Rumors of Savages

by Carrie Regan

  “Yes. Listen, I know you’re a lot more qualified than Troy, but I can’t tell Lee that. If you stick it out in the field and help bring back a good story, I’ll give you a co-producer credit, I promise.” Troy wouldn’t be happy about it, but he’d deal with it when the time came.

  “And then?” Liz asked with uncharacteristic persistence. “Will I get to produce?”

  “We’ll see what you bring back on this shoot, okay?” She was beginning to annoy him. This was the biggest show of his career, and he’d been forced to leave it in the hands of an amateur. Now Liz was trying to use the situation to her own advantage.

  She sensed that it was best not to push him. “We’ll bring back a winner,” she said, adding, to herself, “in spite of Troy.”

  “Atta girl. I’m counting on you.”

  She’d show him. She’d handle Troy and deliver a top-notch show that would make Bill wonder why he’d ever doubted her.

  CHAPTER 7

  The hot morning sun shimmered through the palm trees, warming the team as they gathered at a poolside table, plates heaped with fruit, pastries, potatoes, and bacon from the all-you-can-eat breakfast buffet.

  An African woman in a tight dress and full bottom slinked over and smiled at AJ as she refilled his coffee cup. He flashed her a smile in return, and elbowed Buddy as she glided away.

  “You see that? I think she was at the bar last night. Max, you should have come. The ladies!”

  “My damn back. I would have been there with you.”

  “Are you guys done yet?” Liz asked.

  “Hell, no, hon. We’ve only just begun,” AJ said with a wink. Buddy laughed and the two tapped fists.

  “Listen up. We’ve got a car waiting to help us find this Abdoulaye character. A crew used him on a shoot years ago and he totally hooked them up. With any luck we’ll be on a plane and heading out of the city this time tomorrow.”

  “Why not just call or e-mail him?” Troy asked.

  Liz did a double take, wondering how anyone who’d taken even the short trip from the airport to the hotel could have failed to notice that technologically speaking, the city had plenty of catching up to do.

  “He’s not listed,” she responded, shaking her head out of pity at his cluelessness. Troy simply nodded and returned to his breakfast.

  ***

  The taxi crawled through several dusty shantytowns before conking out in front of a squat cement house that seemed a notch nicer than its neighbors thanks to a fresh coat of bright yellow paint.

  “This is it,” the driver said.

  With some hesitation, the crew got out of the taxi and stretched after the cramped, bumpy ride while Liz paid the driver. She hadn’t had time to change money, so she handed him a five-dollar bill – the equivalent of five times the negotiated fare.

  “I’ll replace it with a ten if you stick around and give us a ride back,” she told him. He nodded, mesmerized by the cash.

  “Let’s go,” she said, leading the pack.

  Cautiously, they drew aside a cloth hanging in the doorway and entered the dimly lit home. As their eyes adjusted, they could make out a long hallway lined with doorways.

  “Hello?” Liz called out. No response. Tentatively, they peered in the first open doorway. An African woman sat on a worn mattress, braiding the hair of a young girl squatting in front of her. The woman said something sharply in Kituru, the local language, indicating with a jerk of the head that they should continue.

  “Are you sure this is the right place?” Buddy whispered.

  “Bright yellow house. Gotta be it,” Liz whispered back. As they continued down the dark hall, they heard what sounded like a steady moan, and followed it to the next doorway.

  Peaking into the room, they spied a robust middle-aged African man sitting on a mat, chanting, eyes closed. His elegant purple robe was embroidered in gold, his face framed by graying dreadlocks.

  Sensing the crew’s presence, his left eye suddenly opened to examine them while the rest of his face remained fixed in meditation. Surprised, they recoiled with a collective gasp.

  Slowly, the man emerged from his meditative state, stretching his arms overhead and opening his eyes.

  “Are you going to stand there all day with your mouths open like fish? Come in,” he said in clipped, slightly accented English.

  One by one, they filed into the room and took a seat on a large, low bed in the corner. The man scooped a cup of water from an earthen jar in the corner and took a drink before continuing.

  “So who are you? Tourists? Eco-tourism entrepreneurs?” he proposed, studying Buddy, Max, and AJ. “Do-gooder missionaries?” he guessed, casting an eye on Liz. “Oh, no. I should have known from the start,” he said, finally landing on Troy. “You’re TV people, aren’t you?”

  “Uh…that depends,” Troy said timidly.

  “On what?”

  “If you like TV people,” he replied, chancing a smile.

  The man stared at him, then broke into a laugh. “Like TV people? I love TV people! Their money built this house! They sent my children to school! My eldest son is getting his MBA at the University of Pennsylvania thanks to TV people. I love TV people. So tell me, what can I do for you? First, drinks. Coke?” He gave a shout, and the woman from the next room shuffled in, flip-flops scarcely lifting from the concrete floor. He said something to her in Kituru, and she shuffled off again.

  “You’re Abdoulaye?” Liz asked.

  “Yes, I am Abdoulaye, here to serve. What is it you wish to film? Jungles? Snakes? Crocodiles? Pygmy villages? Wild rivers? Remote villages that have never seen a white man’s skin? Cannibal tribes and voodoo princesses? Drug lords and rebel soldiers? Just tell me what you need. Land Cruisers? A Cessna? Guards with AK-47s? Catered four-course meals in the bush? I can arrange it all.” He smiled warmly and spread his arms in front of him, as though displaying the bounty of possibilities they had to choose from.

  The woman returned carrying five bottles of Coke, which she placed on a table. One by one, she opened them and distributed them to the crew.

  “We want to go to the Nburu jungle,” Max announced.

  There was a piercing crash as one of the bottles slipped from the woman’s grasp and fell to the floor. Her eyes locked on Max, horrified.

  Abdoulaye’s smile faded. After a beat, he scolded the woman, who bent to clean up the mess. “I don’t think I heard you correctly. The Nburu jungle? Nobody goes to the Nburu jungle.”

  “You heard right. We’re looking for a lost American anthropologist, Dr. Lawrence Julian Thompson. He went into the Nburu five months ago and hasn’t been seen since,” Liz said.

  Abdoulaye shook his head. “Of course he hasn’t been seen since. No one who goes into the Nburu jungle is ever seen again. I’m sorry, but I can’t help you.” He stood and motioned for them to leave.

  “But you said you could arrange it all. ‘Remote villages that have never seen a white man’s skin? Cannibals? Drug lords and rebels?’” Liz quoted.

  “Believe me, you’d rather face cannibals, drug lords, and rebels all at once. At least you know that evil when you see it. The Nburu contains an evil you can’t see. It surrounds you, but you won’t notice it until it’s too late. There’s no use looking for your friend. He’s already dead, and if you go after him, you’ll die too.” His genial nature had evaporated.

  “Dude, I think he’s serious. Maybe we should bag it,” Troy said.

  “Please! I’ve seen this before,” Max scoffed in a whisper. “He’s just negotiating. Trying to drive up the price. Crafty bugger.” He turned to Abdoulaye. “We have no choice. Can’t turn back now. What will it cost?”

  “We’ll need transport, food, porters, and guides,” AJ added.

  “I don’t think you understand. It’s not about money.”

  Max whispered something to Liz, and she nodded. “Right. How’s two thousand dollars a week? Tuition at the University of Pennsylvania is pretty expensive,” Max said.

  Abdoula
ye hesitated. “Really, it’s not the money,” he said weakly.

  “Twenty five hundred dollars a week, including porters, transport, food, guides, and protection,” Max countered.

  “You guys…you cannot be doing this to me. I’m trying to do what’s best for you!”

  “Five grand for two weeks. Plus transportation. That’s a lot of cash,” AJ said.

  Abdoulaye hesitated, then caved in. “Give me a day and I’ll arrange it. I won’t go on your suicide mission, but I might be able to pull together a team. I know men from the region who know the jungle better than their own mothers’ teats. They’ll cost $3,000 a week.”

  “Three thousand!” Liz exclaimed.

  “Men who are willing to die are expensive, and they like to be paid in advance, for obvious reasons.”

  “Half in advance,” Max bargained.

  “Deal,” Abdoulaye said, shaking Max’s hand.

  Liz bit her lip, resenting Max’s intrusion in the bargaining process. She could have gotten the guy to settle for two grand a week. Three thousand? That was nearly ten times the average person’s yearly income in the country. She stood with the others to leave and begrudgingly handed the stack of bills to Abdoulaye. He hesitated, then took the money and tucked it into his chest pocket without counting it.

  “I’ll be at your hotel at noon tomorrow with your team,” he said, accompanying them to the taxi. “I’ll also arrange a charter for the three-hour flight to Kimkali, the only way to make it there in under a week. That’s as close to the Nburu jungle as you can get. From there, you walk.”

  He shook each of their hands as they climbed into the taxi.

  As they pulled away, Liz leaned out the window and called, “See you tomorrow! Noon.”

  Abdoulaye watched as the taxi retreated and shook his head. “Yeah, I’ll see you. Probably for the last time in your lives.”

  CHAPTER 8

  “I don’t know about this. No one seems to dig this Nburu place,” Troy said. “Maybe the dude was telling the truth, and we should split.” Gathered at the hotel bar, the crew nursed bottles of the local brew.

  “It probably wasn’t part of your film school education, but we’re used to this sort of thing,” AJ said. “Remember that muddy camp in the Amazon, surrounded by snakes and crocodiles and hostile Indians? Or that shoot on the side of that erupting volcano in Guatemala? I lost two cameras.”

  “Yeah, that was raw!” Buddy said, shaking his head.

  “Go easy on him, guys. I’m sure New York is plenty dangerous,” Max said. “I hear parking in Manhattan can be a bitch!” He chuckled to himself, then turned to Troy. “If you want to turn back, son, feel free. We can call your daddy tonight.”

  “Don’t worry about me. I can take danger as much as the next guy.”

  “Spider!” Liz shrieked, pointing to his foot.

  “Where!” Troy cried, leaping from his seat and accidentally tipping his beer into his lap.

  “You can take danger, eh? Just not itsy bitsy spiders,” she said.

  Troy glared at her as he brushed the beer from his pants. “Very funny. I’m going to change.”

  When he was a safe distance away, AJ put his arm around Liz. “That was too funny,” he said in admiration, wiping tears from his eyes.

  “I don’t mean to sound like Troy, but do you think Abdoulaye’s really serious? That ‘evil you can’t see’ shit is spooky,” Buddy said.

  “I don’t think we have anything to worry about. People who live in cities don’t know squat about life in the jungle. They always think we’re crazy for wanting to go there. I’m sure it’s nothing but local superstition,” AJ said, clapping his friend on the back.

  “Superstition mixed with a healthy dose of capitalism,” Max said.

  “Then what happened to Thompson?” Buddy asked.

  “You ask me, he’s probably having the time of his life in some remote village,” Max said, a dreamy look in his eye. “Got a gal, gallons of palm wine, maybe some local ‘wacky tobacco’...”

  “…and has no idea that the rest of the world is wondering what the hell’s happened to him,” Liz completed.

  “Troy worries me just as much as anything in the jungle,” AJ admitted. “There’s no way we can dump him? At best, he’ll slow us down. Worst, probably get us shot.”

  “Bill says we’re stuck with him.”

  “Though if he decides to back out on his own, there’s nothing we can do to stop him.”

  “Don’t even think about provoking him, AJ. He is the CEO’s son,” Liz warned.

  “Nephew. And I don’t think he’ll need any provoking.”

  Max shrugged off the debate and raised a glass. “Well, here’s to the adventure ahead of us. To the Nburu.”

  The others raised their glasses one by one and repeated:

  “To the Nburu.”

  CHAPTER 9

  The hotel clock read 12:47 PM. Liz had already herded the crew and their equipment together in anticipation of Abdoulaye’s noon arrival, and now he was late. She should have known: noon in Africa always meant 2 o’clock, earliest.

  Fortunately, no one else seemed as stressed. Max snoozed on a pile of duffle bags. Next to him, AJ leaned against the wall, listening to his iPod, foot tapping in time with the music. He noticed Liz pacing, and to her surprise, stood, took her hand, and pulled her close for a dance. Flustered and frustrated by the delay, she was in no mood for AJ’s antics, and initially resisted. But he persisted, leading with his hips and humming a tune, until she sighed, surrendered, and settled into the dance, allowing him to envelope her in his fresh, soapy scent.

  Across the room, Buddy put on a pair of headphones to test his equipment. He surreptitiously pointed his microphone at Troy, who, clad in his signature black outfit, was chatting up a stunning African woman by the front desk.

  “Yeah, we work in television. We head to some pretty dangerous corners of the world. We’re going into the bush today. Might not make it back alive, but that goes with the territory.” He smiled and leaned in flirtatiously. “I might have some time if you’d like to go somewhere. I could use the memory of woman’s touch to carry me through these next few weeks.”

  Just then, the woman’s burly spouse appeared, placing a beefy arm around her waist and glaring down at Troy.

  “Maybe not,” Troy mumbled, backing off slowly, and right into Buddy, who’d overheard the entire exchange. Troy swiveled around defensively.

  “Shucks, man. I know it’s not a woman’s touch, but I thought I had a chance,” Buddy said with a belly-jiggling laugh. Troy responded by knocking Buddy’s ever-present orange baseball cap to the floor, then stormed over to Liz and AJ, eager to assert his authority.

  “Sorry to disturb you lovebirds,” he said, interrupting their dance, “but where the hell is Abdoulaye? We don’t have all day!”

  “Why? Do you have a date you don’t want to keep waiting?” Liz asked. Still eavesdropping across the room, Buddy giggled.

  “I’m the producer! I should be treated with a little respect. He probably took off with our cash. I knew that guy was a crook!”

  “The crook has arrived,” a booming voice called out as Abdoulaye sauntered in with great fanfare in an elaborate maroon robe.

  “Liz, I am so sorry to be late,” he said, enveloping her hand in his. “It’s been extremely difficult to find a team willing to go to the Nburu, but they are here and ready for you.” He led her outside and pointed to a group of men gathered around a battered old minivan. One lounged on the hood, smoking a cigarette. Two others sat on the roof, legs dangling over the side. Their clothes were ragged, eyes bloodshot, shoulders sunken.

  “They look like an eager bunch,” Liz observed as she peered in the van, where the rest were sprawled, snoring.

  “I gave them an advance last night, and most went straight to the bars with it,” Abdoulaye said with a chuckle. “But don’t worry. Now that they’ve had some fun, they’ll be just fine in the bush.”

  A bright-eyed
young man who seemed scarcely out of his teens approached. Unlike the porters, he was dressed in a neatly pressed button down shirt and pants, and his round, friendly face beamed.

  “This is my nephew, Mohamed, or Moe for short,” Abdoulaye said, resting his hand on the young man’s shoulder. “He’s the leader of the team, and he’ll take care of you in the field just as well as I would.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” Moe said, shaking her hand.

  “Trust Moe. He may look young and soft, but he knows life in the bush. He’ll be able to spot danger before you even suspect it’s there.” Moe roused the men and instructed them in their language, Kituru. Slowly, they started loading the equipment into the van as AJ supervised.

  Confident that the process was running smoothly, Abdoulaye took Liz by the elbow and led her a short distance away. “One more thing,” he began. “I know that you think my warnings were part of some clever negotiations, or perhaps the rantings of a superstitious old man, but the danger in the Nburu is real. You’ll see when you get to Kimkali. No man there would accept even twice your offer to go into the Nburu jungle.”

  “Then why-“

  “Why send my own nephew?” Liz nodded. “I’ll tell you something: around the world, young men are the same. They crave adventure. If a man doesn’t get the chance to go out and experience it in his youth, he’ll never make a good husband or father. He’ll be too restless.”

  Liz glanced at AJ, who had joined the porters in hoisting the heavy cases onto the roof of the vehicle. Abdoulaye continued. “This is Moe’s chance for adventure. Just promise me one thing: that you’ll listen to him. He’s a smart boy, and will know when you have crossed the line, and when it is time to leave. I know you suspect that the Nburu is like the other places you have visited, but it is not. You will learn, but you’ll have to see for yourselves. If you and your team decide to ignore Moe’s warnings and continue, you will do so alone. The days when a black man’s life could be bought in these parts are long gone.”