“Please remove me, Father!” I whispered under the weight of the beast. “Please!”
Suddenly Father began to move.
He was running toward me!
“No!” I cried out, miserable. He was supposed to be my angel. He was supposed to stay there. And I was supposed to come to him in spirit and walk together into eternity. Why was he moving?
He got much closer, and I could begin to see his face more clearly. In the midst of all the pain, the heat, the blood, and the agony I discovered it was not Father.
It was the captain.
Chapter 18
THE CAPTAIN
I had visited with Sechele and he had sent me in the direction of the school. Of course I knew where it was located. As I walked across the African ground, hot even through my thick boots, I wondered what I was expecting to find.
I had taken the Madras back to London where I was given the opportunity to dock her for up to three months for a holiday. I had been on the sea for years now, with only occasional snatches of time to wander lands here and abroad. In truth, I had come to miss London. Certainly not her people, for no one held my interest there. But the familiarity of the country roads, the feel of hard earth under my feet, the smell of foods not meant to last months in a dirty sailor’s kitchen. Something in my subconsciousness pulled at me to stay and set up a new life.
And yet there was a pull I could not reason away. I tried to dismiss this as a simple guilt of conscience. I had allowed a young girl, barely out of schoolroom braids, to wander about the interior of Africa with no prior experience of living off the land or taking care of herself. I knew the Livingstones to be reliable people with more salt in their character than the whole of London. Still, it might have been wrong to allow her to wander away, even with such good care.
I told myself that was why I pulled up anchor. I told myself it was a matter of duty. I could not allow such a frail thing to be killed in such a harsh atmosphere, even if every conversation I had with her left me seething.
My misguided justifications were suddenly interrupted. For in the distance, before I had time to reach the school, there sat on a rock a striking young woman. Unless there were other proper English girls wandering about the interior, this had to be her. This had to be Catherine Kensington.
My footsteps sped as I squinted against the blazing sun. It could not possibly be her! The woman I saw in the distance was just that—a woman. In Durban so many months ago, I had dropped off a dangerously thin young girl with skin so white and ill it sometimes appeared clear, even seeming to show her haughty cheekbones. This lady I beheld, possibly a quarter mile away, was stunning in the kind of way only a being of triumph can be.
She sat on a rock with a few books and papers in her hands, lightly clasping them as she watched her small band of children. Her hair was pulled up into a loose bun atop her head, thick pieces of which fell down to the sides of her face. Her skin had darkened with its exposure to the harsh climate, but it did not make her appear gruff or unapproachable—it added to her appearance. The hunch of her shoulders was gone, now replaced by a back ramrod straight. But it was not only that her posture had somehow corrected itself, but that she carried with her a purpose, a sense of being, a direction! One would know simply looking upon this woman once that she was a sower of seeds and a worker of fields. It made her beautiful, if I was being honest with myself. She had integrity and a sort of quiet dignity, earned through many long days of hard work.
Although I still had not the faintest idea what I wanted to say or what my purpose was in Kolobeng, I marched forward, determined to see my expedition to the end.
I had been approaching Catherine from her right, her profile distinct under the shade of one dry, solitary tree, her school children playing directly in front of her. Among the children I recognized Motsatsi, Sechele’s boy. I had been in the home when he was born. He had grown tall since my absence. I was watching when I saw him straighten and look behind him as if he heard something. I followed his line of sight and felt adrenaline barrel through me as if it wanted to burst through my fingertips.
All that followed happened in only a matter of seconds, though the agonizing length of the scene would threaten to steal my sanity.
Sechele had warned me that the lions had become a problem. I had volunteered to be a part of the hunting party. I had not thought my participation would come so swiftly. Instinctively I ran for the soon-to-be victims. The lion was headed right for them. A rock in my stomach told me I was too far away, but I silenced the doubt and sprinted anyway.
“Motsatsi!” I heard her shout. “You will hide now! Take them all with you!”
Even her voice sounded stronger than it had been.
The children grouped together under Motsatsi’s direction. They started to run in the opposite direction of the lion, their small legs moving quickly as only children can run. My attention instantly turned to her, hoping she was following the children.
Of course she wasn’t. I was aggravated, although not surprised.
Running as fast as my legs could carry me was not quick enough to reach her before I witnessed her reckless courage. My legs became heavy against the psychological strain of not being fast enough to make a difference.
She had watched the children for a moment, her hair drifting across her now strong jawline, with an odd smile on her face. I was still a good distance away, my feet painfully slow. Her face turned toward the lion. I knew what she intended to do and the thought of it made me so angry I growled under my breath.
No!
She would not have listened to reason even if I were close enough for her to hear. She would not survive. She ran at the beast, taking handfuls of hot dirt in her hands. It would only save her for a few extra seconds. I was right, although being right held no victory now. When the lion recovered from the sting to its eyes, it crouched and then sprung at her. Knowing full well I would now never make it to her before she was mauled, and feeling absolutely helpless, I stopped like an imbecile in my tracks and could not tear my eyes away from the carnage in front of me.
The animal grabbed her on the shoulder and threw her to the ground in one swift motion, almost instantly followed by placing its paw down the front of her. Her eyes closed shut. He bit her again.
How is it that she made no sound? How could she have possibly trained herself to be silent while being eaten by a lion? She had yelled before in an attempt to scare the animal, but now remained quiet. I wanted her to cry out so I might know if she was still alive, yet I knew she was for now. As this thought passed through my mind, her eyes flashed open and looked directly at me.
Realizing she could see me, and possessing this evidence that she was alive, I stood as perfectly still as adrenaline would allow, then took my pistol out of my belt and fired. I struck him. The cloud of fragrant white smoke obstructed my view and I started to run again, to get closer to her and to get away from the haze. The giant animal placed a paw to the side of her face, crushing her under its weight. She did not seem to notice.
Suddenly I doubted my reason, for I had left Sechele’s home only moments ago, but there he was only a few strides from her! I could not even tell which direction he came from, but there he stood with all the majesty of kings before him. Was this Sechele? He seemed different than the Kgosi I had known for years. He wore an English coat, like always, which was now button-less and altogether ruined after what must have been an amazing run to this spot. The man I knew was a chief and a disciple—but the man who now placed his hands on the lion was an alarming predator. Suddenly I felt a pang of sympathy—for the lion, not the man.
With both hands gnarled in rough fur, the chief shoved the animal off of Catherine. Mebalwe suddenly stood next to him, assegai pointed and prepared. Either my sanity was leaving me, or these men’s hunting skills rivaled this lion to such a terrifying degree that there really was no hope for the animal. Quick as summer lightning, the chief had the animal on its back and Mebalwe flipped his assegai downw
ard and plunged the weapon straight into the animal’s heart.
After what seemed an excruciating lapse of time, I reached her.
Sechele and Mebalwe were there with me, speaking in their native language so quickly I could only understand two things: she was breathing, and she was a fighter.
I began to assess her wounds. The openings in her shoulder were grotesque to say the least. The wounds resembled gun shots. I felt certain her collar bone and several ribs were broken. Why is it, then, that the wounds that disturbed me the most were the gashes across her face?
The tribesmen who started the hunt finally arrived. Sechele had not been angry as he had fought the lion. Now the rage started in his jaw and moved up.
“Where is the doctor?” I interjected. I hoped to prolong the time before their discipline so I could get Catherine to safety.
“He is attending the sick in the south part of the village,” came the reply.
“Go and fetch him! And quickly,” I commanded. “Have him meet us at his own house.”
“As you say, Captain,” A man, whose name I vaguely remembered being Akanni, agreed and ran in the direction I hoped would be quickest to find Livingstone. That left three of the miserable men left to stand and wait their condemnation from the livid Sechele. I refer to them as men, although they were closer to children. Before I left, these same four had not even completed their male initiation into the tribe. It was possible they had gone to hunt the lions to prove their own worth. The thought made me shake with rage.
“She has been staying with the missionary family then?” I questioned again.
“Yes,” Dakarai gave me the answer I needed while the other young man, Gahiji, stood with a gaping mouth and horrified eyes. As gently as I could, I hefted her into my arms, trying as I might to avoid her shoulder wounds. Sechele and Mebalwe looked on with stone-cold faces. I could feel her heart beat ferociously everywhere I touched her broken body, and it was a comfort to me because it meant she was fighting hard to stay alive. And in the same instance, it frustrated me because she did not make a sound and I did not know why she worked so hard to stay alive. I cannot say that if I were wounded thus I would battle against death so well.
I started toward the home of the doctor’s family. I knew it well. Sechele and Mebalwe flanked either side of me, with the guilty party of men trailing miserably behind us.
My step was suddenly halted by a sharp drop on the top of my head. I was aware of the severe drought that had plagued the village, and so I slowed, as did my comrades.
Had I imagined rain? Was the heat beginning to affect my mind? Sechele and Mebalwe had relaxed their hunter’s stances, if only slightly. Nothing immediately followed and after a moment we continued.
Approaching from the same direction I had come, Dr. Livingstone, Mary, and Selemeng came sprinting toward Catherine and me They reached us at last and the doctor assessed her with furrowed brow, calculating the chance of her survival. Exhaustion drained all their features, exemplifying their emotions. The expression that caught me off guard, however, was Selemeng. From the look on her face, I suddenly felt as if I were holding the dead body of one of her children. Her mouth wrinkled and her eyes closed as she shook her head and ran clumsily toward us. I felt she did not want to see what was in my hands. The evidence of Catherine injured. They must have become great friends.
A barrage of questions came at me as soon as they arrived.
“How did this happen?”
“What can we do?”
Before we could answer any of these, it happened again.
All sound stopped.
“Did you feel that?” I asked every soul surrounding me. Their eyes were wide and hopeful, and a few of them nodded their heads. Sechele jerked his hands out in front of him, palms up, and looked to the skies.
I heard a strangled sob and looked back into the face of Kgosi.
“Please,” Chief Sechele whispered to the heavens. “Please.”
I was torn between wanting to move Catherine and waiting for the rain. Soon I did not have to choose.
The rain came down in torrents.
Chapter 19
ANNA
I do not remember much besides the writhing of my shredded body. My body thought it needful to move constantly in an attempt to move away from the pain. I was told, after the fact, that my chief, Mebalwe, and the captain had rescued me. Then the captain lifted me and carried me back to my house. He was yelling a great amount. I wondered why he was so angry.
Back at the house, the writhing would not stop. I heard a woman’s voice asking me questions in broken English—I did not know what she was saying and I did not want to answer. I wanted David to attend to me. What could be keeping him? I looked around me in desperation to find a friendly face. All I saw was the face of the captain in the corner of my bedroom, scowling as always. I closed my eyes again.
I felt a coolness on my burning wounds and heard David’s voice trying to break through my many layers of trauma and pain, but I could not answer him. All too quickly there was a disturbing tugging focused on my shoulder, and on several other places along my legs, arms, and face. Something was being poured in my mouth. It tasted absolutely vile! I hoped that meant it would lessen the pain. I was right. After a relentless amount of time I slept.
I was not strong physically, but I was stronger in mind than I had ever been. I forced my consciousness to imagine a peaceful setting.
I sat up in the thickest, most comfortable, and by far the ugliest chair in Father’s library. The back of it towered so far above my head, it made me feel like a little child again. It was my dream, after all, so of course Father was there. He sat in a chair facing the door so I could take in his profile. He still had the strongest chin of any man I had ever encountered. Strength was his way and knowledge his beacon. How was he so perfect with such terrible surroundings? I wanted to ask him, but I was becoming so very tired of sound. This place could be quiet a little longer.
My eyes rolled open again as the pain returned. I groaned despite my best efforts to remain quiet. Someone jumped to their feet and came to my side. I didn’t care who it was, I just wanted the pain gone again. My body felt tighter, like I was wrapped in some kind of tourniquet. It made it hard to breathe.
“Too tight,” was all I could breathe out of my strangled body.
Rough hands jerked my head upright and gave me more putrid liquid to drink. I was grateful. My head laid back down on my pillow and I waited for the pain to leave. My eyes opened and found themselves, once again, locked with the captain’s. How did that happen so often? I fell to sleep.
This time, in my mind’s eye, Father and I were walking up the path behind the house. I held Father’s arm. The path was more defined than I remembered. All the trees remained stationary, but the sun was brighter, the air was warmer, and the ground was softer. Everything around me was better than it had been before.
I looked up into Father’s face. He was smiling, enjoying himself in this place. Again, we did not speak. Only moved forward gracefully, not going anywhere.
I felt I didn’t have enough time to dream, the pain always returned so quickly. Didn’t they have anything stronger? I awoke again. This time the liquid was ready as soon as I awoke. The same hands lifted my head and bade me drink. I willed my eyes to open to prove what I already knew. It was the captain. He looked so angry. Why did he have to look so angry? What had happened to him? I could not ask. I was too tired.
I continued on the path with Father. The sun was bright and I enjoyed the constant warmth it gave to my bare arms. Father spoke this time.
“Where are Anna and her mother?” my dream-father asked me suddenly.
I jerked and then breathed in and out slowly, panic threatening me. “What do you mean?” I asked, not knowing what else to say.
“I mean, this is the place where their cottage used to be,” he continued. “Why is Anna not here? You used to love playing with her.”
“There is too much pain, Fath
er.” I slowed. “I cannot have them near without feeling tremendous guilt.”
“Did you not do your best to save them?” he questioned me.
“I did everything in my power, although the flesh was weak,” I declared.
“Then what is the need for guilt?”
“I don’t know, Father, please do not ask me,” I begged.
“My darling girl, you cannot go on forever not speaking of this and keeping the memories out. You have to remember them!”
Sobs came instantly to me. Why would he bring this up now? Wasn’t being attacked by a wild carnivore enough punishment for now? It hurt my chest to think of them.
Somewhere a hand touched my forehead and I was brought to reality again.
“Miss Anna,” came a voice. A voice I had come to know well. I tried to come up closer to the surface. I tried to wake.
“Miss Anna,” he tried again, but all I could do was sob. I couldn’t endure the physical or the emotional pain. Even Sechele could not soothe me now. He waited a moment before he said.
“Thank you for saving my children.” I felt the emotion coming through his voice.
That made me force my eyes to look at him. He was squatting next to my bed with his head in his hands. He looked so hurt, so broken. Surely there was nothing so precious to Sechele than his children. I wanted to comfort him, but I was unable. I fell to sleep again.
I was sitting on a tree stump, not attempting any further to reign in the sobs that overtook me. Father had broken my heart wide open again. He knelt down next to me, his broad knees breaking branches as he came to the earth.
“You weren’t there, Father!” I choked out, “Why weren’t you there every second for me? Couldn’t you see how I needed you?” I cried desperately now. “Why weren’t you my Beowulf?”
He was crying as well. Large tears ran down his weathered cheek.
“It was not you alone that she hurt, Anna. I had to spread myself thin to try and protect everyone she took a disliking to,” he tried to explain. “I spent hours appealing to your grandparents, uncle,s and aunts. Anyone who would listen! I begged them to understand what a monster she had become. Everyone believed her charm over my truth. And I could not divorce her or leave her in any way without the law taking you away from me. The magistrates were good friends of your mother’s.”
In Spite of Lions Page 21