Mists of The Serengeti

by Leylah Attar

  And then he was uncovering me, fingers hooked in my panties, dragging them over my legs. He slowed down then, sat back on his haunches, and touched me—a soft, single brush of his thumb over my clit. The moan that escaped me pierced the stillness around us.

  “I’m going to make you come, Rodel.” He said that part in my ear, partially covering my body with his because I was shivering. “I want to know what you sound like when you orgasm.”

  I hadn’t expected Jack to be dominating, mostly because I had seen the other side of him—broken, nurturing, vulnerable. But Jack in bed was a different man. He had the Art of Manliness down to a precise skill. And it thrilled me, excited me.

  “On your side.” He flipped me over and pulled the blankets over us, spooning me from behind. His rock-hard erection twitched against me as his fingers circled my clit. His other hand roamed over my breast, kneading the soft flesh with tantalizing possessiveness. My body squirmed against his, our contours nestling into each other, as hot, swift currents of desire stirred up inside me.

  “Jack . . .” I half-turned to face him.

  He knew what I wanted before I said it. He crushed my mouth hungrily, his tongue seeking mine, demanding it. My lips parted on a ragged sigh as he buried his face in the hollow of my neck, intensifying the rhythm of his fingers. Pleasure radiated outward, like jolts of liquid fire. I clutched the tendons in the back of Jack’s neck. He was a biter, grazing my neck with just enough force to command all of my attention, and then letting go, like a lion playing with his prey. I slid my fingers through the thick tufts of his hair, pulling him back, and then we were kissing again, leaving soul sonnets deep inside each other’s mouths. That was when he sent me over the edge, sliding his thigh between my legs, shifting his lean, hard frame over me. It was a simple act, but I shattered into a million glowing stars.

  The contrast of rough against smooth, the anticipation of penetration, of being taken by Jack, the way our bodies were already locked in a hungry, primordial rhythm, his fingertips coaxing my pleasure points, his lips devouring mine. It was a sensual onslaught that rocked the very core of me. My breath came in long, shuddering moans that unleashed something hot and raw in him.

  “I can’t hold back, Rodel.” He rubbed the tip of his shaft against me. “Tell me you want this.”

  I knew what he was asking. He wanted to be sure I could handle it. This night, maybe a few more before I left. Nothing less, nothing more.

  “I want you, Jack.” My body rose instinctively to meet his. The thick, hard length of him on my thigh was both electrifying and intimidating. “But you should know . . . I . . . I haven’t done this before. You’re my first.”

  He stilled and sucked in a long, ragged breath. “This . . .” He took in another soul-deep breath. “You haven’t—”

  “It’s okay,” I whispered. “Look at me. Look at me, Jack. I want you to be my first.”

  And my last. And all the times in between. But I can’t have that. So I’ll take this. What we have right here. Right now.

  But Jack wasn’t listening. “I’m too far gone, Rodel,” he growled, taking my hand and guiding it to him. His head fell back as my fingers closed around him, and he let out a soft gasp.

  Against the flickering light of the fire outside, he was the glowing image of passion and raging desire. It was only when he started thrusting into my hand, his rhythm urgent and frenzied that I realized what he meant. He was too far gone to deny his release, but he was still in control of how it happened. I felt a stab of sadness, but it didn’t stand a chance against the heady eroticism of the man before me, the way he was watching me, making love to every curve, every inch of my body with his eyes, as my fist moved up and down his throbbing shaft.

  “Fuck, Rodel.” His voice had a raw, brittle edge, like he was about to snap. His lips clamped down on mine as his body convulsed with sharp waves of pleasure.

  He leaned his forehead against mine, catching his breath. When he rolled on his back, taking me with him, I thought how incredibly warm his arms were, how perfectly they wrapped around me.

  “Rodel? Why are you crying?”

  “Because.” I snuggled deeper into him. “It feels good.”

  “This feels good . . .” He squeezed me tighter. “Or the crying?”

  “Both.” I sniffed.

  He propped himself up on his elbow and looked at me. “These tears—” his thumb swiped my cheek “—they have nothing to do with you thinking that I rejected you, do they?” A shadow passed across his face when I didn’t answer. “God, Rodel.” He swore. “Your first time. The possibility didn’t even register on my radar. Just the fact that you’ve waited this long—that has to mean something. It has to be special. Not in a tent, on a flimsy air mattress, in the middle of nowhere. And not with me, not with a man who can’t offer you all the things that should go with it. I did the only responsible thing I could, and let me tell you, it still feels like hell.”

  “Good. Because I don’t want responsible, Jack. I’ve done responsible things my whole responsible life. I want reckless. I want mindless, ruthless, heedless. I want to be swept up in madness. I want your passion. I want your pain. I want you to tell me that you can’t bear the thought of me leaving, that it feels like you can’t breathe, that you want me, that you’ll miss me.”

  His gaze traveled over my face for a long, still beat before falling on my neck. “I can’t bear the thought of you leaving,” he said to the mark his teeth had left there. “I stop breathing every time I think about it.” He found another one, closer to my collarbone, and pressed his lips to it. “I want you in ways you can’t even begin to imagine.” His voice was muffled, vibrating against my flesh with deep, soft resonance. “Will I miss you?” He lifted his head and looked at me. “Like a dream that starves and curls up beneath my bones.”

  I thought his touch was the only cure for my crazy, heated senses, but I found myself being pulled beyond the circle of his arms, to a place where souls go to kiss—lipless and formless and free. I knew that whenever I thought of love, it would have a face, a name, a voice. And I would hear its heart beating from inside a tent in the wilds of Africa.

  I WOKE UP with my nose lodged in the dip between Jack’s collarbones. Steel arms were wrapped around me, one crooked under my neck, the other around my waist. I shifted, and he loosened his hold the tiniest bit. That was when I realized Jack was awake and probably had been for a while. We untangled ourselves slowly, with little prickles of awareness—me lifting my hair so he could slide his arm out, him untwisting his legs from around mine.

  Every time his gaze met mine over breakfast, my heart turned over. I couldn’t help but think of where his hands had been, what his eyes had seen. As we got ready to leave for Magesa, I caught him watching me, as if he were taking little snapshots and storing them away.

  “You think we need that?” I asked, when he got the rifle out of the car.

  “I hope not, but I’m not leaving it behind.” He slid it into a discreet carry bag and rolled the sleeping pad around it.

  It was amazing how many things Jack managed to fit into his backpack. He folded the tent fabric inside, squeezed in the rest of the supplies, and secured the poles outside.

  When everything was packed and loaded, he tightened the straps and locked the car. “It will take us a couple of hours to get to Magesa. You good to go?”

  I nodded and then looked away. His eyes were so impossibly blue, it was like he had the whole sky inside of him.

  We hiked through a small patch of forest with trees so dense they blocked out the sky. Vines wrapped their tendrils around gray, scaly bark and moss grew like a carpet under our feet. I had to squint when we emerged from the dark canopy, even though a blanket of cotton wool clouds obscured the sun. The dirt track we were on veered and merged with a wider road up ahead.

  “One more check,” said Jack, turning his phone on. He searched for a signal and shook his head. “We’re still out of range.”

  I adjusted my ba
ckpack as we marched on. It wasn’t as heavy as Jack’s, but the load was starting to take its toll.

  “Do you hear that?” Jack shielded his eyes and peered behind me. “There’s a car coming. We might be able to hitch a ride.”

  I turned and followed his gaze. A white van was rattling down the road, music blaring.

  “Is that a dala dala?” I asked.

  “No. Looks like a private vehicle.” Jack stood in the middle of the road, flagging it down.

  It was hard to see anyone through the dirty windshield, but there was yellow text emblazoned on the side—something about repairing air conditioners. The van slowed as it approached, but just as Jack lowered his hands, the driver suddenly hit the accelerator. The wheels spun as he came at Jack, head on, at full speed.

  It was a blatant, deliberate disregard for his life, almost like he was road-kill trophy to the lunatics in the car who were cheering to run him over. I caught a glimpse of them—grinning and banging the sides of the car, windows down, as they hurtled toward him.

  “Jack!” I gasped as they zoomed past me in a flash of dust and hot metal.

  He dived to the side of the road, dodging the front bumper by a hair’s breadth. The van careened down the road, and I heard the loud, raucous sound of laughter.

  Keh keh keh keh.

  The driver gave a blaring victory honk, celebrating his dangerous, infantile prank.

  “Fuckers!” Jack got up and dusted himself off.

  “Are you all right?” My stomach was in knots. “Who runs a person off the road for fun?” I stared after the van as it disappeared around the bend, the beat of heavy bass fading with it.

  Jack rubbed his shoulder, rolling it forward and then back. His eyes had a burning, faraway look. “I hope we never see them again.” His gaze refocused on me. “The sooner we get to Magesa, the better. Come on.”

  My fingers threaded through the warmth of his outreached hand. They were shaky and stiff.

  “Frightened for me, Rodel?” Jack raised my hand to his lips.

  “No.” I swallowed. His hot lips on my skin were breaking down my brain-to-mouth connection. “Just wishing we’d packed the oh-shit handle.”

  “Here.” He laughed, hooking my finger through one of the belt loops on his jeans. “Hold tight and don’t let go.”

  He might have meant it as a joke, but I took him up on it. We must have walked another mile like that when a rusty pickup truck came into view.

  “Don’t even think about it,” I said, as it approached.

  “Chicken,” he muttered, under his breath.

  “Really?” I stopped, hands on my hips. “You would chance it? After what just happened?”

  “Really.” He grinned. “Chicken.”

  The truck bounced by, wheat colored chickens squawking at us from its cargo hold. We stood by the side of the road, staring after it in a cloud of exhaust fumes.

  “Come on.” He nudged my elbow. “You know you want to laugh.”

  I kissed him then, suddenly and without warning, standing on my tiptoes to reach him.

  “What was that for?” His mouth quirked higher.

  I wanted to know what your lips taste like after a smile. I shook my head and grinned like I was holding a big secret.

  Everything seemed sharper and clearer after that, even though the day was gray and painted in a dull, desolate light.

  Magesa was little more than a collection of crumbling mud homes in the shadow of a tall, rocky hill. It was a hot, sweltering dust bowl—dry brush, a dried up well, and dry, bony people. It seemed like a place that rain clouds skipped over, probably because the hill soaked up most of the precipitation.

  “Give me sweet. Give me sweet. I am school child. Give me sweet.” A doe-eyed boy came running up and tugged on my top.

  “A school child, huh? Why aren’t you in school then?”

  He looked at me blankly and held out his hand. He had no idea what I had said, but he’d had memorized all the English he needed.

  I laughed, and he smiled shyly, before turning to Jack and repeating the same four lines.

  “Give me sweet. Give me sweet. I am school child. Give me sweet.”

  Jack said something to him in Swahili. The boy ran off and returned with a woman who I assumed was his mother. They talked to Jack for a few minutes. Furaha’s name was mentioned. The woman shook her head. Jack asked a few more questions and got the same response.

  “Thank you.” He handed her some things from his backpack. Then he pulled out some granola bars and gave them to the boy.

  “Asante sana!” they said.

  “So . . .” Jack turned to me after they left. “You want the good news or the bad?”

  “How bad is it?”

  We were standing next to an empty oil drum behind a tin-roofed hut. Small, green bugs hovered at the bottom, atop what remained of the rainwater it had collected. It was thick now, with dust and debris.

  “Furaha isn’t here. But—” Jack held up his hand as my shoulders sagged “—the good news is that she moved with her family a few weeks ago. Her father inherited some property. The lady said he’s a rich man now.”

  I stared at him for a few seconds. “So that’s it? They’re gone?” I looked up and down the row of sagging huts. “I mean, good for them. Really. But this is just so frustrating! Three kids, three strikes. What are the chances? I didn’t even get to one of Mo’s kids. Not one! And now we’re stuck here—no car and no phone service. Tell me they have a mechanic, Jack. Someone who can fix the car?”

  “No mechanic, but there’s a bus that comes around. We can take it to go get the spare parts.”

  “Okay. That’s good.” I wasn’t just dealing with the crushing disappointment of having let my sister down, I also felt terrible for dragging Jack away from the farm. It had amounted to nothing but a wild goose chase. “How long before it gets here?”

  “Three days.”

  “Three days?”

  “It comes by once a week.”

  “There’s got to be another way. Do they have a landline? A phone box? Some kind of roadside assistance?” I flung my hands out in despair.

  “Rodel.” His long, tapered fingers slid down my arm and tightened around my wrist. He didn’t have to say anything. He was doing it again—bringing me back to the moment. He had an artless way of communicating with his eyes. He could blur everything in the periphery, so all that remained was his calm, commanding presence.

  “You do that to the calves when they get skittish.”

  “Do what?”

  “What you’re doing now.”

  “Does it feel good?” His thumb slid back and forth over the pulse in my wrist.

  “Like I’m being hypnotized.”

  “Good. Now come here.” He pulled me into his arms.

  My eyelashes fluttered shut as I rested my cheek against his chest.

  “Unbelievable,” I mumbled. From all wound up to Zen mode in under ten seconds.

  “Are you talking to your sister again?” asked Jack.

  “I don’t hear her anymore. She’s stopped talking to me.” My throat ached as I said it. “I think I’ve let her down.”

  “Or maybe she’s said everything she needed to say.”

  “She never said goodbye.” The swell of pain was beyond tears. “I wish I’d picked up her call.” I had failed Mo. And I had failed at getting whatever closure I thought I would find in Tanzania. And I had royally buggered up my heart in the process.

  “Hey,” Jack whispered into my hair. “Come back to me.”

  We stood there for a few moments, locked in each other’s arms. A black bird watched us from the thin grass, hopped closer, and then vanished in a dry scatter.

  “Jack, I—”

  We both froze as his phone rang.

  “It’s working. Holy hell, we have a signal! Hello?” he answered. The person on the other end started talking. And continued talking. And talking.

  “Bahat—” Jack intervened, but was cut off. “S
top. Bahati. Listen. Listen!” It came out like a lion’s roar.

  Pin drop silence from the other end. Even the brown leaves around us seemed to stop rustling.

  And then, I heard a tinny voice through the phone.

  “I’m not shouting at you, Bahati. You have no idea how glad I am that you called.” Jack paced back and forth as a stream of words came through.

  “There’s a spare key in my desk. Top drawer, right-hand side. But that’s not—” Jack shook his head as Bahati rattled on. “Just tell Goma to wait until I get home. There’s someth—” Jack threw his hands up and went silent.

  “Are you done?” he asked, when the chatter at the other end stopped. “Yes? Now I talk, you listen. Deal?” He must have got an affirmative because he continued. “Ro and I are stranded in Magesa. The car broke down. No. It’s just us. No kids. I’ll explain when you get here. Yes. I want you to come get us. I know . . .” He held the phone away from his ear as Bahati squeaked at the other end. “I know you don’t. But you won’t be making any stops in Maasai land. You’ll be driving straight through. Who cares about Lonyoki’s vision? You don’t believe in those superstitions, do you? Okay, so now’s your chance to prove it. Prove his prophecy wrong.”

  There was more protesting before Jack spoke again. “Look, I’ll make it worth your while. I don’t know. New seats for Suzi? It doesn’t matter. Black leather, red leather, pink fucking zebra. Whatever you want. Yes. Yes! And one more thing. How’s Scholastica?” Jack paused and nodded. “Good. That’s great. Bring her too. We’re close to Wanza. We’ll take her to the orphanage, get her settled in, and sort out my car on the way back. If you leave now, you can make it here by morning. Rodel and I will set up camp tonight. No, not Magesa.” Jack scanned the village. There was a latrine pit at one end, and when the wind blew the door open, a foul stench filled the hot, humid air. “Meet us on the other side of the hill. You’ll see it when you get here. We’ll wait for you there. Right.” He hung up and exhaled.

  “Bahati’s coming?”

  “He is.” Jack shook his head like he couldn’t quite believe it. “And Scholastica’s feeling better, so he’s bringing her too. We just ha—” His phone rang again.