The boy´s anger was fully loaded now. Green could see it in his watery blue eyes. The bulky frame stiffened in readiness for some sudden movement. Green held the boy´s stare calmly. There was something about his look that was unnerving and it drained something from the other. A moment later the boy shrugged and clicked off the player. He turned his back on Green and shuffled a few steps away from him.
Green reflected that he should call up the cookery teacher and make some apology. He didn´t want anyone to think that he was giving up his place on the course for good.
***
As Green was preparing to follow Jonathan Bloom to Africa, Julian Bowen was being introduced to the realities of transportation for the next fortnight
Mr. Bloom. You get in the back with the two young ladies. It´s a little raised up but we don´t go far today. Tomorrow we rotate the seating so it´s fair for everyone.
Michael directed them to board the vehicle. It was an extended Toyota Land Cruiser that had been fitted with strengthened suspension and seating for eight in the elevated section behind the driver. It was open topped, with a canopy stretched over a tube metal frame to protect against the sun. Going to be breezy on a long run, Julian thought.
Michael began to load the bags that he´d had them dump beside the Cruiser into a rugged looking high sided trailer that was hooked up behind. When everything was stowed to his satisfaction he climbed in the driver´s side of the vehicle and a minute later they were underway without another word from him. At first they had assumed that he didn’t speak English well, but it turned out that Michael disliked wasting words, just as he disliked waste of any other kind.
In any case, Julian was relieved that he took them to the good hotel rather than the vulgar one next door. They were greeted effusively by various categories of staff, each kitted out with a uniform particular to their function. An hour later, having showered, he lay on the bed reflecting that the colonial splendour of this place was more like what he expected of life than what was to come. He knew that from here on he must expect that there would be little comfort on this trip. It would be business not pleasure for him. Even right now, they were sharing two to a room. Julian had taken care to be bunking with the teacher, rather than that sweaty outdoorsman or sweet precious George; and he’d wasted no time in despatching his roommate to seek out photo opportunities and local colour so as to have the space to himself. But really; this was supposed to be a holiday and they were asking him to share a hotel room with another man.
He´d briefly inspected the grand rooms of the hotel, the ornamental pools and garden and the ample halls lined with the horns and antlers of big game, prints and photographs of old Africa and visiting royalty. He´d stepped out onto the lawn at the rear of the hotel and taken in the magnificent view out past the old colonial flagpole. Patiently grazing wild pigs and curious black face monkeys kept an eye on him as he watched steam rising above the trees from the distant falls and listened to the roar of the Zambesi pouring over the cataract and into the torrent flowing on in the canyon below. Everything about the place so far met with his approval.
Now the others had hurried off to see the Falls before access was closed down for the evening. Julian had excused himself with some nonsense about needing to be in touch with his office before they set off into the wilds – what office, they must be wondering.
The truth was that he liked what he’d seen of this place. He didn´t want to share his impressions of the Falls with a bunch of vulgar tourists, which is what they were when all was said and done. No, he promised himself, this is where I shall come back later, when the job is finished and then I shall have earned it.
And tomorrow, he thought, we meet our guide. Michael had proved to be an interesting character. It would be diverting to find out what kind of oddball would set up and run an operation like Wilderness Tours.
Chapter Three - Day Two
Don Kriegman checked his watch again in the early morning half-light. He stamped around the compound, re-checking items that he’d already checked twice. Surely his party would have finished their breakfast of kedgeree and champagne or whatever sort of decadent crap they served at the hotel these days. They should be here or at least on their way by now. He and Michael had been up since five putting the last preparations in order before he sent the boy off with strict instructions to herd them back here without delay. The boy was worth his pay out in the country but he needed more experience in managing the tourists.
You had to be firm with clients; that was the thing. Even then you never knew what the next lot would be like; or even if there would be a next lot for that matter. They were more unpredictable than the wild animals, but like the animals they had patterns of behavior that could be recognized. At least this bunch had all been in the country before, or so they claimed. Hopefully they wouldn´t be the soft complaining sort. These days, now that the big tour operators took most of the clients, Kriegman was left with two kinds: either those wanting to do it on the cheap or the second and third timers who were looking for a more hard-core experience; maybe even to get into some places that were normally closed to tourists. Kriegman didn´t like to help them with that: he´d have preferred to keep all of his Africa closed to tourists if it had been possible, but these days he didn´t have the choice. It was a question of survival. Anyway, nannying tourists wasn’t the worst thing he’d done that he didn’t feel easy about.
But assuming these clients were not whiners and that the experience they claimed was at least partly genuine, then most likely the problem cases would be the ones who thought they knew better than him and wanted to tell him how to do his job, or else believed that the money they paid meant they owned him. One thing was sure; there’d be some kind of problem. There always was. Every time he went out, the first days were about finding out what kind of arseholes he had to deal with this time. Something else that Michael needed to learn about.
Thinking like this didn´t improve his mood and he had not even met the clients yet. He started to muse about the spare bottle of whisky that was locked in the drawer of his office; and at six thirty in the morning that was not a healthy feeling to have. He turned his attention to the Cruiser. Michael had gone to collect the guests in the Nissan bus that was broken down and rusting and something of an embarrassment, but the guests were committed and paid up now, so there was no need to impress them.
Just now Kriegman’s task was to make sure that everything was present and locked down tight on the Toyota: water, fuel, food, tools, spares and whatever else they might be very sorry to find they had forgotten if they needed it out on the savannah. You were pretty much on your own out there, even if Kriegman didn´t intend to get all that far off what he considered to be the beaten track. It was more a question of finding places lonely enough to make the clients feel that they had experienced the true wilderness.
Kriegman could remember when the bush really had been empty and wild. Now they were starting to fill this country with rules and regulations the same as everywhere else. The thought of that made him spit on the ground in disgust.
Soon afterwards, the boy brought the new party along in the bus. As they swung into the compound, Kriegman leaned with his back to the Cruiser, arms folded. He remained stationary as he watched them climb down from the truck, looking for signs. He concluded that they were as sorry looking a bunch as he might have expected. The old couple looked half dead already and worse, he remembered that they were Americans. The young girl looked man-hungry (well he was too old for that to be a personal threat) and there was some plump clown wearing shorts, or were they trousers that had a bright floral pattern and ended somewhere around his ankles. Just the thing for alerting shy animals to their presence. The rest of them might do, but for sure he would have to watch the one who’d dressed himself up as the great white hunter: likely he was going to be the know it all.
Kriegman took a deep breath and stepped forward to shake hands and get things underway, starting with his seven golden ru
les of the bush, followed by an explanation of what discomforts they would face in the coming days, and concluding with a brief summary of his views on people who whined when things didn’t go exactly to plan.
***
The guide had warned them that the first day would be mostly driving and that it would be uncomfortable; and that hadn´t been a lie. They just had to get through it, he’d said: no light aircraft transfers, no floating hotels. On this trip they would be travelling the old fashioned way. Kriegman had even weighed the luggage before they started to make sure there was no overloading of the trailer.
What would he have done with a too heavy bag, Julian wondered? He could picture the old boy sorting through Emma´s pack and throwing out whatever he decided wouldn´t be needed.
Kriegman was a curiosity alright; so much the stereotype of an old Boer settler that you had to wonder if there was a tinge of self parody about him. Julian guessed not. The guide was a big man, all ways round. He´d have been over six foot three in his prime, before age and the hard living out here had started to take its toll. Thick ankles and massive calves showing between his desert boots and shorts: the rest of him looked just as solid, apart from the middle age paunch that hung over his belt and the slightly watery eyes. Even in his present near ruined state, there was still physical power in the man that made Julian wary.
God knows how many years Kriegman had spent out here and yet still the sun burned his face and arms a red that never deepened to brown: but there was something else in the redness of the face that Julian recognized. The fine broken veins that showed in his oversized and exceedingly ugly nose suggested a drinker.
There was time to think about everything between bouncing about in the back of the Cruiser and trying to find the least uncomfortable position. Julian found himself wondering how a man like Kriegman ended up in the business of being a guide. It seemed that he knew the country well enough, but he didn´t hide his impatience with people. He spoke at his clients as if he was daring them to challenge him. Julian imagined a history for him. Probably he´d lost the family farm through some misadventure and after that he was reduced to running tours on a shoestring as the only alternative to leaving his beloved country. Whatever the truth of it, Kriegman would need watching; him and the black driver who seemed to do all the work and was more intelligent than he let on.
Time passed and the landscape became monotonous to all of them, but conversation was not easy in the open cruiser. Julian didn’t mind. He still had his jumble of thoughts to organize, starting with the events of the last few weeks.
He supposed that it had all started with that girl. Just a silly little incident really, hardly important: but it was after all that when his daydreams had started to feel less like a fantasy and more like a plan.
***
The girl at the house party had been pretty, but not too pretty. By the time she and Julian decided to leave early, she´d already had plenty to drink, but she seemed able to handle it and her conversation in the taxi wasn´t so dull as to put him off.
When they arrived at her flat, she poured large drinks for both of them and then went to change her shoes and make whatever adjustments women needed when they came home from a party. Julian ran a critical eye over the flat. It was nice: smart location too: she must have a good job, or some family money. He was already running a couple of almost girlfriends at the moment, but he´d remember this address for future reference.
Sally, or it could have been Sarah, came back into the room wearing a pair of flat pumps, but she still had on the dark, figure hugging dress that had first drawn his attention to her. She laughed rather too loudly and she threw her head back when she did it: probably knew that it showed her long straight hair off well. It was that heavy, shiny sort, cut well and blonde for this month at least; that weaved sinuously around her constantly mobile head like something with a life of its own.
Here´s to people who know how to enjoy themselves, she told him, curling a strand of the luscious hair round one finger.
I can drink to that.
The wine was a good one, so far as Julian could judge by this stage of the evening. She gulped hers down and then splashed some more into the oversized glass from the bottle that she´d banged down onto the coffee table.
What did you think of that place, though? she asked him; not for the first time.
Fairly horrible, Julian admitted.
Absolutely ghastly, you mean. They´re not really my friends you know. In fact I hardly knew anybody there. I only agreed to go out of charity.
I wasn´t going to go either, but I´m glad I did now.
She smiled at him for that comment. He liked the smile: there was something about it that was dirty, or trying to be.
You know why the two of them are still together, she said. You could see that she can´t stand the sight of him, I suppose? But they have a villa in Italy and she changes her car every six months.
Julian didn´t want to hear that story again.
We shouldn´t waste any more time talking about them, he told her. We´ve escaped, we should be thankful. Tell me something about you.
About me?
She laughed again, took another gulp of her drink and stood up. Then she made a show of walking across the room to start the music player, conscious that his eyes were on her.
You have lovely er, shoulders, he commented.
Ha, you were looking at my bum.
She turned her back on him again and wiggled her hips provocatively.
I bet you´d like to spank it.
I would actually.
There was something serious in his voice that made her turn around.
Really, I would, he insisted.
Oh. All right then, she replied like a child accepting a dare.
She´d said too much to take it back without spoiling their game and now she had to show that she was ready for anything. He bent her over the coffee table and pulled her skirt up and her pants down. She was giggling as if this was familiar play, even if a bit sudden; but her gasp when he brought his hand down told him that if she had done this before it had been pretend play. Julian was hitting her, hard; and for a moment she was shocked and not knowing how to react.
When he took her though, she was ready enough. He pushed his full weight into her as she lay face down on the low table, smiling to himself as she started to gasp in a different way. But he wasn’t going to let her go so easily and he didn´t want it to end just yet for either of them.
Julian enjoyed his night. He made the girl do some other things that perhaps she thought she´d tried before; and one or two that she certainly hadn´t. He wasn´t too interested in her reaction, but every so often he saw that confused look on her face, like she wasn´t sure that they were still playing a game but if they were she didn´t want to be the first to chicken out. He loved to see that expression on the faces of his women. They were so sure that they were the ones calling the shots that it was easy to take them off balance.
Later, when he’d finally finished with her and she was sleeping, exhausted, beside him, Julian sat up in the bed with his back propped up on the many sets of pillows and watched her. He felt exhilaration, a sense of mastery; and almost complete calm. He looked at the sleeping girl with something that was close to tenderness. Her mouth was a little open and he noticed a mark at the side of it. She was going to have a little bruise where he´d turned her over and slapped her around a little after finishing with her behind.
He could easily slip out now and be gone by the time she awoke: she wouldn´t stir. But that would be like running away and then she might start to see herself as a victim, which could be dangerous for him. He knew precisely what he´d do. In the morning, he´d send her to the kitchen to make coffee; and when she came back they´d both act like this had been something each of them had wanted to try: a fantasy that they´d shared with each other. Sally or Sarah had an image of herself as a strong woman who was in control of her own life. To feel that a m
an had compelled her regardless of her consent would contradict that self-image. Easier for her to rationalize what had happened as an experiment.
He guessed that before he left, she´d ask if they were going to see each other again. He had his answer ready for that too; he´d just say he didn´t think so. She could colour in her own meaning to that outline after he was gone. How she might make it look didn´t really interest him.
These were good times to be alive, Julian reflected, especially for people like himself who knew just what they wanted and were prepared to go out and get it.
The next morning went exactly according to plan. He was out of her flat by ten, protesting that he was already horribly late for the office, although in fact he had a phoney lunch appointment out of town so he wouldn´t be expected.
You never told me your name, she said to him at the last.
She was nursing a stained coffee mug and looking rather sulky with her hair all over the place. The dressing gown she´d wrapped around herself was quite nice, but anyway they never looked quite the same to Julian after he´d enjoyed them once.
He almost laughed out loud at her comment. It was true.
It´s Bloom, he told her. My name is Jonathan Bloom.
***
And so the truck rattled on, with no sign that they might be approaching a destination any time soon. Julian possessed the kind of animal spirit that adapts itself to conditions that it is not able to change for the moment. The swaying and bumping didn´t put him off his train of thought.
There was the money to think about too: the two hundred and fifty thousand in cash that he´d hidden at his flat was a tidy sum, even though Julian had hoped that there might have been even more stashed in Bloom’s office. He knew himself better than to imagine that twice that amount would have lasted him for long. Almost certainly, by the time he returned to London he´d have been sacked. He’d not bothered to tell the bank he was taking a holiday. His last few weeks had been more days off than days at work. Poor Teddy would feel terribly let down and it would reflect badly on him, Julian supposed, but that couldn´t be helped.
the Disappearance of Jonathan Bloom Page 3