Mrs. Pollifax on Safari

by Dorothy Gilman

  "Growing light," said Cyrus, lifting his bound wrists and pointing toward the horizon. "Must be nearly four o'clock."

  Mrs. Pollifax looked up and for the first time since her capture saw the world around her. The light that he'd pointed out was murky, no more than a subtle diminishing of darkness, but it was enough to define thorn trees and tall grass and the slope of the ground. She felt totally unequipped for this new day, but slowly and softly a warm golden light stole over the earth, dissipating pockets of mist in the hollows, and then abruptly the sun spilled over the horizon, huge and orange, and Mrs. Pollifax's spirits rose with it.

  Simon and Mainza began chattering together in the front, and at length called in their own language to Reuben in the back. Mainza pointed to the left, they swerved in that direction, entered a copse of trees and came to a stop.

  "We rest," said Simon, turning off the ignition.

  They climbed stiffly out of the Land Rover and were led to a cleared area which, mercifully, received the warmth of the sun. Reuben brought them sleeping bags which they spread on the ground, after which bathroom privileges were extended to them and they took turns going off, with Reuben as guard.

  Simon and Mainza remained beside the car. As soon as Amy had gone, leaving her alone with Cyrus, she looked at him and said firmly, "It's absolutely imperative that we get these ropes off our wrists."

  "Logical, my dear, yes," he said, nodding, "but for the moment impossible."

  "Then, failing that," she said earnestly, "there ought to be some way for us to capture Amy and use her as a shield or hostage."

  "Thought had occurred to me," admitted Cyrus, "but not with any solution. Have to add I'm not very good at this sort of thing."

  She smiled. "It may surprise you what you can accomplish if your life depends on it."

  "Yes, but say, for instance, I approach our friend Amy from the rear," he said, "and fling my bound wrists over her head and hold her as a shield, what then?"

  "Then I stand behind you—"

  "Two of us hiding behind Amy?" He smiled faintly. "Bit of a stalemate, I'd say."

  "Why? They wouldn't dare to shoot us," she protested. "If they did they'd hit Amy."

  "Could stand facing each other for days, though," pointed out Cyrus. "Or they'd circle us. Three against two, and they've guns."

  Mrs. Pollifax bit her lip. "You have a point there, unfortunately. Oh, if only there were some way to free our hands!"

  "What then?" he asked, looking at her with amusement.

  "Well, you see I'm rather good at karate."

  This startled him but there was no overlooking his gleeful appreciation of this. "Damned astonishing woman," he said. "Enough to goad me into chewing off your ropes with my bare teeth."

  "I wish you could," she said wistfully. "They plan to kill me when we reach the burial ground, you know."

  "Burial ground? Nothing," protested Cyrus, "has been said about a burial ground."

  "That's what I overheard . . . it's across the Mumbwa-Lusaka highway, which we'll have to cross at some point, apparently, and around darkness they meet Sikota there."

  "So," mused Cyrus. "The longer it takes us to reach the burial ground—a macabre meeting place to say the least—the longer we have to exercise cunning, I take it?"

  She nodded. "Why is Mainza climbing that tree now?"

  He turned to look. "Could be lost. See better from a tree."

  "But they have a compass and maps."

  "Simon's been poring over both since we sat down," he told her. "Very heavy frown on his face."

  "I think it would be lovely if we're lost," she said, watching a scarlet butterfly hover over Amy's sleeping bag, touch down and then twinkle away. "I'd like to see it happen to them, they deserve it."

  "Not so sure we deserve it," he pointed out. "Very tiring sort of thing, being lost. Makes men like Simon irascible and insecure. Better sleep now, my dear, it may be your only opportunity."

  She nodded and lay down, and thinking how pleasant it was to be called my dear—and how fortifying Cyrus was—she closed her eyes and then opened them to watch Mainza climb down from his tree. Amy was returning from the bush—she could hear the crackle of dried leaves and the snap of twigs—with Reuben's heavier footsteps behind her. The sun and the warmth of the sleeping bag combined to soothe her aching muscles and help her forget her hunger; she closed her eyes a second time, felt tiredness wash over her in waves and then engulf her, and she slept.

  When she opened her eyes the clearing was empty of voices and she saw that Cyrus' sleeping bag was unoccupied. Without moving her body she turned her head and saw Amy burrowed deeply in her sleeping bag with only strands of pale hair in sight. Over near the Land Rover, Simon and Mainza were stretched out asleep in the sun. Reuben sat dozing with his back against a tree, the rifle across his lap, his eyes closed, but of Cyrus there was no sign until a sudden stealthy movement from the Land Rover caught her eye. It was Cyrus, creeping around the back of the vehicle on hands and knees. Mrs. Pollifax glanced at the dozing Reuben and then at Cyrus, and held her breath in horror.

  CHAPTER

  11

  She had no idea what Cyrus had been doing behind the Land Rover but he was in plain view of Reuben: only Reuben's closed eyelids—a fragile barrier—lay between him and discovery, and Cyrus' stealth was proof that he was up to something. She dared not lift her head lest the movement wake Reuben, who was obviously supposed to be thoroughly awake and guarding them. She lay very still and held her breath. Cyrus was still on his hands and knees, but when he reached the side of the Land Rover he slowly rose to his feet, glanced once at Reuben and then tiptoed soundlessly toward her, testing the ground underfoot at each step. Only when he had dropped to his sleeping bag did she sit up, and as she did so Reuben gave a start, opened his eyes and instinctively reached for his rifle.

  "Feeling better?" asked Cyrus without expression. "About four hours' sleep, I think."

  "Much better," she said politely.

  The others were stirring now too, sitting up, and stretching, yawning, their faces cleared of tension and hostility, so that for a moment they might have been a picnic party waking up from a nap out in the bush. Simon called out something to Reuben, who laughed and replied, and then Mainza and Simon both laughed, completely relaxed. Only when Simon's glance fell on the map and the compass did his frown return. He picked them up and tension was visible again on his face.

  Amy Lovecraft sat up and pushed back tangled hair with her tied wrists. "Oh God, how I'd love a bath," she said.

  But the only water they were to see this morning was brought to them by Reuben in a canvas bag. They took turns drinking from it, and then he opened his palm and revealed a handful of peanuts. "Ground nuts," he said, dividing them equally among them.

  "So that's what they're called here," said Mrs. Pollifax. He had thoughtfully shelled them and she tried to chew each one carefully—there were only eight—because they were both last night's dinner and today's breakfast as well. In fact, if this was Thursday she remembered that it was time for another malaria tablet, but she supposed it was trivial to worry about malaria when she might not even survive the day. Perhaps it was also trivial to worry now about Aristotle . . . Cyrus was conspicuously silent; he looked tired, and she realized he'd probably not slept at all, and again she wondered what he'd been doing crouched behind the Land Rover. She turned her head and glanced at Amy, and not for the first time speculated about her motives in this insane abduction. She wondered if Amy could possibly be Aristotle. Women were assassins, and clever at disguise, but Aristotle—Aristotle, she felt, was different. Bishop had described him as a professional and a mercenary, with no ties to any particular country. She simply couldn't imagine him involving himself in an abduction, and then there was the fact that Amy knew these men, and Aristotle always acted alone.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by Simon, who shouted, "Up!" and once again they were herded to the Land Rover and loosely roped in place. They set off in
the warm morning light, and Mrs. Pollifax noticed they avoided open spaces now, which she thought showed more faith in a search party than she could muster at the moment. Shortly after leaving they skirted another clearing and surprised a herd of zebra standing motionless in the sun. The herd took flight at once, their stripes dancing and blurring as they swept across the plain in a cloud of graceful motion, and then as they reached the edge of the clearing the Land Rover swerved and they came to a stop.

  "Flat tire," said Simon.

  They climbed out and sat on the ground while Mainza jacked up the Land Rover and removed the tire. The spare was taken from its mounting on the hood and inserted on the rim, the jack was disengaged and the Land Rover lowered until it came to rest on the new tire, which slowly, comically, went flat too.

  It was at this moment that Mrs. Pollifax sensibly added two and two together and glanced with interest at Cyrus. He was looking exceptionally sleepy and he refused to look at her. Deep inside of herself she smiled; really, she thought, Cyrus was going to be extremely useful now that he was getting into the swing of things. Simon, Reuben and Mainza were looking incredulous; they began talking accusingly among themselves, examining the two tires and gesticulating. She gathered that both tires had lost their valve caps but that the men found it difficult to understand how this could have caused so much leakage of air. Several suspicious glances were sent in their direction, but since no one could recall a moment when they were unguarded no one accused them.

  "Into the car," Simon said at last, his voice surly.

  They climbed inside and bumped along on the naked rim of the wheel for several hundred feet until they hit a half-buried rock that bent the rim. The Land Rover at once acquired an unhealthy list that sent Amy and Mrs. Pollifax into Cyrus' lap, and the car out of control. With a shout of frustration Simon fought the Land Rover to a stop. "We walk," he said furiously.

  "Sorry about this," whispered Cyrus as he helped her down from the Land Rover.

  She gave him a frankly admiring glance. "You make a lovely fly in the ointment."

  "You saw?" When she nodded he grinned. "Damn nuisance, walking, but makes me feel better. Vented my spleen, so to speak."

  "Do vent it again," she shrugged over her shoulder as Simon commanded her to be silent and take her place in line.

  They began their march with Simon in the lead. The terrain was a mix of flat ground and clusters of thorn trees, a combination not at all unpleasant for walking.

  What Mrs. Pollifax minded was the silence in which they walked; a little conversation, she thought, would be a happy distraction, but Simon had placed her behind him and she was followed by Mainza; Amy and Cyrus came after him, and Reuben brought up the rear. It was so quiet that she could hear the swish of their trousered legs and the thud of Mainza's rifle as it slapped his hip at each step; occasionally twigs snapped underfoot. As the sun rose higher, however, she became increasingly aware of a hollowness in the pit of her stomach that only food could alleviate, and the sun, which felt no warmer to her skin than a June sun in New Jersey, began to have a curious effect on her; her head felt light, but whether this was from hunger or the sun she didn't know or, at the moment, care. She developed a nagging thirst, and after they had walked for an interminable length of time she suspected that she was also developing a blister on her right heel. The tse-tse flies gathered, and with her hands tied she could only swat at them blindly, but Simon showed no signs of halting for a rest and she found herself lacking even the energy to complain. It seemed simpler to plod dreamily along, her eyes mesmerized by the ground in front of her, her head floating along somewhere behind her, like a balloon on a string.

  "Rest," said Simon suddenly, and they sank to the ground under a tree, too tired to speak.

  Mainza brought out the canvas bag of water and gave them each a few sips.

  "Boiled, I hope," said Cyrus.

  Amy sniffed at this remark. "Even boiled water here can cause gastric trouble. If you'd only tell them what they want to know," she snapped at Mrs. Pollifax, turning to face her, "we could be back on safari with the others now, instead of—of this!"

  Mrs. Pollifax, feeling better, snapped back. "Nonsense. I don't believe my telling them anything would free us now, because we can identify Simon and Mainza and Reuben, and why should they allow that?"

  Amy moved closer and lowered her voice. 'I've been trying to make friends with Simon, you may have noticed?"

  "No," said Mrs. Pollifax.

  "Well, I have, and I think—" She smiled disarmingly and a little ruefully, "I think they might not kill me. It's possible I could divert the three men so that you and Cyrus could get away. Not now but later."

  Shot while trying to escape, thought Mrs. Pollifax. For just the briefest of moments she looked at Cyrus, who was listening to this, and then she turned to Amy and said in a shocked voice, "Oh, I don't think that would be sensible, do you? I suppose you mean an escape. I shouldn't care for that at all, would you, Cyrus?"

  "No indeed," he said blandly. "Exhausting. Besides, our hands are tied."

  "So are mine," said Amy, "but I might be able to persuade Simon to untie them."

  I'll bet you could, thought Mrs. Pollifax. She said earnestly, "Well, it would certainly be lovely to have our hands free—it's so difficult walking with them tied—but as for escape—" She shuddered. "I don't know, the idea fills me with terror." She realized that Cyrus was looking at her with a puzzled frown and she wondered what she'd just said that made him suddenly look so suspicious of her. "But if you could persuade him to free our hands," she added wistfully.

  "Yes," said Amy, "but you simply must consider getting away if the occasion arises. You have to be more resolute."

  "Yes," sighed Mrs. Pollifax.

  A moment later Simon announced that it was time to move on, and she learned the reason for Cyrus' peculiar expression. Helping her to her feet he said, "Beginning to wonder if you do show slides."

  "Slides!" she gasped. "Cyrus, what on earth—!"

  "Same voice," he said. "Both times. Been worrying about those slides."

  She stared at him in astonishment. "Oh—slides," she said, realizing how alarmingly observant he was.

  He added in a kind voice, "Try wrapping your bush jacket around your head. They didn't wear cork hats for nothing here in Africa. Very strong sun." He tugged loose the jacket that was knotted around her waist and she thanked him. Incapable of tying it around her head with her hands bound, she placed it there like a basket with trailing fronds and hurried off to obey Simon's peremptory summons.

  They resumed walking, they stopped . . . they walked, they stopped. She was becoming very familiar with the African soil, she thought; it was a vivid rust color, with the coarse-grained texture of an anthill, and although the rainy season had only recently ended it was dry, very dry, providing only a vaguely hospitable surface to the stalks of grass. The earth was in fact kinder to her than to the vegetation, for she rested on it, and when Simon ordered them up again her only anticipation was to sit on it again. It was level enough for walking but it was important to watch out for snakes, and so she walked with her head down, which was tiresome. The tse-tse flies kept biting, and when they stopped for a break the meager sip of water doled out to them was no longer enough, and at each stop Simon examined both compass and map with the same frown teasing his brows. Then it was up again to resume walking, the monotony of it interrupted only twice—once by a herd of impala racing in panic across their path, and once by the sight of a dead buffalo lying on its side under a tree, with only the shell, of its carcass untouched.

  "Lion kill," said Reuben from the rear.

  Sometime after that Mrs. Pollifax became aware that Simon had stopped. She had been stumbling along behind him when she looked up to see that Mainza had left his place in line and was grasping Simon by the arm, pointing behind them.

  "Something is following us," Mainza said in a low voice.

  "I see nothing. Animal or man?"

  Ma
inza shook his head. "I don't know, it moves when we move, stops when we stop. If I go ahead to that hill, Simon, and circle back—"

  "Do that. Be careful. We will rest behind the hill."

  The word rest was all that mattered to Mrs. Pollifax and she followed Simon eagerly now. Mainza soon disappeared behind the swelling in the earth, and when they came abreast of it Simon led them around it and signaled them to stop. "Sit," he said, "but not on the hill, this is an anthill." Mrs. Pollifax sank gratefully to the ground and applied herself to resting with enormous concentration. Her shoulder bones, subtly hunched together by the pull of her tied wrists, were acquiring strange aches and pains; her feet hurt and her eyes felt like bruised grapes. This was having an effect on her thought processes that was alarming, and yet she felt incapable of any discipline at all; it was rather like watching oneself fall asleep in the snow and not caring. There would be no decent rest for her until they reached the burial ground, and she reminded herself that once they reached that destination her longed-for rest could very well become an Eternal Rest, but this reminder met with no response at all. It occurred to her to wonder if she was suffering from sunstroke. She saw Simon and Reuben level their rifles, suddenly tense, but she was only mildly interested when a man trudged unseeingly past them. She was grateful that he was not a lion, but the day held such a surrealistic quality that she found nothing surprising about their encountering a man here. Besides, he looked as if he belonged here and he was certainly not prepossessing. He was a native wearing torn black pants, cut off at the knee, a ragged pair of old sneakers on his feet and a brilliant plaid wool cap on his head that made him look ridiculous. A sweater had been rolled up and tied around his waist by the sleeves, and on his back he carried something wrapped in a bloody newspaper; it had weight to it, and there were a number of flies buzzing around it. The man noticed them only when Simon stepped forward with his rifle, but he looked startled rather than frightened. He gave Simon a radiant, uncertain smile and then his gaze dropped to the rifle and he gaped at it, fascinated. Apparently the rifle was more amazing to him than the sight of five people crouched behind an anthill.