Jackal's Dance

by Beverley Harper

  Within a couple of months, however, Billy began to notice the telltale signs that he was losing interest in Thea. This time he couldn’t dispassionately end the affair. This time was for keeps. And it finally dawned on him that he had made a terrible mistake. He hadn’t anticipated that a wife would demand so much of his time.

  Growing up an only child, Billy was used to his own company. Seeking out others had always been something he’d done when he wanted to, not when they wanted it. Perhaps if he really did love Thea, he could have made the necessary adjustment. However, the thought of spending the rest of his life in her company filled him with dread. It was not that there was anything wrong with her – he could see how good she was at her job, how popular she’d become with the others. She was a really nice person. He just didn’t love her.

  His main problem was that Thea loved him with all her heart. He was responsible for her happiness and the burden of that was too much. Billy didn’t want her reliance on him. He felt cornered by it. The softness in her eyes whenever they rested on his face only served to remind him that he couldn’t reciprocate. He tried, but it was no good. He just couldn’t do it. When Thea accused him of not making love to her any more, Billy knew exactly what she was saying. The increasing weight of guilt over his young wife’s deepening unhappiness had him wishing a miracle would happen, that he’d really fall in love with her. But he understood himself well enough to know that the problem would not get better, only worse. And he didn’t know what he was going to do about it.

  These thoughts weighed heavily as he drove along looking for Professor Kruger and the students. When the elephant trumpeted and charged, Billy got the fright of his life. The rogue had been the last thing on his mind. And there was no doubting that it was she. Tuskless, obviously outraged by the sight of his vehicle, her shuffling run had very nearly caught him. Luckily, the road wasn’t far off. Once on it, he was able to put a good distance between himself and the enraged animal. As he drove back through the lodge gates, Billy decided he’d have to send an armed ranger to bring the professor’s group in.

  As it happened, he didn’t need to. The professor and his students arrived on their own accord less than two hours later.

  A family of warthog captured Felicity Honeywell’s attention and she pulled over to watch them. She’d been inside the game reserve for over an hour, stopping once at Okaukuejo rest camp to top up on fuel. Now she was following the concrete markers to Logans Island. As ever, her mind was rhyming words, on this occasion to go with warthog.

  There once was a naughty wartie . . .

  Another vehicle stopped behind. It was the man she’d nearly backed into. She waved and he returned the gesture. Felicity then watched the warthog antics.

  The boar was closest to the road, walking forward on his front knees, digging for roots and tubers. A sow followed, doing the same. Two piglets kept close to their mother. Felicity was of the firm opinion that warthog were frustrated thespians, overacting being one of their specialties. There was no way the big tusk-sporting male could have been unaware of the two vehicles but, quite suddenly, his legs straightened and he shied nervously, as if he’d only just noticed them, snorted, turned to face Felicity’s vehicle, then skittered sideways back and forth a dozen times or more before cantering away, until only his tail, held erect like a periscope, was visible in the dry grass. The rest of his family followed.

  ‘Are you going to Logans Island?’

  Felicity hadn’t heard him approach and jumped at the sound of his voice. ‘Oh! Yes I am.’

  He shouldn’t have been out of his car. ‘Know the way?’

  ‘Sort of. I’m just following the signs.’

  ‘I’ve been there before. Follow me if you like . . .’

  The screaming trumpet was so close and so loud it shocked both of them. Philip Meyer looked back down the road and turned cold. Ears spread, trunk tucked in, the elephant was about a hundred metres away and closing fast.

  ‘Get in!’ Felicity grabbed the gear lever and pulled it into D for drive. ‘Quickly.’

  Philip didn’t wait to be asked twice. The tuskless female wasn’t stopping. If ever he’d seen a determined charge, this was it. He dived into the back seat as Felicity powered away. The enraged animal reached his abandoned vehicle. Flapping its ears in a threatening display, screaming and trumpeting in infuriated frustration, Philip saw the elephant stop and turn on his transport with awesome ferocity. Seemingly oblivious of pain, she rammed her solid bone-filled head into the driver’s door before repeatedly beating down onto the bonnet and roof with her trunk.

  ‘Avis will be pleased. I hope you’ve got collision cover?’ Felicity commented, her eyes on the rear-vision mirror.

  Philip climbed into the front passenger seat. ‘My name’s Meyer. Philip Meyer.’

  ‘Felicity Honeywell.’ They shook hands. ‘Please tell me you don’t want to go back for your car.’

  He let out a shaky breath. ‘No. I think our friend back there is into premeditated murder. She’d probably take it personally if I tried a rescue.’

  ‘Something tells me you’ve got that right.’ She glanced over at him. ‘What on earth made you get out?’

  ‘Crass stupidity,’ Philip replied wryly.

  She grinned, appreciating his unselfconscious candour. ‘Lucky I was there.’

  He smiled back. ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Does this make up for the near miss in Windhoek? I’m truly sorry. I just didn’t see you.’

  ‘No harm done. The adrenalin rush was just what I needed after a long flight.’

  Felicity pulled a face. ‘Is that what you stopped to tell me?’

  ‘What else? It had nothing to do with the fact that I’m addicted to warthog.’

  ‘They are kind of cute, aren’t they?’

  ‘Cute! They’re as ugly as sin.’

  ‘True. But don’t you just love those tails?’

  Philip wound down the window. A warm wind brought with it the distinctive odour of dust, animal droppings and Africa. He breathed it in deeply.

  They drove in silence for several minutes, each content to enjoy the scenery, until Felicity slowed the car and pointed. ‘More ellie over there.’ The herd was making stately, single-file progress towards the road. ‘They seem calm enough.’

  The leading matriarch looked neither left nor right. ‘If we stop,’ Philip said, ‘they’ll pass right in front of us. Damn it!’

  His exclamation took her by surprise. ‘What’s wrong?’ Felicity stopped but kept the car in gear.

  ‘Look at the clouds, the backdrop, the light, the colour of the grass, the white calcrete. It’s a David Shepherd painting. A perfect Kodak moment and my camera is back there.’

  ‘No problem.’ She produced hers, a not so new Pentax fitted with an 80/200 variable lens. ‘If these turn out okay I’ll send you copies.’

  The herd passed within fifty metres. Felicity leaned out her window and managed to take seven photographs before the last of them disappeared. The elephants paid no attention to their car, behaving as if it wasn’t there.

  ‘Wonder what got up the first one’s nose?’ Felicity said, driving slowly past where the breeding herd had crossed the road.

  ‘God knows,’ Philip replied. ‘With a nose like that, anything’s possible.’

  Felicity laughed, ran a hand across her short hair, and pointed ahead. ‘Here come the cavalry.’

  Two park vehicles were obviously exceeding the speed limit. The driver of the first indicated with a hand signal that Felicity should stop. She did. ‘Good afternoon.’ A young man with long blond hair greeted her. ‘Are you booked into Logans Island?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘My name’s Sean. I’m one of the rangers. Have you, by any chance, spotted a tuskless elephant along this road?’

  Felicity jerked a thumb over her shoulder. ‘About two k’s back. Currently beating a Toyota Land Cruiser to death.’

  Sean’s eyes widened. ‘Anyone in it?’

  ‘It
’s mine.’ Philip leaned forward to speak past Felicity. ‘I got out to talk to this lady.’

  ‘Okay.’ Sean turned off his engine. ‘Keys still in it? If there’s anything left we’ll bring it back with us.’ He climbed out and went to consult with the driver of the second vehicle.

  Felicity did a quick mental evaluation of her unexpected passenger. Mid-forties by the look of him, similar age to herself. Dark hair worn long enough to curl under his ears. Brown eyes, good strong jaw, nice nose. Obviously fit, there was a lean and healthy look about him. She liked what she saw. ‘Rats!’ she said suddenly.

  ‘What?’ Philip was startled.

  ‘Philip. Nothing rhymes with Philip.’

  He smiled slightly. ‘Should it?’

  ‘It’s how I remember names.’

  ‘How about yours?’

  ‘Oh, that’s easy. Complicity, duplicity, elasticity. Take your pick.’ She grinned, stepped on the accelerator, winced and eased the selector back a notch. ‘Goes better in gear, I guess.’

  ‘Where are you from?’ Philip asked, liking her easy manner.

  ‘Johannesburg. You?’

  ‘Australia. Born in South Africa, though.’

  ‘What’s it like out there?’

  ‘Great. Wouldn’t live anywhere else. But I still come back every now and then.’

  ‘And get attacked by elephants?’ Felicity glanced at him. ‘Some homecoming!’

  He smiled. ‘First time for everything.’

  Before she could stop herself, Felicity improvised.

  ‘Aussie tourist caught by ellie

  Could end up a dinkum jelly’

  Philip laughed. ‘Bit of a poet, are you?’

  ‘A bit.’

  They fell silent after that, only making comment when one of them spotted something of interest.

  The scenery was awesome. They were on a well-maintained dirt road which ran along the western edge of the Etosha pan. To their right, one hundred kilometres of glistening white salt stretched to infinity, its surface broken only by the footprints of wandering wild animals. On their left, duneveld gave way to wide open grassland that rose to meet mopane forests standing sentinel along the ridge. It was completely different country from the rock-strewn grassland and acacia scrub just a few kilometres further south.

  In the distance, far to the west, angry thunderclouds boiled and churned. Lightning skittered nonstop through them as they made menacing progress towards the pan, filling the horizon with a blue-black promise that might, or might not, deliver rain.

  Logans Island was nothing more than a piece of elevated ground which, in the days before the great lake dried up, would have appeared as a grass-covered knoll floating about three kilometres from the shore. An artificial embankment now connected it to the mainland.

  The lodge itself was C-shaped with reed walls, a high thatched roof and exposed beams. One end housed a craft and curio shop, the other a glass-fronted bar lounge. In between, high ceiling fans cooled the dining room. Bungalows were spaced far enough apart to provide visitors with complete privacy. Reception, administration office and a fuel station flanked the island’s only access road. Workshop and maintenance facilities were well out of sight, as was all staff accommodation. A swimming pool glistened in its own setting of lush lawn, with gardens and a thatched, open-air bar and barbecue area framing it. Beyond that was a viewing terrace which looked over the permanent man-made waterhole. But without doubt the most impressive feature of Logans Island was the uninterrupted, panoramic vista of the pan itself which reached away to the horizon, a flat and white expanse of emptiness.

  Driving off the access road, Felicity’s first impression was of a fairly typical African luxury game lodge, set in anything but stereotyped Africa. Etosha Pan was unique and Logans Island Lodge unashamedly exploited this in giving guests the full benefit of their location, mindful all the while of preserving its natural environment. Vegetation, be it lawn, shrub or tree, was indigenous to the area. Buildings blended in and used only those materials available in the park. Much had been made of volcanic rocks. Artistic arrangements gave parts of the garden an oriental look, incongruous but for their timeless harmonising with the white saltpan and clever plantings in their midst.

  Philip had known what to expect. Felicity was blown away. For both of them, the lodge, the island and the views touched tired and emotionally damaged nerve ends in need of remission from the demons that hounded their day-to-day lives. Deliverance, by the hand of nature, beat anything the shrinks had to offer.

  With fee-paying tourists out of the way, the two park vehicles ventured another kilometre along the road before stopping again. Sean alighted from his and walked a short distance, his head cocked, trying to judge how far they were from the elephant.

  The veterinary officer – Buster Louw, who was usually based at Okaukuejo – climbed from Sean’s vehicle and joined him on the road. ‘She’ll probably charge if she sees us. Best to try and sneak up on foot from here.’

  Chester, driving the second Land Rover, glanced at his passenger. ‘You can stay here if you like.’

  ‘No way. I’m coming with you guys.’ Troy Trevaskis was composed and serious, a fact not lost on the African. The noises they could hear would be enough to put the wind up most people. Troy opened his door. ‘I may have to do this myself some day. Might as well see how it’s done.’

  They walked towards Sean and the vet. Sean stooped, pinched some sandy dust between his thumb and forefinger, lofting it into the air. They all watched carefully. The fine particles blew lazily off to the right. ‘East to west at the moment.’ Chester and the vet knew what Sean meant. Etosha breezes could shift in an instant and staying downwind was never guaranteed. There wasn’t much they could do except keep a close eye on it.

  All four of them moved off to the right. Buster carried a dart gun in case of a last-minute decision to sedate the elephant. Professor Kruger had mentioned an injury but only that it was on one of the front legs. Billy hadn’t seen anything, just talked about the animal’s aggression. Sedation would only be possible if it could be done without danger to the men. On foot, that was unlikely. Sean had a .458 Winchester 70, five hundred grains of full metal jacket bullet up the spout with a soft then another solid in the magazine. Chester carried a .416 Rigby. Troy was unarmed. They moved carefully through the bush, guided by the sound of Philip Meyer’s vehicle being systematically destroyed. ‘She’s going to damage herself even further,’ Sean whispered to Chester.

  The terrain they were in was hardly ideal, its sparse vegetation offering little cover. Their first sight of the elephant was from approximately two hundred metres and they needed to get much, much closer than that. Sean knew that as soon as the cow saw them she would charge. If she picked up enough momentum, even a perfectly placed brain shot might not stop her and someone could get hurt. They needed to be no further away than twenty metres before pulling the trigger.

  Relying on the elephant’s preoccupation and praying that what wind there was remained constant, the four of them bunched together in an attempt to present a single shape. If spotted, the elephant might think they were another animal. Testing the wind direction as best they could, freezing whenever the elephant turned her head their way, they slowly approached to within sixty metres of the frenzied animal.

  At such close range her sheer size was awesome. She stood a good two and a half metres at the shoulder, dwarfing the now pulverised Land Cruiser. Each man felt a tightening in his guts as realisation of their own insignificance hit them. With such a large animal in such a volatile frame of mind, the danger to all of them was considerable.

  Sean saw the vet shaking his head. He understood. Even from this distance, the elephant’s damaged knee was obvious. Bright bone and blood clearly visible in a wound the size of a dinner plate. It could have been caused by any number of things – Buster would find out what once the elephant was dead – but right now it would be crawling with maggots and causing intense agony. Surgery and treatmen
t were simply not possible – an animal that size needed all four of her legs in good working order to just move around.

  Then the ever-fickle wind shifted. The elephant caught their scent and raised her trunk. With a final scream of fury, her murderous attack on the car abruptly stopped.

  ‘Here she comes,’ Chester shouted, no longer concerned about concealment.

  Troy and Buster stepped smartly back to allow the other two maximum manoeuvrability. Sean and Chester leaned into their rifles. The elephant charged, flat out, head held high, leaving no option but a frontal brain shot. All four men were aware of the difficulty involved but anything else would not stop her. Many things could still go wrong. The bullet might be deflected by bone. The lumbering, almost bobbing charge may cause a shot to be misjudged. Even a perfectly placed projectile need not stop the charge immediately. Many a hunter had been killed or wounded by an elephant that was literally dead on its feet. The animal’s football-sized brain lay between its earholes, protected by a honeycomb of bone. Sean and Chester knew that to go for that shot they had to get the angle just right. Too high and the bullet might, just might, stun the animal. Then again, it might not. Too low and they’d end up with an even more pissed off elephant with a brand new hole in its trunk. They needed to shoot between, but below, the animal’s eyes. Third wrinkle down. Both men held their fire.

  Troy couldn’t believe how fast she moved. Fifty metres, forty, thirty. Still the rangers held their fire. Twenty-five, twenty metres. ‘Now,’ Sean called. They fired simultaneously and reloaded. The big grey head reared back as the elephant’s hindquarters collapsed. Two perfect shots. Before the dust settled, before the massive bulk of flesh stopped quivering from its impact with the hard ground, Sean had run round the animal, rifle at the ready and, sighting carefully, placed another bullet into her brain. The elephant was well past caring.