Captive_A High-octane And Gripping African Thriller

by Tony Park

  ‘Really? Was it . . . did it belong to . . .’

  ‘The guy who bought my beer for me gave it to me.’

  She rolled her eyes, then took the pendant and held it up to take a closer look. ‘It looks like a snake with a weird head, like a fish.’

  ‘Yes, that’s it. Exactly. It’s Nyaminyami.’

  ‘I’ve seen these, there are guys selling them around the falls.’

  He nodded. ‘Yes. Nyaminyami is the river god of the Tonga people, one of their protectors. But like all gods he’s vengeful as well.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘The locals say that when the Kariba Dam wall was being built on the river, downstream, to form Lake Kariba, Nyaminyami was disturbed and he was angry. There were unseasonal floods, accidents on the dam and workers were killed. Three men were drowned, and when the construction authorities couldn’t find the bodies they went to the local Tonga people to ask for their help in retrieving them, as the grieving families were coming to the site to bury them.’

  ‘How terrible. What happened?’

  ‘The locals said Nyaminyami needed another sacrifice. The government men agreed. A black calf was killed and placed in the river. The next day, the calf was gone – hardly surprising given the number of crocodiles in the river – but in its place were the bodies of the three workers, floating there, three days after they had gone missing.’

  ‘Spooky.’ Kerry tied the leather thong around her neck and straightened the pendant.

  ‘Nyaminyami had a wife.’ Graham looked away from her bright eyes. ‘The locals say they were separated, upstream and downstream, when the dam wall was built. They say the earth tremors that occurred after the dam was built were Nyaminyami venting his anger and calling for his wife. One day, so the legend goes, he’ll succeed in destroying the dam and he and his wife will be reunited.’

  ‘Scary, but sad and romantic all at the same time.’

  Graham hauled himself to his feet. ‘Africa.’

  *

  By the time they had walked back to the hotel the sun was disappearing, leaving behind a lava-coloured horizon.

  Kerry was getting better at ignoring the street salesmen and not feeling like she should buy something from any of them. Predictably, Graham said he would wait in the bar while she went back to the room and showered. She told him that was fine, but when she got to the room she felt a chill as she remembered what had happened on her way from the hospital to Ukuphila. She locked and latched the door and checked the sliding door leading out onto the little verandah area at the front of the room, then pulled the curtains closed.

  She felt clammy, remembering the hands of the man on her when he’d grabbed her while she was inspecting the puncture in the Land Rover’s tyre.

  Kerry took a deep breath and told herself she was safe here in Zimbabwe. There was no way Fidel Costa could know where she was, or reach her. All the same, she showered and dressed in record time.

  When she stepped from her room a man emerged from the shadows. Kerry gave a small gasp.

  ‘Is everything all right, madam?’

  The man wore the green uniform and cap of a security guard. ‘Yes, yes, fine thank you. I didn’t see you there.’

  ‘No problem, madam. You have nothing to worry about.’

  I wish, Kerry thought. She followed the sound of music and laughter towards the hotel swimming pool. Tables had been set along the side of the pool closest to the restaurant and bar, and these were mostly full. The clientele were tourists judging by the green and khaki. It was funny, she thought, but after what she’d been through she was starting to think of herself more as a local than a visitor. She told herself to get over the feeling of superiority. She went in search of Graham.

  She found him inside, in the bar, propped up on a stool talking to the barman, who laughed at something he’d just said. When he turned she saw that his face was happy and glowing now that he was back in his natural element.

  ‘Hello, glad you could join us,’ he called. ‘What’ll it be?’

  ‘Gin and tonic, please,’ Kerry said.

  ‘Single or double, madam?’ the bartender asked.

  ‘Double,’ Graham said.

  ‘Single.’ She was irked at his assumption, her sympathy for him vanishing, almost.

  ‘Sorry, my mistake,’ he said.

  She let her hackles settle. ‘No worries.’ The barman passed her drink and she took a stool next to Graham.

  He drained a Zambezi Lager and signalled the barman for another. Kerry wondered how many he’d had already. Graham took a long slug from the fresh beer. ‘Good shower?’

  ‘Great, thanks. The pressure was wonderful.’

  ‘One thing they’re not short of here is water.’

  ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘It’s great to see this place jumping,’ he said. ‘Last time I was here I was the only person in the bar.’

  ‘The lack of toilet seats may also have been a factor.’

  He laughed. ‘Correct. Are you hungry?’

  ‘Starving, in fact. Shall we go through to dinner?’

  ‘Let’s,’ he said.

  They found the head waiter and he showed them to a table for two. The party next to them was loud and Kerry found that the noise grated on her. A few tables down, a group of half-a-dozen Zimbabwean men was serenading a group of tourists with an a cappella version of ‘The Lion Sleeps Tonight’.

  ‘Graham, is everything OK?’

  He was looking around. ‘What? Yes, yes, of course.’

  She saw he had been looking at the table on the other side of them. Sitting at it was a young couple in matching safari outfits. They were looking into each other’s eyes and holding hands across the table.

  ‘Honeymooners,’ Kerry said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘That couple, over there, the ones you were just staring at.’

  ‘You think they’re on their honeymoon?’

  ‘Duh. How much have you had to drink?’

  He shrugged. ‘Not that much. Why do you ask if I’m all right? I’m fine.’

  ‘I just thought, after what you told me today –’

  ‘Oh my gawd,’ he interrupted, ‘here comes the mariachi band.’

  Kerry was confused, but then saw the singers in their white shirts and black trousers taking up position in a semicircle around the young couple. They smiled with delight and the woman took out her phone and began videoing the group as they broke into an Adele number.

  ‘If they ask for requests I’m going to ask for a cyanide pill,’ Graham said.

  ‘Grouch.’

  ‘Ha. Waiter? Please may I have another Zambezi and . . .’

  ‘I’m fine,’ Kerry said as the crooning carried on behind them.

  They looked at the menus and ordered, Kariba bream for her and steak for him.

  ‘I can’t stand traditional dancing,’ he said, to break the ice again after a couple of minutes.

  Kerry looked to the singers, who were finishing up to applause from the neighbouring tables. ‘Adele is hardly traditional African music.’

  ‘No, but it’s forced and embarrassing. Waiters and waitresses dressed up in tribal stuff. In fact, I don’t like entertainment of any kind when eating. I’d rather just have my meal in peace.’

  ‘Well, you can tell them that, they’re coming this way.’

  Graham looked over his shoulder. ‘Gawd,’ he said again.

  ‘Hello, lovely people,’ the lead singer said to them. ‘May we please entertain you?’

  ‘Um, I think we’re OK . . .’ Kerry began.

  ‘Do you know “Shosholoza”?’ Graham said, without looking back at the lead singer who was behind him.

  ‘Of course, sir.’

  ‘Then sing.’

  The man beamed at Kerry, who rolled her eyes.

  ‘It’s about miners catching a train to work,’ Graham said to Kerry.

  The group broke into the melodious strains of the song, much more at home with the Zulu words and
the rhythm of the anthem that rose and fell, quickened and slowed like the movements of a train gathering steam.

  The guests at the other tables turned to watch them as the group hit their stride.

  Kerry caught the second half of the song on video, and even got some vision of Graham scowling, arms crossed, in the foreground. When they finished Graham took a US ten-dollar bill out of his pocket and palmed it to the lead singer.

  Kerry sat back in her seat. She was surprised. Graham seemed to have no money, usually, but the tip to the singers had been generous. ‘That was nice.’

  ‘People here have nothing,’ he said.

  ‘You didn’t even want them to sing.’

  ‘At least they’re doing their best to earn a living.’

  Graham called a waiter over and ordered a bottle of South African wine. Their food came and, both hungry, they suspended conversation for the most part while they ate and drank.

  Graham seemed, Kerry thought, to have a phenomenal capacity for alcohol, which she guessed he had built up over some time. She, on the other hand, was feeling light-headed after her gin and tonic and two glasses of wine with the meal.

  ‘Phew, I’m stuffed,’ she said.

  ‘Me too. Shall we retire to the boudoir?’ He raised and lowered his eyebrows a couple of times.

  ‘Behave.’ He had tried to be funny, but she sensed he was forcing it this time, almost for her benefit.

  They walked back to the room and the security guard bade them good night.

  Inside the room Kerry excused herself to go to the bathroom. She was ready to read Graham the riot act, but when she emerged she saw his bed had been stripped of its pillow and bedspread. Graham’s bag was no longer in the room, and nor was he.

  Kerry opened the hotel room door and peeked outside. She saw that the interior light of the Land Cruiser was on, but then it went out.

  ‘Graham?’ she called softly, so as not to wake any other guests.

  There was no answer so she walked to the vehicle and put her hands against one of the side passenger windows so she could peer in. Graham was stretched out along the middle back row of seats. His head was buried under the bedspread. His duffel bag was in the front seat.

  She turned and went back into the hotel room, not wanting to disturb him.

  Chapter 20

  Graham woke with the sun streaming in through the Land Cruiser’s windows. The seats had been uncomfortable, but he’d had worse beds in his life.

  He had drifted in and out of sleep, tossing off the bedspread when it became almost unbearably hot and humid in the confines of the vehicle. He’d snoozed but been woken at midnight by strobing lightning and the boom of thunder. The heavens had dumped what was probably the first big storm of the wet season over the ensuing five hours until just before dawn.

  Graham eased his cramped body out of the vehicle and, after a quick check around, released his bladder into the flowerbed outside the room. He zipped up and knocked on the hotel room door.

  ‘Hello?’ came Kerry’s voice, a little croaky, after a couple more knocks. She opened the door a crack. ‘What time is it?’

  ‘Six. Time to get on the road.’

  ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘Well,’ he said, mustering as much enthusiasm as he could at this time of the day, ‘since you saw the falls yesterday, I thought we might head out into the bush, into Hwange National Park. Unless, that is, you’re up for a spot of white-water rafting or bungee-jumping?’

  ‘Ah, no, I’ll skip the adrenaline junkie stuff. Some time in the bush would be fantastic, though. Do you want to come in and use the bathroom?’

  ‘I’ve been.’

  ‘Graham!’

  ‘When in Africa.’

  ‘That’s your answer for everything. At least come in and have a shower.’

  ‘Are you suggesting I stink?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said.

  ‘Very well.’

  He went back to the truck and got his bag, then went inside. Kerry said she had washed before going to bed, so she got dressed while he showered, singing to himself. He didn’t really feel cheery, but he knew he’d been having a bad time last night and he didn’t want her asking endless questions today on the drive to Hwange, so he did his best to appear like a normal, positive, fully functioning human being.

  ‘Human again,’ he said, emerging freshly dressed in yesterday’s clothes.

  She was already packed. The woman was organised to the point of being infuriating, but he didn’t like hanging around when there was a chance to get out into the bush so it suited him fine. They checked out of the hotel and made a short detour to the TM supermarket in town, which had only just opened for the day, to stock up on enough food and drinks for an overnight trip. Then they hit the road.

  Graham told himself he felt good. He liked Zimbabwe. The people were friendly, the roads OK, and apart from two police roadblocks where he had to show his driver’s licence and prove all the vehicle’s lights were working, they had a good run. For the first fifty kilometres of the journey they were on the main tar road between Victoria Falls and Bulawayo. When they turned off to the right, onto a dirt road, they soon entered the Matetsi Safari Area.

  Graham figured that if he kept Kerry engaged in enough small talk she wouldn’t ask about his behaviour the night before. ‘They carry out big game hunting here, on the edge of the park.’

  Kerry grabbed the handle on the dashboard in front of her as the Cruiser slewed a little on the wet muddy road. ‘Do you want to maybe slow down a little, Graham?’

  ‘No. We’re on corrugations and if I slow down you’ll get shaken to bits.’

  ‘But this mud . . .’

  ‘It’s fine,’ he said. He told himself to keep it cheerful. ‘In fact, not a lot of hunting is going on here these days because of the political situation, so there’s a good chance of seeing game even before we get to the park.’

  He was right. Ahead of them he saw a herd of elephants, twenty-five or thirty, crossing the road. As he got closer he slowed and Kerry seemed to forget about the road and his driving as she took out her phone to get some pictures.

  The rains could not have come at a better time. The bush looked painfully dry and the elephants threaded their way through mopane trees that had been shredded by previous herds to spindly jagged stumps. Graham lowered the windows and breathed in the heady sweet smell of fresh rain on thirsty soil. New life would come, for the trees, grasses and animals at least.

  ‘I love that smell,’ Kerry said.

  Graham gave a small smile. He was pleased she wasn’t only fixated with the bigger things in the bush, such as the elephants, the last of which now crossed in front of them.

  They drove on and signed in at the Robins Gate entrance to Hwange National Park. Ten kilometres further on, after seeing some zebra and kudu, they came to Robins Camp, where they paid their entry fees. Graham asked about accommodation and the ranger in the green-painted, thatched tourist office told them the camp was empty, so they could have their pick. After going through the options they settled on a two-bedroom lodge, a grand name for a clean but basic unit that had two bedrooms, a small kitchen and, unlike the smaller chalets, its own bathroom.

  Without bothering to unpack they set off to explore the park.

  Unlike Kruger, which was so far Kerry’s only other experience of an African game park, Hwange was not teeming with visitors, and Graham was pleased to be able to show her a piece of empty wilderness, and even more satisfied that she appreciated it.

  ‘You’re not bothered at all, are you, by coming up here for nothing?’ Kerry said as they bounced and skidded along a sticky black soil road called Windmills Drive.

  ‘You mean about not being able to de-horn Garth’s rhinos?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Sure,’ he said, ‘a lot of people think de-horning is the silver bullet to save rhinos – it’s not. He wants to eventually release some of his rhinos into the wild, but not having horns won’t help them if t
hey get released. If a poacher tracks a rhino and then finds it’s been de-horned, he’ll kill it anyway to save himself the trouble of following those tracks some other time. I’m worried about the rhinos, but really the point of the de-horning exercise was mostly to impress tourists like you and Garth’s guests, and give you some bang for your buck.’

  Kerry looked away, out the window on her side.

  He realised his error. ‘That came out wrong. I think we can safely say you’ve graduated from tourist to “old Africa hand” given what you’ve been through.’

  She looked back at him. ‘You mean I’ve been through enough trauma to make me African?’

  ‘No, that would take a lifetime. But you’re getting there. I’m pleasantly surprised you’ve stayed the distance.’

  ‘Pleasantly surprised? If I thought you’d be good for a refund I might have changed my travel plans and gone off on some touristy tour.’

  He had put his foot in it again. ‘I don’t know how to talk to you,’ he admitted, surprising even himself with his honesty.

  ‘How do you manage to look after any of your volunteers?’

  ‘It wasn’t my idea, taking on paying volunteers. The whole notion strikes me as faintly absurd. Sarah came up with it, as a way of raising money for the Animals Without Borders foundation.’

  ‘Sarah in Australia?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So I was contributing to the coffers of this charity without even realising it?’

  ‘Probably. The website would have told you that your money was going towards “conserving African wildlife” or something like that, right?’

  ‘Hmm, I think so, yes, and there was a link there to Animals Without Borders which is how I found out about them. I could have put two and two together.’

  Graham slowed when he spotted a journey of three giraffe. They moved slowly, gracefully, through long golden grass that reached the bottom of their bellies.

  ‘How many volunteers have you had?’ she asked.

  ‘Um, well, you’re the second.’

  ‘What happened to the first?’

  ‘She ran away after three days.’

  Kerry laughed out loud.

  ‘But no,’ he said, returning to her original question, ‘I’m not bothered that we didn’t get to go to the game reserve near Victoria Falls. My ticket here was paid for so it doesn’t matter to me where I am. I may as well be here in Zimbabwe wasting my time as in South Africa wasting my time.’