Safari

by Parnell Hall

  “They come out of the water?”

  “Particularly at night. They come out to hunt for food. But you see them during the daytime too. When you do, leave them alone. For an animal that size they’re remarkably fast. And they’re very dangerous. What I said about elephants goes double for hippos. In fact, if you find yourself trapped between an elephant and a hippo, walk toward the elephant.”

  Lolita was listening bright-eyed to this explanation, but Mommy wasn’t enjoying it. “You said that was one reason not to swim in the river. What’s the other?”

  Clemson’s smile was smug. “Crocodiles.”

  6

  PICTURES

  THEY TOOK US TO OUR tent, which resembled a tent about as much as the Waldorf resembled a Motel 6. It had a canvas top and sides, but the front, facing the river, had doors and windows and a view to die for. In Manhattan it could have brought in twenty-two hundred a month as a studio apartment, even if the windows faced a brick wall. There was a bedroom with a king-size bed, and an antechamber leading to a bathroom which had an indoor shower and an outdoor shower. The showers, of course, faced the river, offering a spectacular view as you luxuriated in the hot and cold running water. Or sat on the flush toilet, complete with actual seat, no amenity too extravagant for the guests.

  In the bedroom were cubbies, shelves, and hangers. It seemed silly to unpack since we were only staying for one night. Still, after two days of travel it would be nice to have new clothes.

  “Wanna take a shower?” I said.

  “You go first.”

  “I was thinking we could save on water.”

  “Ha ha.”

  “It wasn’t a joke. I’m very conservation-minded.”

  Alice waved it away. “Yeah, yeah. I gotta download my pictures.”

  She whipped out her iPad, another one of those contraptions that makes me feel like a dinosaur. I can’t afford an iPad. Alice couldn’t either, if we weren’t doing the trip splurge, of which the camera and the iPad and the safari clothing were all included, sort of like, if we’re going to be evicted from our apartment anyway, we might as well have something to take with us. Anyway, Alice hooked up some sort of cable that magically transferred the pictures she had just taken to the iPad for viewing. I still shoot film for my job and have to drop it off for developing and pick it up the next day, so I find such instantaneous, non-celluloid photography a cheat, like if I can’t hold it in my hand, it’s not a picture.

  I was careful not to express this view to Alice. Instead, with the promise of hot water, I ripped off my stinky, two-day-old traveling clothes and treated myself to a shower. I chose the indoor shower because it was closest and most convenient, not because I was convinced that if I was standing naked in the outdoor shower a herd of elephants and hippos would stampede in and maul me.

  I got out of the shower, toweled off, and paraded around naked for a while. Not only did this fail to impress Alice, she didn’t even notice. Ordinarily, a put-your-pants-on-you’re-standing-in-the-window would have been forthcoming. The fact that it didn’t showed how wrapped up Alice was in her photography.

  A lizard the size of a pit bull slithered across the porch.

  “Look at that!” I said.

  “I’ve seen it before, Stanley,” Alice said.

  I sighed and began pulling clothing out of my duffle. I put on a pair of the synthetic jockey shorts that dried faster than cotton. I didn’t like ’em. I like cotton. I’d worn a pair of cotton shorts on the plane, and had another pair for the return trip. I decided, screw it, somewhere between now and then I’d manage to wash the damn things. I pulled off the nylon underwear, pulled on cotton ones, and felt immediately better.

  I put on a new safari outfit, which looked remarkably like the outfit I’d just taken off, aside from being clean. It consisted of a long-sleeved shirt, so as not to be eaten by bugs, but with sleeves that unbuttoned and rolled up, so as not to be too hot when bugs weren’t biting; and safari pants, the legs of which zipped off, converting them into shorts for the same purpose. I snapped on my non-metallic belt, the cloth one with the plastic buckle, and was completely dressed.

  Except for the shoes. I had Tivas and boots. Boots for hiking, Tivas for wading. I had another pair of sneakers for casual wear, but the twenty-four-inch duffle wouldn’t hold everything, and they were one of the casualties. I only had the boots because I’d worn them on the plane. I put them on, laced them up.

  I had a floppy safari hat to protect me from the sun. I put it on, went outside, and met an elephant.

  I had nothing to protect me from the elephant. Obviously an oversight in packing.

  There he was, large as life. Larger, actually. If you’ve never met an elephant, outside of a zoo, I mean, trust me, they’re large. I went out on the porch, came around the corner of the tent, and there he was, lumbering along from the direction of the path I was about to take. Apparently it was his path, or at least he thought it was.

  Pardon me, I’m being an inadvertent sexist, as so often happens to me in the course of my existence. I was referring to the elephant as he, and I must tell you that at that moment I had no idea as to its gender. Its genitals were the last thing in the world I was interested in at that moment.

  I froze, backed around the corner, and beat a hasty retreat into the tent.

  “Alice!” I said.

  Alice, intent on her pictures, waved me away.

  “There’s an elephant!”

  “Where?”

  “Outside our tent!”

  As if on cue, the elephant cleared the corner and lurched into view.

  Alice, catching the movement, looked up from her iPad. Her eyes widened. “Oh, my god!”

  Suddenly, she was all action, ripping cables out of the iPad and reprogramming the camera from download to shoot, or however the hell the damn things work.

  The elephant, meanwhile, was not waiting for his close-up, he was meandering down the hill toward the river. This time I’m using the word “he” advisedly. The elephant was indeed male. In fact, he was hung like an elephant.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Alice said, which was par for the course, at once assigning blame instead of credit. She wrenched open the door, slipped out onto the porch, her camera clicking furiously.

  The elephant took no notice, just continued lumbering toward the river.

  “Wanna follow him?” I said.

  Alice paused in her snapping to stare at me in disbelief. “Follow him? Did you hear anything the guide said? You don’t follow elephants. You stay away from elephants. That’s obviously their path down to the river. Do you want to be on it? I don’t think so. Another elephant will come around the corner on its way to the river and where will you be?”

  I pointed. “Right down there.”

  “Don’t be an idiot. Look. He’s going in.”

  The elephant was indeed going into the river. He waded in while the water got deeper and deeper until only the top of his back and head could be seen. All in all, he didn’t look much different from the hippos in the river. I wondered if an elephant and a hippo would fight. I’d never heard of such a thing, but then my ignorance is boundless.

  As the elephant swam off, Alice triumphantly went back into the tent to download her pictures.

  I stayed on the porch, watched the river. Wondered if I should have another go at the path. What would I encounter? Probably nothing. I’d go out, the path would be clear, I’d walk to the lounge, help myself to a Diet Coke from the self-service bar Clemson had pointed out.

  I figured I’d do better to rack up some quality husband points by taking an interest in Alice’s photography. Particularly as she had yet to ask me how Lolita knew I didn’t drink. It was something she was not likely to forget, and, as I explained, it would be good to have her on my side.

  So I went back in the tent, not, you understand, for fear of running into another elephant, but merely due to the prudence of a loving husband. Alice had already connected camera and iPad and was per
using her latest pix. Her finger flicked across the screen, revealing picture after picture.

  “My god,” I said, “how many did you take?”

  She gave me one of her you-don’t-get-it looks. “Stanley. It’s not a question of how many I take, it’s a question of how many I keep. Most of them I can dump right away.”

  “Why?”

  “Because they’re no good. See? This one’s out of focus.” She deleted it, flicked to another. “This one’s fine.”

  I looked. This picture of the elephant walking down the bank toward the river looked identical to the one she’d just deleted.

  “It looks the same.”

  “That’s because you don’t know how to look. This one’s sharp. Crisp. It’s just fine. The other one, if I enlarge it, it’ll get fuzzy.” She looked at the picture, frowned. “But the composition’s not good.” Flick of the finger. “This one’s good. Now if he’d just turn his head.”

  “That’s the trouble with elephants these days. Just don’t know how to pose.” It was an injudicious comment, liable to lose me all husband points.

  Alice ignored me, kept flicking. The faster she went, the more her pictures resembled a kinescope movie of an elephant walking into the river.

  “Well,” Alice said. “Some of these may be all right if I color-correct them.”

  “You can do that?”

  Alice smiled condescendingly, patted me on the cheek. “Of course.”

  I knew for a fact that Alice’s expertise in photography came from a few video tutorials on YouTube. Granted it was more than I knew, still it seemed a dubious achievement to feel smug about.

  Alice put down the iPad. “Guess I’ll take a shower.”

  “Good idea.”

  “You took a shower.”

  “I thought you didn’t notice.”

  “How could I not notice? You were waving your phallic symbol in my face.”

  “Speaking of which.”

  “Leave me alone. I’m taking a shower.”

  “Can I look at the pictures?”

  “Sure.”

  “How?”

  “Just slide your finger over them.”

  “But you’re on the last one.”

  “Gee. Guess you’ll have to slide your finger in the other direction. Think you can handle that?”

  Alice went in the bathroom. Moments later I heard water running.

  I was tempted to surprise her in the shower. Considered the consequences. The scenario did not end well for me. I rejected the idea. Sat down to look at the pictures.

  It was kind of cool, scrolling with my finger. It sure beat the old-fashioned way. You took a picture, there it was. You knew immediately if you got it. No rude surprises a day later when you picked up the film.

  Going backwards, I saw the whole sequence in reverse. There was the elephant swimming in the water. Graceful for a large, clumsy animal in reverse. And there he was climbing up the bank. And—

  What the hell!

  I scrolled forwards and backwards a few frames, just to make sure.

  And there, behind the trees, up close to the bank, right where Alice had ridiculed me for wanting to go, told me it wasn’t safe and only a moron would do it, was a flash of color from a brightly colored fabric.

  There was no need to ask who that was.

  Everyone in camp was wearing safari gear of drab khaki or green.

  Except Lolita.

  7

  MARKING TERRITORY

  AT THREE-THIRTY WE ASSEMBLED in the lounge for tea. I liked their version of tea, which featured a wide variety of rich pastries as well as iced coffee, a huge pitcher of it already blended with milk and sugar, kind of like the prefab Frappuccinos Starbucks sells tiny bottles of for exorbitant sums, the type of luxury I indulge myself in every now and then if not saving every penny to go to Africa.

  I helped myself to a glass of iced coffee and a slice of cheesecake. I have a weakness for cheesecake.

  “Going to pig out?” Alice said.

  I hate it when she does that, particularly in front of people. It puts me in the position of denying myself something I really want and looking pussywhipped, or asserting my independence by eating more than I intended. Today she did it in front of Clemson, who was not likely to be sympathetic to her point of view, large as he was.

  “I was thinking of nibbling a saltine, but I don’t see any.”

  “Got you there,” Clemson said. “You gotta remember, there are no calories on safari. You can count ’em when you get home.”

  None of my fellow travelers seemed to be counting calories. A piece of cheesecake was pretty tame compared to some of the other plates. One woman had a macaroon, a piece of key lime pie, and cannoli. The husband of the other couple was eating chocolate mousse with whipped cream, which had to be worse than cheesecake, or there was no justice in the world.

  Lolita was nibbling on a chocolate chip cookie. I wondered if that was her usual behavior, watching her girlish figure. She seemed more a devil-take-the-consequences girl.

  I’d intended to check her outfit, to see if it really did match the fabric I’d seen in the pictures, but she’d changed into safari gear like everyone else. I couldn’t help thinking she looked good in it. Or of her in the shower before she put it on.

  I don’t know about other men, but I wasn’t enjoying my midlife crisis much.

  The last two stragglers drifted in. They were the two men who had arrived the day before. The one who’d taken a shine to Lolita gave her a nod and a smile on his way to the coffee pitcher. He poured a glass, cut off a piece of coffee cake. The one in the aviator shades and safari hat didn’t appear hungry. He flopped down on the couch with a glass of unsweetened iced tea.

  “So,” Clemson said, taking charge. “Here’s the plan for this afternoon. We’ll set out at four and have sundowners in the bush. The guides will find a nice spot where we can stop, get out of the jeeps, have drinks, and watch the sun go down.”

  “What time does the sun set?” I said.

  Alice rolled her eyes. I didn’t know why. I mean, can’t I ask a simple question?

  The know-it-all kid said, “You’re near the equator. The sun always rises and sets at six.”

  It was all I could do to stop from blurting out, “Is that true?” From Alice’s reaction, it had to be.

  “Of course,” I said.

  “That’s right,” Clemson said. “And we’ll be having drinks then. Tell your guide if there’s anything in particular you want. Beer, wine, soda. You can have a mixed drink, if you ask in advance. As long as it’s on the rocks, not something blended or shaken.”

  Clemson held his hands and smiled. “Normally we would come back after sundowners for dinner. But since you’re only here one night, we’ve scheduled a night drive.”

  “What’s that?” the other husband said. There weren’t a lot of husbands on this trip. I wondered if I was an endangered species.

  “Just what it sounds like. We’ll have a spotlight, we’ll drive around and look for game. Is there anything anyone particularly wants to see?”

  “I have a fondness for cats,” I said.

  Clemson smiled. “Everyone has a fondness for cats. If we’re lucky, we might see a leopard. Don’t count on it, but keep your fingers crossed. Okay, we’ll be leaving in ten minutes. Remember, it’s a night drive, so if you have a tendency to get chilled, you might want a windbreaker of some sort.”

  I do, and I did. “I’m going to get a fleece. You want one?”

  “I’ll be fine,” Alice said.

  “If I get trapped by an elephant, tell ’em to wait for me.”

  I went back to the tent and stuck my fleece in my backpack. I stuck Alice’s in too. Otherwise she’d get cold, and I’d feel obligated to give her mine.

  I zipped up my backpack, went out of the tent, and ran into an elephant.

  What were the odds? I’d mentioned getting trapped by an elephant as insurance against getting trapped by an elephant, and here I was, tr
apped by an elephant. I mean, come on. And he wasn’t lumbering down to the river, he was standing in the middle of the path. He was swishing his trunk around as if sniffing the ground, and as I watched he picked up something and put it in his mouth. He repeated the motion, and that time I caught what it was. A small red crumply fruit. As soon as I realized that, I saw there were several more on the ground. And the elephant was going to stand there and eat them all until the jeeps drove off. Surely Alice wasn’t going to let them leave just to teach me a lesson.

  I don’t know how long I might have stood there like a fool, but I heard someone call, “Here!”

  I looked around. One of the porters who had taken the duffles was waving at me from the corner of the tent. I followed him down by the river, where Alice had told me not to go, and we walked parallel to the path by the front of the tents where the walls were glass and the showers had no curtains because no one ever went. I had no idea which tent was Lolita’s, but I had a horror I’d walk by and find her perched on the toilet and she’d see me looking in.

  That didn’t happen. Instead, the elephant came around the corner of a tent and blocked our path again. At least an elephant came around the corner of the tent. I couldn’t swear it was the same elephant. All I know is it was equally large.

  We changed direction, slipped between two tents back to the path, where another elephant—and here I’m sure it was a different elephant unless the one we’d just seen could teleport—was chowing down crumpled red things.

  We stopped, considered our options. Clemson hadn’t said if you’re trapped between two elephants which one you walk toward.

  Luckily, the porter made the decision, leading me back in the direction of my tent, then veering off and crossing the path to the far side, from which we could give the elephant a wide berth.

  When we finally reached the parking lot, everyone else was already in the jeeps. There were two of them, the ones we’d taken from the airport, with room for a guide and a driver and six passengers in each. The pairings were shaken up a little. The married couple, the two women, and the two men were in one jeep, the women in front, the couple in the middle, and the men in back.