Victoria Falls

by James Hornor

  “Who is that woman standing next to you at the top of the falls?”

  James shifted his gaze off to the right, as if he was looking at the falls photograph for the first time.

  “That’s Melissa Samuel, an Australian woman who I also knew in Africa. Quite a woman, but she couldn’t hold a candle to your mother.”

  “Someday I would love to hear how you and mom met. It must have been quite an adventure.”

  “Probably a story for another time. Right now we need to focus on finding Jenny.”

  Charlie was relieved to realize that Jenny’s disappearance was now not completely his responsibility—that moment by moment he was gaining credibility with James, that together the two of them would decide the next course of action. His father’s calm, organized demeanor was already influencing Charlie, and he wondered what he would now be like if James had been in his life all along as he matured into adulthood.

  “Shouldn’t we call the police?”

  Charlie realized that the knee-jerk reactions that he had been experiencing since yesterday would now be tempered by his father’s organized plan for how to proceed.

  “We probably should wait until late afternoon to call the RCMP. Then we can honestly say it’s been twenty-four hours. What we can do is find out what the neighbors may have seen. Despite its large geography, this part of Alberta is like a small town. I’m going to take a drive down to the village to talk to my buddies at the convenience. Do you remember the color of the truck? Was there lettering on the side?”

  “I can’t be sure about any lettering, but the truck was gray or maybe moss green.”

  “Alberta plates?”

  “I’m sure about the Alberta plates, and the first two letters were WL.”

  “Was the truck bed a lift?”

  “Pretty sure it had double tires on the back with a big flatbed—not sure about the lift.”

  “That’s a start. Someone in the village will know the truck.”

  “I remember Jenny saying that she had called a mechanic in Banff.”

  “If he’s from Banff that makes it more difficult, but I also know people down there. I’m taking a drive. Anything else you remember?”

  “The guy was probably 5’10”—kind of heavyset, with a beard.”

  “Most men in Alberta have a beard, so that probably doesn’t help. Why don’t you get some rest and I’ll be back in an hour or so.”

  As Charlie climbed the stairs he felt the same security he had felt as a child when his parents had put him to bed in the early evening and he had drifted off reassured by the sound of their voices from the living room below. Somehow with his father there, Charlie no longer felt overwhelmed and afraid. “It’s good to be home,” he repeated to himself, and with that he allowed his body to relax for the first time since Jenny’s disappearance.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  THE THREE-HOUR KENYA AIRWAYS FLIGHT FROM HARARE to Nairobi occurs three times a day and prices vary according to the time of day and the time of year. I had originally been booked on a late Monday afternoon flight, which was to land in Nairobi shortly after dinner. Since I had reservations at The Norfolk Hotel, which is a little out of town, my plan was to first get a cab to The Carnivore (my favorite Nairobi restaurant and the only place in the city where you will find both ostrich and crocodile on the menu), and then go to the hotel.

  But once Melissa decided to join me, we rebooked on a late morning flight, which would allow us to meet Gerard Hugel for a drink at 5:00 P.M. on the Delamere Terrace of The Norfolk. I was personally paying for her ticket, and I also ended up paying the ticket change fee for my original booking, since I thought it unfair to charge the Bank for a change that only reflected my preference to fly with Melissa to Nairobi.

  It was the first time I had been on a plane with a woman since the Flight of Angels with Teresa, and as we taxied down the runway, I thought of all that had happened in just one week. With Teresa, the boundaries of our relationship were immovable. Yes, we had slept together, but she was on holiday in Africa with her husband and her children. I couldn’t imagine any scenario that would cause the two of us to ever leave together for another country.

  Yet in comparing Teresa to Melissa, I was aware of the magnanimity in Teresa that was especially there when we said farewell at the train station. Melissa was undoubtedly the most fascinating woman I had ever known. She was beautiful, athletic, and consummately graceful. She was well read, philosophical, and mysteriously spiritual. She actually glowed with a degree of intensity that made her charismatic—especially around men. But despite all of that, I was beginning to fear that there was a part of her that I would never know, that would always be held in reserve. Her comment of a few nights ago—that both of us should feel free to leave if our feelings ever changed—reminded me that Melissa favored contingency over stability. She valued the easy exit, and if needed, the closing of the door. Better to leave the messy situations of life behind when the future held such an effervescent dawn. She had essentially ditched Kate and Trevor, leaving her possible reunion with them completely up in the air. Already I was fearful that either Gerard Hugel or David Fortran would win her away from me once we got to Nairobi. But as I sat next to her and felt the plane climb effortlessly into the sub-Saharan sky, I was powerless to change course. I knew that I would pursue her until every avenue of attraction on my part had been exhausted.

  The Norfolk Hotel, like The Victoria Falls Hotel, was built in the early 1900s, and it quickly established itself as the premier watering hole for the rich and famous who visited Kenya. Teddy Roosevelt stayed there when Nairobi was little more than a train stop between Mombasa and Lake Victoria. Later in the century, Winston Churchill stayed at The Norfolk, as did Lord Delamere, the famous British settler for whom the Delamere Terrace is named.

  Melissa and I arrived at the hotel by taxi a little before two, and after a late lunch and a nap, we headed down to the Terrace a little before five, only to find Gerard Hugel already at a table for four overlooking the lawn.

  After the initial French salutations and faire la bise—air kisses that both Melissa and Gerard had perfected to a T—we ordered gimlets and made small talk in English about the success of the Meikles reception and our flight from Harare.

  Clearly this was a social occasion but also a job interview for Melissa, and she was expertly striking just the right tone of only casual interest in the position. I did, however, notice a small furrow in her brow when our drinks arrived and Gerard mentioned that he had spoken to someone at the French Embassy in Sydney about her suitability for the position in Nairobi.

  With ice in her veins and without a hint of anxiety, Melissa slowly exhaled.

  “I hope the ambassador was around. Obviously he would be supportive in every way possible.”

  “I’m glad to hear you say that. The ambassador was at a meeting in New Guinea, but I spoke to an attaché, a Michel Dumond, who was very complimentary.”

  Melissa’s face brightened and her shoulders relaxed. I wondered if she had more than a business friendship with Michel, since I could sense her renewed confidence. She recalibrated her next sentence as she delivered it.

  “The ambassador and Michel and I worked on many projects together. Next to the ambassador, Michel is the best person you could have spoken to as a reference.”

  “Your best reference is actually sitting next to you. When James saw me after breakfast the other morning, he couldn’t stop singing your praises.”

  Melissa’s knee touched mine under the table and she lightly touched the rim of her glass with her forefinger.

  “James has been very generous in introducing me to many of his friends, including you, Gerard. I’m very grateful that you might consider me for the position, and I’m going to suggest that while James has his lunch meeting tomorrow, we could meet for lunch to talk about more of the specifics.”

  At that Gerard reached across the table and took Melissa’s hand. Because of his French heritage, he was completely wit
hin the boundaries of social decorum, but like the Aussie he left his hand in hers a few seconds too long and looked a little too intently into her eyes.

  “There is a French bistro only a mile from here. James can entertain his guest at the hotel, and I will introduce you to some of my French friends in Nairobi.”

  I was happy for Melissa that she had finessed the ambassador reference and that she was about to get a job offer from Gerard. But I was fighting my tendency to become insecure and proprietary with her—the same behavior that had produced such disastrous results in the past. At the same time, I feared that I had simply handed her over to him in a brief twenty-minute conversation. Somehow I imagined that Melissa’s decision about me—about us—would involve emotional upheaval and angst on both sides. Instead, I imagined them together tomorrow, chatting in French and enjoying lunch, while I met with a disgruntled ex-official from Bombay!

  I decided to talk to Melissa that evening after dinner. What I wanted was some statement from her that would indicate feelings that were beyond just gratitude. Even for her to articulate that she valued our friendship would be enough, but somehow we had transitioned from traveling companions to sharing a bed and her emotional equilibrium still registered “status quo.”

  I knew that to press her on this could be risky. She might simply begin a slow retreat that would leave me feeling alone and ridiculous a month down the road. But to allow her to drift away with either Gerard or David Fortran was equally untenable. Nairobi was an international city, much larger than Harare or Bulawayo, and now I sensed that the inherent boundaries of unfamiliarity were loosening for her. She didn’t need me to help her find her way in Nairobi. She had lived alone in Sydney for at least five years, and she had the savvy and sophistication to find what she needed. I was feeling obsolete and foolish that I had not foreseen how Nairobi would change the dynamic between us.

  Melissa was sitting on the edge of the bed brushing her hair. We had enjoyed so many evenings like this in the brief time since we met, and the tranquility of the end of the day had become so familiar that we were able to enjoy it together in relative silence. Before I began to speak, I almost reconsidered, remembering her little speech in Harare about exiting if it ever stopped “feeling right.” I didn’t want to break that magical spell that had begun that first night in Victoria Falls, but in my mind we were at a crossroads.

  “Can we talk for a minute about us?”

  Melissa stopped the hair brushing for a moment and then resumed. “Sure, what about ‘us’ do you want to talk about?” She said “us” in a mildly sarcastic tone.

  “What I mean is, we have this great relationship, but we never talk about it.”

  “Talk is what often kills relationships.”

  “But talk is communication. Isn’t it good to communicate?”

  “Talking about it makes it a ‘thing.’ It’s better to let it be what it is—something intangible and beyond description.” I knew that Melissa read all kinds of Western philosophy, so I was engaging not just her, but every philosopher from Descartes to Sartre. “Don’t make me talk about us. Talking about relationships means there’s something wrong. Is that what you think?”

  “Melissa, if you think our relationship is perfect, then I guess you’ve answered my question.”

  “When we listen to music, do we have to analyze it? Can’t we just let it be life-giving and leave it at that?”

  “I think you’re right. I’m sorry I brought it up.”

  Melissa put down her hairbrush and moved up on the bed so that she was lying with her head on my leg.

  “There is something I wanted to talk to you about … it concerns your lunch tomorrow with the man from Bombay.”

  “Have you decided to join us?”

  “You know I would have been there if you needed me, but actually I have a small request. It concerns Jonathan.”

  I had almost forgotten that Melissa’s brother was in a Bombay prison, and I instinctively began to touch her arm as a way of reassurance. Her brother’s incarceration was the one topic where she had expressed sincere emotion, and I wanted her to be aware of my sympathy.

  “How can I help?”

  “I don’t know who you are meeting with tomorrow, but if he is a former government official, he might know how the legal system works in Bombay. The last time we spoke to Jonathan he talked about needing money for a bribe. Apparently there are a few judges in the system who would accept money to secure his release. The challenge would be finding out who they are and how they might be contacted.”

  “Of course, I understand.”

  Melissa’s head and her lovely hair now lay across my chest.

  As Melissa lay there breathing softly, I knew that Jonathan’s incarceration and his possible release were the key to her vulnerability and the place where her heart would be softened. An hour earlier, I had seemingly acquiesced to her desire to remain aloof from the entanglement of relationships; now I could begin to assume the role of knight errant.

  I imagined myself calling her from Bombay with news of Jonathan’s release—the two of us flying together to Nairobi to be met by Melissa’s waiting arms. In my imagination I heard her whisper to me, “In bringing home my brother, you have also won my heart.” As I surrendered to a good night’s rest, I began to rehearse how I would introduce the topic of Jonathan during my luncheon tomorrow—how I would begin the first step in the long journey to happiness that I had sought for in vain my entire life.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHARLIE AWAKENED TO THE SOUND OF A TRUCK IN THE driveway, and at first he thought it was the truck—returning a second time. But when he went to the window he saw his father getting out of his pickup truck and carrying in a sack of groceries. It was dusk, Charlie guessed five o’clock, and he now knew that he had slept for three hours while James had been away.

  “How did you do?” Charlie was still at the top of the stairs and James was now standing just inside the door.

  “I did just fine. Come on down and I’ll tell you all about it.”

  As Charlie descended the stairs, he was relieved to feel that someone else was now in charge, and as he helped his father unpack the groceries, he was no longer afraid of the man in the truck or reporting Jenny’s disappearance to the RCMP or even of Heather’s disquietude. For reasons that Charlie could not quite describe, he felt safe and protected with his father actually there.

  “Did you sleep?”

  Charlie loved the way that his father put his son’s well-being above other concerns.

  “Best sleep I’ve had in months. Any luck in the village?”

  James continued to unpack groceries and set aside the chicken and the rice to cook for dinner.

  “A Mountie happened to be at the convenience, and I gave him a brief account of Jenny’s disappearance. An RCMP detective will be by in the morning to begin an investigation. He said it would be helpful if you wrote down everything that happened—hour by hour.”

  “Is that all he said?”

  “He asked if either of us had actually checked the ski trail.”

  “We checked the trail. She was abducted.”

  “They might look at that as only a theory.”

  “Why would she toss her phone in the woodpile?”

  “They could say she put it down in the woodpile while getting logs for the fire.”

  “Is that what you believe?”

  “Of course not. All I’m saying is that they will look at every possibility.”

  “Then how about the truck in the middle of the night?”

  “OK, just to play devil’s advocate, they might say that was a midnight dream.”

  “What?”

  “Just to be on the safe side, I would leave out the part you told me about imagining yourself breaking the windshield with a crowbar. That didn’t happen, but they might theorize none of it happened—that you imagined all of it.”

  “So they think she’s still out there? Still on the trail?”

  “A
ll I’m saying is that they won’t assume anything. It’s their job to be systematic with any inquiry or investigation. Why don’t you work on the report while I fix dinner?”

  Charlie acquiesced to his father’s calm and principled demeanor. It was as if he were connected to a homing device that kept him always on target, always on point. For as long as Charlie could remember, the man who had raised him, Richard Benjamin, had always been the opposite—subject to situation and circumstance, clever and cunning, but sometimes unreliable. He had a way of negotiating life that was based upon leverage and securing the quick advantage. He placed his own needs before those of others. It was a tenuous way to live, and one that produced a low level of anxiety that was never fully dispelled. The result was a life of pretense where the gambit had to be constantly adjusted to fit the moment, and it was the model that Charlie had been given to follow from a very young age.

  It was Teresa who taught him the virtues of kindness and generosity. She was the one who was always ready to forgive and to help others in need. Charlie remembered the Christmas when his college roommate’s mother had died unexpectedly the first week of December. Teresa invited him for Christmas and showered him with gifts as if he were part of the family.

  She was fiercely independent, and that independence allowed her to live by a different moral code than Richard. It also meant that she rejected Richard’s tight hold on life, which ironically kept him from experiencing the vagaries of existence that make life rich and rewarding. If his heart was closed like a tight fist, hers was open and bountifully gracious.

  That had been his initial attraction to Heather. When they were dating, and for the first several years of their marriage, she was just like Teresa, open hearted and generous. He liked the way she was able to let go of conflict and find reasons to be happy. But since Ryan was born, she had changed. Now she reminded him more of Richard—keeping score, suspicious of others’ motives, often openly resentful. Charlie found that he now looked for opportunities to be away from her, even though that also meant he was away from Ryan. Heather had started using Ryan as leverage to keep him closer to home. He suspected that her volatility was really a deep-seated cry for attention, but he feared that any show of vulnerability would be perceived by her as a final opportunity to receive the “payback” of missing love and affection that he had withheld over the years. Charlie thought about the perfect father-daughter relationship between Jenny and their father. After divorce and God knows what else, James had found love and purpose and nurtured it in the constant reaffirmation of Jenny’s presence. There was no conflict in their relationship except that they were apart for long periods of time when James was in Vancouver.