Out of the Shadows

by Melanie Mitchell

  He towered over her, and she guessed that he was well over six-and-a-half-feet tall. Red cloth, the exact color of blood, draped his body. The drape covered one shoulder, and the cloth formed a skirt that reached just below his knees. A wide collar made of tiny red, white, green and blue beads adorned his neck, and a kind of leather necklace, decorated with claws of some sort, reached past the middle of his chest. She blinked again when she saw the spear he carried in his right hand—it was even taller than the warrior. His expression was fierce, and he watched intently as she took an involuntary step back toward the shack.

  A wave of fear nearly overwhelmed her. She swallowed hard and managed to squeak, “Jambo.”

  The man’s eyes did not leave hers. “Jambo.” His voice was a deep growl.

  A giggle from the shed reminded Leslie of the children, and she felt a moment of panic. Johnny and Beth! She had to get the man away from the children. Her eyes held his as she started to move slowly toward the house, and she was relieved when his attention remained on her rather than on the shed. Her limited Swahili had deserted her, so she spoke in English. “What do you want?”

  He did not move but simply stared at her. She could read nothing in his coal-black eyes.

  She tried again, grateful that her voice sounded stronger. “The preacher? Do you want to see the preacher?”

  He shook his head slightly. “No.” She was struck again by the deep timbre of his voice. “No. I want to see the pilot.” His cadence was slow and the English was heavily accented.

  Another giggle from the shed drew the attention of both Leslie and the warrior. Before Leslie could shout a warning, Johnny appeared at the door with Beth close behind him. As Leslie tried to gather breath for a scream that she hoped would be heard in the house, Johnny spoke. “Hey, Simon. Do you want to see our puppies?”

  Pushing past her brother, Beth reached for the hand of the amazingly tall man. “We have eight puppies, and Johnny and I help take care of them.”

  The Masai warrior grinned down at the little girl. As soon as she saw the change in his expression, Leslie felt a rush of relief so strong that she felt faint. The man’s face was split by a smile revealing large, astonishingly white teeth, with a gap in front almost wide enough to hold another tooth.

  The deep voice responded to the child’s question. “I am sorry. I cannot stay now, Missy Beth. I must get Ben. I will see the small dogs another time.”

  “That’s okay. Uncle Ben’s in the house.” Still holding the man’s hand, the little girl pulled him in that direction. “We just ate lunch. Did you eat? I bet Mom has some extra food if you’re hungry.”

  “I’ll go tell Mom.” Johnny ran ahead, and within seconds he bounded up the front steps.

  It took the better part of a minute for Leslie to control her breathing and follow the two children and the giant to the house. She was simultaneously relieved and acutely embarrassed. She’d read about the Masai tribesmen in preparation for their trip and knew they were friendly. But even though she’d seen pictures, this man’s appearance had been startling—and so fearsome that she had been terrified.

  Leslie continued toward the house and watched as Ben and Paul met Simon on the front porch. Paul gave the warrior a hearty handshake, and his friendly smile met Simon’s gap-toothed grin. She noted that Ben and Simon did not shake hands; despite the distance, she discerned an obvious ease, even affection, between the two men. Paul asked a question in Swahili, and Simon nodded. A brief three-way conversation followed, and then the men turned in unison to look at Leslie.

  Paul motioned for her to join them, and they stepped aside to allow her onto the porch. “Leslie, this is Simon Osagie. He works with Ben.”

  Leslie held out her hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Simon.”

  “It is my pleasure, Miss Leslie.” Despite his thick accent, she had no trouble making out the words.

  Ben watched her closely. “Simon thinks that he frightened you. He wants to apologize.” Normally, Ben would have been amused, but after his earlier behavior he was uncharacteristically reserved.

  Leslie gave Simon a shy smile, then addressed him directly. “No. No. It’s fine. I was alarmed when I first saw you, but I see that was foolish.”

  Ben tried to soothe her discomfort. “It can be pretty startling to see the Masai in full regalia. Simon usually wears T-shirts and Bermudas. He dresses this way for special occasions.”

  Simon watched her for a moment and then looked back at Ben and said something. Ben shrugged in reply, and both men looked at Leslie. Simon’s expressive face showed curiosity, but she could not read Ben’s.

  Mama Joe and Judy joined the group on the porch, and both women greeted the giant warrior with affection. Judy asked him into the house for coffee, but Simon shook his head and indicated Ben’s Jeep. Ben explained, “There was a wedding in Simon’s family. He came here to get a ride home and to remind me that I have to get ready to fly out tomorrow. We need to be on our way.” Both Mama Joe and Judy hugged the pilot, and Paul shook both men’s hands. Simon gave them all a nodding bow.

  For a moment Ben’s eyes met Leslie’s, and he looked like he wanted to say something. Finally, he copied Simon and simply nodded. “Leslie.” Then, without waiting for an acknowledgment, he turned and followed Simon to the Jeep.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “LESLIE! LESLIE, HONEY, wake up!” Mama Joe knocked loudly before barging into the bedroom. “You need to get ready for a delivery.”

  Leslie opened her eyes and blinked. It was still dark outside, but the light from the hallway allowed her to focus on Mama Joe’s face through the mosquito net. “Okay...okay...” She sat up in bed and swept her hands at the netting, trying to find the opening. “What time is it?”

  “About six.” Leslie was surprised to see that the older woman was ready for work. “Get dressed and come have coffee and a bite, and I’ll fill you in.” Mama Joe closed the door as she left.

  Leslie crawled out of bed and—after checking the floor for spiders—quickly got ready. She joined Mama Joe in the kitchen. True to her word, Mama Joe had a cup of coffee and toast with jam waiting. Gratefully, Leslie took a sip of the rich black coffee and sighed with pleasure. “Okay, what’s up?” she asked.

  “Father Christopher just called.”

  “Father Christopher?”

  “Oh. Didn’t I mention? He’s a priest—a very old friend—who has a mission in the Lake Magadi region. He works with the Masai people.” Mama Joe paused for a second and took a sip of her own coffee. “A woman in their area just went into labor. She has already lost two infants at birth, and so Father Chris wants us to help with the delivery rather than relying on the village midwives.”

  Leslie nodded. “That makes sense. Where’s Lake Magadi?”

  “It’s not far. Only about seventy or eighty miles.”

  Leslie sipped her coffee. If the woman was in early labor, they should have plenty of time to travel eighty miles. “Sure. When do we leave?”

  “Er...well, that’s the thing. It won’t be us—it’ll be you.”

  Leslie’s cup stopped halfway to her mouth. “What?”

  “Honey, I’m leaving tomorrow. I’ve worked with you for two weeks now. You’ve delivered four babies during that time, and I know you can do this.” Mama Joe took a bite of toast, then added, “Besides, I haven’t started packing.”

  “But...”

  “It’ll be over before you know it. Just a quick flight down and—”

  “Flight?” Leslie set her cup down with a start. “But if it’s only eighty miles...”

  “The road in that direction is terrible, so driving is out. I’ve already talked to Ben. It’s all set. You need to meet him at the airstrip in about half an hour.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Don’t worry, you’ll do fine.” Mama Joe patted Leslie�
��s hand and then turned to gather the dishes.

  Titus drove her to the airstrip, where she saw Ben already working to prepare the Cessna. She thanked Titus and walked toward the plane, carrying her bag close to her chest as if it were a shield. Ben had been squatting down to inspect one of the tires, and when he finished that task, he rose. She felt his eyes on her, and for some reason, her heart started to pound and her mouth went dry.

  Ben frowned. “Where’s Mama Joe?”

  “She needs to take care of things before she leaves tomorrow. She wants me to handle the delivery.” Leslie knew she sounded defensive. Did he think she wasn’t capable?

  “Oh, right... So it’s just us?” He did not look pleased. He opened the passenger door and then stood back. She threw her bag inside, then reluctantly allowed him to assist her—she did not want to chance a repeat of her first attempt to climb into the plane. A short time later they were flying west toward the Great Rift Valley. The entire flight was made in silence.

  * * *

  THE BIRTH WENT WELL. The baby boy weighed slightly more than seven pounds, quite large for a Kenyan infant. To avoid the common complication of neonatal tetanus, Leslie clamped the umbilical cord with a small plastic clip and cut it with a sterile pair of scissors, ignoring the ceremonial knife offered to her by the attending midwife. In broken but improving Swahili, she told the mother and midwife how to keep the cord area clean and to not put anything on it, specifically cow dung. She prayed silently that her instructions would be heeded.

  Successful births were always uplifting, and, despite her fatigue, she was smiling as she left the tiny hut and stepped into the afternoon sunlight. Her good humor was dashed a little, though, because the first person she saw was Ben. With her bag in hand, she continued forward to the Jeep that had been provided by Father Christopher.

  * * *

  THROUGHOUT THE DELIVERY, Ben had waited just outside the door, squatting in the shade with the anxious husband. After nearly five hours, he watched as Leslie walked to the borrowed Jeep. Her thick brown ponytail sagged, and all around her face, wisps of hair had escaped the confines of the cloth-covered rubber band. She was flushed with heat and fatigue, and her white cotton shirt was damp with perspiration; the tail was no longer neatly tucked into her waistband. He observed her rifling through her canvas bag to locate a bottle of water, which she used to wash her hands. Then she splashed some on a bandanna and wiped her face.

  He felt a gnawing in the pit of his stomach that had nothing to do with hunger. Ben dreaded the flight home. He knew she didn’t like him and she hadn’t wanted to fly with him. He sighed and stood up. Glancing at his watch, he realized that it was midafternoon. She hadn’t eaten anything in hours.

  Leslie didn’t hear Ben approach and startled a bit when he reached past her to open his olive canvas duffel bag. He drew out a clear pint-size bottle filled with amber liquid and a label indicating that it was some type of bourbon. He also found two candy bars and offered her one.

  She took the proffered candy and murmured, “Thank you.” She glanced at the bottle disapprovingly and turned away to store her bags in the vehicle. Her irritation grew when she caught him grinning at her. She didn’t know if he was deliberately trying to aggravate her or if he simply did not care what she thought of him. Hoping that he would recognize her displeasure, she silently climbed into the Jeep and motioned for the driver, who was waiting nearby.

  During the twenty-minute drive to the landing strip, Leslie and Ben didn’t talk. Ben spoke freely with the driver, however, and Leslie observed him take at least three drinks from the bottle. He even offered her a sip, which she frostily declined. She might have imagined it, but she thought he was enjoying her discomfort as she saw traces of humor in his eyes. That annoyed her even more.

  They finally made it to the airstrip, and Leslie was anxious to be off before Ben drank more. She was gathering her bags and not watching where they were going when the driver brought the Jeep to an abrupt halt. He said something nervously to Ben, and Leslie lifted her gaze to where the Cessna waited on the grassy strip. Less than fifteen feet away from the plane three men were lounging near a beat-up truck. They were dressed in olive-colored military garb, and each carried a rifle.

  Her attention returned to Ben when he whispered, “Damn.” She became even more concerned as the focus of her anxiety shifted from the sobriety of the man beside her to the guns of the men standing beside his airplane. Leslie knew nothing about firearms except that they were dangerous, and these looked particularly worrisome.

  Ben and the driver exchanged a few words, then he glanced at her. “Act deferentially to me, and don’t look directly at anyone.” He nodded to the driver, who steered the Jeep toward the three men; beads of sweat appeared on the driver’s brow. As the vehicle came to a stop, Ben said through his teeth, “Help Mr. Bostmati take the bags out, and wait here until I tell you what to do. Mr. Bostmati is going to leave.” He did not look at her.

  Ben’s manner startled Leslie and she studied the men near the plane. She started to question him, but he didn’t pause. Ignoring her, he got out of the Jeep and walked toward the men with a confident swagger. She listened as he addressed them in Swahili. Deciding it was best that she follow his instructions, she helped the obviously frightened driver unload the bags. As soon as he was back in the Jeep, he took off in a cloud of dust, causing Leslie’s concern to edge into fear.

  The conversation between Ben and the three men went on for several minutes. At first, Ben did most of the talking. She assumed he was explaining their purpose for being in the area. As she watched out of the corner of her eye, Leslie saw that soon the men were nodding with him in agreement, and then they were laughing. The men glanced her way as he talked with them, and she got the impression that once again the laughter was at her expense. Unsure of how to respond, she stood in silence, compelled to wait for Ben to tell her what to do next.

  After about ten minutes, he turned to her and said loudly, “Woman, put those bags in the hold of the plane and bring out the two bottles of whiskey stored there.”

  Woman? Her eyes grew wide with indignation, coupled with mounting fear. She opened her mouth to answer.

  Ben saw her hesitation. In an angry tone he belted out, “Just do it!”

  Leslie recognized something new in Ben’s expression. In a moment of intuitive clarity, she caught a glimmer of apprehension in his otherwise nonchalant, bravado-based sneer. With all thoughts of disagreement instantly gone, she hurried to comply.

  Turning his back on Leslie, Ben engaged the men in conversation, and soon they were laughing again.

  As instructed, Leslie loaded the three bags into the cargo hold, then dug through a wooden box and found two bottles of liquor. Quickly she crossed to him and stood a few feet to the side, waiting for him to acknowledge her. One of the men glanced her way, and finally Ben took the bottles.

  Curtly, using precise, clipped English, he said, “Get in the plane and wait for me. I will join you after a break with these men.” When it appeared that she was going to say something, he added, “Now.”

  Without looking at any of the men, including Ben, Leslie obeyed.

  The interior of the plane was hot. Leslie grew more uncomfortable by the minute. From her seat she could clearly see the three armed men, and she watched as they opened the bottles and shared them. Ben pulled the open bottle out of his pocket and took a long swig.

  As time passed, the plane got hotter and the laughter got louder. Trying to be quiet, Leslie partially opened her door to allow air to circulate. Now she could hear bits of the conversation. She caught occasional words that she knew in Swahili and even rarer words of English. As far as she could tell, they were talking mostly about guns and alcohol. Finally she heard Ben say the word “airplane,” followed by other phrases including the Swahili words for “night” and “travel.” He moved as if to get into the p
lane, but one of the men stopped him. They exchanged a few words.

  Leslie felt her jaw clench as Ben appeared to answer a question angrily, and a brief argument followed. Finally, he nodded, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a handful of Kenyan shillings. She watched as he counted out several of the larger bills and handed the money to one of the men. With that, he opened the door and climbed into the plane.

  Ben did not acknowledge Leslie as he prepared to take off. She noted that the armed trio seemed to have lost interest in the plane and its occupants. Ben had left the two bottles with them, and they were focused on consuming the remainder of the contents as they waited for the plane to depart.

  Ben did not bother with his routine preflight check. He simply started the engine and taxied to the far end of the field. In less than a minute they were airborne, and immediately the cabin of the small plane cooled.

  Relieved at not being detained or worse, and much more comfortable in the cool air of the higher altitude, Leslie relaxed a little. She stared straight ahead, but her attention returned to Ben when she heard him give out a deep “Whew!”

  “What?” she responded edgily.

  His eyes were focused on the dials and indicators on the flight panel, but while holding the control of the plane with one hand, he reached into his pocket with the other and pulled out what remained of the bourbon. He took a drink and then surprised her when he grinned. In a voice loud enough to be heard over the engine’s roar he said, “That was a little nerve-racking, wasn’t it?”

  With each passing mile, her apprehension and irritation had lessened, replaced by relief and then curiosity. “What just happened?”

  His answer was surprisingly nonchalant. “Oh, just some local government thugs, shaking us down.”

  Leslie was incredulous. “What? You mean those men were officials?”

  Ben nodded and took another sip.

  “And you bribed them?”

  He glanced at her and then shrugged. “Yeah...so?”