not only for myself, but for the honor of my tribe.”

Clutching her lion’s paw, Beryl repeated as if it were an oath, “I fought for the honor of my tribe.”

LOCATION: Abingdon, England

DATE: 05:00 P.M. GMT, 4 September, 1936

I climb into the cockpit of The Messenger. She’s a four-seater, built to be light and fast. But today she’s weighted down with nineteen hundred pounds of fuel: tanks in the wings, in the center body, next to me, and behind me where the passenger seats should be. There’s hardly room for my provisions and my maps.

I latch the door and look out down the long military runway. A civilian runway won’t give me enough distance to get the heavy plane off the ground.

I call out, “Switches on…Contact.”

My mechanic swings the propeller.

After a heartbeat of silence, the engine roars to life. I push the throttle forward and the airplane hesitates. She’s too heavy. The Messenger is rebellious and surly. Well, I’ve had more than one reluctant horse under me. I coax it forward. Sullenly, she yields to persuasion.

I won’t circle on the runway: I dare not waste a drop of fuel. I head straight west. She goes faster and faster.

“Come on,” I mutter. “Lift!”

And she does. Scant seconds before I run out of tarmac, the nose goes up and the tail drops. I just clear the trees, but what more do I need?

In my triumph, I shout, “Eele! Eele! Beryl!”

“WARTHOGS AREN’T VERY DANGEROUS,” TEPLI SAID. “UNLESS THEY are cornered.” Tepli, who was recovering well from his wounds, had consented to bring Beryl and Kibii hunting. Kibii was pleased enough that Beryl hoped he might soon forgive her for the lion hunt.

Beryl and Kibii craned their necks to see the particular warthog they had just cornered. It had backed into the cave on the side of the hill, so its sharp tusks were facing his attackers.

“We must lure him out,” Tepli said.

“How?” Beryl asked.

“I know,” shouted Kibii excitedly. “My father has told me. Beru, do you have any paper?”

She reached into the wide pockets of her khaki shorts and pulled out a note from her father regarding the care of his horses while he was away. Tepli directed them to stand on each side of the hole while he stood in front and crumpled the paper loudly.

“Why is he doing that?” whispered Beryl to Kibii from their position flanking the cave.

“It drives the beast crazy. My father says it is the only useful thing the white man has brought to Africa.” His nostrils flared, a sign that he was embarrassed. “Oh, Beru, I’m sorry.”

“Not to worry. He’s probably right. I don’t like the sound of composition paper either.”

Sure enough, the warthog quivered with rage until it could bear the noise no longer and attacked. Beryl and Kibii were ready with their spears, behind and above the beast. They thrust their blades in the fold of skin behind its neck, killing it instantly.

As they returned home, Kibii and Beryl chattered happily. It had been a successful hunt; not as dangerous as going after a lion, but still exciting. As Green Hills Farm came into view, Beryl remembered what she had managed to forget during the hunt.

“Has Mehru forgiven me for going on the lion hunt?” she asked.

“Of course not.”

“But you have…yes?”

Kibii didn’t answer.

“Kibii, you know why I had to do it. I won’t get another chance.” She sighed. “Today was probably my last hunt.”