Cloudburst

by Wilbur Smith

  I gaped at Innocent, who smiled proudly. ‘She’s the best at it,’ he said. ‘Also fishing fire ants from a nest with a fine twig … she’s champion of that too.’

  ‘They hunt meat as well though, right?’ said Caleb.

  ‘Nuts, fruit, leaves, colobus. They’re as omnivorous as you,’ Innocent replied.

  ‘We share ninety-seven per cent of our genes with higher primates,’ Amelia said, then corrected herself: ‘Actually it’s between ninety-six and ninety-eight per cent, depending on how you calculate it.’

  ‘Thanks for clarifying,’ said Xander.

  Amelia, missing the gentle sarcasm, took Xander’s words as an invitation to expand, and started telling him about humans and chimpanzees sharing a common ancestor dating back just six-to-eight million years. That seemed a long time ago to me. I tuned them both out. Undoubtedly there was something human about the apes. But it was more complicated than that. Being in the jungle with them filled me with two contradictory emotions. On the one hand I felt as if I was connected, part of something larger than myself. On the other, looking through my zoom lens into the nearest chimp’s black-brown eyes, I felt very, very alone.

  I became aware that Innocent had got to his feet. Patience stood up too, beside him. A general restlessness spread among the chimpanzees. Their chatter was more urgent. In seconds they had all moved away. Whether Innocent and his daughter had triggered the change or were responding to it, I didn’t know.

  ‘Quickly, we must leave,’ he said.

  I turned just in time to see Marcel raise his gun to his shoulder. Something – or someone – was moving through the jungle towards us. One figure became two, five, six … nine men at least, half of them armed.

  14.

  Innocent said something in French and Marcel put his gun down.

  ‘What’s going on?’ said Caleb. ‘Who are these guys? What do they want?’

  I took in the man nearest me. He was wearing stout rubber boots, a trucker’s cap, and an out-of-date Manchester United football shirt. I noticed all that before fixing upon the rifle slung across his chest, the muzzle of which was casually but definitely pointed at me. The situation didn’t seem real. It was laughable! Except that it was absolutely real and, I’ll admit, frightening. Unable to stop myself, I took a step nearer to Amelia, at which point another of the men, this one wearing a khaki shirt and sunglasses – in the gloom – shouted something and moved very quickly towards us, waving his gun at each of us in turn.

  ‘Let’s stay nice and still,’ sang Innocent. ‘Still is nice.’

  The chimpanzee noise behind us evaporated as they moved off through the trees.

  ‘What do these people want?’ Caleb repeated. He was trying to sound authoritative but his voice was brittle.

  By contrast, Innocent’s murmuring was calm. ‘Nice guys,’ he said. ‘Just hunters. Everything’s fine.’

  Amelia couldn’t stop herself saying, ‘Not if they’re hunting us, it’s not!’ Her word choice was flippant but I could tell she was terrified. I was too: Dad had warned us about the kidnap threat here; were we about to experience it at first-hand?

  Innocent managed a chuckle. ‘No, no, no! Everyone be still and quiet. I will have a nice chat, very nice. Everything’s good.’ He sounded fine but I noticed his hands, raised in front of him, were fluttering slightly as he took a step forward to talk with the last of the men to emerge. This guy was older, pot-bellied, unarmed, and his face was so black in the half-light that it seemed almost blue. Whoever these people were, he was clearly in charge of them.

  Innocent and the man talked in French. I caught words but not enough to piece together the sense. However I knew Xander would be able to translate, and when I leaned his way he whispered, ‘Innocent’s pretending he doesn’t know they’re poachers and they’re pretending they don’t know this is a wildlife reserve.’

  ‘OK,’ I said.

  ‘Trouble is, they don’t believe each other.’

  Almost imperceptibly, Patience breathed, ‘Shhh,’ beside us.

  The guy with the pot belly held out his hand and Innocent reluctantly gave him the two-way radio he’d brought to keep in touch with the park rangers. As the poacher was pocketing it he looked over Innocent’s shoulder. And saw what? Four white kids flanked by a little black girl and a burly chaperone who had already lowered his gun. Innocent was doing his best to keep light-hearted and in control. But Amelia let out a sob and Innocent glanced around at her and seeing her terror he missed a beat, faltering in whatever he was saying. The fat guy he was negotiating with noticed. Even without understanding what they were saying, I could tell that the discussion had changed shape. Innocent had been reasoning and persuading, but now he was pleading. Everything bristled. The poachers, the rainforest, the bird-noise within it: a wave of anything-could-happen happened, and I was powerless to help.

  15.

  Or was I?

  I once saw a television programme about what you should do if you’re confronted by a mugger. The best option is to run away. But though I’m quick, and I have a pretty good sense of direction, the jungle was ridiculously dense and I didn’t know which way to run. And even if I had managed to get past the cordon of armed men, I’d be leaving Xander, Amelia and – yes – Caleb in the lurch, and I wasn’t about to desert my friends.

  Another option is to fight back, but, as the TV presenter said, that’s a last resort, only to be used if you think you can win, and – let’s face it – these men had guns. All I had was a long stick. It didn’t even have a sharp end. Attacking them would be suicide.

  However the TV presenter – an ex-army type with thick sideburns and a moustache – had explained that there is a third way beyond fight-or-flight. In certain situations, unnerving a mugger by doing something unexpected – pretending to have an epileptic fit, say, or reciting the Lord’s Prayer at top volume – can convince them not to bother with you on the grounds that there are better, more predictable people to mug elsewhere.

  Without pausing to think the thing through, I started singing the first song that came into my head, ‘Jingle Bells’, in a stupid voice, squeaky one minute and fake deep the next. Quite loudly. Everybody looked at me and I looked back at them all in turn, still singing. No two expressions were the same. Amelia had her that-doesn’t-compute face on. Caleb shrank from me in angry alarm. And Xander was grinning. Meanwhile, Innocent was shaking his head at me, mouthing, ‘Stop!’ and Patience’s round eyes had narrowed to a glare as the guy in the Manchester United shirt took a step forward and aimed his gun right at my head.

  ‘Over the fields we go, laughing all the way!’ I yelled. Forcing each word out was like coughing up a stone. Out of the corner of my eye I could see one of the other men’s shoulders shaking. I turned to him and grinned manically as I sang. He was carrying a long bamboo pole with a noose dangling from it. By the time I got to ‘Oh what fun it is to ride …’ he was laughing openly, jiggling the rope.

  Out of nowhere, Xander joined in, but with a different song and in a completely flat tone, more droning than singing: ‘Oh come all ye faithful, joyful and triumphant …’

  Manchester United shouted ‘Silence!’ – in French it came out seelonce – but the main man also advanced, waving at him to put his gun away. There were big sweat patches under the main man’s arms and the buttons on his shirt were taut around his belly.

  ‘Bells on bobtails ring, making spirits bright!’

  ‘Sing choirs of angels, sing in exaltation!’

  The leader’s face was hard to read. His brow was furrowed, but more in disbelief than anger. Would he explode or walk away? Neither yet. He glanced back at Innocent for an explanation, and Innocent thought quickly enough to raise one hand and spin his forefinger next to his head, the international sign for ‘beats me, they’re mental’.

  Amelia, having solved the quadratic equation of the situation, now chimed in with a screechy, ‘Silent night, holy night, all is calm, all is bright!’ and on the three of us went, mur
dering those carols in broad daylight.

  I felt curiously weightless, as if I’d taken a leap and gravity hadn’t bitten yet; I had no idea where I was about to land. The pot-bellied leader put his hands on his hips and looked to his friend with the snare, who was still trying not to laugh. I think this tipped the balance in our favour, as a smile flickered on the face of the main man himself. Not wanting to give in to it either, he puffed up his chest, shrugged, and said something I didn’t catch, but that didn’t matter because his body language spelled it out: everything about him said, This really isn’t worth it.

  Innocent, catching his attention, mimed a further apologetic what can you do?

  The fat man brushed Innocent aside and strode straight past us, close enough for me to catch his acrid smell, and the rest of the group moved forward with him, although most of them gave us a wider berth. We kept on singing, our words a jumbled, discordant mess of ‘infant so tender and mild in a one-horse open sleigh oh come and behold him’ and the like. Not until the last man had disappeared did my relief make the words fizzle out of me, and then the others also fell silent, leaving us in the clicking, chattering hush of the jungle.

  Innocent motioned for us to follow him. ‘Quickly, in case he changes his mind,’ he said.

  We did as we were told, with Innocent leading the way and Marcel bringing up the rear. Nobody spoke, not until we’d been walking a good half-hour. Then Innocent called a water break. As I was pulling the flask from my backpack, Caleb, in his most offhand voice, said, ‘Well, that little stunt could have gone either way.’

  ‘It worked, didn’t it?’ snapped Xander.

  ‘Could have really wound the guy up though.’

  ‘I suppose,’ I admitted.

  ‘Yeah, well, I thought it was genius,’ said Xander. ‘Better than your non-contribution anyway,’ he added, glaring at Caleb.

  ‘Ah, but I was contributing,’ said Caleb. ‘Or trying to. I just had a less risky plan.’

  ‘Which was what exactly?’ scoffed Caleb. ‘Sit very still and try not to wet your pants?’

  ‘The first bit, certainly. It’s in all the manuals. Presented with a conflict situation, it’s always best to play the grey man. Don’t give an aggressor a reason to pull the trigger. Isn’t that right Innocent? Stay calm, stay reasonable.’

  Innocent smiled and said, ‘We’re here. Whatever happened, happened. The singing was very funny. But also your calm, Caleb. That was great.’

  Xander bristled beside me. I could sense him wanting to call Caleb a liar and a coward, but I also knew that that Caleb was already beating himself up for not having saved the day himself. His grey-man stuff might have worked in another situation, but today my response had succeeded. There was no need to rub his nose in it.

  16.

  ‘So what are we going to do about the poachers?’ I asked Innocent.

  ‘I’ll report them. My ranger colleagues patrol the national parks. I’ll give them descriptions, coordinates, direction of travel. Maybe they will be caught, but probably not.’

  At this Patience dropped her head.

  ‘Why do you say that?’ I asked her father.

  Amelia reasoned for him: ‘The rangers have to patrol a slice of jungle roughly the size of Luxembourg. On foot. With pretty much nothing on the ground visible from the sky. If the poachers didn’t think they could get away, they wouldn’t have let us go.’

  Under her breath Patience said, ‘They know we will not follow them ourselves.’

  ‘But those snares they were carrying,’ I said, ‘they’re probably setting them as we speak.’

  Innocent, blowing out his cheeks in exasperation, said, ‘Bushmeat is valuable, people are hungry. They hope to catch antelope, but really such snares are, how do you say …’

  ‘Indiscriminate,’ said Amelia.

  ‘Take her word for it,’ said Xander.

  ‘Literally.’

  Innocent smiled.

  Caleb was still smarting. His eyes, catching mine, blazed. ‘Hold on,’ he said. ‘These poachers are about to disappear, setting snares all over the place, snares that might well kill the animals we’re all so keen to see, and we’re just going to let them?’

  I could tell where he was going with this, and he did.

  ‘I mean, Patience here has put her finger on it. They’re banking on us fleeing, not following them ourselves. You said Marcel was the best tracker in the Congo, after you, am I right?’

  Innocent kept his composure. ‘Yes!’ he sang. ‘Very good tracker, but –’

  ‘But what?’ said Caleb. ‘We’ve given them enough of a head start. We should track them down, find out where they camp, give the rangers something better than “we met some poachers, sang songs, and ran away” to work on.’ He looked around the group, alighting on Amelia. ‘You agree, yes?’

  If I’d asked her the same question the answer would have been something like, ‘No, idiot,’ though if she’d been in an expansive mood she might have added, ‘Never mind Marcel’s tracking skills – to suggest that two tour guides, a little girl and four kids from the English home counties should chase an armed Congolese militia through a jungle they live, hunt and kill in makes zero sense.’ But I hadn’t asked her. Caleb, with his stupid crew cut, lime-green boots and puffed-up chest had. And her response wasn’t no; it was yes.

  Innocent smiled harder. ‘Number-one job is to protect clients. I will radio in coordinates. There is a chance –’

  ‘No, there isn’t,’ said Caleb. ‘Unless we go after them straight away, they’re gone. Never mind antelope – right now they could be butchering the very chimps we were watching.’

  The funny thing was, I could tell Caleb didn’t really care about the chimpanzees, the antelope or anything much at all, beyond himself, by which I mean a combination of putting me in my place and impressing Amelia. I knew that and yet I couldn’t call him on it. In fact it seemed I had to do the opposite. ‘He’s right,’ I heard myself say. ‘We should retrace our steps, follow them, do something to stop them.’

  Patience was staring at me hopefully. My heart beat louder in my ears because of it.

  ‘Something like what?’ asked Xander, incredulous.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I admitted. ‘As Caleb says, we could at least give their exact location to the rangers.’

  ‘Let Marcel do it. He’s the tracker. We don’t all need to go.’

  Xander had a point, but I guessed Caleb’s reaction before it came.

  ‘That’s fine, good idea. You guys go back with Innocent. Marcel and I can track the poachers.’

  Innocent laughed gently and said, ‘No, no, no.’

  Caleb stared at him. ‘Who’s the client here?’

  ‘Exactly,’ murmured Innocent. ‘You are my clients. It is my job to keep you safe.’

  ‘It’s also your job to protect this place and the animals in it. If the poachers kill them all, you’ll have no clients to look after. I’m doing you a favour here.’

  Innocent screwed the lid back on to his water bottle and carefully slid it into his webbing. ‘Come on now, friends,’ he said. ‘Let’s get back to camp and I can call this in.’ But he didn’t make a move to go.

  Caleb put his hands on his hips. ‘Every minute we stand here thinking about it, they’re getting further away.’

  ‘We’re not thinking about it though,’ said Innocent, adding, ‘It’s impossible!’ Despite these protestations, his eyes were gleaming; I could tell he was tempted.

  ‘You remember who my father is, yes?’ said Caleb quietly.

  Innocent looked away.

  ‘This summer, according to him, is about me stepping up and taking responsibility. I wouldn’t stand in my way.’

  At the mention of Uncle Langdon, Innocent’s resolve visibly weakened. He pursed his lips and shut his eyes.

  ‘Well, I’m not going back there,’ said Xander, trying in vain to bolster the guide. ‘Amelia?’

  I was relieved to see her shake her head, though I noted tha
t what she said didn’t contradict Caleb’s plan: ‘All of us going doesn’t seem logical: the bigger the group, the slower the progress, and the more likely they’ll spot us.’

  Deep down, thwarting the poachers mattered deeply to Innocent. He’d dedicated his life to protecting his country’s wildlife, after all. He was torn, so tried for a compromise: ‘OK, OK.’ He smiled at Caleb, willing him to agree. ‘I’ll backtrack on my own, tail the poachers to their camp and inform the rangers. Marcel can take care of you.’

  But Caleb was already shaking his head, chest puffed out, the big man. ‘It was my idea,’ he stated flatly. ‘I’m going with you whether you like it or not.’

  ‘Me too,’ I said. It wasn’t simply that I had to stand up to Caleb. Mum would want me to stay safe, but she’d sent me here to see the threatened wildlife and she would want me to do my bit.

  The corners of Caleb’s mouth twitched slyly. ‘I suppose that makes sense. Split the group down the middle. Xander and Amelia head back with Marcel and little Patience, and we’ll have three pairs of eyes on the poachers.’

  Innocent’s mouth was set in a grim, stubborn line, but Marcel, who had patiently endured this debate, had now had enough. He handed the rifle to Innocent, and said, ‘I’ll get these ones home. A bientôt.’

  ‘Huh,’ said Xander, trying not to show his annoyance. ‘Whatever, I suppose.’

  Of all of us, only one person was truly happy with this plan: Caleb. And even he was only really pleased because he’d imposed his will on the rest us. Though he was attempting to look businesslike, adjusting the straps on his pack, he wore the smile of someone who’d got his own way.

  Marcel’s group melted into the trees in seconds, Patience last, reluctant not to be coming with us. A jolt of fear went through me: had Innocent sent her away because of the danger? I calmed myself with the thought that he probably just wanted her to stay with Amelia. If our little tracking mission had been that risky a prospect, he wouldn’t have agreed to it at all, surely?