by Nancy Morse
Without hesitation, he answered over the sound of the symphony. “I want the rains to come. I want there to be no more poaching. I want my grandfather’s farm to keep going.” I want to feel your naked body beneath mine, he added agonizingly to himself. I want to hear you tell me again that you love me. I want you to remember me. “And you?” he asked, struggling to wipe his thoughts from his face. “What do you want?”
She turned her face away from the undisguised anticipation in his blue eyes. “I—” she began, not knowing where her words would lead her. I want to remember you, she thought desperately. I want to hear you say you love me. “I want to thank you for everything you’ve done for me. I came back to Africa to find out what happened to me. I may not remember any of it, but thanks to you, at least now I know.”
“Do you want some coffee?” Jonathan asked.
“No, thanks. I had some earlier with Raj Singh.”
“He likes you.”
“He’s not nearly as disagreeable as he pretends to be,” Julia said. “He even offered to cook some of my favorite American foods.”
“That’s very generous of him. Does he know you’re leaving?”
The subject of her departure had never been discussed. They’d driven back to the farm from Arusha without talking about much of anything, least of all the thing that weighed heavily on both their minds. Nevertheless, she had come to a decision, and didn’t realize it until they reached the Ngong hills and the coffee farm came into view.
Down in the low country, evidence of the savage drought was everywhere. The Rift Valley was covered with a dry, flaky mold, monkeys were forced out of the trees, the antelope trekked in long, sad lines with tongues lolling out of their mouths, and only the vultures grew fat. Here, however, thousands of feet above the sea, despite the withering coffee plants, the slopes were still green, the land was dotted with the little square maize fields of the natives, and the wind carried the bitter scent of coffee blossoms. She’d come to love the hills, the forests, the rocks and the plains, to feel connected to this mystical paradise in much the same way she felt connected to the man who called it home.
“Well, that’s just it,” she said, turning back to peer at him. “I thought I might stick around for a while.” Holding his gaze, her voice went on. “I can help around the farm. I figure it’s the least I can do after everything you’ve done for me. Unless, of course, you don’t want me to stay.”
Jonathan forced a semblance of calm into his rapidly beating heart. “No. Yes. I mean, sure, if that’s what you want to do.”
“Good,” she said, rising. “It’s settled then.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
As the days passed, they worked beneath the unrelenting sun to save what was left of the coffee plants. The drought slowly spread its tentacles high into the hills, bleaching all color out of the fields and forests. And despite all the ploughing, planting and pruning of the previous months, hope was dimming for the struggling farm. Work slowed as everything that lived upon the land—plants, animals and humans—waited for the long overdue rains.
The only one who seemed unperturbed by the weather was Raj Singh who spent his days in the kitchen preparing American-styled meals. There was Yankee Pancakes for breakfast, Waldorf salad at mid-day, fried chicken or meatloaf, mashed potatoes and gravy for dinner, and peanut butter and jam sandwiches for snacking. If an ingredient wasn’t available in Nairobi, he improvised, adding an Indian flavor to the typical American fare.
One evening after dinner, Jonathan wound up the old gramophone and spread cushions before the fire, and he and Julia sat cross-legged upon them, sipping Kermit Roosevelt’s fine wine and listening to Beethoven’s Piano Concerto in G-Major streaming out of the big brass horn.
“I can play the Bow Wow Blues,” he said, “if you want to get up and dance.”
Julia tossed her head back and laughed. “I’m afraid my energy got up and left.”
He took a swallow of wine, watching her from over the rim of his glass. The firelight played softly across her face, highlighting features that stole his breath away. He longed to run his hand over her flawless check and caress a breast that fit so perfectly in the palm of his hand. Yet he made no move to touch her. Despite having her so near to him each day, he felt her distance, for the dismal reality of it was that he was still very much a stranger to her.
“You’ve been working too hard,” he said.
“Not nearly as hard as the natives. They’re quite remarkable. They seem to accept disaster with quiet dignity, unlike you and I who rant and rave over things we cannot change.”
Jonathan shifted uncomfortably on his cushion. “Are you referring to the fact that you don’t remember me?” he asked.
“I was referring to my inability to remember much of anything,” she replied. “And your inability to make it rain.”
“You’re right,” he said. “There’s nothing I can do about the rain no matter how much I complain about it. But you,” he said shortly. “What do I have to do for you to remember me?”
She saw his rigid unease. “I know how difficult it must be for you.”
“Do you? Do you really know what it’s like for me to sit here and want you so bad it hurts?”
“We’ve already made love,” she said. “More than once. Except for that one time when I wavered, it’s not as if I’ve held back.”
“Don’t get me wrong. I love making love to you and watching you come, knowing it’s me who brings you to it. But I’m not some guy who just wants to get into your knickers. I want more, Julia. I need more.”
With every word he spoke Julia felt her anxiety rising. She’d never felt this kind of power from a man, or such need within herself. She felt herself being pulled in a thousand different directions. A part of her ached to go to him and show him with her lips and her body how much she wanted him, while a voice from a deeper, darker place inside warned her not to let it go any further.
She turned on the cushion to face him. “Please try to understand. I can’t give you what you want. It’s not you. It’s me. It’s all the things about myself that I don’t know. It’s like grasping for a lifeline that isn’t there.”
He hoisted himself into a kneeling position to face her. “Use me as your lifeline. Hold on to me. I won’t let you fall. I promise.”
“Why can’t what we have be enough for you?” she asked with a groan.
“Because it isn’t!”
The force of his response brought her instantly to her feet and rushing to the door.
Before she could fling it open, he came up behind her, placing his fists on the door on either side of her. “Don’t go,” he breathed into her hair.
Julia tensed as his hands slid to her shoulders and turned her around to face him. With her shoulders pressed back against the door, she looked into his eyes that had turned a dark smoky blue, and said in a faint voice, “I’m doing the best I can.”
He leaned in so close she could feel his warm breath upon her cheek. “I know you are. So am I.” One hand moved to her neck to caress the ancient red glass that was warmed against her skin. There was an intensity about him. Fireglow fell across his face, lengthening the shadow of his lashes across his cheeks. “In a way, I’m as much a victim of the prophecy as you are,” he said. “I too am going in circles, searching for the love I lost, drawn to your flame, consumed by the fire of my love for you.”
Julia’s heart gave a sharp thump. “You love me?”
“I fell in love with you the first moment you appeared at my door. I never stopped loving you, Julia. I love you still.”
The glass slipped from his fingers and fell back against her flesh as his mouth came down to fill hers with his sweet, wine-flavored breath.
There was something about the way this man kissed her that made her world spin out of control. A sharp, swelling pain of desire rose up within her, obliterating any more words of denial. With a soft whimper, she melted into him. Her hands ope
ned against his chest, fingers splaying across the solid, rocklike reality that was him. She lost herself in the feel and taste of him. The kiss deepened, and the need they had for each other grew into something that could not be defined with words, only with touch and taste and emotion.
The firelight flickered across their faces when he led her back to the cushions and drew her down beside him. What was the point of words now when there really was nothing left to say? She opened for him, guiding him not only inside her body, but into her heart and soul, as well.
Afterwards, she lay spent in his arms with his mouth pressed to her throat and his hand tangled in her hair. His body was warm and damp beside hers. A feeling of love passed through her so profound it shook her to her bones.
Jonathan felt her shudder and lifted his head to look at her. “You’ve had a long day. Why don’t you go to bed?”
“Yes, I think I will. Are you coming?”
“In a while.”
He watched her rise and walk to the bedroom. Minutes passed, but he remained on the cushions, staring at the ceiling. He should have felt sated in the aftermath of their passion, but a different kind of hunger gnawed at him. What a blasted piece of luck to be in love with a woman who, despite their intimacies, still had no memory of him.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Something awakened him.
Jonathan lay atop the cushions, eyes half-open, listening with a thumping heart. There were no sounds filling the African night. No chorus of nocturnal insects. No ceaseless choir of cicadas. No deep rumblings of elephants grazing beneath the baobabs. No chattering hyenas on the hunt or yelping jackals. Something was wrong.
Sitting up, he glanced at Molo curled up before the fireplace. The dog lifted his head and pitched his ears forward. He, too, sensed something.
Jonathan tilted his head, straining to discern the silence. There were all kinds of silences, each different. There was the silence that came after a rainstorm, the silence of an empty room, the silence of doubt, the silence of fear, the silence that came from being alone. But this was different. This silence made the hairs at the back of his neck stand on end.
The fire had died and the room was dark. Rising, he lit a hurricane lamp and carried it to the bedroom. The door squeaked quietly on its hinges when he pressed it open with his fingertips and peeked inside. The room was empty. He had no idea how long he’d been asleep on the cushions. Perhaps Julia had awakened during the night and gone to the kitchen for a glass of lemonade. He turned from the bedroom and made his way to the kitchen, but he saw no light coming from beneath the kitchen door. Pushing the door open with the flat of his palm, he looked into another dark and empty room.
His footsteps quickened as he made his way to the front door. “Julia.” He called her name, expecting to find her on the veranda, but she was not there.
A mild wind blew through the baobabs, but as he stood on the weathered planks it increased in velocity, suddenly whirling and tossing everything in its path, making its presence known with a vengeance. Dust and sticks and fine gravel flew about. Shafts of lightning charged the air with the smell of fired smoke, followed by a tremendous peal of thunder, and within moments the parched earth was covered in ponds as great waves of rain fell from the sky.
Lions favored storms like this, taking advantage of the confusion into which other animals were thrown by the sudden onslaught of thunder, lightning and rain. From inside the house Molo was barking furiously. Jonathan felt his panic rising. Where was Julia? Cupping his hands around his mouth he shouted her name, but it was a mere whisper next to the pandemonium of the storm.
Over the howl of the wind he heard a scream. His heart gave a savage thump in his chest. Breathing hard, he raced into the house. His fingers shook treacherously as he fumbled with the latch on the gun case. Tearing open the door, he yanked out his Winchester. Outside, the rain pelted him in the face and his boots sank into the mud and came out with sucking sounds as he plunged headlong into the darkness, calling her name.
There it was again, a terror-filled scream, answered by the roar of a lion he recognized as Black and Tan. Above the rage of the storm Jonathan could not tell from which direction the scream had come. Pushing back the wet tendrils that clung to his temples, he froze, using every sense he possessed to zero in on the sound. And then he smelled it, the musky scent of a stalking lion. Following the smell with his gaze, he squinted through the rain-soaked darkness and saw the tawny shape advancing toward Julia who sat frozen with her back pressed against the trunk of a baobab tree.
He ran toward her, positioning the rifle at his shoulder, ready to fire at the lion, when a streak of lightning zigzagged across the sky, illuminating the red disk she wore around her neck.
Like sleeping embers stoked to flame, the glass began to glow, sparking this way and that, shooting fiery light deep into the night with an otherworldly force. For several incalculable moments the world seemed to stand still. Despite the rain that continued to fall nothing else moved, not even the wind. And then, the red stone began to shake and tremble, and from its center issued a fireball of light that rose higher and higher, throwing an incandescent glow over the landscape. Gathering momentum, it shot downward, striking the baobab, cleaving the trunk in two and setting the old tree on fire.
Julia screamed.
Black and Tan let out an unearthly bellow and fled into the night.
Jonathan raced toward Julia and fell to his knees beside her. His fingers dug into her shoulders, shaking her frantically, but she was too frozen with fear to move. Sweeping her up into his arms, he carried her to safety.
They collapsed onto the ground together and watched speechless as the fire licked the baobab and would have consumed branches and limbs had not the ravenous flames been doused by the rain, saving the ancient tree from total destruction.
Another flash of lightning lit the night sky, flickering over them as they huddled together, faces tilted upwards, bathed by the rain. Julia brought a trembling hand to the red disk at her neck.
“In girum imus nocte et consumimur igni.” She whispered the words of the Latin palindrome scratched into the glass. “We go in circles at night and are consumed by fire.” Her features were etched against the darkness as she gazed up at Jonathan. “I know now what it means.”
“Yeah,” he scoffed. “It means that old baobab just narrowly escaped being torched.”
“No. It means the consuming fire is the love I’ve had for you even when I had no memory of you.”
He looked at her sharply. “Had no memory of me?”
How could she explain that the memories had come back in a poignant rush while she’d been crouching in terror against the tree? She remembered it all—clipping the newspaper article, hiring the guide who took her to Jonathan, the reckless impulse that made her go off by herself that fateful day in Arusha, overhearing Roger Thorpe’s conversation, being forced into his motorcar, the pain of the rifle butt against the side of her head, the broad face of the Masai tribesman who found her, slipping into unconsciousness, and waking up in the hospital back in the states.
“It must have been the lion,” she said. “I remember everything.”
“And me?” he asked, trying to swallow down the emotion.
She pressed her wet cheek against his. “You most of all. I love you, Jonathan. As much now as I loved you then.”
Was it over? Was it really over? He brought his face close to hers, spread his wet fingers against her cheek, and found the answer in her eyes. Expelling a ragged sigh of relief, he said, “There’s something I never got the chance to ask you the first time. Will you marry me?”
Julia laid her head against his chest and heard the rapid beating of his heart. “There’s nothing I want more than to be your wife and work the farm with you and live here in this great big beautiful land.” Lifting her face, she pulled his mouth to hers and sealed her commitment, and their future, with a lingering kiss.
Holding her tight,
he said, “When I think of how close I came to losing you to that cat…” He would not let his thoughts go that way. “What were you doing out here?”
“I couldn’t sleep so I came outside for some air. I’m just glad the lightening scared him away.”
“It wasn’t the lightning,” he said. “It was…” His gaze dropped to the red disk around her neck.
“The legacy of the stone has always been inescapable,” Julia said. “Those who inherit will be consumed by fire. But it was the fire that saved me. I think the curse has been broken.”
“I don’t know what happened here tonight,” Jonathan said, “but maybe it’s time to put that thing away so that we never have to see it again.”
“Perhaps you’re right.” She drew the chain up over her head and removed the stone from around her neck. Yet she could not help but think that according to tradition, it was to be passed to the second son of each generation, and she wondered if they had really seen the last of it.
She gave him one of her guileless smile and said, “Jonathan, it’s raining.”
He laughed. “You only just noticed?”
“Will the farm be okay?”
The blue of his eyes sparkled with renewed faith in the future. “Everything will be okay now.”
For Jonathan, his private war against the poachers would continue, but no battle was as fierce as the one his heart fought to regain the love he thought he lost. With the recognition of himself shining in her eyes, the agonizing wait was over. And who would have thought that he’d have Black and Tan to thank for it?
For the drought-stricken land, life was renewed as once again the nourishing rains came to the Masai Mara Plains.
And as for Julia, during those torturous days when she had no memory of him, she had somehow known all along how deeply she loved him, for what the mind does not recall, love remembers.
Also by Nancy Morse