CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Simba!
“A beautiful day, Annie,” Jeb said. He stopped on top of the hill and waited until Annie came to stand beside him. From where they stood, they could see a band of green that lined the bases of some steeply rising cliffs. Far off, the Mountain of God, Mount Kenya, was clearly outlined against the sky. It was a magnificent cone, crystal white and perfect as few volcanos are.
The two stood there looking toward the mountains and the hills beyond that seemed cloaked in the blue haze of Africa, and everywhere there were birds. Annie was proud of herself, for she had learned to name them. “That’s a stone chat,” she announced and pointed to it. “There’s a flycatcher.”
Jeb joined in the game. “I never saw so many different kinds of birds. Look, there’s a kingfisher. Not like the ones we had back at home, but he is beautiful, isn’t he?”
“It’s odd. Kingfishers live in the dry woods in Africa. At home they’re always around water.”
“And the owls grab the fish, and the eagles eat the insects,” Jeb added.
The two began walking again, descending into a more wooded area. The world seemed to stand still, and high above, a hawk rose on the thermals. They heard the crashing of trees from a small herd of elephants knocking them down. They crossed over a brook and then a small pond, where bush buck and water buck lifted their beautifully carved horns to watch their coming. Their tails switched and they watched cautiously, but they did not run.
For a long time they wandered, always looking for the Mountain of God as a landmark. “I’d like to go down into that crater someday,” Jeb murmured.
“Can you do that?”
“I think so, but it’s sacred to the Masai. I doubt if any of them would go there any more than we would go rushing into the Holy of Holies.”
Clouds began to settle, and the wind blew across the waste of coarse tussock that stirred like a living thing across the wide plains. Far off they could hear the chough-chough-chough of the rhinos. “Kifaru mkubwa,” Annie whispered.
“Yes. Big rhino. I’d hate to get caught by one of them. Have you seen one of them at a dead run? They’d outrun a man easily.”
They passed by a group of wild banana fronds, and from far off, smoke-plumed villages filled the landscape. The clouds overhead seemed to be almost light lavender, and as they moved rapidly across the slate gray sky above, the two made their way into a shaded area. Goldenback weavers occupied the trees overhead, and long stalks of purple amaranth dangled from the boughs. It was a lush, wet area, and a frog chorus suddenly began to sound in the afternoon air while a bush shrike chestnut wing came rushing in as if to defend his territory.
“Are you tired, Annie?”
“I think so. I don’t really know.” But Annie listened with pleasure as Jeb started to sing. He liked the old songs, “The Old Rugged Cross,” “Amazing Grace,” and although he sang effortlessly, his voice seemed to fill the clearing as they made their way back toward the village.
As Annie listened it suddenly occurred to her, I’m thinking more about Jeb than I am about John. The thought came into her mind unobtrusively. It was as if someone else had put it there rather than being something she herself had thought of. She considered it as they made their way through the meadows that surrounded the village. A band of ravens, startled at their appearance, rose with a rush of wing, making black periods against the sky. From time to time she would look over at Jeb. His face was now tanned almost as dark as that of John Winslow, and the spare diet and heat and exercise had planed the features of his face down. He was not gaunt, but there was a strong, masculine attractiveness to the slant of his jawbone and the firmness of his mouth. His arms were bare up to the biceps, and they were tanned also and swelled with muscle that had not been there when he had left the States. She found pleasure observing him without his knowledge, and then he turned and caught her looking.
“Why are you looking at me?”
“Because you’re so beautiful.” Annie made a face at him.
“I am, aren’t I? I look better than that baboon we passed back there.”
“Oh, much better than that! You’re at least as attractive as a warthog.”
Jeb laughed. “You know how to make a fellow feel a hundred feet high, Annie.”
The two walked on until they finally arrived back at the village. Turning to Jeb, Annie asked, “Can we work on the translation later today, Jeb?”
“Yes.” The two had started a free translation of the Bible so that it would be very simple. The King James was fine for those who grew up with it, but there were expressions in there that even gave Annie and Jeb problems. It was not that they wanted to rewrite the Bible but to simplify it. They had worked on it for long hours and had come to find a real pleasure in it.
They did work on the translation all afternoon, and just as the sun was going down over the mountains, they heard John Winslow’s voice. They were seated outside of Annie’s hut, and looking up, they saw the white hunter come striding in. “Hello, John,” Annie smiled. “I’m glad to see you.”
“Have you been to Mombasa?” Jeb asked.
John nodded. “Yes. I went to talk to Jeanine.”
“Has she left yet?” Annie asked almost fearfully.
“No. I persuaded her to wait a few weeks.” Taking off his hat, he wiped the sweat from his brow and shook his head. “She’s in bad shape spiritually.” He looked down at the hat that was in his right hand and murmured, “Well, who isn’t?”
Something about the question touched the hearts of both Jeb and Annie. They gave each other a quick glance, and Jeb said, “Come along. We’ll fix something to eat.”
“Yes,” Annie said. “Karibu chai.”
Winslow smiled faintly. “Welcome to tea,” he translated. “All right. I could eat a little.”
“Come along. I’m trying a new menu. One that the chief’s sister gave to me.”
The two men followed her to the fire in back of the house. As the two men sat down on stools, Annie began to stir maize meal into boiling water. This made a white paste called ugali. It was the chief staple all over East Africa. When it was boiling, she chopped up meat and vegetables, and even added a little gravy that was left over from a previous meal.
She stirred it until it thickened and then said, “Supper’s ready.”
The three pulled their stools closer to a stump that had been left for a dining room table, and Annie set the bowl out in front of them. She closed her eyes and said, “Father, we thank you for this food. In Jesus’ name.”
“Amen,” Jeb grinned. He reached over and picked up some of the ugali in his hand and rolled it up into a ball. Then he took a bite of it and nodded. “Not bad.”
The three ate out of the common bowl, and Annie murmured once, “Not very fancy, is it? Can you imagine what people at home would think of this?”
John said little during the brief meal. Finally he said, “I’ve been invited to join in on a lion hunt tomorrow.”
“You mean you’re taking a client out?” Jeb inquired.
“Oh no. The chief invited me to go.” He leaned back and pulled his pipe out. He packed it, lit it up, and when the purple clouds of smoke began to rise, he nodded. “It’s his boy’s first hunt. That’s important to a young man, you know.”
“It is, isn’t it? I don’t quite understand it. I guess it’s sort of an initiation into manhood.”
“More or less,” Winslow nodded. “It follows a set procedure.” He leaned back and listened to the sounds that came across the village, a mixture of voices and far off a cry of a distant hunting bird. The sounds had become natural to all of them now, but he was always watchful and listened more than a man would back in the States. “The day before the hunt some of the warriors tell the others where to meet. In the morning at dawn a warrior with a metal bell attached to his thigh will circle all the nearby kraals to remind the warriors of the hunt.”
“What’s the bell for? A wake-up call?” Jeb asked.
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br /> “Yes. When the warriors hear the bell, they rush out fully armed and go to the meeting place.”
“Could we come and watch?” Annie asked.
“I’m afraid not. It’s strictly for warriors.”
“Then it’s sort of an honor to invite you along, isn’t it?”
“I guess so.”
“What do they do then?”
“Well, they start out in a long, loose line. It’s a sight to behold the way those fellows can cover ground.” He laughed, saying, “They’ll probably leave me two or three miles behind. They always put the best runners in front, and those with the heavy shields will follow behind. When they sight a lion they call ‘eele,’ and you hear this all down the line. Eele—eele—eele! The warriors in the front chase the lion and try to tire him out.”
“It’s very dangerous, isn’t it?” Annie asked.
“It can be. Lions have different temperaments. Some are cowards. They run for their lives at the first sight of danger. Some of them will just run a few hundred yards, then they’ll turn around and run right at you. Sometimes they are too full of meat from a meal to run. They always try to stop and vomit to get lighter. This gives the warriors a pretty good shot at them.”
“Tell us about how they actually kill a lion with a spear. It seems impossible.”
“It would be for me. It’s hard enough with a gun.”
“Will you take your gun tomorrow?”
“No. That wouldn’t be permitted. I’m just going as a guest.” He puffed on his pipe and watched the smoke spiral and then continued speaking slowly. “The warriors in front always wait for those in the rear to catch up. They try to circle the lion first at a good distance, and then they sing songs.”
“Why do they do that?”
“Oh, I suppose they’re trying to hypnotize the lion. They close in slowly until they’re at a spear-throwing distance. The lions seem to know which warrior will attack them first. He’ll go for him every time, it seems. Sooner or later a courageous warrior will run in and throw his spear. After he hits the lion he runs out of the circle and waits with his sword in hand. The other warriors throw themselves into sort of a barricade throwing spears. Sometimes they succeed and sometimes they don’t.”
“They sometimes get to the warriors, of course,” Jeb said.
“Yes, they do, and that’s pretty serious. It’s a matter of honor with them. The warrior who spears the lion first proclaims the name of his family very loudly. Sometimes he calls out the name of his lover.” He grinned and winked at Annie. “You don’t have to worry about me doing that. I’ll be standing there without even a knife, so if the lion makes for me, I might break a speed record.”
“What happens after they kill the lion?”
“Well, the warrior who first spears the lion takes its mane and its tail. The second takes a paw. They stick their trophies onto the end of their spears, and they come back singing and perform a dance around the lion’s carcass. Then they head on to celebrate, but they won’t celebrate if any of them have been wounded. You’ll probably see that tomorrow. It’s something to see. The Masai warriors will put on their ceremonial gear, those ostrich plumes on their heads and then lion’s manes or eagle feathers. They’ll perform a procession, and when they come home, they’ll send someone to inform the village. Then they make a triumphant entrance. ‘Warriors have killed a lion! Warriors have killed a lion!’ everybody will cry. They fall into a kind of frenzy. The Masai call it emboshona. They’ll all cry out, ‘Such are the Masai warriors!’ All the girls will decorate themselves, because the two most attractive girls will dance with the first two warriors who spear the lion.”
Annie and Jeb listened with fascination, and finally John looked at them and shook his shoulders together. “I’m talking like an old woman,” he said. “Getting old.”
“No. I’d give anything to see it,” Annie said quietly. “You ought to write it down. People at home would love to read something like this.”
“I’m no writer.”
“How do you know until you’ve tried? Promise me you’ll write it down,” Annie said.
“Yes,” Jeb said. “I need material for the book I’m writing. I might even put you in a footnote,” he grinned.
“Deliver me.” John rose to his feet and said, “I’m going to bed. It’ll be early in the morning. We’ll leave about three, so I won’t see you until we get back with our trophies.”
“Can we pray for you before you leave, John?” Annie asked.
John Winslow stopped. He stood there silently, and then said softly, “I don’t think anybody’s done that since Mom and Dad did when I left home. If you like, go ahead.”
Jeb and Annie went to stand beside John. She took his hand and held it firmly, and Jeb put his arm around the broad shoulders of the white hunter. Annie prayed a brief prayer, and her voice was full of concern, then Jeb prayed also. He ended by saying, “God, this is your man. Protect him and protect all of the warriors. In Jesus’ name.”
John stood there a moment feeling the warmth of Jeb Winslow’s arm and feeling the firmness of Annie’s hand. “Thanks,” he said huskily, then turned and disappeared into the gathering darkness.
****
“Simba is near,” Chief Mangu whispered. He waved his spear toward the east, then looked at his son. “Can you smell him, Rentai?”
“Not yet, Father.”
“Clear your nose out then. A Masai must smell as well as see.”
John Winslow stood a few feet behind the chief and his son. They had left well before dawn, and he had found it difficult to keep up with the warriors. They, of course, ran in their full, free swinging gait and never seemed to tire. Although Winslow was in good condition compared to most men his age, still he was gasping for breath more than once. He never quit, though, and had seen the look of approval in Chief Mangu’s eyes.
“Now, Winslow, the men will move in and the circle will tighten.”
John Winslow nodded. It was a sight to behold. The sun was just beginning to rise high in the sky, and they had arrived at a spot where the hard plains were bare with only a whisper of grass. The animals kept to the ridges where the grass was shortest. They had passed wildebeests that seemed to run in that tilted whirl of slopes. Their black tail tassels hung on the wind behind. Winslow knew they were a favorite food of the lion. Wherever there were wildebeests, there would be lions not far off.
The dawn seemed to hold something ominous about it, and it seemed that a tinge of gloom had come to him directly from the surroundings. He had experienced such feelings before and never paid much attention to them, but now for some reason there was a tenseness in the back of his neck that he could not shake off. A great stillness that seemed to hover over the landscape made him restless, and far overhead a peregrine falcon sailed across the sky and on down across the valley. It was a beautiful day, but John was tense and had to remind himself to relax his muscles.
For some time it seemed that nothing would happen. Winslow followed as Chief Mangu and Rentai moved ahead. Rentai did not even have a spear, for he was not old enough, nor had he passed through the rite of manhood. And no uncircumcised male could take part in a lion hunt. Still, he could observe, and what he saw he would one day put into action.
As the circle drew smaller and smaller, Winslow suddenly saw a movement ahead. Even as he saw it Mangu whispered, “Simba!” He watched silently for a moment, and then as the beast came into view, he turned and said, “A fine lion. Mkubwa simba.”
Winslow’s eyes were at least as good as those of the chief, even if his legs were not. “Fine animal,” he said quietly. He felt defenseless standing there without a gun, and the restlessness that had come with the dawn seemed to rise in him. He tightened his jaw, for he was aware the chief was watching him carefully.
The chief gave the order and slowly the circle tightened. The lion, a magnificent black-maned male, suddenly coughed, then split the air with a tremendous roar. He made a dash in one direction and saw his way
blocked, reversed his course, and then ran straight in the opposite direction. He had not gone far, however, when one man stepped forward. It was Drago. The man’s arm drew back, and the polished head of the spear flashed in the light.
“A bad throw,” the chief muttered. “Drago will be clawed.”
But the lion did not run for Drago. He changed directions and for some reason headed straight toward where the chief stood.
“Back, Rentai!” the chief said, ordering his son out of danger. He advanced quickly, leaving Winslow and Rentai standing watching the scene.
The lion headed straight toward the chief, who assumed the classic stance of the spear thrower. He waited until the lion was only a few yards away before releasing his spear. The lion, however, for some reason changed directions and the spear flew over his head. John thought, The chief’s a dead man! But the lion did not attack the chief, who by then had snatched his sword out. Instead he ran right by, passing within ten feet, and now was on a dead run for Winslow and Rentai.
A lion running at full speed can cover the ground in no time. John saw that he was headed straight toward Rentai. He called out the boy’s name, “Rentai, run!” but he knew it was hopeless. Without giving thought to the consequences, he threw himself forward, waving his arms. He saw the lion’s yellow eyes fasten on him and the mouth open as a fierce roar emanated.
He had no time to think anything else, for suddenly the lion was upon him. He felt the steely muscles and smelled the fetid breath, and he suddenly felt an excruciating pain in his left arm. Desperately he kicked at the lion’s belly, but it was hopeless. He felt the claws again tearing at his side, and he thought, This is it. This is death. But suddenly the lion gave a coughing sound, and Winslow sensed that his attention had been distracted. He rolled over and saw that his entire arm was covered in blood that was flowing in a rich stream. His side was torn also and matted with crimson blood. When he saw that an artery had been cut in his arm, he had the presence of mind to whip off his belt with his right hand and twist it around his upper arm. At the same time he saw the warriors had closed in, and the lion now lay with three spears in him, coughing out his defiance . . . and then lay still.
The White Hunter Page 32