A Lion by the Mane

by Edna Dawes

  ‘If you didn’t act like one, maybe I wouldn’t respond that way,’ she cried. ‘I can’t say I’m impressed with what I have seen so far!’

  ‘I don’t give a bloody damn! Compared with your pristine, fortune-favoured life, mine has been a never-ending struggle to make things happen the way I want them. Disappointments, set-backs, and strong competition tend to develop less than praiseworthy traits in a person, but even if I had been born with a silver spoon in my mouth, I hope I wouldn’t have grown up as insufferably perfect as you!’

  Margaret’s cheeks were flaming by now. ‘Losing your temper and insulting me only proves my point. A man wouldn’t react in this way.’

  ‘You’ve got it all wrong, Miss Purity. A man is not necessarily a gentleman. My brothers are all men, but regularly lose their tempers. Ask anyone!’

  ‘Ah, but you are not like your brothers . . . you have already told me. And that is the root of all the trouble, isn’t it?’ she thrust at him. ‘You have never forgotten the rough time they gave you as a boy, and read continued persecution into everything they say or do. If I have grown-up insufferably perfect, you have grown-up insufferably martyred. From what I hear, the rest of the family is heartily sick of your puerile histrionics of late.’

  ‘Who told you that?’ he shouted, stamping on the brake.

  ‘Helen,’ she shouted back, ‘and when they hear of this latest idiocy they really will cast you out. You have ruined Chris, and they won’t tolerate a Judas among their number.’

  ‘If you were a man I’d hit you for that,’ he grated out through whitened lips.

  ‘If you were a man, you would,’ she cried, bursting into tears. Why didn’t he strike her? What she had said was appalling. Suddenly, in adding the facets to the gem of her life, Destiny’s edge had slipped and cut a little too deeply. The quarrel had avalanched alarmingly and Margaret, a novice at impassioned anger, had been unable to stay the course with any sort of control. Never in her life had she flayed anyone with her tongue in that manner . . . it was completely foreign to her nature. Or was it? Perhaps there was a lot more locked away inside her waiting for the provocation to draw it out!

  The sobbing continued as she leant her aching head against the side of the cab. Oh, he was right; she had been living like one of the experimental mice she had worked on. Enclosed in a glass case of respectability, her every action had been predictable and channelled correctly by those around her so that she had no idea of the depths of the human jungle outside. Who was she to point a condemnatory finger at anyone – least of all Jan? What did she know of his life? All she had to go on were a few words of Helen’s and the evidence of three days spent with him.

  In retrospect she now saw his behaviour not as juvenile, but courageous . . . impulsively so, but courageous nevertheless. By flying that Dakota he had been prepared to risk Chris’s anger to prove what his brother would not believe by persuasion, and he had accepted the blow dealt him by ill-fortune without wailing or gnashing of teeth. There was no doubt that Sergeant De Wet back at Alwynsrus was a bigger rogue than the man he had imprisoned, and Jan had been right to break out from that prison cell. The tangle with Craig and Co was better described as foolhardiness than courage, but to chase after them, knowing the odds were three to one, was not the action of a delinquent. And all this without hope of coming out of the affair with any credit for himself! She wiped her eyes and reflected miserably that she had not even committed the crime of using mascara which would run down her cheeks to prove she was human!

  Jan had climbed from the truck and was flexing the tenseness from his body as he gazed around him. The pain in his stomach had increased since that girl had revealed that she and Helen had been discussing him that day at Sea Point. He had thought better of his sister-in-law! How well he remembered the indignity of having his two sisters prying into his secrets and rushing to tell anyone who cared to listen, then when he set on them and was severely taken to task for hitting girls, they stood giggling just out of reach.

  He had even once been put in their charge when his brothers had all gone down with a stomach upset after drinking Chris’s home-brewed beer. He had suffered taunts from the boys, then. While they had been suffering from the results of a manly experiment, he had to be looked after by feminine nursemaids! How he had longed to lay into all four of them – had started, until Chris had told him not to be a young idiot and hauled him away. Even now, fond though he was of his sisters, the least suggestion of their interference in his life brought forth a firm directive to keep their pretty noses out. The knowledge that Chris’s wife had chewed him over with a comparative stranger hit him hard. Helen had always seemed to be more understanding than most people and he had trusted her. That was women for you! They changed personalities without any warning.

  Take this girl, for instance. The tears flowing so freely down her cheeks surprised him until a momentary recollection of ‘tipsy Maggie’ returned, reminding him she could succumb to weakness. Now his anger had been vented he felt empty. It was not his custom to be boorish to women, but with his life in such a mess at the moment if he had to have a woman on his hands he would have preferred the usual type. Still he should know by now that obstacles leapt up at every turning where he was concerned. With a sigh he returned to the cab to take down one of the water bottles.

  ‘Drink?’ he offered to the girl, ignoring her distress.

  She took it automatically and held it clasped on her lap.

  ‘The idea is to unscrew the top and guzzle,’ he said, taking it back and opening it. ‘Here.’

  ‘Thank you.’ The words came out very thickly.

  After she had quenched her thirst Jan took a good pull at the water to wash the dust from his throat. There was still a fair distance to go and he didn’t want to halt again. His eyes roamed the distance, looking for inspiration, but there was only the parched bush against coppery sky; the growth of Africa which had been there before his birth and would be there long after he was forgotten. Somewhere along that perimeter fence there had to be an access to the neighbouring country, and unless they had a giant crane handy, Craig would have to leave the jeep this side. Everything depended on how quickly he found it and traced the spot where Craig had crossed over. He pulled himself back into the cab and switched on the engine, but was brought from his thoughts by the girl beside him.

  ‘Jan.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Do you think you could strike my remarks from your memory? My only excuse is that I am very inexperienced at quarrelling and lost sight of the rules. I truly didn’t mean the bit about your being a Judas.’

  ‘I know you didn’t,’ he said surprisingly. ‘You wouldn’t be vitriolic to someone you persist in mothering, but it struck just a bit too near home for my conscience.’

  The truck leapt forward, cutting short any further inroads into the quarrel and she took his hint, contenting herself by asking how he knew where to go. When he explained, she faced him with what he proposed doing when he found the abandoned jeep.

  ‘I shall cross the border after them. You can take the truck back to headquarters.’

  ‘When and if you catch Craig, you surely don’t expect them to surrender quietly. Once they are over the border I imagine South African law cannot touch them without an extradition order.’

  His mouth twisted into a wry smile. ‘That is too elevated an idea of my motives. I have no noble desire to serve the ends of justice by marching three miserable men to the nearest police-station single-handed. My sole purpose is to obtain the names of everyone involved in this business and a written statement from each of them declaring that Chris had no part in it. I’ll break them in two to get it, if necessary, but as far as justice goes, they’ll snare themselves in a net of their own making, given time.’

  ‘Why didn’t you twist Craig’s arm when you had the chance?’

  ‘I only suspected him; I had nothing to back my belief until he ran. There was only one name I was sure of, and I’m saving him till las
t.’

  ‘Van Heerdon?’

  He nodded.

  ‘I don’t think you’ll intimidate him enough to do your bidding. He is a vulture who lives off the carcase of society . . . and who can prey on a vulture?’

  The question was never answered because a large grey mass emerged from the trees right into their path making Jan screech to a halt. The elephant was a huge bull with madly flapping ears and villainous under-sized eyes, who was leading a small herd through the bush along one of their recognized routes. Jan knew enough to stop and wait for them to pass.

  ‘Don’t move,’ he told Margaret. ‘They have a worse temper than mine.’

  She was thrilled and fascinated to see them lumber on their way, uprooting trees and crashing with giant feet through the scrub, but she saw them with the eyes of a uitlander, and knew nothing of how dangerous they could be if somebody blocked the path. This encounter with Jumbo prompted Jan to turn into an intensely interesting guide, pointing out creatures she would have missed and telling her facts about South Africa which intrigued and sometimes angered her. As he spoke, he revealed a true and serious love of his homeland which fell gladly on the ears of a girl used to the throw-away, deprecatory staunchness of the average Englishman, and showed her another side of his character. But then, he would be as loyal to his country as his family, she reasoned. Would he also be as unwaveringly faithful to the woman he married? Her protective instinct for this man was momentarily pierced by the fear of his deep, dedicated love being wounded by a woman who treated it carelessly. Should he survive all else, that she felt sure would be the finish of him.

  It was mid-morning and very hot before Jan’s expert eyes spotted the fence which bounded the Reserve. He drove to it and pulled up.

  ‘Have another drink while I take a look around,’ he advised the girl as he lit a cigarette. ‘It’s a question of deciding whether to go north or south.’

  ‘Is there anything to eat? I’m starving!’

  ‘There’s fruit, cheese and biscuits in that box. Take pity on the driver and don’t eat it all.’ The smile was a surprise. She had not seen him do it all that often, and the warmth and spontaneity of this one brought her close to him in one giant leap – metaphorically, not physically, because he limped away to examine the perimeter track for any clues. It was only an outside chance. Craig might have his access gate miles from this particular spot and they could easily waste time driving in the opposite direction.

  Margaret armed herself with oat biscuits, cheese and an apple and wandered across to the shade of some trees to eat the strange breakfast. During the drive the sun had been biting into her arms and, although she didn’t burn as a rule, the worst her skin had been subjected to was the mid-summer blaze at the Cornish holiday home owned by her parents . . . a far cry from the searing heat of the veld. As she munched, her thoughts flew seven thousand miles to the scene of their annual family retreat to the West Country and saw again the familiar pattern of the three weeks they spent there. They had been joining forces with a neighbouring holiday family of equal middle-class wealth and respectability for many years, Margaret and her sister playing with their two sons when children, making light, flirtatious love with them as the years passed. While the young people were out dancing or walking hand in hand along the moonlit shore, their elders played canasta or bridge, secure in the knowledge that the friendship between the boys and girls would never go beyond what was expected of them. It was idyllic . . . and looking back on it now, predictably dull! Margaret pushed back her heavy hair in frustration. No, she would not return to it just yet. As Jan suggested, there must surely be other opportunities for her in South Africa!

  Busy with possible plans for her future, her attention was suddenly drawn by a slight movement above her. Through the dry leaves on the branch slightly to her left, a bright green smooth body was visible as it slid along with regular expanding and contracting movements. It was a sight to set a person’s blood running cold, especially when she had no means of defence. The snake had spotted Margaret and froze, but it could not have been more still than the girl rooted to the spot below.

  Jan returned along the path none the wiser as to which direction Craig had taken. It was still a fifty-fifty choice; one he would have to make now. The truck came into his view but he didn’t immediately spot Margaret. When he did his reflexes leapt into alertness and his hand automatically reached for his revolver. A soft oath escaped him and he cast around for an alternative weapon. A broken limb from a tree provided the only solution, and since it was better than nothing, he grabbed it up and called softly to the girl, ‘Keep perfectly still and don’t panic! I’m here now.’

  Schooling himself to edge forward inch by inch, he kept his gaze fixed on the jewel eyes and flicking tongue of the reptile. Margaret was not panicking, he noted, but seemed paralysed with fear. At last, he reached her and, holding the branch at the ready, put his left arm round her waist pulling her back against him. Step by step they backed away from the trees until they were far enough away for the snake to lose interest in its potential danger and slither away. As soon as this happened Margaret broke free and turned shining eyes to Jan.

  ‘Why did you pull me away! That is the first chance I have had to see a Boom slang in its natural environment, and I was thrilled. I can’t go back now; too much movement upsets them. They’re not really dangerous, you know, as long as one keeps still.’

  Jan’s expression defied description. He looked down at the flushed excited face beneath the floppy cotton sun-hat and experienced an emotion quite foreign to him. It was the first time he had wanted to wring a woman’s neck! Unable to trust himself to speak, he flung down the branch and hobbled back to the truck, where he poured water down his throat and over his head to cool himself down in more ways than one. He was no naturalist. That snake could have been a green mamba – swift death in a smooth skin – but her superior knowledge had made his rescue bid appear melodramatic!

  Margaret watched him in dismay. Would she never learn? It would not have been difficult to pretend she had been afraid. She was Queen Elizabeth flinging Raleigh’s muddy cloak back in his face!

  There seemed nothing to talk about after that. Jan ate his way through a huge square of cheese and three apples as the truck kicked up a dust trail behind them. If he had chosen the wrong direction they would have to drive back through it and, knowing his luck, it was more than likely. He was wrong. After half an hour he spotted the jeep half-concealed by trees about a hundred yards from the boundary fence. He drew up alongside it and levered himself out. It took him twenty minutes of searching before he found the cunning ‘door’ in the fence where the cuts in the wire had been covered with grey rubber to disguise any sign of tampering from the Rangers who regularly inspected the boundary confines. He returned to the truck, pocketed a couple of apples, slung two water bottles over his shoulder and looked at Margaret.

  ‘Tot siens!’ He sketched a salute and turned away.

  ‘Jan, I haven’t the faintest idea how to get back.’

  He stopped with his back to her and she waited with a bumping heart for him to turn to face her, but he didn’t. ‘You go back to the spot where we saw the snake, then head west until you reach that fork in the track.’

  If she looked wide-eyed and helpless it was real this time.

  ‘I’d never make it. I was too busy looking at the animals to notice where you were going, and navigation is one of my failures. I even lose myself at home . . . it’s quite a joke.’

  He turned then with his eyes closed in an attempt to keep his temper. ‘It doesn’t strike me as funny. Don’t play stupid games at this stage.’

  ‘I mean it, Jan. I’ll drive around until the petrol runs out and still be lost.’

  It would seem to be a stalemate, but Jan was well used to easing out of tricky situations and inspiration came at the right time. In the jeep left behind by Craig would be a two-way radio which linked with headquarters, so he could contact one of the Rangers to come
out for the girl. This solution didn’t appear to please Margaret because she turned about face when he explained it and claimed there was no need for him to do that, after all. Her protest was so vociferous he decided she had been leading him on all along, and pursued the subject no further.

  Margaret was left standing beneath the sun, a small lonely figure with mixed-up feelings, as her only human link crossed into the neighbouring country and vanished into the trees. She had not dared let him contact headquarters for fear Chris had already arrived there, but by stopping him she had destroyed her only chance of returning. This Reserve covered around two and a half thousand square miles. What were the chances of her hitting the right track, and how long could she survive on two bottles of water, some cheese and an orange?

  Chapter Seven

  Strange bird-calls echoed across the ripe grasslands stretching around her, and the warm smell of vegetation, sweet and wild, settled into its previous heady blanket after the disturbance caused by the arrival of the truck. Away to the left the cry of beasts in flight was quickly stilled, leaving this corner of Africa to lie acquiescent while the blaze of day lived through its short reign until night dethroned it with soft persuasion.

  Minutes passed, insignificant in the realms of the earth, but the most decisive in the life of one human soul upon it. There was a choice to be made quickly and irrevocably, and Margaret struggled with it. She could wait until a few hours before nightfall, then call up headquarters on the two-way radio (providing she discovered how to operate it) or she could follow Jan. There should be no choice; the only sensible decision was the first . . . Yet . . .? Following that action to its probable conclusion she visualized the arrival of a jeep to escort her back, Chris or some provincial official arranging her immediate flight to Cape Town where she would either return to a January Norfolk, or go back several months later after frustrated attempts to arrange study at another Game Reserve.

  Chris and Helen would be sincerely grateful for what she had done on Jan’s behalf in the Dakota, but she would be shut out from any further part in the affair. The Schroeders closed ranks against outsiders when one of their number was in trouble and they would never forgive her for tricking Chris, then leaving Jan to go it alone without the support of his brother. Yes, it would be a polite ‘thank you’ then a firmly closed door.