filled to the brim with frozen chickens and steaks.
"Looks as if we'll eat well," Mr. Kleiber said in a pleased voice.
"Yes, doesn't it?" said Mrs. Pollifax, and recognizing the moment as an auspicious one—they were all standing in clusters watching—she lifted her camera and took a close-up picture of Mr. Kleiber.
"My yogurt lunches back home seem pathetic here," Lisa told Dr. Henry, and Mrs. Pollifax snapped a picture of them too, smiling at each other in the sun.
It was not the first time that she had noticed them smiling at each other. It had happened during the trip upriver this morning, and again at lunch, yet so far as she knew Lisa and Dr. Henry had exchanged no more than a few pleasantries, and Lisa was nearly always in the company of John Steeves, who seemed quite stricken by her. Mrs. Pollifax waited now for Tom Henry's response to this remark. He said, "Yes," and continued looking at Lisa until her smile deepened and she turned away—as if, thought Mrs. Pollifax, an entire conversation had just passed between them.
"I hope you're going to take my picture too," said Steeves.
"Oh, especially yours," Mrs. Pollifax told him, hating herself for gushing, "because my children will be so thrilled." She was conscious as she said this of Cyrus Reed turning and observing her with some astonishment. Really, she thought, Mr. Reed's attention, or rather his expectations of her, were going to prove extremely difficult on this trip. In a spirit of defiance she pointed her camera at him and took his picture too. She was completing her collection with a snapshot of Julian standing beside the Land Rover when he gestured to her to climb inside.
"You'll ride with me," he said, and helped her to climb up to the front seat.
She was joined almost immediately by a guard with a long rifle, the same guard who had opened the gate for them the day before, lean and graceful, dressed in khaki shorts and the same moth-eaten gray sweater. Then Lisa strolled over, followed by John Steeves, Mclntosh and Amy Lovecraft. The Land Rover with their luggage had already started; Julian shouted at Crispin, climbed in, waved, and they too were off, leaving the others still arranging themselves in the third vehicle.
"Will they have a guard too?" asked Mrs. Pollifax.
Julian turned and looked at her with amusement. "Yes, of course. You still do not believe?"
Lisa leaned over and said, "Well, it is a park."
"I've heard," said Mrs. Lovecraft, "that Americans are accustomed to feeding the animals."
Julian grinned and shook his head. "It is safe most of the time so long as one remains on the roads, and in daylight, but even on the road—one of the guides at Luangwa Park was driving along like this three years ago when he was charged by a wounded buffalo. There was not much left of the Land Rover, I can tell you, and if the buffalo had not been quickly shot by the guard there would have been not much left of my friend either."
"I see," said Mrs. Pollifax, blinking. "What—uh— happens if you do have an emergency out here in the bush?"
"Oh, we have marconis," he explained, deftly steering the car around a hole. "At Chunga there is a first-aid station too."
"Marconis?"
"Radio. Already this morning guests have used it. You sent a message to Lusaka, didn't you, Mrs. Lovecraft?"
"Yes," she said curtly.
"I did too," volunteered Mclntosh.
"And if there is a serious emergency a Flying Doctor comes, but with Doctor Henry here—"
"Nyalugwe" said the guard sharply, and Julian braked.
"He says 'leopard.' " Julian stopped the Land Rover, and the only sounds were of Mclntosh and Amy Love-craft bringing out cameras and checking them; Mrs. Pollifax already held hers in her lap.
"There," said Julian, pointing, and on the crest of a small hill they saw a leopard standing in a tangle of thorn bush, his spots melting perfectly into the background. He turned and looked at them for a long moment, and then he lifted his magnificent blond head and walked away into the bush.
"My God how beautiful," whispered Lisa. "When you think that some silly woman would turn that fabulous creature into a fur coat—"
"Thank heaven for game parks," said Mrs. Pollifax. "Did you see his eyes, did you see those muscles when he moved?"
"Splendid specimen," said Steeves. "I've seen panthers before but never a leopard walking free."
"I believe I caught him on film," Mclntosh said with satisfaction.
"Me, too," added Mrs. Lovecraft. "Thrilling."
"I missed," said Mrs. Pollifax sadly. "I was too busy looking."
They drove on along the dusty, shadeless road, of necessity driving slowly. Ahead of them a dozen black-and-white pin-striped fowl broke into a hurried trot. "Guinea fowl," said Julian, and honked the horn, which only caused the guinea fowl to scurry faster, their plump rear-ends registering their indignation until a second beep from the horn persuaded them to the right, and off the road. The Land Rover did not stop again, and as the road grew bumpier the interior of the car grew warmer; the guard in the rear slapped uninhibitedly at tse-tse flies and no one spoke. They came eventually to an intersection marked Kafwala 11 km. and headed down a new dirt road. Its surface was dotted with elephant droppings, and the Land Rover rattled ominously as it hit the holes left by their crossing during the rainy season. The terrain was becoming heavily wooded now, with trees on either side of the road.
It was nearing three o'clock when they reached Kafwala, entering it from the rear where a man stood patiently ironing clothes on a slab of wood with a heavy old-fashioned iron. Half a dozen men lazed around a fire watching him and talking; they looked up eagerly at the sound of the Land Rover, which bumped past them and came to a halt in the middle of a grassy compound encircled by tents and white cement huts with thatched roofs. Directly ahead of them stood a long white building with an arcade in its center; beyond it the earth sloped sharply down to the river. As soon as Julian cut the engine Mrs. Pollifax could hear the sound of rapids.
"This is Kafwala," announced Julian, and jumped down from the Land Rover. "Here we stay for two days, game-viewing, before driving north to Moshe."
"Now this looks like a real camp," said Lisa with satisfaction. "Primitive. I think I'm going to like Kafwala very much." She turned and gave Mrs. Pollifax a hand. "Can you still walk? I feel as if I've been massaged all over. Crispin said there's a bathtub here, can you imagine? How on earth do you suppose they manage it?"
"They manage it," said Mrs. Lovecraft, climbing down, "by heating the water in a Rhodesian oven." She glanced around and pointed. "There it is, do you see? There's a drum of water inside that huge square of cement, they light a fire under it and the pipes carry the hot water to the tub or shower."
"Damned ingenious," murmured Mclntosh. "I'll have to take a look at that."
"Yes, but how do you know such things?" asked Lisa.
"Oh my dear," she said in her slightly nasal voice, "I'm what you'd call a Colonial, I've lived in Africa all my life. In the Sudan, in South Africa, in Zambia, in Kenya."
Mrs. Pollifax looked at her with interest; she thought this explained her air of being British without being English. "Army?"
Mrs. Lovecraft turned and looked at her. "My father, yes. Not my husband. We had a tobacco farm until his death. Not far from here, farther south."
"I'm sorry."
"Oh—sorry," said Mrs. Lovecraft, and a scornful, bitter look crossed her face. "But you're a widow, too, aren't you?" She turned away abruptly and smiled at Mclntosh. "I'm ready for a drink, ducks, aren't you?"
The Land Rover carrying their luggage bumped its way into camp and the Zambians surrounded it, laughing. Julian waved and then turned to Mrs. Pollifax. "Let me show you your room," he said, leading her toward the arcade set into the center of the long building. "Here," he said, pointing to a door set into the passageway, and then throwing open the opposite door he gestured to Lisa. "You and your father will be here, across from Mrs. Pollifax. Tea is at four, ladies," and with this he hurried off to distribute the others.
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p; Lisa said, "Care for a look at the river?"
Mrs. Pollifax had opened the door to her room— there were no locks or keys—and was peering inside. It was dim because of the tall trees surrounding the building, but she saw the usual two beds shrouded in netting with a chamber-pot under each, a nightstand with a candle, but, most delightful of all, frosted glass windows and thick white walls. There would be no rustling noises tonight.
"A bit dark but very snug," said Lisa, looking over her shoulder. "I wonder if you'll have a roommate?"
"There's only Mrs. Lovecraft," pointed out Mrs. Pollifax.
She and Lisa exchanged a doubtful glance and Lisa laughed. "She's rather awful, isn't she? All that jewelry and pseudo-helplessness but under the fluff I'm beginning to sense the iron-hand-in-the-velvet-glove syndrome. My father had the effrontery to tell me last night that I'll end up just like her if I'm not careful."
"Now, that," said Mrs. Pollifax firmly, "is utterly impossible."
Lisa laughed. "That's because you didn't meet me in my executive phase. I've really been quite a trial to Dad, I confess. He's an absolute dear but a great worrier. Heaven knows I've given him cause, though. There was a man, you see, and until he decamped I thought he'd solve all my problems."
"As no man can, of course," said Mrs. Pollifax.
Lisa nodded. "Yes, I see that now but for a long time I blamed myself, I felt so—so unlovable, you know? So I went to the opposite extreme and—and amputated every emotion that bubbled up, but of course that was ridiculous. It's taken me forever to understand that I'm still myself, and really a rather nice person, and that I just picked a lemon. I'm glad now," she said, smiling warmly at Mrs. Pollifax. "I don't know why I'm telling you all this—probably because I'll burst if I don't tell someone, and you look so—so human—but Africa's having the most tremendous impact on me. Ever since we arrived I've been having the strangest dreams at night, and seeing life and myself in the most astonishing perspective. This country's returning me to something I lost, it's disinhibiting me. Do you find this alarming?"
"No," said Mrs. Pollifax, smiling as she considered it. "No, because I've been here just long enough to see what you mean. Time seems very different here, as if it stopped and has only just begun again, and everything's new. And yet at the same time it's very old, pre-Biblically old, as if the world itself began here." She stopped and laughed. "Obviously I can't put it into words."
"One can't," Lisa said eagerly as they began walking down the path to the river under huge, ancient trees. "Not important emotions. And yet, you know, under the surface there seems to be a great deal going on here.
I had a very spooky thing happen to me yesterday when I was driving back to Lusaka. I thought I'd deliver this woman and her child directly to their village, which was about a mile off the main road, but after dropping them off I must have made a wrong turn because I couldn't find my way back, not even to her village." She paused and added with a shiver, "I kept driving until I was really lost, and then I came to a road-block on this dusty, deserted road and—really it was terrifying—I was suddenly surrounded by soldiers or police, I don't know which they were."
"Good heavens," said Mrs. Pollifax, startled.
Lisa nodded. "About twenty of them, all with rifles. They were terribly nice but at the same time they checked everything, my passport and visa, my luggage, the car. They must have kept me there for nearly an hour answering questions: why I was on that road, and where I was going, where I'd been, how long I was to be in Zambia and why I'd come to Zambia in the first place."
"Where did this happen?" asked Mrs. Pollifax.
Lisa frowned. "Somewhere down in the Kafue Flats area—that's what the map said, anyway."
"The driver who brought us to Chunga," said Mrs. Pollifax, "spoke of spies—Rhodesian spies—infiltrating Zambia."
"Probably," said Lisa. "There have been guerilla raids all along the Rhodesian border—except Africans call it Zambabwe, you know—and deep inside the country too. Not by Zambians but by revolutionaries crossing through Zambia, so I suppose the Rhodesians send people into this country as well. But if I lived next door to an apartheid country," she said hotly, "I don't think I'd sit on my hands either. I think it's terribly unfair that a minority of two hundred and fifty thousand white people have absolute power over six million natives and squash them. After all, it's their country."
"In general," said Mrs. Pollifax mildly, "the Golden Rule seems to be the last rule applied to any situation these days." They had reached the riverbank and she thought how incongruous it was to speak of violence in such a setting. On their left the water raced over great primeval boulders, shooting up plumes of spray and caressing the ear with its stormy descent. Once beyond the rocks the water gentled, sending small ripples to the shore at their feet until on their right it flowed smoothly around an island and became almost a backwash before it continued on its way south, to Chunga camp and beyond. There were several rough chairs placed near the bank, and a circle of them at the empty campfire site. "Rhodesia is very near," she said, sitting down in one of the chairs, "and Zambia used to be Northern Rhodesia, didn't it?"
"Oh yes," said Lisa, "but until you've visited Livingstone you've no idea how near. Half of Victoria Falls is in Rhodesia. I took one of those sundown cruises out of Livingstone, and one side of the river was Zambian and the other Rhodesian. The guide said we were under observation the entire time, because the river's the only barrier, and people can cross at night. In fact—"
She stopped as a voice hailed them from the top of the hill: the third Land Rover had arrived and John Steeves was descending, followed by Amy Lovecraft, Dr. Henry and—very gingerly—Willem Kleiber. A multicolored parasol next came into view, with Chanda under it. A moment later Cyrus Reed and McIntosh began descending the hill too, as well as a young man wearing a white linen jacket and carrying a tray of glasses.
Dr. Henry sat down near Lisa and smiled at her. "We saw a water buffalo, a number of puce and some impala."
She said, "We saw a leopard."
"I think," said John Stcevcs, taking the chair next to her, "that if you look very quickly into those palms to your left you can add a monkey to your list."
"Never mind the monkey," said Amy Lovecraft deflating. "Mrs. Pollifax, Julian asked me to tell you there's hot water now, and because there are so many of us we have to stagger our baths."
"And he's giving me first crack?" said Mrs. Pollifax. "Except I haven't the faintest idea where the bath is."
Chanda looked up and said eagerly, "I know where the beta is, I will show you."
"Good, let's go," she told him, and rose from her chair to follow him up the hill. He chose to ignore the path and to leap gracefully from rock to rock, and for the first time she noticed the long puckered seam of a scar that ran up the back of his leg from the ankle to his thigh. She remembered Dr. Henry saying that he'd been nearly dead when he was brought into the hospital, and she wondered how many more scars there were. At the top of the hill he turned and waited for her, his eyes as luminous as if incandescent bulbs shone behind them.
"I move fast, like monkey," he said, grinning.
"You certainly do." Pausing to catch her breath she noticed a small chamois bag suspended about his neck on a string. "What's that, Chanda?" she asked, pointing.
He looked down in surprise, stuffed the bag quickly inside his shirt again and gave her a thoughtful look. "Como," he said guardedly. Suddenly his enormous smile was back. "You like to see? It is my treasure."
"Love to," she told him. "Is it secret?"
"Very secret," he said, and seemed grateful when she opened the door of her room and beckoned him inside. First he gravely returned her parasol to her. "Sand mao-tai," he said, and then he removed the chamois bag from around his neck and knelt beside her bed to empty its contents across the blanket.
She found herself both touched and amused at what emerged, remembering her son Roger's similar collection at this age, except that a more sophisticated soci
ety had rendered Roger's treasures obsolete. In the bush, Chanda's collection still had immediate value.
"From cifulo," Chanda said, pointing past the wall of her hut. "Mushi. My home."
"Do you mean your home before you met Dr. Henry?"
"Before this," he said, pointing matter-of-factly to his scarred leg, and picking up objects from his collection he explained them one by one. "Munga—thorn," he said.
"Munga," she repeated, nodding.
"Bulobo—fishhook. Mwele—knife." Mwando was a ball of string. Lino was a tooth—his own, she suspected, although his were white and gleaming. "And cibiliti," he added, holding up two safety matches.
"Yes, and a snake," she added, pointing to a dried skin.
"Nsoka," he said, smiling and nodding. "My father give me nsoka. He was hunter, very big man. He track game— Ishanda lonshe nama. He teach me."
"So you'll be a hunter too?"
"Already a hunter," he said, grinning. "Very good one." She watched in silence as he returned his treasure to the chamois bag, his touch loving.
When he stood up she said quietly, "Thank you, Chanda."
"You nunandi now," he told her. "Friend. You and Dr. Henry. And now you have beta," he said with his charming smile. "I show you."
Ten minutes later Mrs. Pollifax was seated in a hot tub in a small thatched hut, contentedly humming a song and reflecting that she was having a very good time on her safari and taking some very good pictures. Twenty minutes later, dressed again, she returned to her room and sat down on her bed to do a little planning about those pictures. Yesterday, for instance, she had completed her first film, tucked away now in her suitcase, and this morning she'd begun her second. That left four untouched cartridges, which meant—she made rapid mathematical computations—ninety-three more snapshots, many of which would have to be spent on animals and scenery. She was quite certain, however, that she'd already captured each of her traveling companions at least once on film, and this pleased her very much. Some of the pictures might not come out well, of course, but statistically it was a good beginning, and she thought that by tomorrow she could relax and become more casual about her filming. She happily touched the four sealed yellow boxes of film lined up in her suitcase and then she slipped her hand into the pocket of her folded bush jacket to check the completed cartridge she'd packed away this morning.
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