by Wilbur Smith
‘No, sir.’
‘Rhino? Buffalo? Leopard?’
‘Afraid not, sir.’
‘What have you taken, then?’
‘Just a few Tommies and Grant’s for the pot, sir, but I can learn. That’s why I’ve come to you.’
‘At least you’re honest. If you’ve never taken dangerous game, what can you do? Give me a good reason why I should offer you a job.’
‘Well, sir, I can ride.’
‘Are you talking about horses or human females?’
Leon flushed vividly. He opened his mouth to reply, but closed it again.
‘Yes, young man, word gets around. Now, listen to me. Many of my clients bring their families with them on safari. Wives and daughters. How do I know you won’t try to rabbit them at the first opportunity?’
‘Whatever you heard is not true, sir,’ Leon protested. ‘I’m not like that, at all.’
‘You’ll keep your fly buttoned around here,’ Percy grunted. ‘Other than ride, what else can you do?’
‘I could mend that.’ Leon pointed to the wreckage.
Percy showed immediate interest.
‘I have one of the same make and model,’ Leon went on. ‘It was in similar condition to yours when I got it. I put it back together and now it runs like a Swiss watch.’
‘Does it, by God? Damn motors are a complete mystery to me. All right, so you can ride and repair trucks. That’s a start. What else? Can you shoot?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Leon won the Governor’s Cup at the regimental rifle competition at the beginning of the year,’ Penrod confirmed. ‘He can shoot, I’ll vouch for that.’
‘Paper targets are not live animals. They don’t bite you or jump on you if you miss,’ Percy pointed out. ‘If you want to be a hunter you’ll need a rifle. I am not talking about a little service Enfield - a pea-shooter isn’t much use in an argument with an angry buffalo. Have you got a real rifle?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘What is it?’
‘A Holland & Holland Royal.470 Nitro Express.’
Percy’s blue eyes widened. ‘Very well,’ he conceded. ‘That is a real rifle. They don’t come better than that. But you’ll also need a tracker. Can you find a good one?’
‘Yes, sir.’ He was thinking of Manyoro, but then he remembered Loikot. ‘Actually, I have two.’
Percy gazed at a brilliant gold and green sunbird flitting about in the branches above the tent. Then he seemed to make up his mind. ‘You’re lucky. It just so happens that I am going to need help. I’m to lead a big safari early next year. The client is an extremely important person.’
‘This client of yours, I wonder, could he be Theodore Roosevelt, the President of the United States of America?’ Penrod asked innocently.
Percy was startled. ‘In the name of all that’s holy, Penrod, how on earth did you discover that?’ he demanded. ‘Nobody’s supposed to know.’
‘The US State Department sent a cable to the Commander in Chief of the British Army, Lord Kitchener, in London. They wanted to know more about you before the President hired you. I was on Kitchener’s staff in South Africa during the war so he telegraphed me,’ Penrod admitted.
Percy burst out laughing. ‘You’re a sly creature, Ballantyne. Here I was believing that Teddy Roosevelt’s visit was a state secret. So you put in a good word for me. It seems I’m even deeper in your debt.’ He turned back to Leon. ‘Here’s what I’ll do with you. I’m going to make you prove yourself. First, I want you to put that heap of rubbish together and get it running.’ He nodded at the dismembered truck. ‘I want you to make good your boast. Do you understand?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘When you’ve done that, you’ll take your famous.470 and your two even more famous trackers, go out there into the blue and bag an elephant. I could never employ a hunter who’s never hunted. When you’ve done that, I want you to bring back the tusks to prove it.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Leon grinned.
‘Have you enough money to buy a game licence? It’ll cost you ten pounds.’
‘No, sir.’
‘I’ll lend it to you,’ Percy offered, ‘but the ivory will be mine.’
‘Sir, lend me the money and you can have the pick of one tusk. I’ll keep the other.’
Percy chuckled. The lad could fight his own corner. He was no pushover. He was beginning to enjoy him. ‘Fair enough, boy.’
‘If you take me on what will you pay me, sir?’
‘Pay you? I’m doing your uncle a favour. You should pay me.’
‘How about five shillings a day?’ Leon suggested.
‘How about one shilling?’ Percy countered.
‘Two?’
‘You drive a hard bargain.’ Percy shook his head sadly but stuck out his hand.
Leon shook it vigorously. ‘You won’t regret it, sir, I promise you.’
‘You’ve changed my life. I’ll never be able to repay you for what you’ve done for me today.’ Leon was elated as they rode back along the Ngong Hills towards Nairobi.
‘You needn’t worry too much about that. You don’t think for one minute that I’m doing this because I’m your doting uncle?’
‘I misjudged you, sir.’
‘This is how you will repay me. First, I’m not going to accept your resignation from the regiment. Instead I shall transfer you to the reserves, then second you to military intelligence to work under my direct orders.’
Leon’s face showed his dismay. A moment ago he had felt himself a free man. Now it seemed he was back in the smothering embrace of the army.
‘Sir?’ he responded cautiously.
‘There are dangerous times ahead. Kaiser Wilhelm of Germany has more than doubled the strength of his standing army in the last ten years. He’s no statesman or diplomat, but he is a military man, by training and instinct. He has spent his whole life training for war. All his advisers are army men. He has a boundless ambition towards imperial expansion. He has huge colonies in Africa, but they are not enough for him. I tell you, we shall have trouble with him. Think, German East Africa is right on our southern border. Dar es Salaam is their port. They could have a warship there in very short order. They already have a full regiment of askari led by German regular officers stationed at Arusha. Von Lettow Vorbeck, the commanding officer, is a tough, cunning old soldier. In ten days’ march he could be in Nairobi. I have pointed this out to the War Office in London, but they have concerns elsewhere, and don’t wish to spend money reinforcing an unimportant backwater of the Empire.’
‘This comes as a shock to me, sir. I have never looked at the situation in that way. The Germans down there have always been very friendly towards us. They have a great deal in common with our own settlers in Nairobi. They share the same problems.’
‘Yes, there are some good fellows among them - and I like von Lettow Vorbeck. But his orders come from Berlin and the Kaiser.’
‘The Kaiser is the grandson of Queen Victoria. Our present king is his uncle. The Kaiser is an honorary admiral in the Royal Navy. I cannot believe we would ever want to go to war with him,’ Leon protested.
‘Trust the instinct of an old warhorse.’ Penrod smiled knowingly. ‘Anyway, whatever happens I shall not be taken off guard. I’m going to keep a sharp eye on our lovable southern neighbours.’
‘How do I fit in?’
‘At this stage our borders with German East Africa are wide open. There is no restriction of movement in either direction. The Masai and other tribes graze their herds north and south without the least concern for any boundaries laid out by our surveyors. I want you to set up a network of informers, tribesmen who move regularly in and out of German East Africa. You will play a clandestine role. Not even Percy Phillips must know what you’re up to. Your cover story is convincing. As a hunter you’ll have the perfect excuse to move freely through the country on both sides of the border. You will report directly to me. I want you to be my eyes along the border.’
‘If there are
questions I could let it be known that the informers are my game scouts, that I’m using them to keep an eye on the movements of the game herds, especially the elephant bulls, so that I know their exact position at any time and can take our clients straight to them,’ Leon suggested. Now the game sounded as though it might be exciting and great fun.
Penrod nodded in agreement. ‘That should satisfy Percy and anybody else who asks. Just don’t mention my involvement or it will be all around the club the next time he has a few drinks. Percy is hardly the soul of discretion.’
Afew weeks later Leon was spending almost every waking hour lying under Percy’s truck, his arms coated to the elbows with black grease. He had seriously underestimated the enormity of the task, and the amount of damage Percy had wrought with his previous efforts at repair. There were few spare parts available in Nairobi and Leon was forced to consider cannibalizing the vehicle he and Bobby owned. Bobby stoutly resisted the idea, but in the end he agreed to sell his share of the vehicle to Leon for the sum of fifteen guineas, to be paid in instalments of a guinea a month. Leon immediately removed a front wheel, the carburettor and other parts, and carried them out to Tandala Camp.
He had been working on the engine for ten days when he woke one morning to find Sergeant Manyoro squatting outside his tent. He was not dressed in his khaki uniform and fez but in an ochre-red shuka, and carried a lion spear. ‘I have come,’ he announced.
‘I see you have.’ Leon had difficulty in hiding his delight. ‘But why aren’t you in barracks? They’ll shoot you for desertion.’
‘I have paper.’ Manyoro brought out a crumpled envelope from under his shuka. Leon opened it and read the document quickly. Manyoro had at last been honourably discharged from the KAR on medical grounds. Although the leg wound had healed some time ago he had been left with a limp that rendered him unfit for military duty.
‘Why have you come to me?’ Leon asked. ‘Why did you not return to your manyatta?’
‘I am your man,’ he said simply.
‘I cannot pay you.’
‘I did not ask you to,’ Manyoro replied. ‘What do you want me to do?’
‘First, we are going to mend this enchini.’ For a moment they contemplated the sorry spectacle. Manyoro had assisted with the restoration of the first vehicle so he knew what lay in store. ‘Then we are going to kill an elephant,’ Leon added.
‘The killing will be easier than the mending,’ was Manyoro’s opinion.
Almost three weeks later Leon sat behind the steering-wheel while, with an air of resignation, Manyoro took up his position in front of the truck and stood to attention. He had lost all faith in the eventual success of the manoeuvres he had performed repeatedly over the last three days. On the first day Percy Phillips and the entire camp staff, including the cook and the ancient skinners, had formed an attentive audience. Gradually they had lost interest and drifted away, one by one, until only the skinners were left, squatting on their haunches and following every move with rapt attention.
‘Retard the spark!’ Leon began the incantations to the gods of the internal combustion engine.
The two old skinners chanted after him, ‘Letaad de paak.’ They were word perfect.
Leon moved the spark control lever on the left-hand side of the steering-wheel to the upright position. ‘Throttle open.’
This one always tested the skinners’ powers of enunciation to the limit. ‘Frot le pen,’ was as close as they could get.
‘Handbrake on!’ Leon pulled it on.
‘Mixture rich!’ He rotated the control knob until the indicator pointed straight ahead.
‘Choke.’ He jumped out, ran to the front of the vehicle and pulled on the choke ring, then returned to the driver’s seat.
‘Manyoro, prime the carb!’ Manyoro stooped and swung the crank handle twice. ‘That’s enough!’ Leon warned him. ‘Choke off!’ He jumped out again, raced forward, pushed in the choke ring, then ran back to his seat.
‘Two more turns!’ Again Manyoro stooped and cranked the handle.
‘Carb primed! Power on!’ Leon turned the selector on the dashboard to ‘battery’ and looked to the heavens. ‘Manyoro, hit her again!’ Manyoro spat on his right palm, gripped the crank handle and swung it.
There was an explosion like a cannon shot and a spurt of blue smoke flew from the exhaust pipe. The crank handle kicked back viciously and knocked Manyoro off his feet. The two skinners were taken aback. They had not been expecting anything nearly as spectacular. They howled with fright and scuttled for the bushes beyond the camp. There was a shouted oath from Percy’s thatched bungalow on the first slope of the hill at the perimeter of the camp and he stumbled out on to the stoep in his pyjama bottoms, beard in disarray, eyes unfocused with sleep. He stared in momentary confusion at Leon, who was beaming with triumph behind the steering-wheel. The engine rumbled, shook and backfired, then settled down into a loud, clattering beat.
Percy laughed. ‘Let me get my trousers on, then you can drive me to the club. I’m going to buy you as much beer as you can drink. Then you can go out and find that elephant. I don’t want you back in this camp until you have him.’
Leon stood below the familiar massif of Lonsonyo Mountain. He pushed his slouch hat to the back of his head and moved the heavy rifle from one shoulder to the other. He gazed up at the crest of the mountain. It took his sharp young eye to pick out the single lonely figure on the skyline. ‘She’s waiting for us,’ he exclaimed in surprise. ‘How did she know we were coming?’
‘Lusima Mama knows everything,’ Manyoro reminded him, and started up the steep path towards the summit. He carried the waterbottles, the canvas haversack, Leon’s light.303 Lee-Enfield rifle and four bandoliers of ammunition. Leon followed him, and Ishmael brought up the rear, the skirts of his long white kanza flapping around his legs. An enormous bundle was balanced on his head. Before they had left Tandala Camp Leon had weighed it. It had come in at sixty-two pounds and contained Ishmael’s kitchen supplies, everything from pots and pans to pepper, salt and his own secret mixture of spices. With Leon providing a daily supply of tender young Tommy buck chops and steaks and Ishmael’s culinary skills they had eaten like princes since they had left the railway line at Naro Moru siding.
When they reached the mountaintop Lusima was waiting for them in the shade of a giant flowering seringa tree. She rose to her feet, tall and statuesque as a queen, and greeted them. ‘I see you, my sons, and my eyes are gladdened.’
‘Mama, we come for your blessing on our weapons and your guidance in our hunting,’ Manyoro told her, as he knelt before her.
The next morning the entire village gathered in a circle around the wild fig tree, the council tree, in the cattle pen to witness the blessing of the weapons. Leon and Manyoro squatted with them. Ishmael had refused to join in such a pagan ritual, and he clattered his pots ostentatiously over the cooking fire behind the nearest hut. Leon’s two rifles were laid side by side on a tanned lionskin. Beside them stood calabash gourds filled with fresh cow’s blood and milk, and baked-clay bowls of salt, snuff and glittering glass trade beads. At last Lusima emerged from the low door of her hut. The congregation clapped and began to sing her praises.
‘She is the great black cow who feeds us with the milk of her udders. She is the watcher who sees all things. She is the wise one who knows all things. She is the mother of the tribe.’ Lusima wore her full ceremonial regalia. On her forehead hung an ivory pendant carved with mystical animal figures. Her shuka was thickly embroidered with a shimmering curtain of beads and cowrie shells. Heavy coils of bead necklace hung down to her chest. Her skin was oiled and polished with red ochre, shining in the sunlight, and she carried a fly switch made from the tail of a giraffe. Her steps were stately as she circled the display of rifles and sacrificial offerings.
‘Let not the quarry escape the warrior who wields these weapons,’ she intoned, as she sprinkled a pinch of snuff over them. ‘Let blood flow copiously from the wounds they inflict.’ She
dipped the switch into the gourds and splashed blood and milk on to the rifles. Then she went to Leon and flicked the mixture over his head and shoulders. ‘Give him strength and determination to follow the quarry. Make his hunter’s eyes bright to see the quarry from great distance. Let no creature resist his power. Let the mightiest elephant fall to the voice of his bunduki, his rifle.’
The watchers clapped in rhythm and she continued her exhortations: ‘Let him be the king among hunters. Grant him the power of the hunter.’
She began to dance in a tight circle, pirouetting faster and faster, until sweat and red ochre ran in a rivulet between her naked breasts. When she threw herself flat on the lionskin in front of Leon her eyes rolled back and white froth bubbled from the corners of her mouth. Her entire body began to tremble and twitch and her legs kicked spasmodically. She ground her teeth and her breath rasped painfully in her throat.
‘The spirit has entered her body,’ Manyoro whispered. ‘She is ready to speak with its voice. Put the question to her.’
‘Lusima, favourite of the Great Spirit, your sons seek a chief among the elephants. Where shall we find him? Show us the way to the great bull.’
Lusima’s head rolled from side to side and her breathing became more laboured until at last she spoke through gritted teeth, in a hoarse unnatural voice: ‘Follow the wind and listen for the voice of the sweet singer. He will point the way.’ She gave a deep gasp and sat up. Her eyes cleared and refocused and she looked at Leon as though she was seeing him for the first time.
‘Is that all?’ he asked.
‘There is no more,’ she replied.
‘I don’t understand,’ Leon persisted. ‘Who is the sweet singer?’
‘That is all the message I have for you,’ she said. ‘If the gods favour your hunt, then in time the meaning will become clear to you.’
Since Leon’s arrival on the mountain Loikot had followed him around at a discreet distance. Now as he sat beside the campfire with a dozen of the village elders, Loikot was in the shadows behind him, listening attentively to the conversation, his head turning from face to face of the men who were speaking.