The Clouds Beneath the Sun (29 page)

“Bugger! I forgot again. Sorry,” said Christopher. “Can’t they see us on the radar?”

“Yes, but all pilots try to make it easy for them. Our lives may depend on them someday.”

Christopher held the speaker to his lips. “Tango Zulu Delta one-one-niner Echo, rising to four thousand feet,” said Christopher.

“Copy,” said a disembodied voice.

“See?” said Jack. “They
are
paying attention.”

Natalie looked down again and the wildebeest grew smaller as the aircraft rose. She was feeling good. She loved flying, she had decided, and, as she had told Christopher, one day she would learn to fly herself.

“Now turn for home,” said Jack to Christopher, “and don’t forget to announce your move in advance.”

“Tango Zulu Delta one-one-niner Echo, turning for home on bearing one-niner-five,” said Christopher.

“Copy,” said the voice. “Happy landings.”

“We are about thirty-five miles from the gorge,” said Jack. “At this speed, that’s about fourteen minutes. Lose altitude to two thousand feet and then stay at that height until you have the strip on visual.”

Natalie kept looking out of the window as they came in to land. She could see Ngorongoro in the distance, the shimmering surface of Lake Natron, the escarpment of the Rift Valley itself. How she was coming to love this landscape.

“I have the strip on visual,” said Christopher.

“And there are the tents of the camp, to the left,” replied Jack, gesturing. “Lose altitude to a thousand feet and fly over them. Then climb to two thousand feet, bank to the left and come in again.”

Natalie looked down as they buzzed the camp; she could make out Daniel and Arnold Pryce looking up. She waved.

The aircraft climbed again, and Christopher followed a smooth circle till the red-brown strip was ahead of them.

They lost height and speed, and the tone of the engines changed as the wing flaps went down to keep the nose of the aircraft in the correct “attitude,” as Natalie had heard it called.

“What’s that!” cried Christopher suddenly. “On the runway!”

“It’s the cheetahs,” said Jack with a chuckle. “Throttle forward, let your wheels bounce on the strip, and go round again. The noise will frighten them away.”

Just then, however, two large cormorants flew across the strip and Christopher cried out. “What—!”

“Give me the controls,” said Jack, reaching across and putting his left hand on Christopher’s right arm. “I have command,” he added, as he pulled back on the control stick and pushed forward the throttle.

The sound of the aircraft’s engines deepened as its wheels touched the strip and the plane started to rise again. The fuselage creaked and Natalie felt a sinking in her stomach as the aircraft banked up into the sky. She hadn’t really had time to be frightened as Jack had taken over, but the skin on her throat now broke out in a sweat. She looked across to Kees: he rolled his eyes and rubbed the palms of his hands on his trousers.

After rising a few hundred feet, Jack throttled back and banked the plane to the left again, steering a smooth circle until they were again approaching the strip.

“Come on, Christopher. Try again.”

“No, Jack, please!” Natalie wanted to cry out. But all she did was look at Kees again. Again he rolled his eyes.

“No, I can’t—”

“Yes, you can. There are no cheetahs this time—look, the strip is clear. And all the birds will have gone, too.” He sat back and took his hands off the controls. “Come
on
.”

The plane lurched and Natalie was immediately sweating all over again.

But Christopher took the stick and lowered the wing flaps; the tone of the engines changed for their final approach.

They lost height.

Natalie spotted the family of cheetahs, well away from the strip this time.

The plane’s wheels bumped down, once, twice, three times, and then the engine sound changed again as they slowed on the empty clay strip.

“Not the smoothest of landings,” said Jack to no one in particular. “But we’re safe enough.” He turned in his seat and smiled. “No extra charge for two landings instead of one.”

•   •   •

“Park the car here, Daniel. Away from all the children.” Eleanor was sitting in the front of the Land Rover, with Natalie and Christopher in the back. Daniel pulled the vehicle over onto the edge of the track and switched off the engine. They all got down.

There was about an hour of daylight left. About two hundred yards in front of them was a large
boma
, or village. Perhaps as many as fifty mud huts, shaped like upside-down cups and built entirely, as Natalie now knew, of dried cattle dung. There had been a time when the very idea would have turned her stomach but not anymore. It was amazing how herbivore dung, once it had dried out, became inoffensive. It didn’t smell, it was soft and pliable and served admirably as a building material.

The huts were surrounded by the gray-white bulk of dead acacia thorns, fashioned in exactly the way the fence around their Kihara camp was built. Deep inside the
boma
was another ring of thorns: this inner fence protected the tribe’s cattle and goats. That’s where their wealth was concentrated and any predator—lion, leopard or other tribes—would have to break down two rows of defenses.

Daniel locked the Land Rover and the four of them began the walk to the
boma
. So far as Natalie was aware, it had no name, though a large rock nearby was called Tsuvata.

It had been a week since Jack and Natalie had visited Ngorongoro. Jack was in Nairobi, as he had said. That at least gave her time to think.

He hadn’t made a big thing about kissing her cheek at the crater. And there had been no more attempts at bodily contact. She was grateful for that. First Russell, then Christopher, now Jack. Yes, she was single; yes, she wasn’t either stick thin or balloon fat; yes, they were isolated out here in Kihara; no, she didn’t object to all the attention. To an extent, it reassured her in the wake of the business with Dominic. Still, the fact that two brothers had now … done what they had done … she would have to be more than careful how she let things proceed. And Eleanor was surely watching.

Today was the “propitious” day when the Maasai had at last agreed to meet Eleanor and the others, and as they approached the
boma
a handful of men came forward to greet them, each dressed in a dark red cloak, carrying a metal spear, and wearing a variety of black and white stone jewelry: bangles on their wrists, rings in their ears, several at a time in some cases, and layers of stone necklaces. None of the leaders smiled but some of the people behind them, especially the children, grinned.

Eleanor stopped and so did Daniel and the others. She said something in Swahili and one of the elders turned to the others and repeated what she had said in Maasai.

“I said I had some gifts for them,” said Eleanor, turning back to the others.

She now lifted her arms, to present a large box of matches and some firelighters. She knew this would go down well. Anything that made lighting fires easier in the bush was to be welcomed.

The translator finished speaking and one of the leaders stepped forward and accepted the bundle from Eleanor. He smiled slightly and then turned to the translator. The translator listened, and then spoke to Eleanor in Swahili.

“He has thanked us for the firelighters and matches.”

The elder nodded to Natalie.

“He wants to know if you are the witness—I told him yes.”

The elder was speaking again. When the translation was finished, Eleanor said, “We are invited into his village. Be very careful. We may be offered food and drink. It is very rude to refuse and you must consume all you are given.”

She smiled at the chief elder and as he turned the others in the tribe stood back to open up a passage for Eleanor and him to proceed. Natalie, Christopher, and Daniel followed, then the other elders came after them.

Inside the
boma
there were huts on either side of a wide passage which led to the second fence or hedge. Near this fence was a table, with jugs and plates of food. As the party approached the table, two women came forward, holding dishes and cups. On the dishes were what Natalie took to be dried meat. She took one slice. She was handed a cup and it was soon filled with a milky liquid.

The elders had all taken some meat and been given cups. The chief elder made a short speech which was quickly translated from Maasai to Swahili. Eleanor turned and said, “We are eating produce of the area: dried kudu and water with honey—the honey comes from local bees. He’s making a point, I think, that this is what they do here—produce food. In other words the land is rich and we—the white people—are merely bystanders.”

Eleanor said something in Swahili, smiled, and then swallowed her kudu and drank some honeyed water.

Natalie tackled her meat. It was tough and strong-tasting. She sipped the water, and immediately knew she would have a problem finishing it. The water was far too sweet for her. She’d just have to go on sipping and nibbling.

The chief elder, a tall man with a very flat nose and large hands, wearing more jewelry than most, waited for Eleanor to finish her meat and her drink, and then the cup was taken from her. Larger bowls were brought and they both washed their hands.

“This is important,” she said, turning to the others. “As you can see, with so many predators around,
bomas
are built with defense as the first priority. They don’t build villages near rivers as happens in Europe. Elephants might come through at any time and trample over everything. Which means that the water has to be brought a long way; it is very precious.”

She turned back to the chief elder.

He had taken back his spear from the second elder, whom he had given it to, and now he sat on a chunk of wooden tree trunk that had been brought out. Another had been put in position for Eleanor, and she sat down.

The chief elder put his spear across his knees. Speaking through the interpreter, he began: “I see you are familiar with our customs.”

It was a barbed beginning. If Eleanor was familiar with their customs, he was saying, how could she have allowed such a terrible thing to happen?

“Chief Marongo,” said Eleanor. “Thank you for agreeing to see us.” She spoke without shouting but her voice was strong, forceful, pitched so that everyone could hear. “Thank you for the kudu and sweet water. You are a welcoming man and a fine chief. I hope that you will have many more children and that your cattle will remain healthy.”

Natalie listened to the translator’s murmur and marveled at Eleanor’s composure. Her African birth and her long years in the gorge meant she could utter these formalities without sounding in the least patronizing—it was clear that she meant what she said.

But then she paused, while she took off her hat and spectacles.

“This is a dreadful situation,” Eleanor said. “I cannot apologize enough for what has happened. But the two men who broke into your sacred burial ground didn’t know any better. You must know that I have sent the second man away, as a mark of respect for your tribe, and to preserve a life that I knew was at risk. Despite what has happened, I take your traditions very seriously.”

Eleanor sat upright. Natalie reflected that she had a dignified appearance and manner when it was needed. And it was needed now.

“You and I have known each other over many years,” continued Eleanor. “Since before you were a chief. We have never had any quarrel before. We have exchanged gifts, you have seen our work in the gorge, we have never interfered with your farming. We have helped you and provided vehicles when members of your tribe needed to get to the hospital quickly.”

She didn’t smile as she said, “You are a wise man, Marongo, a fair man,” pausing just a little as she said this. “And gracious. If you can find space in your heart, then you have the power to help me now.” She clasped her hands together. “Please ask the elders to change their minds.”

The chief listened to the translation, and then looked around him, at those standing behind him. He turned back to Eleanor and gripped his spear on his knees.

“Tell me, Dr. Deacon,” he said, “was Dr. Sutton married?”

“No.”

The chief nodded, half to himself. He looked off to his left and raised his arm, pointing, then beckoning.

Part of the throng of villagers which ringed Eleanor, Natalie, the chief, and the others shuffled to one side and a woman moved forward. She was small, with her hair in braids, and she had beautiful nut-brown skin, paler on her cheeks than elsewhere. She carried a baby and, behind her, two small children wrapped in tiny red cloaks followed, holding hands.

The woman walked up to the chief, who stood and put his hand on her head. He drew the two children to him.

“This is Atape, Ndekei’s wife.” He indicated the children. “These are Tife and Sanga, and the new one, Nbole, the rest of his family.”

He smiled as he spoke.

“They are lively children,” said the translator. “Tife, especially, makes a lot of noise.”

But then the chief’s features clouded.

“If Ndekei is hanged, or sent to prison for many years, Tife, Sanga, Nbole, and Atape will go without food and clothes. Their relatives will have to look after them, producing a widening circle of hardship.”

Chief Marongo’s features cleared but he raised his voice. “Is that fair or just? Ndekei did not break our laws, Maasai laws.” He gripped his spear and stamped it into the ground. “On the contrary. After the desecration of our burial ground, the land of our ancestors, the elders met. It was noted where Ndekei worked and he was chosen for the task of retribution, as tribal law demands.” Another stamp of the spear. “It was not a crime, it was an honor!”

The chief turned and spoke to someone behind him. Other heads turned, then an object was passed forward.

Natalie gasped noiselessly and held her hand to her throat.

“According to our custom,” said the chief, “Ndekei had to bring us something that belonged to the victim, with blood on it, to prove he had done what the elders asked. He did so. Now it has been washed, cleansed of the blood of the victim, and it can be returned to you. We do not want it.”