The heavy man’s uniform clung to him in the heat. As they walked, bloated ticks of sweat formed in a row at the top of his brow. ‘A few things. But mainly weapons for poaching.’
‘Oh right. Of course. It’s terrible what’s happening to our rhinos.’
‘Yes, it is. But they’re not the only ones under threat. These poachers will put a bullet in anything if there’s money to be made.’
‘I can’t imagine we match the profile of your typical poacher,’ Jack said, offering a friendly smirk.
The official frowned. ‘These poachers aren’t stupid. They get other people to smuggle in their weapons. Women and older people, actually.’
Jack felt a twinge of apprehension corkscrew through his gut.
As they headed for the car, the official picked up a long pole with a mirror crudely taped to the end of it.
‘And that?’
‘Just to check if anything’s strapped under the vehicle. They use proper versions of these at embassies and government buildings to check for bombs.’
‘Oh, I see.’
‘Please unlock the trailer.’
‘Actually, it’s already open. You can go right ahead.’
The man lumbered forward and raised the large aluminium lid. Securing it to its support strut, he leaned over and began to rummage between the bags. Jack took the opportunity to look over his shoulder. Elizabeth, Albert and Sam were sitting on a wooden bench across the road. It looked to Jack as though they were holding their breath. Jack pushed down his hands in a calming gesture.
When the official was satisfied with the trailer, he turned his attention to the car. ‘Please open the bonnet.’
Jack reached in through the driver’s window and released the latch.
Once the engine bay had been checked, the man walked over to the passenger door and slid it open. Noticing Rosie for the first time, he nodded towards her. ‘Ma’am.’
‘Hello there,’ she said meekly, putting on the frail voice of a woman whose life was ebbing away. ‘Warm this morning, isn’t it? Just sweltering.’
‘Yes, it certainly is. Everything OK?’
‘Wonderful. Thank you.’
Pre-empting the question, Jack chimed in. ‘Rosie struggles with her legs. They swell up in the heat and she battles to walk.’
The man turned to Rosie and regarded her for a moment.
Just as she was putting on a grave face, Pilot shifted under her muumuu and began to lick the back of her knee. Rosie’s dark expression faltered, trembled and then broke apart completely. She began to laugh.
Jack felt his heart sink. He had to do something quick to rescue the situation. So he blurted out the first thought that entered his mind. ‘Tourette syndrome. Rosie suffers from uncontrollable outbursts—’
‘Shit stick in my arse!’ Rosie yelled out. She then curled her arms awkwardly towards her stomach and performed something that was a half cough and half sneeze.
‘It’s uh …’ Jack began, ‘really un— unfortunate. Tragic, actually.’
Taken aback, the official shook his head. ‘Is there something we should—’
‘Arse tits bastard face! Shit! Shit!’ Rosie continued, contorting her face at the same time.
Jack thrust a hand into his pocket and pinched the skin at the top of his thigh. ‘Sorry. This tends to happen when she gets tired.’
‘I’m so embarrassed,’ Rosie said sweetly, placing a hand over her mouth. ‘It’s a horrible condition to live with.’
‘It’s OK, ma’am, I underst—’
‘Thank you … Arse biiitch bitch!’
Jack bit down on the inside of his cheek and frowned morosely. ‘It’s really unfair, is what it is.’
The official appeared to wince and then turned to Jack. ‘You … uh … enjoy your time in the park,’ he managed. He then nodded quickly in Rosie’s direction, without quite meeting her eyes, and turned away.
‘Thank you. I’m sure we will,’ Jack replied, holding out a hand behind his back to warn Rosie from pushing her luck any further. ‘Have a good day.’
Twelve
After four hours of driving and almost an hour spent phoning travel agents, they finally managed to secure accommodation at a private bush camp on the banks of the Luvuvhu River. To get around the issue of keeping Pilot’s presence in the Park a secret, Jack offered up his credit card and booked out all eight bungalows in the camp.
Seven of which, they discovered upon arrival, were located firmly and sensibly on the ground. The eighth unit, however, was a luxury tree house perched proudly in the branches of an old baobab. With Rosie and Elizabeth more than content to keep Albert company on terra firma, Jack and Sam had claimed the tree house for themselves, enchanted by its storybook appearance. Made almost entirely of wood, it fanned out around the tree like a large timber lily pad. It included a kitchen, two bedrooms – each with a four-poster bed swathed in silk – and a lounge that extended out onto an open deck suspended almost thirty feet in the air.
‘You know a place is pretty special when it surpasses anything your imagination could’ve conjured up,’ Sam said, sitting down on one of the deck’s plush armchairs.
‘You know what gets me?’
‘What’s that?’
‘That somebody thought to build a row of perfectly nice bungalows on the ground and then, at some point, stared up at this majestic tree and decided to take a chance on something different. Something that would take twice the time to build at probably double the cost.’
Sam took a sip of his drink and looked out over the river that flowed soft and gentle in the fading afternoon light. ‘Where would the world be without at least a little imagination?’
Jack nodded and allowed his gaze to settle on a distant speck as it wheeled and arced above the riverine trees.
‘What is that? Can you make it out?’
Jack reached for the binoculars on the table beside him. Twisting the dial on the lens, he squinted as the blurred image sharpened into feathers and wings. ‘That’s really something,’ he said in a low voice. ‘Just look at that.’
‘What is it?’
The bird swooped down and landed on a bare branch that hung like a skeleton’s arm over the river. ‘Here. Take a look. Quick, before it flies off.’
Sam snatched up the binoculars and hoisted them to his face. In a matter of hours they had already seen four of the Big Five, and spotting a major bird of prey now would really add icing to their cake. After a few moments, he sighed. ‘You’re not as funny as you think. You know that?’
‘What?’ Jack said, shrugging. ‘You got something against pigeons?’
After dinner, they positioned themselves around the large firepit and settled in for the night. Pilot was lying sound asleep at Albert’s feet.
‘And to think this time yesterday he was chained to a wall,’ Elizabeth said, bending down to stroke the old Labrador. The fire cast a rich amber glow over his coat.
‘To be honest, I never thought I’d see him again.’
‘That would’ve been a great shame, Albert,’ Sam offered.
Albert adjusted his glasses and made a point of looking at each of them. ‘I want to thank you all for bringing me along on this trip. I don’t know what made you think to include me, b— but,’ he said, his voice wavering, ‘I really appreciate it.’
‘It’s our great pleasure,’ Jack replied. ‘We’re all so pleased that you agreed to come.’
‘To be abducted,’ Rosie said, raising a finger in objection.
‘Let’s just hope we find that bird of yours,’ Sam said.
‘That would be … well … that would be quite something,’ Albert nodded, wiping his brow with the hem of his shirt. ‘But if we don’t have any luck, then so be it. At least we’re out here and the possibility exists. That’s glorious in itself.’
‘If we don’t find it, it won’t be for lack of trying. I promise you that,’ Jack replied. ‘Have you thought of mapping out the best places to search?’
Albert hesitated. He seemed almost embarrassed to answer. ‘I did that the day you invited me on the trip.’
As Rosie imagined Albert poring over detailed maps, unable to contain his excitement, her eyes began to sting. ‘Shit.’
‘You OK, Rosie?’ Elizabeth asked.
‘I’m fine. It’s the smoke. You know?’
‘I know,’ she said, smiling. ‘Gets in your throat as well sometimes.’
Above them, stars in a moonless night shone like torches. Around them, insects sang their forever song. And between them, flames pitched and swayed in a faint breeze.
‘This living thing isn’t half bad,’ Sam said, closing his eyes.
Thirteen
The following morning Albert was already dressed and waiting in his wheelchair when Jack and Sam made their way down from the tree house. Stepping off the last stair, Jack looked down at his watch. It was just shy of 05:30.
‘Morning, Albert. How’d you sleep?’
‘Quite restless, actually. Kept checking to see if it was morning yet. But I did manage some sleep. How about you?’
‘Well, I blinked a lot. That’s got to count for something.’
‘You couldn’t sleep?’
‘Sam isn’t exactly a quiet sleeper. It’s like sharing a bungalow with thunder.’
‘The important thing,’ Sam interjected, ‘is that I slept like a king.’
‘You look like you’re ready to go. How long’ve you been waiting?’ Jack asked.
‘Not long. Maybe an hour. I don’t know.’
‘You’ve been here since four thirty?’
‘Uh … I guess so.’
‘How was the sunrise?’
‘Difficult to put into words, actually.’
‘I hear you. Any sign of the ladies?’
‘Elizabeth popped her head out a few minutes ago. Said they would be ready soon.’
‘Oh really?’ Jack said, offering Albert the sort of patronising smile normally reserved for the smug of heart. ‘And you believed her?’
An hour and a half later they were finally on the road. Within forty minutes of setting off, they had already seen elephant, giraffe, wildebeest, lion, leopard, antelope, crocodile and an entire family of hippos. They had also narrowly missed driving over a tortoise and had glimpsed a large brown snake cutting purposively through the veld. The birdlife had been phenomenal. There had been eagles, vultures, storks, ground hornbills, weavers, sparrows, falcons and more deep-blue starlings than they could count. All of which had sent Albert into a sort of delirium.
But, so far, no kori bustard.
‘So just how big are these birds anyway?’ Rosie asked.
‘The males can grow to about four feet and have a wingspan of around two and half metres. The remarkable thing is that they can weigh upwards of twenty kilograms. There are even claims of some birds weighing close to double that, but most experts are dubious. To put it into perspective, a male African fish eagle can weigh as little as two kilograms. Certain hummingbirds weigh about as much as an old penny.’
‘Can you remember why this bird is so special to you?’ Elizabeth continued, recalling their initial conversation.
Albert didn’t reply immediately. He seemed to take a few moments to slip his mind into the right gear. ‘It’s because of my father. When I was a boy he told me that a kori bustard saved his life.’
‘Saved his life?’ Sam repeated.
‘That’s what he told me. As a young soldier he was part of an army convoy that got stuck in the desert in northeast Africa. The story goes that he and another soldier volunteered to walk for help, but lost their way in a sandstorm. After a few days they were out of water. Some time after that, my father collapsed at the bottom of a sand dune. When he woke up, a kori bustard was standing a few feet away from him, watching him. As he moved towards the bird, it didn’t fly off, but instead began to walk away. With nothing else to do, he decided to go after it. I can’t remember exactly how long he followed it. I think that detail changed with every retelling of the story – but he claims that it eventually led him to a water source. When he crawled into the water, the bird watched him for a few moments and then took off. He’s adamant that it led him there to save his life.’
Rosie considered the story. ‘You don’t think that maybe your father was hallucinating?’
‘I don’t know. It’s possible,’ he replied, offering a faint smile. ‘But I hope not. It’s a good story.’
‘What happened to the other soldier?’
‘I’m sorry, Sam. I don’t remember. I think he might have succumbed to the desert.’
Albert then stared out the window, his eyes tracking across an endless field of mopane bush. Suddenly a look of confusion drifted across his face. ‘You know something? This place looks a lot like the Kruger Park. Don’t you think?’
Fourteen
A short while after dinner, Rosie and Elizabeth helped Albert to his bungalow before deciding to call it a night. The heat of the day, coupled with their early start, had taken its toll on everyone. It was barely 10 p.m. when Jack and Sam sat down for a drink on the deck of their tree house.
‘Good day, wasn’t it?’
Sam twisted the cap off his lemonade and puffed out his cheeks. ‘Better than good. Quite close to magical, I’d say.’
‘I can’t understand why I’ve stayed away all these years.’
‘I know. I was thinking the same thing this afternoon.’
‘I suppose that’s what routines do to people. They make you forget about places like this. What it feels like to be here.’
Sam nodded and gazed up at the moon. It hung like a searchlight above the trees.
‘Do you know what I resent most of my forty years as a lawyer?’ he said. ‘Not the cases I lost or the bastards I had to defend, but the time it cost me. The things it kept me from doing. I should never have a ridden a desk for as long as I did. Why did I waste all that time – on a career that means almost nothing to me now?’
Jack was about to respond, when Sam continued. ‘But if I were an advertising man, do you know how I would sell this place? I’d get a top photographer to shoot this deck … and that moon,’ he said, pointing a finger, ‘and at the bottom of the photograph I’d just run the camp’s name and the telephone number.’
‘Just that?’
‘Nothing else. You wouldn’t need any bullshit adjectives to sell this place. No copy at all. Just a single photo and some contact details. Anything else would just be noise. It’s like looking at a really beautiful woman. She doesn’t have to walk around with a brochure telling everyone how pretty she is. She is the brochure.’
Jack agreed, smiled to himself, and then took a sip of his beer. ‘So, listen, Sam, mind if I ask you a question?’
‘Course not. What is it?’
‘Probably nothing, I just noticed that you weren’t really yourself tonight. Pretty subdued. Even Rosie was struggling to get a rise out of you.’
Sam shrugged, as if to deny the charge, and pushed back in his chair.
‘Come on. What’s going on, old man?’
‘It’s not worth talking about.’
‘How about we talk about it anyway?’
Sam continued to stare up at the moon. He shrugged again. ‘It’s this place, I guess. It gets you thinking, you know?’
Jack nodded. ‘About anything in particular?’
‘Life. Things that’ve gone well. Things that haven’t.’
Jack had a good idea of what Sam was getting at, but decided not to go there. Instead, he bided his time, listening to the sounds of crickets and owls morphing together.
‘I’ve been thinking about Sarah mainly.’
Jack nodded, sipped again at his beer. ‘I thought that might be it.’
‘It’s been almost nine years. Nine goddamn years,’ he said, in a forced whisper.
‘She still won’t return your calls?’
‘Calls, letters … she won’t respond to anything.’
‘What abou
t your granddaughter?’
‘Never met Casey. Never even spoken to her. She’s growing up and it’s all slipping through my fingers. I have one photo of her, but it’s already a couple years out of date.’
Sam reached into his shirt pocket and withdrew the small photograph. It had been carefully laminated and placed in a hard plastic pouch.
Jack looked down at the photo and then held it up to the moonlight. Casey was dressed in a children’s costume – a shark suit – and was smiling from ear to ear. ‘She’s beautiful. Ever thought of just getting on a plane? Arriving in London unannounced?’
‘Tried that already. Two years ago. I found out where Sarah worked, but never made it past reception. They called up to her of course, but when she heard it was me who wanted to see her, she refused to come down.’
Jack shut his eyes.
‘I waited for about three hours. Kept hoping she’d change her mind and come downstairs, but she never did. Eventually security asked me to leave. And that was that.’
‘I’m sorry, Sam.’
‘Me too,’ he replied softly. ‘But don’t give me your sympathy, Jack. I don’t deserve it. Not a word of it.’
‘Look, I don’t know what happened between the two of you and it’s none of my business. But I’m sure that whatever it is, it can still be fixed. It’s just a question of—’
‘I hit her, Jack,’ Sam whispered. ‘I hit my own daughter.’
Jack turned to Sam as if he had misheard.
‘I was a selfish, piece-of-shit drunk who didn’t deserve to have someone as wonderful as Sarah in his life.’
‘Sam—’
‘She’d been wanting to move to England for a while already. Wanted to be with her new boyfriend. One night I’d been drinking pretty hard and we got into an argument over it. I kept telling her that the guy was no good for her and that it wouldn’t work out. She lost her temper and started shouting at me about my drinking. About how selfish I’d become. That I was holding her back from living her life. God help me, Jack, but before I knew what I was doing, I slapped her with the back of my hand.’
The Last Road Trip Page 5