The White Hunter

by Gilbert, Morris

  John did not answer but shrugged his shoulders. The next morning when he walked out of camp, leaving the two women alone, he was gone only a short time. When he came back he gave Jeanine an odd look. “It’s going to take three days.”

  “Three days! That can’t be! You didn’t offer them enough money!” she insisted.

  “It’s not a matter of money. They’re having one of their ceremonial periods. A religious thing.”

  “Well, I don’t care!” Jeanine said. “We’ve got to have help. If you can’t do the job, I’ll do it myself!”

  John grinned and pushed his hat back with his finger. He always wore an Australian type hat with the right side pinned up. “You fly right at it, Reverend,” he said. “I’ll be interested to see how it comes out.”

  Jeanine disappeared the next day, going to the village herself. She was gone all day long, and Annie grew worried about her. When darkness began to fall, John made a fire and began to cook a small antelope called a dik-dik. He was a good cook, but Annie was not hungry. Finally she said, “Are you worried about Jeanine? She should be back by now.”

  “She hates to get defeated, doesn’t she?”

  “Oh yes. She’s very determined.”

  “Well, I think she’s whipped this time. Money doesn’t mean much to these people, Annie. Neither does time. They don’t have watches or calendars. They take each day as it comes. They never get excited or hurried unless there’s a war or a cattle raid.”

  “I think that’s a good way to be, John.”

  He looked over at her. He was lying on his side on his elbow, and he studied her carefully. “I don’t see how you two get along. You’re an odd couple. You’re so quiet and gentle, and Jeanine is—well—she’s Jeanine.”

  “It took a while for me to get used to her ways, but you don’t know where she’s come from, John. You really don’t.” As the flames danced in the fire, Annie spent the next hour telling him the story of Jeanine’s life.

  When she had finished, John said, “Sounds like she’s had a real adventurous life. Do you think she can make it out here as a missionary?”

  “Oh yes. She just needs time and prayer.”

  “Well, there’s plenty of time out here, but she’s got to learn patience. These people won’t be rushed.” He sat up then, picked up a stick, and held it in the fire. It caught and he lifted it as if it were a candle. He watched it burn and then with a swift motion tossed it back on the bed of glowing coals. “I’ve never forgotten your visit to my family, Annie. I remember every bit of it.”

  “Oh, you couldn’t!”

  “I do, though. I remember you wore a brown dress that day we met, and you had little pearl earrings. You said your mother gave them to you.”

  Annie was rather shocked that he remembered such detail, but as he continued, he revealed that he remembered many details of the visit.

  “I didn’t think you were paying any attention.”

  “Why wouldn’t I pay attention? It was a real break in my life. It was a good time for me.”

  “You were worried, though. I could tell that. And unhappy.”

  “Oh yes. I had the wanderlust. But it was good to have a visitor. Especially a pretty cousin like you. Do you still have that picture that Phil painted of you?”

  “My mother does. She’s very proud of it.”

  “Phil’s done well by himself. He’s famous now. Gets no telling how much money each time he paints a picture. I’m glad for him.”

  “I’d like to see him again. I liked him very much.”

  They were silent for a moment and then from the distance came a coughing roar. Annie blinked and sat up straighter. “Only a lion,” John said carelessly. “No problem.”

  “They have such awful roars!”

  “They do, don’t they?”

  “Do they ever purr like cats?”

  “I don’t think so. I believe a feline can either purr or roar, and it wouldn’t help a lion much to purr when he’s getting ready to fight.”

  John stared into the fire for a moment, then said, “Why haven’t you married, Annie?”

  “I . . . never found anyone—” She broke off and did not finish.

  “I guess that’s what describes me. I never found anyone, either.”

  “You never found a woman you loved?”

  “Not really. I guess I never will now. I’m a confirmed old bachelor, it seems. Here I am at the ripe old age of thirty-one and still no wedding bells ringing for me.”

  “Could be hard on a woman being married to a white hunter.”

  “It’d be hard on a man being married to a lady missionary,” John countered.

  “I guess it would be,” Annie smiled. “I’ll be an old spinster and you’ll be an old bachelor, and when I’m eighty years old, you can come and sit on my front porch and tell lies about how many lions you killed.”

  As they sat there Annie had a good feeling about it. It was the first time she had ever been really relaxed since they had left Mombasa, but it was broken when John suddenly sat up.

  “There she comes,” he murmured.

  Annie had heard nothing, but she saw a shadowy figure and then Jeanine walked into camp. She was dirty and exhausted and angry.

  “What’s the matter, Jeanine?” Annie exclaimed. “Are you all right?”

  “Those dirty thieves!” Jeanine said. She threw herself down before the fire and clenched her fists with anger. Looking up, she saw them both staring at her. “I found some men. I paid them in advance and told them where to meet me, but they didn’t show up.”

  John Winslow knew instantly what had happened. “Probably some of the Kangori men. They’re lazy and shiftless, not Masai, of course. They drift around this part of the world. Were they short and skinny and wore yellow headdresses?”

  “That’s them.”

  “Untrustworthy. Even if they had come, they couldn’t have carried the loads. It’ll take a Masai for that.”

  “What do we do now?” Annie said.

  Jeanine stiffened her back. “All right. You can laugh now, John. You’ve got your own way. We’ll have to wait until their ceremony is over.”

  “I’m not laughing,” John said. “It’s just a way of life for them. They’re good men. You’ll like them, Jeanine.”

  His words did not mollify Jeanine. She got up and went into the tent without saying another word.

  “She spends a lot of time being angry, doesn’t she?” John said quietly. “She had better learn to control that. Things go wrong in Africa. If she spends her time sulking in a tent every time something goes wrong out here in the Serengeti, she’ll be in there a lot.”

  ****

  The Masai porters arrived exactly as they had said and efficiently divided up the load. The head porter, whose name was something like Benji, stared at the washtub. “What is that?” he asked.

  “It’s what the tall woman uses to wash herself in.”

  Benji found this amusing. “Did you not tell her that we have rivers for that?”

  “What is he saying?” Jeanine demanded.

  “He wanted to know what the bathtub was, so I told him. He said there are rivers for that.”

  “Never mind what he says. Hire two more if you need, but I want that tub carried.”

  It required another trip to get more porters, but they set out with the copper bathtub in a cradle astride the shoulders of two tall Masai porters.

  The trip was hard, for the women were not used to walking. Several times they had to stop and rest.

  Annie was fascinated by the tall strong men. “They look so lean, but they’re so strong.”

  “Kind of like a leopard, I guess,” John said.

  Finally, on the third day they reached the village and were met by a tall Masai and his elders. “This is Chief Mangu. Chief Mangu, these two have come to tell you about their God.”

  After hearing their names, Chief Mangu said, “You’re welcome to our village.”

  “Thank you,” Annie said quickl
y. “We are honored to be here.” At that moment another voice spoke up, and Annie turned to see Jeb Winslow approaching. He was smiling.

  “Hello, Annie. We meet again. It’s good to see you again, Jeanine.”

  After the two women were ensconced in their tent, which Jeb and John set up, Jeanine said, “Every time we meet a man, there’s something going on between you and him. First John and now Jeb. How many men do you want, Annie?” She was tired, but there was a teasing light in her eyes.

  “Oh, Jeanine, don’t talk foolishly!”

  “Why, you can’t keep your eyes off John. Anybody can see that.”

  Annie was even more fatigued than Jeanine. She did not possess the older woman’s physical strength, and she had walked the last five miles on pure willpower. “Jeanine, I just wish you would keep your thoughts to yourself about John Winslow and me!”

  Jeanine shrugged. “That might be best. Brother Jeb has feelings for you. I can see that. His eyes just lit up like a Christmas tree when he saw you.”

  “We’re very good friends. That’s all.”

  “John Winslow’s not for you.” Jeanine smiled slowly, her lips curving upward. She tapped her lower lip with a forefinger and nodded. “He’s too wild for you, but I think I can calm him down a little bit. . . .”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Terror in the Night

  Annie could not understand what Jeanine had expected in a Masai village far away from the big cities. She herself had learned enough from missionaries who had served on the dark continent and from books she had pored over for years. It came as no surprise to her that the simple building of a mission station would be a gargantuan task. For Jeanine, however, the circumstances came as a complete and total shock. She took it for granted that things could be done immediately. It took her several days to understand that in this part of the world there were no carpenters, no labor unions, no employment offices. There was, in fact, nothing but the Masai themselves. It was a matter of pride with Jeanine that she could accomplish whatever she set out to do, but here in the wilds of Africa her expertise seemed to be of little use. She was a strong woman with a powerful strain of impatience running through her, but impatience would not serve her in this land.

  “I can’t understand why none of the men will agree to help me build a station. It seems a simple enough matter to me.” Jeanine was walking around a plot of ground that Chief Mangu’s sister occupied. “I don’t see why Chief Mangu simply can’t command the men to help.”

  John Winslow was sitting on a large rock. It was dull gray and worn smooth by countless rains and now was hot. Getting up, he stretched and observed, “That thing’s too hot for me.”

  Jeanine stared at him. He seemed cool enough, although the sun was beating down and she herself was completely soaked. “Did you hear what I said, John?”

  “Sure I heard you, but it doesn’t work like that in a Masai village.” John grinned at a couple of Masai boys no more than eight or nine. They had small bows and were shooting at a piece of bark. “You’re doing fine, men,” he said in English, then tried to say it in their own language. He took their smiles and then held his hand up with his thumb and forefinger touching, making a circle. He spoke again and both boys suddenly raised their bows. One launched an arrow first and another immediately afterward, and both of them sailed right through the small circle made by John’s fingers. He laughed and reached into his pocket and said, “All right. You win.” He gave them a small piece of candy and then shook his head when they began to clamor for more. “No more. Later, but it was a good shot.”

  “Do they understand what you’re saying?”

  “No. Not unless I put it in their language, and I don’t know enough of it.”

  “John, did you hear what I said about building a house?”

  “Yes. I heard you.”

  “Well, what about it? Why can’t I just pay Chief Mangu, and he can pay the men?”

  “Men don’t build houses among the Masai.”

  “What do you mean they don’t build houses?”

  “I mean the women build houses.”

  Jeanine stared at him. “I never heard of such a thing!” she exclaimed. “All the men do is sit around or go hunting and have fun, and the women have to do all the work.”

  “Doesn’t seem to bother them.” John was amazed at her irritation. “If you really want to see how a house is built, get Ayoho to show you. She’s building one. Come on. You can have your first lesson.”

  The two moved across the flat, dusty earth, their boots raising small clouds. There was a smell of cattle and cooking fires, a rank odor that made Jeanine wrinkle her nose. She longed for a bath, but she knew it would do no good, for she would be hot and sweaty again immediately. As they made their way through a herd of cattle of all sizes and colors, some with enormous horns, John stepped closer to her and murmured, “Watch them. Some of these fellows can get pretty rambunctious.”

  Nervously Jeanine moved closer to John as they made their way through the herd. When they emerged, John pointed. “There’s Ayoho’s place. Come on.”

  They approached the structure that looked very strange to Jeanine. She waited while John spoke to the woman who turned to face her. She was a beautiful woman with skin as black as ebony, and like all of the Masai women, she stood as erect as a soldier on parade. Her hair was woven into curls and fastened down, plastered tight against her skull, and she wore the traditional colored beadwork of the Masai women. Her garment was simply a piece of dark maroon cloth that covered her from the neck to just below the knees. She listened carefully as John spoke rather haltingly, then nodded an answer to him.

  “What did she say?” Jeanine asked.

  “She said she’ll teach you how to build a house.” John found this amusing. Yet his humor irritated Jeanine.

  “You’ll have to stay and interpret,” she said.

  “Glad to.”

  Ayoho showed Jeanine first how groups of houses were built on the inside wall of a tall fence made of saplings. The center of the engang, as it was called, was used to hold the numerous cattle.

  A rough oblong shape was scratched into the dirt, then a trench was dug and saplings were buried sticking up. Smaller branches were woven into these, rounding off into the roof. Grass was packed all around, then plastered with cattle dung.

  Ayoho led the pair into a finished house, and it seemed very small to Jeanine. She later made a sketch of it for use in a report or book she intended to write.

  There was only one room and it was shared with the animals that formed the core of Masai life. There were no large windows, but light entered through openings in the side and roof. A hearth in the center of the dwelling served for cooking, warmth, and light.

  As Ayoho began to speak, Annie came up and helped John do the interpreting. She had become fairly proficient unless the conversation got into areas she had no knowledge of yet. After she had finished the interpreting, she smiled at Ayoho and said something in Swahili, her own language. Ayoho smiled, her teeth white against her black skin, then she turned back to her building.

  “Well, you’re a certified housebuilder now. When are you going to start gathering your sticks?” John asked Jeanine.

  “I’m not going to live in a mud house. We’re going to have a timber house. We’ll have the wood cut and hauled in.”

  “That’s one way,” John said. “If you’ve got the money, it’s a good way.”

  Annie was wearing her usual costume, a white dress now grown rather grubby with a day’s hard work. Her red hair was covered by a sun helmet, and she said, “About our service in the morning. I don’t see how we can do it without an interpreter.”

  “You can do it, Annie.”

  “No, I can’t, Jeanine. I don’t know enough of it yet. Someday I will.” She turned to John and said, “John, would you interpret for us?”

  The question caught John Winslow off guard. He turned to face her and shoved the Australian bush hat back on his head. His auburn hair
was damp with the heat, and his light blue eyes seemed to glow against his tanned, wedge-shaped face. “I’m surprised,” he said, “that you’d ask me. You know I’m not even a Christian.”

  “I know, but you know the language,” Annie said.

  “How do you know I’ll be truthful? I might change what you say and tell them all to be Buddhists.”

  Annie grinned suddenly and her eyes crinkled up. She had a delightful smile. One seeing it could not help but smile with her, and she shook her head now, saying, “You wouldn’t do that, John.”

  “Well, I have a good reputation with you. Better than with some I could mention.”

  “Will you do it?” Jeanine asked.

  “If you like. You’ll have to go slow, though, and I’m no expert. Too bad we didn’t have Bert Feely here. He’s the best interpreter around, but it’s hard to get Bert away from Mombasa.”

  “Good. We’ll have the service in the morning. How will we get the word around?”

  “We don’t have a newspaper to put it in,” Annie laughed. “I think if we just tell Chief Mangu, the word will get around. He’s already promised to come. How about if we have it over there under those baobab trees?”

  “All right,” Jeanine nodded. “We’ll do it. Maybe we can teach them some simple songs.”

  “Are you going to do the preaching, Jeanine?” John asked.

  The question surprised Jeanine. “Why, of course!” And then she suddenly turned to Annie. “Unless you would rather do it, Annie.”

  “Oh no. I want you to preach. You do it so much better.”

  Something flickered in John Winslow’s eyes, but he said nothing. “All right. I haven’t been to church in a long time. I grew up in one, of course, but I’ve gotten away from my Christian raising.”

  Annie smiled, saying, “You’ll get back to it, John. I know you will.”

  ****

  Annie looked at all the people who had gathered for the meeting. Getting the crowd together was not difficult. Chief Mangu had done a good job promoting the service, and he himself sat with his large family directly in front of where Jeanine and Annie came to stand. Annie thought, What an exotic place to preach the Gospel. She looked over across the plains, and far beyond the herds of the Masai she saw the massive heights of Mount Kilimanjaro, the mountain of God, as the Masai called it. Sweeping her gaze around, she caught a glimpse of a small herd of zebras, almost too far off to see, raising a cloud over to the east. Overhead the ever present vultures were circling, waiting and searching for their next victim in the cycle of life and death that played itself out on the plains.