Mists of The Serengeti

by Leylah Attar

  “I meant this.” He knelt before me, pried the bag from my fingers, and waved the lotion at me. “Lie down,” he whispered in my ear. “On your stomach.”

  My skin tingled as he unwrapped the towel from around me and started kneading my sore muscles in slow, steady circles—my feet, my calves, the backs of my knees.

  “Mmm.” I snuggled deeper into the pillow. I was more exhausted than I’d thought. I hadn’t slept in ages, but I fought the urge to close my eyes. “Did the police pick up K.K.?”

  “No. The van was gone by the time they got there. They think the two men who came after you on the train found him and let him out.”

  An uneasy feeling unraveled in the pit of my stomach. The idea of K.K. running loose was unsettling. “How’s Bahati?” I asked. “Is he going to be all right?”

  “He’s fine. Nothing broken.” Jack moved from my legs to my back. I was melting under his firm, sensuous strokes. “Some of the newspaper journalists got a whiff of the story and wanted an interview. He’s in the meeting room with them. Lights, cameras, the works.”

  “That’s great.” I chuckled. “And Gabriel? Any leads on him?”

  “I tracked down the builder who’s working on his home.” Jack warmed more lotion in his hands before rubbing it over my shoulders. “The construction has stopped because Gabriel hasn’t paid him for the next phase. I told him to contact me as soon as he hears from him. Gabriel has put a lot of money into this property. He’s not just going to abandon it.”

  I lost my train of thought because Jack was stroking the sides of my neck, up and down. I was like a pendulum swinging between two states—from relaxation to arousal, and back again. As his fingers worked the knots under my skin, my eyes slid shut.

  “Jack,” I mumbled, “If you don’t stop now, I’m going to fall asleep.”

  “Then do it. Just let yourself drift off. You haven’t slept in ages.”

  “But time . . . I want to make the most of it.” I flipped over and gazed at him.

  Something clouded his expression before he blinked it away. “I don’t want to think about that. Not right now. Right now, I just want to enjoy this. This feeling. Your skin. Your hair on the pillow. Your sleepy brown eyes.”

  I put my arms around his neck because I couldn’t stand the distance. “Will you do something for me?”

  “Anything.” His breath was warm against my face. I couldn’t help but taste his lips.

  “Will you let me comb your hair?”

  He laughed, but stopped when he caught my expression. “You’re serious?”

  “Sit.” I patted the edge of the bed and scooted around to kneel behind him. I picked up the comb and ran it through his wet, shoulder length hair in soft, leisurely strokes. He sat stiff and upright, unaccustomed to being looked after. He might have let his barber have a go, but that was different, and I doubted he’d had his hair cut since Lily died.

  After a while, his shoulders relaxed. I continued brushing his thick, tawny strands, root to tip, gently untangling his hair in soothing, downward strokes. His head tilted back, and I smiled because his eyes were shut. Every time the teeth raked over a certain spot in the back of his head, he purred and leaned into it.

  “That feels so good.”

  The room turned mellow as the last rays of the sun filtered through the curtains. Warm light hit the side of Jack’s face, softening the harsh planes and angles, picking up pale highlights in his beard. He gave himself up to me, up to the tenderness of the act, the soft intimacy of it.

  When I was done, he drew the sheets over us and clasped my body tightly to his. We fell asleep, naked and tangled, with no need for words or kisses, too exhausted to think of the goodbye looming over our heads.

  I STIRRED AFTER dawn, when the early morning buses turned into a parade of screeching halts outside the hotel. Jack was lying on his side, one hand under his pillow, watching me through lazy, hooded eyes.

  “Morning.” I smiled. His hair looked different, probably because he’d fallen asleep with it all combed out and a little wet. It had flopped over to one side, making him look like a model for a shampoo ad. Thick, lustrous, all-day volume. My smile grew wider. “You’ve been watching me sleep?”

  “I’ve been stargazing.” He traced the curve of my nose with his finger.

  It was rather beautiful, the way he felt like all the places I wanted to go. His arms fit perfectly around me, as though they’d been molded by a sculptor, just for me.

  “What is it?” he asked, hooking his leg around mine, as I contemplated him.

  “When I look at your face . . . this face . . .” I stroked my thumb over the light reflecting off his cheekbone. “I feel like this is exactly where I’m supposed to be.”

  We started slow—a little drunk, a little dizzy—taking sips of honeyed bliss from dawn-colored lips. The world rolled below us—bicycle bells and newspaper boys, unaware that we were slowly setting the room on fire.

  Jack stole the breath from my lungs. He dragged his lips across my hips, tasted my curves, taught me the pitch of pleasure until I was room-spinningly intoxicated with him. And in the heat of electric sighs, when our bodies turned molten and our bones dissolved, it felt like we were made from the same cluster of colliding stars. We clung to each other and sank into the sweet slumber of lovers, drifting in and out of dreams.

  When Bahati called to see if we were ready to leave, we got distracted again, until he started banging on our door. The maid scurried in when we finally opened the door. It was way past checkout time.

  “Coke for you. Coffee for you.” Bahati straightened and handed us the drinks. “I figured you didn’t bother with breakfast this morning. Not much sleep either, huh?” He scanned our faces and grinned. “It’s a long way back, but I’d prefer to drive the whole way myself,” he said to Jack. “I don’t want you falling asleep at the wheel. I’m going to have my photo printed in tomorrow’s paper. Things are finally looking up for me. I don’t want to die because you and Ro went at it like bonobos in the night. I mean, it’s great and all, but I just got Suzi fixed up as best as I could. A little more work when we get back and then all I have to do is put in the new leather seats you promised. Do you want to see the samples? They had crocodile skin too. Can you believe it? It’s a bit nubby. So I told them to . . .”

  It was a long way back, but I drifted off in the back seat as Bahati chattered on. Parts of me I never knew I had were sore, but sublimely so. Every now and then, Jack glanced at me from the passenger seat. We had a secret language going, whole stanzas hidden in our eyes.

  As we drove past Magesa, evening started to settle around us. Jack guided Bahati to the spot where our car had broken down. It was still there, lonely and dusty. We had picked up the spare parts in Wanza, and the ground was finally dry, but it took a while to patch it up. By the time we got back on the trail, the moon was high and Bahati’s headlights bounced behind us, all the way back to Kaburi Estate.

  “You think they’re up?” I asked Jack when we passed through the stone pillars at the gate. Goma had demanded an estimated time of arrival.

  “I hope not. It’s almost dawn.” His eyes wandered over the rows of coffee plants, assessing them out of habit. The tops were starting to turn a silvery pink as morning stirred beyond the majestic peaks of Kilimanjaro.

  Bahati parked next to us, and we got out, lugging our backpacks behind us.

  Jack fiddled with the keys before shaking his head. “Goma left the door open again.”

  Bahati chuckled as I stepped inside. It felt good to drop my bags and soak up the warmth of the place. It made me realize how much the farm had grown on me, and how much I’d missed it.

  “I think I’ll—” I froze as I looked around the living room.

  Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.

  Family portraits lay smashed on the floor, glass strewn like glittering confetti; lamps were toppled over, cushions strewn, curtains hanging askew.

  “Jack, someone’s been here .
. .” I trailed off when I saw him picking up a blood-soaked bandana.

  He straightened, holding it up, his face twisted in dark, dazzling fury. “K.K.” He crushed the bandana in his fist and whirled around, racing through the house. “Goma! Scholastica!”

  There were bloody palm prints by the door, blood on the floor, blood on the banister, on the stairs. Everywhere.

  A primitive alarm began ringing in my head. K.K. had scanned Jack’s driver’s license. He knew his name. He knew where he lived. He had come for Jack but had found Goma and Scholastica instead.

  Oh God. Scholastica. I shuddered, imagining the moment he’d seen her. He made his living off kids like her. What better way to get back at Jack than steal her from right under his roof? And finish his grandmother off too.

  My bones turned brittle. Anxiety filled my veins as we searched the house.

  Jack slammed through the kitchen and stopped short. I froze behind him, unable to go any farther, afraid of what I’d see. Bahati hovered behind me as the silence stretched out.

  “What the fuck?” Jack swore and stepped forward, his frame no longer blocking my view.

  Goma stood there, seemingly unhurt and unaffected, stirring a pan of milk over the stove. Scholastica was seated at the table. They were wearing matching muumuus. It was like we had just walked into a slumber party.

  “About time you got here,” said Goma, pouring the hot, frothy liquid into a cup and handing it to Scholastica. “Want some?” She waved the pan our way.

  We shook our heads and watched as she drained the rest herself and slammed her empty mug on the counter. “Ah, much better.”

  “Are you going to tell us what the hell is going on?” asked Jack. “The place looks like it’s been ransacked, and there’s blood everywhere.”

  I sank into one of the chairs, my knees still weak with fright. Jack took the seat across from me. Bahati turned on the tap and gulped down three glasses of water.

  “That bastard K.K. barged in here, looking for you. Him and his buddies. Mangy as stray dogs. The look in their eyes when they saw Scholastica. Like they’d hit the jackpot. They wanted to take me too. Figured the old crone might be worth a shilling or two to you.

  “We put up a fight, but it was pretty useless. I stopped K.K. as they were herding us out the door, and said, ‘Hey. I know you. I ran into you at the police station.’ He peered at me. And then his face lit up. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘You’re the old woman with the crazy rainbow sunglasses. I remember what you said: Over my dead body.’ That tickled him. He laughed like a maniac. He wanted the glasses, so he marched me up to my bedroom.

  “I opened my wardrobe and grabbed my rifle. I don’t think I’ll ever forget the look on his face when I turned around, and BOOM. The fucker was on the floor, clutching his leg. I was loading the gun again, when his men came up, dragging Scholastica behind them. They looked at me, looked at him—bleeding on the ground by my feet, and took off. I stopped them in their tracks. I don’t want garbage lying around in my home, so I made them carry K.K. out. I couldn’t tell if he was dead or alive. I hope he’s burning in hell as we speak.” She took a big gulp of milk and shook her head. “Think they can mess with my grandson, come into my home, and steal this little girl from under my watch? The fuckers.” She wiped her milk mustache off with the back of her hand and sat down next to Scholastica.

  No one said a word. We sat around the table, a little shocked and dazed, as the minutes ticked by.

  Then Scholastica finished her milk and slammed her cup down with a thump. Mo’s frames slid farther down her nose.

  “The fuckers,” she said, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, just like Goma had done.

  They were the first English words I’d heard her speak. She didn’t have a clue what they meant, but she mimicked them earnestly, her face beaming with pride.

  Jack got up, opened the refrigerator, and stuck his head behind the door.

  Bahati cloaked his laughter in a coughing fit.

  I bit down on my lip and stared at my knuckles.

  “That’s right.” Goma patted Scholastica’s hand solemnly. “Always tell it like it is.”

  I RELAXED INTO the crook of Jack’s arm and rested my head on his shoulder. He found my hand under the blanket and laced our fingers together. We sat on the porch under a purple sky, on the kiwi green swing that had become our favorite spot. Moon-splashed fields stretched out before us. Behind us, Kilimanjaro watched silently, brooches of opalescent snow shimmering from its lofty peaks. Night bugs hummed, leaves rustled, a dragonfly whirred and fluttered away.

  I had always thought of home as a place, where you put down your roots, unpack your collection of mugs with snarky quotes, put up all the bookshelves you want, and watch the rain splash down your windows on wet, gray afternoons. But I was realizing that home was a feeling—of being, of belonging—a feeling that swirled through my veins every time I was with Jack.

  “Why so quiet?” he asked.

  I shook my head and picked out a coffee plant to focus on. If I spoke, my voice would crack. If I looked at him, my eyes would betray me.

  Ask me to stay, Jack.

  As stupid and impractical as it sounded, I was ready to give it all up for him. My job. My cottage. My life in England. Because that’s what love did. It turned you stupid and made you do things you never thought you’d do.

  “Three more days.” I kept my eyes on the coffee plant, willing him to make a statement. Give me something, Jack. Anything to grab on to.

  “We could make it work.” He had this uncanny ability to read me, to tune into the frequency of my thoughts. “People have long distance relationships all the time.”

  “Yes, but not forever.” My heart sank. It wasn’t what I’d been hoping for. I had always known this is how it would be. He’d told me right off the bat that he’d never ask me to stay, but it still twisted and burned inside me.

  “Rodel.” He put his hand under my chin, his blue eyes capturing mine. “I’m not ready to let you go.”

  “I don’t want you to, but I’d rather say goodbye now than next year, or the year after, when we’re both worn out by the distance. When phone calls and video chats and seeing each other once in a while just doesn’t cut it anymore. We’d be okay in the beginning. It would take the edge off, but I’m done with okay, Jack. Okay is existing. Okay is ordinary. And you . . .” I cupped his cheek in a wistful gesture. There was so much I wanted to say to him. “You and me . . . we’re too grand, too magnificent to fit into ordinary. I love you, Jack. It’s big love. Huge. I can’t stuff it in a letter or an email. I’m not okay with that. I’m not an okay girl. I’m an all or nothing girl.”

  A slew of emotions flashed across his rugged face. Pride. Joy. Sorrow. Heart-rending tenderness. He twirled a strand of my hair around his finger and gave me a poignant smile. “I always knew you’d be trouble.”

  “Me?” I wanted to sob, but I couldn’t allow myself to break down. “Your grandmother blew a man’s balls off today.”

  His laugh was rich and undiluted. It was the most marvelous, catching sound to me.

  “My grandmother was fingerprinted, photographed, and let off,” he said. “They found K.K.’s body in a ditch. She deserves an award for putting that monster to rest.”

  “I’m glad he’s gone. I think we can all get a good night’s sleep.”

  “They’re all down for the night—Goma, Scholastica, Bahati. You should pretend you’re sleeping too.”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “To get me to carry you up the stairs, like the last time.”

  “I knew it! I knew you knew.” I covered my face with my hands. “Was I that obvious?” I peeked at him through my fingers.

  “Completely.” He scooped me up and paused at the door so I could turn off the porch light. “You practically threw yourself at me. Drove me crazy the night the hyenas came, standing before the light in that muumuu so I could see your every curve. You made googly eyes at me over the clothesline.
Cornered me in the barn.” With each stair, he added to his list. “Kissed me senseless. Fell at my feet—”

  “I slipped! I nose-dived into the mud.”

  “Like I said. You fell at my feet, tossed off your top in the tent, flashed your boobs—”

  I smothered him with a kiss. Oh, I knew exactly how to shut him up. And then I proceeded to make him completely lose his train of thought.

  TIME. THE LESS you have of it, the more precious it becomes. I was stringing every moment I had with Jack like a pearl on a necklace. Goma caught me, propped up against the door, the steam from my coffee drifting into the morning air, as I watched Jack work in the fields. She knew we held hands under the table, that our eyes spoke words no one else could hear, that we disappeared for hours and came back with our faces flushed and bits of hay sticking out of our hair. She stripped my bed, washed the sheets, and put them away in the linen closet. There was no need to sneak back into my room in the mornings.

  Scholastica’s new glasses arrived, but she clung to Mo’s, until Goma caved and called Dr. Nasmo for another appointment—this time to get new lenses fitted into Mo’s frames.

  “I’m keeping her,” said Goma, after she got off the phone.

  “Keeping who?” Jack dried his hands and sat down to eat.

  It was lunchtime—too hot to be working outside. It meant a long break, and Jack knew exactly what he wanted to do with it. He gave me a devilish grin that set my pulse racing.

  “Scholastica. I’m keeping her.” Goma poured herself some water and challenged Jack over the rim of the glass.

  “Keeping her?” Jack put his fork down. “She’s not like Aristurtle, that you can build a box and keep her in there. She needs school, kids to play with, a stimulating environment. Rodel promised Anna she’d get Scholastica to Wanza.”

  “You really want to take her to Wanza? You saw the place for yourself. Her father doesn’t want her living there, either. He’s building a house in Wanza so she can go to school there but come home at night. So until he shows up, I’m keeping her. There’s no better place for her right now. She’s learning the alphabet, she runs around with horses and calves, gets plenty of exercise, good food, and a good night’s rest. I’ve already talked to Anna. She’s still trying to find a way to support herself and her kids, so until she’s more settled she has no objections to Scholastica living with us.”