by Nancy Morse
By dawn they were on the move again. The morning mist thinned to another hot and grueling day. Except for the flies that buzzed incessantly about their heads, very little stirred along their path.
The effects of the drought were everywhere Jonathan looked. Hopefully, the long rains would come in March, April and May. Fireflies would come again to the highlands. The elephants would depart to feed on new grass at the base of Kilimanjaro, and the Abyssinians would also leave. He wanted to see them all rounded up and put into leg irons before they had a chance to return next season.
He looked up ahead to see how Julia was doing. Despite everything she’d been through, he assured himself that she was holding up bravely. Then he set his mind to working on a way to escape.
They plodded on, mile after mile. Julia’s legs moved by sheer force of will and somehow managed to keep her from collapsing. Her throat burned, but this time there was no goatskin to drink from. She tried to keep her mind off what would happen when they arrived at wherever it was they were going. When she felt all hope leaking out of her, it was only her stubborn, independent nature that kept her going.
The sun slowly sank beyond the distant hills, and again they halted to pass another night in cold despair. On this night there were no dates offered to appease the terrible hunger that gnawed at her belly.
A gray mist covered the hills when she was awakened the next morning with a kick by a sandaled foot. Something seemed different, however, as this morning dragged on. Their captors were unusually silent with dark eyes darting about. The armed man brought his rifle up to his shoulder for ready use. Julia shot a quick look at Jonathan to see if he noticed the change. She could tell by the way his blue eyes were observing the Abyssinians that he had.
Jonathan had a grim suspicion that there was more at stake here than ivory. These poachers were either buying arms from someone or they were selling them. Still, it wasn’t likely they could have amassed a supply of weapons on their own and orchestrate their sale. Then he remembered the boot prints he’d seen leading away from the lorry along the elephant trail. It seemed logical that a white man was financing the purchase. He thought about the gold Tabora in his pocket. Gold coins from German East Africa could only mean that the Germans were somehow involved. Someone was selling arms to the Germans.
A cathedral-like silence settled over the jungle as the day wore on. Jonathan cocked his head and listened for sounds of animals, watching for small movements and trusting his instincts to warn him of danger. They followed a trail flanked by sharp ravines. The trees along the way bore fresh scars where tender branches had been pulled down by foraging elephants. The herd was close, but the raiders showed no inclination to hunt. Their objective became clear when the path took a torturous turn.
Three men were sitting in canvas folding chairs outside of a large tent. They wore bush jackets and khaki-colored trousers tucked into their boots. One of them rose and clicked his heels when they approached.
“I am Herr Friedrich Bauer.” He gestured to his comrades. “And allow me my comrades to introduce. This is Herr Mueller and Herr Vink.”
“Blasted Germans,” Jonathan hissed under his breath. “I guess nobody told them the war is over and they didn’t win it.”
“Please,” Herr Bauer said, “your name you will tell me.”
“Jonathan Shane,” came the curt reply.
“And please to introduce your frau.”
Jonathan thought better of telling the German to go to bloody hell. “This is Fräulein Rowan.”
The German bowed in Julia’s direction, then issued a staccato command to one of the porters who hurried to pour Julia a tin cup of water.
“Please,” she said, “Mister Shane has not had water for two days.”
The German snapped his fingers and motioned for a cup to be brought to Jonathan. “What means this?” he asked, gesturing to the leather that bound their wrists.
“Ask your friends,” Jonathan tersely replied.
“Ach, these Abyssinians, such brutes they are.” He came forward, drawing a knife from his belt and slitting the ties around Julia’s wrists and then Jonathan’s. “Fräulein Rowan, you would like to eat, I think?”
Casting a hasty glance at Jonathan who stood there in seething silence rubbing his wrists, she said, “Yes, I would.” As she moved past him, she caught Jonathan’s whisper.
“Find out whatever you can.”
She was escorted behind the tent to where the porters and gun bearers were gathered. The cook squatted before a small fire, a red fez sitting askew on his head. The aroma of cornmeal and meat cooking in a pot over the fire made her mouth water. Seeing Julia’s gaze fixed on the pot, the cook spooned a helping of it onto a piece of flat bread and gave it to her. She ate it ravenously. Glancing toward the tent, she asked slyly, “May I rest for a while in there?”
“Big Bwana would not like it.”
“Big Bwana? You mean Herr Bauer?”
He shook his head.
“Herr Mueller?”
Another shake of the head.
“Herr Vink?”
At his silence, it was obvious she was not going to get any information out of him. “Very well. My friend is hungry. May I bring him something to eat?”
He broke off a piece of flat bread, and said, “You go now. You leave this place.”
Even with his fractured English, Julia knew fear when she heard it. She left him squatting before the fire and returned to Jonathan.
Handing him the flat bread, she said, “This was all I could get.” She noticed the three Germans talking among themselves, and asked, “Do you speak German?”
“No,” he replied as he wolfed down the flat bread in two bites. “But from the way they’re acting, I’d say they’re nervous about something. I don’t suppose you were able to get a look inside the tent.”
“Sorry, I tried, but the cook said Big Bwana wouldn’t like it.”
“I wonder which of the Germans is Big Bwana.”
“That’s just it,” she said. “I don’t think any of them are. But whoever he is, the cook is definitely afraid of him.”
Suddenly, the Germans stopped talking and snapped to attention.
“Now, what’s that all about?” Jonathan muttered under his breath.
“Well, well, Mister Shane, what an unpleasant surprise this is. And to what do I owe this unwelcome visit?”
They turned in unison at the voice that spoke from behind them.
“Bloody hell,” Jonathan swore through gritted teeth. “I should have known.”
Julia stood there, frozen mid-way between past and present. She could not take her eyes off the white suit. The man who terrorized her in her dream wore a white suit. So did the man she’d seen entering the bank in Nairobi. Realization slammed into her. They were one and the same. She shuddered as his name formed on the periphery of her mind.
In his white seersucker suit Roger Thorpe looked unnervingly cool in the searing African heat. Aiming a look at Julia, he said, “Imagine my surprise when I learned you had returned, rising from the ashes, so to speak. I was hoping my man in Nairobi had scared you away, but apparently I underestimated you. Oh well, we’ll have to take care of that, won’t we?”
“Leave her alone, Thorpe!” Jonathan surged forward, only to have his arms grabbed from behind by one of the two white men who had arrived with Thorpe.
“Hold him while I take care of business,” Thorpe ordered. He strode to the Germans and said something to them in German, whereupon they disappeared into the tent. Returning to Jonathan, he said, “I’ll ask the questions. What are you doing here?”
“Go to hell.”
“Wrong answer.” With a subtle nod of his head, the other man slammed a fist into Jonathan’s jaw. It was only by jerking his head in the split-second before impact that the bones did not shatter.
Julia screamed.
With a self-satisfied smirk on his face, Thorpe said, “I’ll ask
you again. What are you doing here?”
Blood dripped from the corner of Jonathan’s mouth. “And I’ll tell you again—”
His antagonistic response was cut short by a knotted fist plunged full force into his belly. He doubled over and would have fallen to the ground had not Thorpe’s other henchman been holding him up.
Jonathan’s muscles contracted in pain, his mouth filled with blood, and his vision clouded as his head fell forward.
Satisfied that Jonathan posed no immediate threat, Roger Thorpe cast a cold eye on Julia. “I thought I got rid of you that last time.”
Jonathan lifted his blurred gaze. “So it was you. What did you do to her, you miserable bastard?”
“Not enough, seeing as how she came back.”
“She can’t hurt you.”
“Your pretty little Yank knows too much.”
“About what? The ivory? Or selling guns to the Germans?”
“Oh, she told you about that, did she?’
“She told me nothing because she doesn’t remember anything.”
“Do you expect me to believe she didn’t overhear me talking to the Germans in Arusha?”
Seething with hatred, Jonathan realized that Julia had been in the wrong place at the wrong time that morning two years ago and overheard the negotiation. And the nightmare she had of being hit with the rifle and left for dead wasn’t just a bad dream. It was a memory. “Thanks to you she has amnesia. She doesn’t remember overhearing anything. Hell, she saw you on the street in Nairobi and doesn’t even remember you.”
“How convenient.”
“I’m telling you it’s the truth.”
Roger Thorpe laughed, but it was a cold, mirthless sound. “Or your version of it.” As he spoke, he slipped his Webley .455 from its holster and aimed it at Jonathan’s chest.
“Stop!” Julia cried.
“Your friend here says you don’t remember me. Is that true? Careful now. The wrong answer means death to Mr. Shane.”
She looked at Jonathan and felt her insides squeeze at the sight of him leaning unsteadily against the man who held him. There was a melancholy look in his eyes as if to say he was sorry for the hornets’ nest he had led her into.
“It’s true,” she said.
She took a step toward Jonathan. She wanted to tell him that it wasn’t his fault, wipe away the blood that streaked his face, and feel the brush of his lips against hers, but Thorpe blocked her path.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he warned.
“But he’s hurt.”
“He’ll be more than hurt if you’re lying to me.” His gaze slid over her, assessing her with ice-cold scrutiny. “Amnesia. Hmm. What a spot of luck for me.”
Julia’s heart was beating so hard it made her voice quiver. “Does that mean you’ll let us go?”
“Don’t be a fool,” he said. “You may not recall our meeting two years ago, but you can lead others here.”
“I wouldn’t even know how to find this place.”
“Perhaps not. But he would.” He waved the pistol at Jonathan. “I’m afraid there’s only one thing to do.”
They were led at rifle point to a place where the jungle opened upon a flat stretch of land with nothing but scrub brush and a solitary thorn tree.
Roger Thorpe looked around and nodded. “This will do. Tie them to the tree.”
The Abyssinian raiders pushed Julia and Jonathan toward the tree and lashed them to the trunk.
“Any final words before I leave you?” Thorpe asked.
“You’re a big man out here in the middle of nowhere with your hired thugs,” Jonathan spat.
“Being rich does give me an advantage,” Thorpe replied with a chuckle. “And having this comes in handy.” He patted the revolver in his holster.
“And you got the money by selling guns to the Germans.”
“Box loads of Mausers, if you must know.”
“Where’d you get them?”
“I suppose it can’t hurt to tell you of my plans. It’s not as if you’ll ever get the chance to repeat them to anyone. It occurred to me that with enough money I could become a very powerful man as the colony grows, but running a supply business out of Mombasa wasn’t enough to get me where I wanted to go.”
“So you turned to poaching ivory,” Jonathan said with disgust.
“It was quite a lucrative business until the war came. When it became clear to me that the Germans were going to lose the war, I set about collecting as many weapons as I could. Having worked for the Germans in their old territories, I knew where their supplies of arms were kept. I merely had to sell the weapons back to them. The three gentlemen you met back at camp plan to organize their own little militia to take over a territory in Abyssinia. Herr Bauer seems to think that with his military expertise and enough weapons he can ultimately gain complete control over Abyssinia.” He snorted with self-satisfaction. “Everything was going along smoothly until your lovely companion overheard me negotiating with the Germans in Arusha. I thought I had put an end to the threat of discovery when I struck her in the head with my rifle. I find killing so distasteful, so I left her for the lions. How she managed to get out of being eaten alive I’ll never know, but I’ll not make the same mistake again. No indeed. I suspect the lions will be very hungry tonight.”
Chapter Twenty
The foothills in the distance reminded him of home. He longed to see the Ngong hills again. To walk among the rows of coffee plants. To breathe in the fragrance of the grass after the long rains. To feel the rush of highlands wind against his face. To watch the blue smoke from a native village spiraling toward the violet sky. To stand beneath a tall blue gum tree with Molo at his side and gaze out upon the big-game country that stretched all the way to Kilimanjaro. To work alongside the Kikuyu men and women, eat the aromatic Indian meals prepared by the taciturn Raj Singh, talk and laugh with Kibbi, and experience the immense sense of freedom beneath the endless African sky.
For as long as he could remember he had wanted to work the farm. Growing up, he had watched his grandfather’s oxen dragging the cultivators up and down the rows of carefully planted trees. Such patient, accommodating beasts they were. Realistically, the land was too high up to grow coffee, but that was where his grandfather had chosen to settle, and that was where all of Jonathan’s memories resided. He wanted to be a part of the growing crown colony, to know that he had a small part in shaping it into the country it would one day become. But now it looked like that wish would never be fulfilled.
It was almost night. Soon, the hills, the rocks, the plains and everything upon them would become one with the darkness. Cicadas would begin to sing in the long grass. The air would fill with swarms of bats winging noiselessly over the land. Little spring-hares would venture out of their dens, hopping this way and that to avoid the grasping talons of the night hawk. And the big cats would rise from their daytime naps beneath the shade of the thorn trees and go on the hunt, moving as one finely tuned killing machine.
Dying didn’t frighten him. He witnessed it every day. A black mamba slithering through the bush biting an unsuspecting native, its poison going straight to the nerves, shutting down major organs. Within twenty minutes its victim would lose the ability to speak. Within an hour he’d be dead. He’d seen men killed by spotted hyenas, baboons, hippos, crocs, rhinos, elephants, Cape buffalos, and leopards. There were the poor chaps who came to mine for gold but found blackwater fever instead. And those who succumbed to the chills, fever, and nightmares of malaria. No, death didn’t frighten him. The only thing that frightened him was losing Julia again.
With his back pressed to the tree, he could not see her. “Julia.” He tested his voice, hoping his dull despair did not ring through. “Can you ever forgive me?”
Her voice trembled from the other side of the tree. “It’s me who should ask for forgiveness. I’m the one who insisted we press on. If it weren’t for my stubbornness none of this
would have happened.” She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling the pressure of wild tears threatening to spill. One salty drop tumbled down her cheek. “It’s all my fault,” she said, sniffing back the tears. “I should never have come back to Africa.”
Never have come back? he thought. Yes, she would have been safe then, and he would have lived forever with an intolerable longing in the pit of his being. His jaw hurt, his ribs were sore, and his belly felt like it had been run through with a hot poker. But nothing could match the pain in his heart at the thought of being without the only woman he had ever loved.
In view of their present predicament, he regretted not telling her the whole story and taking the chance that she’d be all right despite the doctor’s warning. There suddenly came to his mind the words on the ancient disk she wore around her neck. We go in circles at night…Was that to be her destiny, to wander in circles through the darkness of amnesia never knowing the truth right up to the very last moment of her life?
“Julia, there’s something I have to tell you.” There was no guarantee that what he was about to tell her would help her to remember, but at least she’d have some of the missing pieces of her past. Now that she knew the role Roger Thorpe had played in causing her amnesia, it was time to tell her the rest. In these few remaining hours he owed her that much.
He swallowed hard and took a deep breath. “When I found you in the overturned Roadster, it wasn’t the first time we met. Two years ago when you came to Africa to photograph the wildlife migration, the guide you hired in Nairobi brought you to me. It was me who took you to see the ivory cache. Me who told you about Roger Thorpe. Me you were with when you disappeared in Arusha.”