by Isobel Chace
It was a simple plan that they finally evolved out of the suggestions and counter-suggestions that everyone put forward. They were going to net in a large patch of land round some trees and drive the lions into the area, closing up their retreat as they went. All that was necessary was to find enough men to act as beaters coming in behind the lions, and to have enough people, strategically placed, who could prevent any trouble.
We were pitiably few. Duncan Njugi, who would have loved to have stayed, had to leave with his driver, and so apart from the askaris and ourselves there was no one else.
Mr. Njugi gave orders for his driver to fill up their cold box in the back of the Landrover and asked me to go along with him to take a last look at the lake that ran alongside the edge of the compound.
“I thought you were assisting with the building of the Chui Lodge,” he said, pleasantly enough.
“I am,” I admitted. “I’m only here because Hugo wanted everyone he could get.”
Duncan Njugi grinned broadly. “Especially you?” he suggested, laughing.
“I don’t know,” I answered in some confusion.
“Then I will give you a word of warning! Beware Hugo Canning! He is a great heart-breaker! I have known him for many years, and I tell you!” He looked at me with unblinking eyes. “But it’s too late, isn’t it?”
“To warn me?” I said lightly. “Not at all. I’m well aware what Hugo Canning’s charm is worth!”
Mr. Njugi frowned. “Then I take back my warning. The best man has to fall some time. Perhaps Hugo will fall to you.”
Until then I had been rather awed of Duncan Njugi, the Minister, but now he seemed no more frightening than Katundi.
“If I were a Kikuyu, I would try kuheera,” I said rather sadly.
Duncan Njugi laughed delightedly. “He would have to be a married man for that! You had better stick to the customs of your own tribe!”
“Perhaps. I wouldn’t like to share him,” I smiled.
Mr. Njugi took out an immaculate handkerchief, patted his brow with it, and carefully re-folded it in its original folds, putting it carefully back into his pocket.
“The old customs had their value,” he said pontifically. “I sometimes think some of them could be adapted to present times very well. With adjustments, because we are now mostly a Christian people and have only one wife.” The pronounced twinkle in his black eyes embarrassed me.
“Mr. Njugi!” I said faintly. “If you mean what I think you mean, I’m shocked!”
“I think it is easier to hurt you than to shock you,” he divined. “Certainly where Hugo Canning is concerned.”
I wasn’t prepared to admit so much, remembering that Duncan Njugi was a total stranger to me and that I had already confided far too much.
“I—I can’t see any lions from here, can you?” I said.
He laughed. “No, I can’t.”
We walked back to the others, who were still earnestly discussing how best to capture the bulk of the Mzee’s pride. “And what have you two been plotting?” Hugo whispered in my ear.
“Why, nothing,” I hedged. “We were discussing—modern Africa.”
His eyes shone with laughter. “Ancient Africa in modern dress?” he suggested innocently. It was uncanny how he could read my mind with such accuracy.
I put a bland, demure expression on my face. “Something like that,” I said.
Hugo decided that we would have to have more men.
It was a question of balancing the dangers of delay against having a totally inadequate force with which to deal with the lions. Most of the wardens agreed that even if it gave the Mzee more time to get back to Aruba, it was a risk they would have to take.
I was rather pleased by the decision. It was pleasant sitting on the edge of the compound, watching the animals as they came to the lake to drink. As soon as the light began to fade, there were literally hundreds of different species mixed up into an orderly confusion by the lake. Some of the birds were particularly spectacular. Egyptian geese, the African spoonbill, sacred ibis, storks and pelicans, strode about the shallow water. Even the hunched marabout storks were there in their dozens, as evil-looking in silhouette against the setting sun as they were in full daylight.
The herd of buffalo came too, taking their turn in the endless queue of hartebeestes, impalas, a family of giraffes, some zebras, the inevitable warthogs, and the vast troops of baboons. The lions came later, when the day was only a glow on the horizon. The lionesses brought their young down to the water, cuffing them when they ventured too far away from her to play in the mud. The male lions came later still, walking proudly and rebuking any impudent intruder with a long, cool stare from their amber eyes. They might have been chased away from Aruba, but they were all back there now, waiting for the Mzee to join them.
When I had counted more than thirty-five, I gave up. They knew that the Mzee was walking back to them, that no matter how far away he had been taken he would not abandon them. They knew just as we knew. The Mzee was the power who ruled them all, whether he was with them or not.
Hugo surveyed them grimly. “He s not among them,” he said.
“Not yet,” I said.
He cast me a swift glance. “I don’t like it! he ought to be here by now.”
“Perhaps he is. Perhaps he’s not showing himself,” I suggested.
Hugo grunted, “I wouldn’t be surprised!”
The last of the light faded. Twilight is no more than a quarter of an hour in the tropics, but it is all the more beautiful because it is fleeting. When it is gone, the night seems very dark and the insects start their incessant chirping that merges in with the cries and shrieks of the night birds and those animals that hunt by night.
Katundi lit a log fire out in the open and we sat round it, talking, far into the night. Duncan Njugi had long since departed for Nairobi and so there was only Hugo, Mr. Patel, Katundi and myself, besides the askaris who had come from near and far to help with the lion drive.
They sang the songs of their tribes, shuffling their feet in the dust, and the latest hit songs from the radio, which we all knew well. We buried some potatoes and some cobs of corn in the embers of the fire and roasted great steaks of venison on the top. It made a delicious meal. The wood smoke gave a special flavour to the meat and got in our eyes and nostrils, and the conversation was good. We talked of the animals of Tsavo and how best to preserve them for the generations yet to come, and we talked of the peculiar ways of the cities and the men they bred; men who were without the old customs and who were rootless and afraid in the face of the new.
“Then you don’t think the cities offer greater security to a woman?” Hugo asked me, as we walked along the path to my boma.
“Not to me,” I said.
“Most white women are afraid of the open spaces,” he went on with a touch of bitterness.
“I was born and bred to them,” I said.
He smiled faintly in the darkness. “Harry deJong’s daughter?” The smile faded. “But what would you do without any shops for the greater part of the year? How would you manage without even a village duka?”
It was my turn to smile. “How do I manage now?” I said. Katundi brought me some early morning tea at six o’clock the next morning.
“The Bwana is already at breakfast, mama,” he greeted me urgently. “He wishes to look at your arm before he goes out to set up the nets.”
I eyed the day with, disfavour. “I’m coming,” I grunted.
When I was properly awake, I found it rather pleasant, lying in bed and drinking hot tea from a mug. The brick-built boma was comfortable without being opulent, and the view from the doorway was magnificent. I could see the whole of the artificial lake and most of the green bank of the dam. What I couldn’t see were any lions.
Not wanting, or daring, to keep Hugo waiting, I dragged myself out of bed and dressed as quickly as I could. Hugo was alone on the patio when I joined him. He looked up and smiled at me.
“How
is the arm?” he asked. “Any pain?”
I hesitated. “Not really,” I said at last. “It’s more stiff than painful.”
He unrolled the bandages and peered at the rapidly healing gash in my arm. “I think you’ll live,” he said.
“I hope so!” I protested.
I watched his strong, neat fingers as he re-bandaged my arm. His hands were large, even for a man’s but he was astonishingly dexterous with them.
“There!” he said when he had finished. “Clare, I’m going to put you behind the nets. You shouldn’t have to do anything there, but you’d better take one of the dart guns just in case. Will you be all right?”
I nodded. “Where will you be?”
“Right behind the lions, I hope,” he said.
I was too excited to eat much breakfast. I swallowed down some scalding coffee, but I couldn’t be bothered with anything more solid. I wanted to go with the men when they put out the nets and I was afraid they would leave me behind if I weren’t ready and waiting beside the Landcruiser.
It was a major operation. We fenced in about a quarter of an acre, with nets spread wide on either side, much like a fishing net when it is dragged behind a boat. The idea was that the lions would be beaten out of their lair and into the fenced area and the nets would be hurriedly shut, holding the lions captive. From there they could be enticed into cages and then taken away by lorry to their various destination. Most of the fencing had already been done by the time we got there. Hugo and Mr. Patel helped unload the heavy nets, spreading them out from tree to tree. And then, at last, we were ready.
I chose for myself the branches of a hospitable acacia tree that overlooked the whole length of the fences. There, I thought, I would be able to see everything that was going on in reasonable comfort. Hugo loaded the gun with anaesthetic darts and handed it up to me.
“Don’t use it unless someone gets into trouble,” he ordered me. “I want to try gentle persuasion first. Okay?”
“Okay,” I said.
The beaters had lined themselves up along the top of the dam, armed with drums and rattles and anything else that would make a noise. The din was terrific. Slowly they moved forward, foot by foot, constantly alert to the danger that the lions might turn on them in their anxiety to escape. Hugo and Abdul Patel, both armed with rifles, brought up the rear.
Nothing moved. I craned forward from my perch in the tree to see better, but there was nothing to see. A family of warthogs burst out from the undergrowth, squealing and grunting a warning of danger to the world.
The beaters advanced a few feet more and a single lioness broke cover and made a rush for open country. She ran straight into the fenced area, followed closely by her cubs. In a fury, she rushed the fences, but they held against her. Defeated, she turned, and turned again, throwing herself down on the ground. There she lay panting in the sun, her ears flicking with temper, while she considered the situation. She was followed by a male lion, and then another, and then four fully adult lions walked into the cage together.
One of the males came right up to the tree where I was hiding, staring out through the fence. He put his front paws on a termite heap just beneath me, and yawned. He had a spectacular set of teeth, for he was young and well in his prime. Then, without any warning, he roared his message of contempt for all men in a bellow that almost unseated me. The whole tree shivered as the sound echoed round and round the hollow of the lake.
The beaters faltered in their line. A lion snarled close to their feet, threatening vengeance, but even as I watched, it changed its mind and followed the others into the cage. Only a few cubs remained now and I relaxed, thinking the danger was over. But even a lion cub can savage a man. One of the askaris almost stepped on an adolescent lion hiding in a bush. In retrieving the situation, he lost his hat. The cub sniffed it disdainfully for a few seconds and then, slowly and deliberately, tore it into shreds.
The men were badly frightened by the incident, but Hugo and Mr. Patel moved in closer behind them and they pushed on the last few feet to the nets without incident. In a few seconds, the nets were closed, and the men cheered and slapped one another on the back, delighted with their efforts.
“Mzee has stayed away!” they called to one another, almost in ecstasy. The Masai amongst them began to chant their age-old victory song over the lion, a rhythm that rolled back and forth in triumphant sequences. I found myself humming the same chant under my breath, beating time with my fingers on the branch that held me.
Then I saw him.
I saw first his amber eyes as he padded over towards the tree. Lions do not normally climb trees, so I thought I was safe enough. I should have known better. The acacia tree, with its spreading, low branches, made an ideal stepping-stone over the fence and into the cage beyond.
The Mzee hiccoughed in his throat, the sound of a hunting lion. I froze where I sat, quite unable to move in any direction. Beneath me, the great lion gathered himself together and
sprang on to the branch beneath me. I clutched the gun with its anaesthetic dart closer to me, scraping the barrel against the bark of the tree.
The lion looked up and saw me. I was surprised to see that he had round pupils, like a human being’s, and not the long, slit pupils of the ordinary cat. I thought for a moment he was going to ignore me and go on into the cage. He glanced down at the ground, his heavy mane moving slightly in the breeze. Then he gathered himself up again, measuring the distance between us.
I know now how a lion’s prey feels, transfixed and resigned to its fate. I even knew that I wouldn’t struggle, any more than a gazelle argues with the smothering death that a lion deals out to its victim. But my other self refused to be hypnotised by those amber eyes. I heard a gun fire and was surprised to discover that it was I who had pulled the trigger. The dart landed with a dull thud in the great beast’s shoulder. He started his leap towards me, but his eyes were already clouded with sleep. He fell heavily to the ground and I fell after him. When Hugo arrived, I was standing over him like the traditional hero of old, yelling blue murder into the empty air.
CHAPTER TEN
“I’ve killed him!” I sobbed.
‘You’ve done nothing of the kind!”
“How could I? He would have rescued them! He would! He would!”
To my surprise, Hugo agreed with me. He thought that the lion would have found a way of breaching the fences. Indeed, he thought he had had a plan of some kind in his mind, or he would not have come out from his hiding place.
“I wish I hadn’t done it!” I said bitterly.
Hugo gave me a quick hug. “He wouldn’t have offered you much mercy,” he commented.
But that seemed a mere side issue to me. I couldn’t bear to see the fine animal lying helpless on the ground at my feet.
“What are we going to do?” I mourned.
Hugo leaned over the lion, examining in detail his large paws, the strength of his muscles, and his wide, intelligent eyes.
“No wonder you feel a sense of kinship with him,” he remarked when he came to the still open, though sightless eyes.
“Why?” I asked, still nursing a sense of grievance over the whole affair.
“You could be related, your eyes are so alike!” he teased me, “Perhaps we are,” I said.
Hugo removed the dart from the lion’s shoulder and massaged gently the place where the tip had entered. “He won’t feel a thing when he comes round,” he said. “Happily, that won’t be for a while yet. We’d better get the other animals out of here—” “All of them?” I asked.
Hugo looked up at me over his shoulder. He was smiling. “Not all of them,” he conceded. “But certainly all the males.”
“He would be lonely by himself,” I said, happy that this was not to be so.
“I imagine he is less susceptible than you are,” Hugo grunted. “Oh?” I said coldly.
Hugo grinned. “We’ll leave him the three best-looking females together with their cubs. Will that do?”
&n
bsp; “I suppose so,” I agreed grudgingly.
“Look,” he said, “lions don’t form prides in order to be sociable. It’s a hunting unit. Nothing more than that—”
“I suppose you could say the same about primitive man!” I suggested.
“Very probably,” he agreed. “At the moment it seems an enviable arrangement to me! At least primitive man didn’t have to consider everybody else’s happiness all the time. He clubbed his female over the head and that was that!”
I coloured faintly. “Charming!” I said. “Is that what you want to do?”
To my surprise he looked uncertain. “No,” he said. “I want a great deal more than that. Any such tactics are best left to the Hans Doffnangs of this world.”
He was mad, of course! Anything more unlikely than the round-faced, placid Dutchman clubbing anyone, let alone a woman, was hard to imagine.
Abdul Patel came running over to us, his dark eyes snapping with excitement. “Did you ever see anything like it?” he cried out. “That animal was actually climbing a tree!”
Hugo stood up. “They do sometimes,” he said.
“I thought they never did!” Mr. Patel demurred.
“Sometimes,” Hugo answered. “In Lake Manyara Park, and Queen Elizabeth Park too, the lions are well known for climbing the trees. They rest in the branches out of the way of the tsetse flies. They make a very good tourist attraction.”
“But the Mzee could hardly have learned the trick from them!” Mr. Patel exclaimed.
“No, but this is much the same kind of tree as the ones they climb there,” Hugo remarked.
“It’s easy to climb,” I pointed out. “That’s why I was sitting in it!”
“Naturally,” said Hugo.
I made a face at him. Mr. Patel looked from one to the other of us, his eyes widening with surprise. “Am I interrupting?” he asked diffidently.
“Certainly not!” Hugo assured him.
He put an end to all such speculation by busying himself with hauling the unconscious lion into a more comfortable position. It took all his strength to move the great cat, for a lion is somewhat bigger than a man and probably heavier as well.