by Linda Ihle
Devin could not see what remained. She realized that the lions and hyenas had probably made serious inroads, with the rodents taking up where they had left off. The leopard lingered there, lowering itself onto its chest and haunches to feed, so she surmised that some meat or meaty bones were still available. A scurrying sound at the top of the kopje drew her attention and that of the cat. It rose quickly and ran back up to the boulder it had so recently vacated. A bone-chilling snarling growl preceded a sudden, lithe pounce which ended with the sound of a black-backed jackal screaming.
As Devin watched this scene, she saw the small shape of the jackal take off howling down the west side of the kopje, the leopard in pursuit. The jackal disappeared into the shadows and the cat halted, turned, and strolled back to the boulder. It picked up a limp form in its mouth, probably a duiker or a klipspringer, Devin decided, and dragged it down the kopje, past the blood and gore-spattered rocks, and across to the smaller msasa tree. Devin sat down to get a better view.
The leopard climbed about midway up the tree, dragging the buck up with it, and dropped it over a limb so that it hung head down, a grotesque fruit swaying there. The panting cat, its task accomplished, lay along a larger limb, awaiting the proper moment to either hunt again, or settle for this particular meal. The former option was apparently the most desirable -- the cat climbed headfirst down the tree, leaping down the last six feet or so and landing with a grunt, then disappeared into the long grass around the mopane grove. Devin closed her eyes again, listening intently to the barely audible passage of the magnificent animal and wondering why it had not detected her scent. When she could no longer hear the gentle swish of the grass as it brushed against the cat’s coat, she opened her eyes and peered downward. The thorny barricade looked intact, and no creatures peered upward at her. She leaned back and closed her eyes again, listening to the sounds of the night, life and sudden death, and occasional silences so heavy they oppressed all senses.
The hours slipped by, the night becoming even cooler as the dawn approached and, with it, a light breeze. Devin slept lightly, shivering in the cold false dawn, and starting into bleary wakefulness more often than not. While she slept, the leopard crept back to its pantry, pulled the buck down, and carried it off to feed upon it. The rats continued their squeaking, scurrying sorties upon the human remains now scattered higgledy piggledy across the rocks, and, nearby, a mother warthog gave birth to six fine young piglets in a burrow beneath a towering, red anthill.
8.
The old familiar chirp of tip-tols raised her from a deep sleep and she opened her eyes just in time to see the small black-headed birds take flight from the leafy twigs over her head. Sitting directly across from her, quizzically eyeing its reflection in the kerosene can, was a young hamerkop. Devin grinned as she watched it. Its massive prehistoric beak opened and closed silently as it tilted its head this way and that. Finally, it hopped onto the node of the hollow holding the can, and raised its wings, prancing there in a strange slow-motion jig. The reflection, obviously, followed suit, which seemed to enrage the bird -- it attacked the tin, which responded with a hollow clang. The puzzled bird retreated, eyeing the can from a higher vantage point where no reflection was possible.
Devin moved slowly, stretching her arms and legs, extending her grimy toes to their fullest extent, and the hamerkop flew off with an indignant shriek. The sun was peering over the top of the kopje, rays glinting on dew drops suspended seemingly in mid air, but really caught on the massive webs of spiders which had toiled all night to create their traps. Devin noted that one had been busy up there in the tree too: A single wispy strand of web stretched from the top of her right ear to the muzzle of the gun. She brushed it off, untied herself and rose slowly to look out over the bush. The buck the leopard had stored in the tree was gone. Her eyes burned with the strain as she searched the glistening tops of the long grass and the shadows of the boulders and trees for signs of the cat.
Finally, having seen, heard, and smelled nothing out of the ordinary, she began to pack up her treasures. That accomplished, she moved them down to the bottom fork, then reattached the strap to the AK-47 before she slung it over her shoulder and climbed gingerly down into the circle of dirt between the trunk and the thorns. Sitting between the roots on the north side of the tree was the python’s head, or what was left of it -- the ants had been very busy. She carefully cleared a path through the barricade before going back and retrieving her treasures. She put the kerosene can on the ground and stared at it for a moment, contemplating whether she should bring it. It would become heavy, and it would be noisy, but she needed the water. What if the water she sensed was nearby wasn’t there at all? What if it was, but wasn’t potable? Knowing the bush, the water would probably also be alive with crocs, hippos, snakes.
She decided she would carry it with her. As she bent to pick it up she caught a filmy glimpse of her reflection. Her own mother would not have recognized her. Her face was streaked with dirt, blood, sweat, and the remains of her makeup, her Id, so carefully applied the morning before. She looked like a crazed artist taken to decorating himself rather than a canvas. She stared down at her thin, scantily clad body (thanking her lucky stars once again for the choice in underwear she had made the day before - sensible as opposed to skimpy) and realized that the python’s blood and other body fluids had traced a gory path practically the entire way down her torso and upper legs.
She couldn’t waste the water cleaning herself up. Plus, the worse I smell to myself, the less likely I’ll be scented out by terrs. She looked quickly over her shoulder as this thought crossed her mind. She then considered the narrow path the four people had followed, before stopping to partake of a fatal last tea under the marula tree. The presence of such a path meant little, although it could imply that people were living nearby. She doubted that; the sound of her gunfire the night before would surely have drawn some reaction. Looking up at the sun, Devin determined that the path would lead her northward or southward. Northward would lead her back over the kopje, essentially retracing the path of her flight from the elephant. She decided to head south.
9.
Wishing she had some kind of a hat, or even sunglasses, Devin set out along the path away from the tree which had sheltered her over the past 18 hours or so. The path was sandy and easy to follow, but the sand would soon become heated by the sun to the point where her bare feet would not be able to take it. After about an hour, she came upon a shallow sandy bowl in the middle of the path. Just beyond that was a gnarled, squat, old baobab, dripping with fruit. She put her water and weapon down in the shade under the tree, then after checking very carefully for snakes, jumped and pulled herself up onto one of the lower branches, climbed higher, and plucked off one of the fruit. Carrying the grey-green, felt-like orb by its stem, she jumped down, walked over to a cluster of the ubiquitous boulders, and smashed the fruit against one of them. It cracked loudly and split open revealing a mass of the marshmallow-like fruit. Looks like marshmallows, but sure as hell doesn’t taste like them, she thought, as she picked the fruit out and sucked the flesh off the fat brown pips.
Once she had eaten her fill of that, recalling that large doses of cream of tartar might cause stomach upset, she gnawed on some biltong, washing it down with water. Then she allowed herself a cigarette as she sat with her back against the soft bark of the baobab. Small gnats and flies soon began to take their toll on her temper and she decided she would take a leaf out of the larger beasts’ book and indulge in a dust bath. She left the AK-47 leaning on the tree and wandered over to the small dust bowl where she lay spread-eagled in the heated sand, the sun beating down on her face. She rolled over a couple of times, allowing the soil to cling to her skin, knowing that sweat would soon wash much of it away. Nevertheless, it was a minor deterrent to the insects and the rays of the sun. Feeling a little ridiculous, she quickly completed her bath, retrieved her rifle and the water, and trudged on.
Devin walked head down, eyes to the ground
and the immediate peripheries, as her father had trained her. She thought of him as she plodded along, wishing he were here with her now, rifle in hand, cracking jokes and farts. Her reverie continued for a good two miles, interrupted now and then by a feeling that she had been here before. She thought (hoped) that when the plane went down, they were pretty close to the Bumi River, close to the land of the Bvatonka where she had hunted with her father a lifetime ago. But she had no concept as to which direction the river flowed, or whether she was heading away from it rather than toward it. Was it still there?
She walked on, switching the kerosene can from her sweat-slick right hand to the left. She thought she heard, far off in the distance, the sound of aircraft and stopped to look back to the northwest, grimy hand held above her eyes as she searched the white-blue horizon. Seeing nothing and not sure whether or not the terrorists had any air power (in either case, no civilians would have been let in on that tidbit of information, all in the interests of National Security), she pressed on, putting as much distance, as quickly as possible, between herself and that old Viscount.
Her mind drifted back again to that Bumi hunting trip, when they had discovered the natural shower stall in the river bed. Here, cold water had poured from an underground spring, down the black and grey pitted boulders in front of which hung a tangle of bright green lianas – a leafy shower curtain. She had left her Oris watch on the rocks to the right of the shower and entered the icy water behind the curtain. As she had washed, a couple of young baboons emerged from the dense bush above the rocks, clambering down onto the smooth boulders. She heard their inane clamour and peered out through the curtain just in time to see them steal her watch. One of the idiots is probably still wearing it to this day, she thought and a rare smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.
She recalled that particular trip to the Bumi as almost magical, epiphanous. At night, after long days of tracking elephant along the river bed and through the elephant grass on either side of the river, they could hear the drums of the Bvatonka across the river. Lions roared, hyenas cackled and leopards coughed. The sounds of the night were soothing, though. Now things had changed. Many of the areas had been designated Tribal Trust Lands into which the blacks were herded like so many cattle. And many of the kraals in the TTLs had been turned into so-called protected villages (PVs or keeps), supposedly guarded by Smith’s soldiers. Really, just concentration camps. Now the sounds of the night were shattered by gunfire, mortar, mines, grenades: the toys of grown men intent on exterminating one another.
As the sun rose to its zenith in a cloudless, deep turquoise sky, the terrain began to change, becoming rockier, the grass taller, the trees fewer and farther between. Devin stopped briefly, wiping the sweat from her brow and shaking the drops off into the sandy soil which sucked them in. Her feet ached and burned. So far, she had been fortunate not to acquire any thorns, but the small rocks and pebbles in the path had taken their toll. She looked up into the sky, immediately spying the omnipresent vultures soaring high above the earth in their constant vigil, gliding on thermals invisible to the human eye. She shaded her eyes with a cupped hand and scanned the path she had followed, seeking the horizon, seeking landmarks. The sameness of it all was both comforting and devastating.
She sighed and, as she turned to continue her march, a rustle in the grass ahead of her caught her attention. She stopped in mid-step, standing stock-still, staring at the spot where she thought the noise might have been made. The sun beat down on the top of her head, assailed the back of her neck, and made her so dizzy that she had trouble focusing. She blinked hard a couple of times and stared in the direction of the noise, the grass there still blurring. Slowly, she placed the kerosene can on the ground, and blinked hard again two or three times to get focus. The perpetrator of the rustling in the grass and the cause of the cold stone of fear in her stomach, soon emerged, lithe, thin, green, about six to seven feet long. Devin risked a gasp for this was a rare sight - a green mamba.
She had seen and encountered at least five adult black mambas in her 23 years, but only one green mamba, and not ever at such close quarters. She knew of their reputation for aggressive behaviour, and had witnessed the speed with which they moved and struck. She was well aware at that moment too of the deadliness of their venom. With this in mind, yet fascinated nonetheless, she moved very slowly backward while she worked to get the weapon off her shoulder and into a position where she could use it if she had to.
The glorious snake stopped in the middle of the path and coiled into a bright green spring, head raised, tongue dancing in and out. It seemed to stare at her. She stared right back, continuing her movement backward, away from it. It hissed and raised its head higher, uncoiling like an iridescent lariat until its head stood nearly three feet above the diminished coil. Devin maintained her slow backward walk, her eyes fixed on its head. The snake swayed briefly then began to drop back toward the ground, resuming the spring-like coil. It watched her, head raised about a foot above the coil now, then suddenly straightened into a lazy curve and began to crawl across the hot, rocky ground toward her.
It paused near the can, tongue flickering, investigating this strange, cold phenomenon, before resuming its slither. Devin picked up her pace, hoping that she would not trip over something and fall. She slowly raised the AK-47 so that the muzzle pointed directly at the snake. It maintained a steady pace, then just as suddenly as it had appeared, jerked to the right and disappeared into the tall grass. Devin stopped, unaware whether or not it might have been mating – if that were the case, another one might be nearby and possibly not quite as polite as the first. She waited, the sweat pouring down her face and torso, turning the dirt from her dust bath into miniature mud slides. Within seconds, the grass rustled again, this time just south of where the first mamba had emerged. She directed her attention to that area and soon a second, smaller snake appeared. It followed the same path laid by the first one, and eventually moved into the bush at almost the exact location of the first one.
“I was right,” Devin said aloud. “Bloody good thing, too, or else I’d be standing here with fang holes in my leg, and then I’d be dead.” She wiped at the sweat on her face with her forearm. “Shit! Here I am talking to myself again.”
She resumed her southward trek, picked up the can of water, seeking now a tree where she could rest in the shade, drink a little water, eat some more of the quickly diminishing biltong, and perhaps have a smoke. The path seemed to be rising and after about a half mile she turned and looked back. Sure enough, she was looking down at a boulder and grass spattered plain, strewn here and there with small scruffy thorn trees, several baobabs, and a couple of large leafy mopanes that appeared to have escaped the attention of elephants. Far to the north, she glimpsed a hazy cloud of dust and looked below it to see a herd of zebra trotting quickly across her line of sight before seeming to merge with the land as they descended toward the area where she had spent the night. She turned and continued upward, moving more slowly, ears pricked to pick up anything that might sound even vaguely human.
It must have been about noon when she reached the top of the rise. The ground had turned stonier and the soil darker, more loamy. Massive black and grey boulders intruded upon the path, forcing her to climb over them, onward and upward. A couple of dassies (rock rabbits) fled as she approached, and the lazing lizards followed suit. As she climbed higher she directed her attention to the trees and the rocks, seeking signs of leopard and/or baboon, and especially snakes. This was prime cobra and puff adder country and she was in no mood right now to deal with either one of those.
When she finally reached the top, she found herself on the rocky lip of a gorge and there down below was the river or at least one of its tributaries. It seemed so small to her now, not as wide, but then the last time she had seen it was as a child and then everything had seemed larger than life. The river bed in this vicinity was mostly dry, which she had expected, but large pools remained scattered through the visible serpen
tine length, something she had not anticipated. She sought a boulder in the shade of a tree, inspected the immediate surroundings very carefully first, then sat down with a groan and a sigh. She drank some water, ate some more biltong, drank some more, then smoked, leaning her back against the sun-heated rock.
10.
Devin awoke with a start, her neck aching, and turned immediately to check out the position of the sun. She calculated that it was at least two o’clock, meaning she had very little time to find a secure spot to spend the night. She rose and stretched, surveying her surroundings, seeking another tall, leafy tree such as the marula which had served her so well. About a quarter of a mile downstream where the river (if it had been full) would have flowed out of the narrow neck of the gorge, a massive baobab grew out of the rocks and reddish dirt, hanging precariously over the river, its grasp tenuous at best in the eroded, stony soil.
Devin noted that, across from that, on the other side of the river, and closer to a small pool, was a marula, also covered in fruit, riper than the hard green orbs of the still ripening fruit in the tree where she had spent the night. She decided she would try the baobab first, as the marula, with its mass of more mature fruit, would attract monkeys, baboons and elephant. Further, it was too close to the pool for comfort. Come sundown, all kinds of animals would be trouping down there to drink and there were some she would just rather not confront. She scanned the top of the other side of the gorge, and a small movement caught her eye. She focused, squinting a little, then relaxed her eyes. A cheetah lay there, its head erect, watching something downstream perhaps. As she watched, it sat up and began cleaning itself. She kept her eyes on it as she picked her way downward to the river bed. By the time she reached the sandy bed, the cheetah was no longer visible, but she remained vigilant as she walked to the hanging baobab.