Vulture Is a Patient Bird

by James Hadley Chase

  He walked back to the Land Rover.

  “That won’t come out. The cable won’t burst. Depends now if the winch gets torn out of its casing.”

  “Cheer up,” Ken said, grinning. “Well, let’s try. Will you stay behind me, Lew? If the back begins to slide either correct it or yell to me if you can’t. I want Themba ahead to watch the offside wheels.”

  “I’ll tell you something,” Fennel said, breathing heavily. “You’ve got more bloody guts than I have.”

  The two men looked at each other, then Ken turned, set the engine going, released the handbrake and moved the lever operating the winch forward. The drum began to revolve. He quickly cut the speed of the drum and the Land Rover began to inch forward.

  Fennel walked behind, both his hands on the tailboard of the truck, his eyes on Themba who was squatting down, his eyes glued to the front wheels, beckoning Ken on.

  The truck covered ten metres before Themba raised his hand sharply to stop.

  Ken flicked the winch lever to neutral.

  “What’s the matter now?” Fennel growled from behind. Themba had gone to the drag and was looking at it.

  “Does that black ape think I would let it pull loose?” Fennel snarled. “That’s in, and it’ll stay in!”

  “Don’t get so worked up,” Ken said, taking out a soiled handkerchief and wiping his face.

  Satisfied, Themba went back to the middle of the track. “Four more metres and you’re on the narrow bit,” he called. Ken set the drum revolving again.

  The Land Rover began to crawl forward again. Then the unpredictable happened, three metres before the narrows. The road, sodden by the rain, crumbled under the weight of the truck. Fennel felt the back sliding towards the drop and he threw his weight desperately against the tailboard, trying to steer the truck back, yelling to Ken to jump. He felt himself being dragged to the edge, and shuddering, he let go and rolled on his back towards the grass slope. He was on his feet in an instant, but the Land Rover had gone.

  He looked wildly up the road. Themba, on the edge of the drop, was staring down, his big eyes rolling. Cursing, Fennel saw the taut cable was vibrating, and steeling himself, he went to the edge, feeling sick and dizzy, and looked over.

  Four metres below, dangling by the cable was the Land Rover.

  Ken was standing on the back of the seat, his hands gripping the wind shield. Far, far below spread out like an aerial map, was the valley.

  Even as he looked, Fennel saw the drum was slowly parting from the casing.

  “Get to the drum!” he bawled. “Ken… it’s coming away! Get the drum!”

  Ken balanced himself, stepped over the wind shield and flattened himself up right on the perpendicular bonnet. He caught hold of one of the steel stanchions supporting the drum, heaved forward, his hands around the cable of the drum. Even as he got a grip, the drum parted from the truck and the truck went hurtling down into the void.

  Ken swung on the end of the cable. Themba had the cable in his hands and was trying to haul him in. Shaking from head to foot, Fennel joined him. Ken swung hard against the side of the mountain and his feet got a purchase. As the two men hauled, he began to walk up the slightly sloping side and moments later, he rolled on to the track.

  He sat up and forced a grin.

  “Now, we will damn well have to walk,” he said.

  As the Land Rover drove into the bush, Gaye sighed with relief.

  “Well, thank goodness, he’s out of the way,” she said. “He was really beginning to get on my nerves.”

  “Mine too.” Garry lit a cigarette. “Do you want some more coffee?”

  She shook her head.

  “When it gets lighter, I’ll have a swim. The pool looks marvellous.” She wandered over to the fire and knelt before it.

  Garry watched her, thinking how lovely she looked, the flames of the fire lighting up her face. Then he went into the tent, found his cordless electric razor and shaved in the light of the flash-lamp. As he shaved, he thought of the hours ahead of them before they took off. He was sharply aware that they were alone together. Firmly, he put the thought out of his mind. Picking up the towel, he left the tent. The light was brighter now. In another hour the sun would be up, but he felt in need of cold water and was too impatient to wait.

  “I’ll take my swim first,” he called to her. “Are you all right alone here?”

  “Yes, unless a lion turns up. It’ll be cold.”

  “That’s how I like it.”

  She watched him move off into the shadows and she fed the fire with more sticks collected in a big heap by Themba. She also thought of the hours ahead. She admitted to herself that Fennel in his brutish way had stirred a dormant desire in her for a man. How long, she pondered, had it been since she had had a satisfactory lover? Her mind went back over the number of men who had shared her bed. She could remember only two who had really pleased and satisfied her. The first had been a little like Garry, not so tall and more handsome… an American on vacation. She had been in Paris, modelling clothes. On one hot July night, she had been sitting alone at Fouquet’s cafe which had been crowded. He had come up and asked if he could share her table. They had looked at each other, and she knew immediately that she would be sleeping with him within a few hours as he too seemed to know. Again, the second man, also an American and also who had looked a little like Garry, had come out of the dimness of a bar where she had been waiting for friends and had invited her to drink with him. They had left the bar together before her friends arrived. She decided this Garry type of man had sexual attraction for her that sparked with her instantly as two flints struck together will cause a spark.

  She had only met these two men once and only knew their Christian names, but the few hours she had spent with them were etched on her mind, and now after that ape Fennel had aroused her after so long, she knew that sometime during the day, Garry would become her lover.

  The sun was rising, and already she could feel its warmth. She moved away from the fire and went into the tent to straighten up. By the time she had finished, she could feel the heat of the sun coming through the canvas of the tent and she went out, taking a towel with her.

  She saw Garry coming towards her, wearing shorts and shoes, his towel over his shoulder.

  She smiled at him.

  “Was it good?”

  “Marvellous, but cold. It’ll be fine now.”

  “See you later.” She was aware that he was looking at her as the two Americans had looked at her, then he looked away.

  She nodded and ran off, swinging her towel, towards the pool.

  She seldom had the opportunity of swimming naked and this she loved to do. She stripped off and dived in. The sun was fully on the pool by now and the chill was off the water. She swam for some time, then turned on her back, closed her eyes and let herself float.

  Two grey, black-faced monkeys high up in a tree watched her. Then as if by agreement, they slid down the tree, moved swiftly to where she had left her shorts, shirt and towel, snatched them up and shinned up the tree again. Having examined the clothes and finding them of no interest, they left them hanging on a high branch and went swinging from tree to tree farther into the forest.

  As they went, Gaye opened her eyes and saw them. She watched them, thinking how cute they looked, but she didn’t think them cute when, on climbing out of the pool, she found only her shoes on the bank.

  Looking up, she caught sight of her towel hanging on a branch. She hesitated, knowing she could never climb up there, then shrugging, she put on her shoes and walked back to the camp. Garry, sitting in the shade of the tent, was examining the aerial map Shalik had given him. He glanced up as she came out of the line of trees and startled, he dropped the map. For a moment, he couldn’t believe his eyes, then he got to his feet.

  Quite unconcerned, naked as she was born, Gaye came on.

  “Monkeys have stolen my clothes… the little devils. They are up a tree by the pool. Could you get them for me, Garry?
” she called as she was half-way across the plain. She made no attempt to hide her nakedness. Her arms swung loosely at her sides as she moved. She behaved as if she were fully dressed.

  “Sure…”

  He started towards her, then deliberately made a wide half circle so he wouldn’t pass close to her and she liked him for that.

  They passed and she went into the tent. She was quite sure he hadn’t looked back at her. Her heart was beating fast. She went to her rucksack to get her duplicate shirt and shorts. She got them out, looked at them, hesitated, then dropped them to the ground and stretched herself out on top of her sleeping bag. With her legs crossed and her hands covering her breasts, she waited his return.

  “It’s nearly 11.00 hrs.,” Garry said. “They will be coming through on the radio.”

  She was loath to let him go, but as he moved away from her, she let her arms slide away from his body. She watched him stand up and put on his shorts, then she closed her eyes.

  She had been right about him. It had been even better than it had been with the other two Americans, and also, she did know his surname. The tensions that had been building up inside her for the past year had been released by the explosive coupling, and now she felt as if she had had a shot of some hard drug. She didn’t wish to be disturbed, but to be allowed to remain still and to do nothing. She drifted off int0 semi-sleep which was all the more relaxing and pleasant in the heat of the tent.

  She was startled awake by Garry coming to the opening of the tent and calling her name sharply.

  She half sat up and immediately became fully alert at the sight of his worried expression.

  “What is it?”

  “Those three are in trouble. Put your things on and come out. It’s too damn hot in here.”

  There was a hard note in his voice and she could see he was impatient with her lying there like a cat before a fire. She slipped into her clothes and came out to join him in the shade.

  The road collapsed, and they’ve lost the Land Rover,” Garry told her. “Ken was nearly killed.”

  “Is he hurt?”

  “No… shaken, but all right, now they’ll have to walk and it’s a hell of a walk.”

  “But they’ll get there?”

  “They think so. They’ll be contacting me again in two hours.”

  “And the equipment?”

  “That’s all right. They unloaded before attempting to get over the worst part of the track.”

  “How will they get back?”

  “We’ll all have to fly out… nothing else for it. It’ll be a load, but it can be done.”

  She relaxed, resting her back against the tree.

  “So it really isn’t so bad… they’ll just have to walk.”

  “In this heat, it won’t be so good.”

  “Oh, well… get some of that ape’s fat off. Do you know how to pluck and draw a bird, Garry?”

  “No… do you?”

  “No. So we won’t bother to hunt guinea-fowl. We’ll have beans and bacon for lunch.” She got to her feet. “I’m going to have another swim… coming?”

  He hesitated. “Those three are worrying me, Gaye.”

  “Then a swim with me will put them out of your mind. There’s nothing we can do for them… so come on and swim.”

  She went into the tent for the towels and then together they walked in the burning sun towards the pool.

  Fennel wished now he hadn’t drunk so much beer in the past. The rough, stony track, the hot sun and the pace that Ken was setting all reminded him of how out of condition he was. The strap of his tool bag was rubbing his shoulder raw. Sweat streamed down his face and blackened his shirt. He was breathing heavily.

  At a guess, he thought, they had covered only six kilometres. Ken had talked of thirty kilometres before they reached Kahlenberg’s place. Twenty-four kilometres! Fennel gritted his teeth. He was certain he couldn’t do it with this tool kit: it got heavier and heavier with every step he took. Apart from his tool kit, he was also carrying his rucksack.

  Before setting off, they had decided to leave the sleeping bags and the shotgun. Ken carried the Springfield and his own rucksack, Themba was carrying a rucksack stuffed with provisions and a five litre jerrycan of water.

  Fennel plodded on, dragging one foot after the other. He longed for some shade, but there was none on this narrow track. He badly wanted a drink and thought regretfully of the beer they had left behind them. He had wanted it along with them, but when Ken said it was okay with him if Fennel would carry it, Fennel decided against the idea.

  He paused to wipe the sweat out of his eyes and was stung with mortification to see the other two walking and chatting together, well ahead of him.

  Ken glanced back and then stopped. Themba continued on for a few steps and then he stopped.

  Fennel felt a spurt of rage go through him. He came plodding up to them. One look at his exhausted face told Ken that he was going to be a liability. Themba thought so too, and putting down the jerrycan he said something to Fennel who didn’t understand.

  “He says he’ll carry your tool bag if you’ll carry the jerrycan,” Ken translated.

  Fennel hesitated, but he knew the bag now was too much for him.

  “What makes him think he can carry it?” he demanded, lowering the bag thankfully to the ground.

  “He wouldn’t make the offer if he didn’t,” Ken pointed out as Themba hoisted up the bag and slung it on his shoulder.

  Fennel hesitated, then said, “Well, tell him… thanks. It’s a bitch of a thing to carry.” He caught hold of the jerrycan and the three men continued on their way: the other two slowing down to keep pace with Fennel.

  The next hour was a hellish up-hill grind for Fennel, but he kept plodding on, breathing heavily, furious with himself to see how easily the other two were taking the ordeal.

  “How about a drink?” he gasped, coming to a halt.

  But the drink gave him no satisfaction as the water was warm and anyway, Fennel loathed drinking water.

  Ken looked at his watch.

  “In another ten minutes, we’ll call Garry. Then we’ll have a rest.”

  “That guy must have been born lucky,” Fennel growled, picking up the jerrycan. “He doesn’t know how well off he is.” They continued on, and at 13.00 hrs., they left the track and sat down in the shade of the jungle. Ken contacted Garry and reported progress.

  “We should be in position by 18.00 hrs.,” he said, and added the going was rough.

  Garry made sympathetic noises, said he would be standing by at 15.00 hrs. and switched off.

  After half an hour’s rest, they continued on for another hour, then Ken said it was time to eat. They left the sun soaked track and sat down in the shade of the trees. Themba opened cans of steak pie and baked beans.

  “How much farther?” Fennel asked, his mouth full.

  Ken consulted Themba.

  “About six kilometres and then we’ll be in the jungle.”

  “Ask him if he wants me to carry the bag again.”

  “He’s okay… don’t bother about it.”

  “Ask him! That bag’s goddamn heavy!”

  Ken spoke to Themba who grinned and shook his head.

  “Black people are used to carrying white men’s burdens,” Ken said, keeping his face straight.

  Fennel eyed him.

  “Okay, I’ll take that… so he’s a better man than I am.”

  “Skip it or I’ll burst into tears.”

  Fennel smiled sourly.

  “My time’s coming. You two may be pretty hot with this jungle and walking crap, but you wait until you see me in action.”

  Ken offered his pack of cigarettes and the two men lit up.

  Do you think he’s giving it to her?” Fennel asked abruptly. When not on his discomforts, his mind kept returning to Gaye.

  “Who’s giving what to whom?” Ken asked blandly.

  Fennel hesitated, then shrugged. “Forget it!”

  An hour later
, they again contacted Garry and again reported progress, then they left the mountain track and entered the jungle. Although it was steamy hot, the relief of constant shade helped them to quicken their pace.

  Themba led the way with Ken and Fennel following. A narrow track through the dense undergrowth forced them to walk in single file. Overhead, Vervet monkeys swung from tree to tree, watching them. A big sable buck that was standing in the middle of the track as they rounded a high shrub went crashing away into the jungle, startling Fennel.

  They had to keep a watch-out for shrubs with long, sharp thorns, and they all concentrated on the ground ahead of them. None of them suspected that they were being watched. High on a branch of a tree sat a giant Zulu, wearing only a leopard skin. In his right hand, he held a two-way radio. He waited until the three men had passed, then spoke rapidly into the mouthpiece of the radio, his message being picked up by Miah, Kahlenberg’s secretary, who had been detailed to keep in touch with the twenty watching Zulus positioned to report the movements of strangers on the estate.

  From the moment the three men entered the jungle, they were never out of sight from the watchful eyes of the Zulus, hidden in the undergrowth or concealed in the tree tops.

  Miah took down the Zulus’ reports in rapid shorthand, passed them to Ho-Du who rapidly transcribed them on a typewriter and then had them sent immediately to Kahlenberg.

  Kahlenberg was enjoying this. The drama of the Land Rover had been observed and reported to him, and now he knew these three men were actually on his estate.

  He turned to Tak. "The Bantu is expendable,” he said. “Give the order that if the occasion presents itself, he is to be got rid of. As he seems to be acting as a guide, it is unlikely the others will be able to find their way out without him.”

  Tak picked up a two-way radio and spoke softly into it.

  While he was speaking, Ken called a brief rest as they reached a clearing in the jungle. The three men sat down in the shade and all took a drink of water.

  Ken talked to Themba for a few minutes. Themba pointed. Ahead of them was a narrow track that led into dense undergrowth.