by Linda Ihle
Tears of relief filled her eyes when she realized that not only was her foot spider-free, but that the cheetah had taken off. She looked down at the area where the guinea fowl had fed and noted one lying sprawled and bloody in the grass. Peering around first to ensure that the cheetah had indeed fled the scene, she climbed gingerly down the tree, and slid down the side of the kopje to the monkey-orange tree. She grabbed the guinea fowl by the feet. It jerked and squawked and she slammed its head against the side of the tree. She dropped the bird in the sandy soil at the base of the tree, then hauled herself part way up the tree and pulled down two of the oranges that appeared to be ripe enough to eat… if I can even bear to actually eat this horrible thing….. before making her way back over the kopje. She figured Angela had probably died of fright a thousand times by now.
Sure enough: Devin found Angela in tears, her body contorted into a foetal position beneath the boulder, and covered in dirt and grass. “Hey, hey, it’s OK,” she called as she approached the woman. “I just shot our supper.” Angela rose and stared up at her. “How the hell did you get all that dirt and stuff all over you?” Devin queried.
“I guess I tried to dig a hole to hide in,” Angela said softly, staring down at her torn fingernails. “I didn’t know what had happened.”
“Well, I tell you, I was bloody scared myself, hey!” Devin admitted squatting in the dirt next to Angela. “There was a bloody cheetah up there!”
“What! Did you kill it?”
“Hell, no! I fired at the guinea fowl and he took off. Thank Christ. I don’t think I could’ve brought myself to shoot him. Man, that’s the closest I’ve ever come.” She shook her head and laughed. “Anyway, whatever, we have to get going. Oh, and I have a present for you.” She handed Angela one of the oranges.
Angela rose and dusted the dirt and grass from her clothes. Pieces clung to her hair, but Devin determined that what she didn’t know couldn’t hurt her and there was no reason to be looking spiffy out here anyway. “Thank you,” she mumbled, accepting the fruit and biting into the skin to break it. “Easier to peel that way,” she told Devin. “I really like these.”
“Ja, not my favourite thing, though,” Devin remarked, “but it’s better than getting scurvy. Get mine started for me?” Angela took it from her and bit into it. “Thanks!” Devin grinned back over her shoulder as she led the way. They marched onward, heading more to the south-southeast now, the mid-afternoon glare of the sun bouncing off her back and shoulders, juice from the fruit sticking to her lips and chin. It was good as long as she didn’t have to see it.
19.
Two hours later, as the sun began to descend, they still had not found a suitable place to spend the night. Devin was starting to worry, but said nothing. The terrain had changed again from primarily savanna and rock to softer, claylike soil with a few small trees scattered here and there in a sea of grass. Walking in this made her particularly nervous as the nearby rocky outcrops and kopjes were prime baboon habitat, therefore, good for leopard too. And their dinner hour was rapidly approaching. The ground began to rise again, gently, and they soon crested a low ridge dotted here and there with scrawny marula trees, none of which appeared to offer any hope of shelter.
“Look!” Angela cried suddenly, shading her eyes with one hand, pointing with the other as she peered directly west into the melting horizon. Devin walked behind her and looked over her shoulder gazing in the direction of her shaking finger.
“Lutope,” she breathed. “Jesus Christ!”
There it was in all its tattered splendor, just as she had remembered. Beneath the spreading boughs of an immense, low-slung baobab, the second-biggest she had ever seen short of one just across the Limpopo River, was a house or, one should say, something that had at one time, long ago, had aspirations to be a house. It had fallen into such disrepair it was now barely recognizable as such. Devin clapped Angela on the shoulder. “Great!” she cried grinning maniacally at the woman who took an involuntary step backwards. “This is what I was looking for!”
She turned and began to trot toward the tree, Angela following quickly in her wake. By the time Angela reached the tree, Devin had already placed her possessions (except for the AK-47) at the base and had disappeared around the back of the structure. Back home, Angela would have called this mangy hovel a cottage, and that would have been kind. It was small, probably big enough to house a bedroom, bathroom and kitchen, along with a small living area and a narrow verandah. The asbestos tile roof had caved in in parts and seemed to be resting precariously atop whatever ceiling structure remained on the interior.
There and then, Angela determined that she would rather spend the night outside in the tree. She stared curiously up at the tree, noting the oddly abundant foliage, the various cave-like nooks and crannies, like a stairway, in the shiny taupe bark. It appeared untouched by elephants, which was unusual. A tremor suddenly coursed down her spine. She felt as though she were being watched. She spun around quickly, panting, her heart hammering in her chest, and peered about. The sun was sinking slowly, casting that reddish glow across everything, quieting the daylong clamour of birds and insects. She put the kerosene can and the bulrush rhizomes down at the base of the tree, all the while looking over her shoulder, then ran around to the back of the house. Devin was nowhere in sight. Angela panicked. Had she been abandoned? Had all of this been a cruel ruse? Hot tears sprung in her eyes and her womb pumped out more blood sending it streaming down her legs. “Devin!” she cried. “Oh, dear God, Devin! Where are you?”
“Right here,” said Devin, suddenly appearing around the southeast corner of the house. “Hey, what’s the matter?” She trotted quickly up to the woman and took her by the shoulder. “Are you OK?” she asked. “What happened?”
Angela felt stupid at that moment and determined to lie. “I...I just thought I heard something, that’s all,” she whispered. “I was frightened.” There: there was some of the truth.
“What did you hear?” asked Devin, looking back over her shoulder. “Oh, wait a minute, were you standing out under the tree?”
“Yeah, mmm hmm,” said Angela wiping at her face and smearing mud and blood across her cheeks.
“Don’t worry about that,” said Devin cheerfully, waving a nonchalant hand. “That’s just the fairies, hey!”
Angela stared at her. “What?” she asked.
“Agh, don’t worry about it. I’ll tell you later,” Devin said. “Come, let me show you around the house.”
Angela hesitated. “Is it safe?” she asked, trepidation causing her voice and limbs to tremble. “It looks ripe for condemnation.”
“Ja, you’re right about the last part, but it’s safe. (I hope.) Come on,” Devin urged. She took Angela’s arm and led her onto a small stoep at what must have once been a kitchen door. It had very recently been pushed ajar, obviously by Devin, and they squeezed through into a twilit room whose primary occupants appeared to be mice and spiders. Devin noticed Angela’s extreme reluctance to proceed any farther into the house. “It’s OK,” she said. “I’ve already checked it out: no snakes and just regular old spiders.” She grinned at her companion, her teeth starkly white in her filthy, sunburned face.
Devin led Angela through the small kitchen where an old woodstove still sat, squat and black against the wall near the steel sink. An open door hanging precariously on rusted hinges allowed them to enter a small living room. Any furniture that had been in the house was gone. Their footfalls echoed dully on hardwood flooring that sagged here and there. Before them was a window, boarded up, but allowing thin shafts of dying light into the room. Next to that was a small stone fireplace. Angela noticed something odd about it, but could not put her finger on it until she approached and then recognized the bats hanging upside down from the stone mantel. She screamed and Devin jumped.
“Jesus Christ!” Devin yelled, clutching her chest. “What the hell’s the matter now?”
Angela pointed wordlessly to the mantel where the fat fruit
bats hung. “Bats!” she whispered.
“Ja, so?” said Devin staring in disbelief at the woman. “They can’t hurt you.” She sighed in exasperation, took Angela’s hand now and pulled her into a small bedroom which offered an attached bathroom. Both rooms were also devoid of furniture. A tattered curtain hung on a rusty rod across the bedroom window, which was also boarded to prevent breakage. “OK,” Devin said quietly, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to shout at you. I just wanted you to see that we can have a roof over our heads, at least for tonight.”
Angela nodded dumbly.
“It will be warm, we can make a fire in the fireplace and cook our guinea fowl and our bulrush potatoes, and we don’t have to sit awake most of the night waiting for leopards and terrorists and what-not. It’ll be a total gas, just you wait and see!”
“I want to sleep in the tree,” Angela blurted.
“Why? Because of the stupid bats?”
“Yeah.”
“Agh, Jesus! Look, they’re gross looking, but they won’t hurt you. As soon as it gets dark, they fly up and out the chimney and they don’t get back until dawn. So they won’t even be here while we sleep.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure. Come on, let’s find some wood and get our underwear and stuff changed. It’s your turn to pluck the guinea fowl. So you do that and make sure you do it well away from the house. I’ll look for wood.” Devin smiled impatiently at the woman, staring her in the eyes, daring her to say no.
“OK,” Angela sighed. “Can we get out the front way?”
“Ja, we can, but I want to keep that area looking like it’s not been touched in years. We’ll go out the back door and come back in the same way. That way we will have only one insecure entrance to worry about.”
“Good idea.” Angela followed her back through the kitchen, clutching her hand, tears burning still in her eyes. As they descended the two steps to the back yard, she asked, “Will you tell me later about the fairies?” She didn’t add, although it was prominent in her mind, this woman is off her rocker.
“Ja, but only if you promise to get what I told you to do done right now, hey. The sun’s just about gone.”
Angela nodded and ran off to take care of her toilet before she cleaned the fowl. Devin took off in the opposite direction to pee and seek out kindling. She had barely gathered half an arm load, before a piercing scream shattered the silence. She pulled the AK-47 off her left shoulder and, cradling it under her right arm, ran in the direction of the cry. As she approached the area where she thought Angela might be, she dropped her kindling, crouched and moved swiftly, silently through the grass, stubbing her toes here and there, but uttering not a word. She found Angela squatting on a bare patch of ground, her sanitary sock in one hand, the other resting behind her on the ground. Devin stared at the woman’s back then moved slowly to peer around her. The cause of the fright was soon obvious. Coiled on the ground about 15 feet in front of Angela, its head raised about a foot off the soil, was a black mamba.
“Agh, no, man!” she whispered.
Angela turned, saw her, and made as if to rise and run toward her.
“No, no!” Devin hissed. “Stay there. Whatever you do, don’t run!”
Angela started to sob uncontrollably. “What do you want me to do?” she asked, her voice squeaky with tears.
Devin watched the snake as she told Angela to very slowly get down onto all fours. As Angela obeyed, the snake reared slightly and Angela uttered a squeal. “Be quiet!” Devin commanded. The mamba was at least six feet long, but seemed more curious than angry at this moment, and a large bulge in its belly was evidence it had just eaten. Its black eyes glistened with reflected red sunset halos. Its charcoal tongue flickered in and out of its mouth. Now Angela was on all fours, her shorts still down around her knees, her bare black bottom facing Devin. “OK,” Devin whispered, “now begin to crawl back toward me. Very slowly!”
Angela complied, moving first one knee back, then the opposing hand, then the other knee. The snake seemed to watch her. Within seconds, Angela was behind Devin and still crawling backwards albeit at a snail’s pace. When she was at least ten paces behind Devin, she stopped. Devin turned and glanced back at her. “OK, stand up really slowly and walk backwards, really slowly, until you get to the tree.” Angela nodded, her eyes wide with fright and shock. Devin returned her attention to the mamba. It remained where Angela had left it, its head still up off the ground, its tongue still out as if testing the breeze. She began to walk backwards away from it, slowly raising one foot and bringing it down, then the other, and so on until the snake was a dull grey-taupe blur in the clearing.
Suddenly, for no apparent reason, it raised its head higher, and began to wind slowly forward, toward them, pausing here and there, but headed unerringly in their direction. Devin glanced behind her and saw Angela in the process of attempting to climb the slick soft bark of the tree. She turned and ran to the base of the baobab, grabbing at the back of the woman’s shorts. “Get down!” she said, “Get into the house, now!”
Angela practically fell down the tree and ran around the back of the house. Devin put the AK-47 around her neck and jumped up to the first ‘step’ in the ostensible stairway Angela had noticed. She got a good hold on one of the lowest branches and proceeded to climb up the slippery old tree. She stopped at the first fork, turned, and peered back in the direction of the snake. It moved now purposefully, but not as fast as she had seen such creatures move, toward the old baobab. Thank goodness for the dassie[11] or whatever it was he just ate! She brought the rifle’s butt to her shoulder and aimed at the lithe form as it twisted its way toward her. At the base of the tree, the snake paused. It raised its upper body bringing its dull khaki-taupe muzzle within two feet of the end of the barrel of her rifle. Its tongue flickered in and out several times. It seemed to be staring directly into her eyes and she wondered if it had thoughts and, if so, what they would be. A cold drop of sweat trickled off her forehead, slid down her nose and fell onto the snake’s head, splattering silently between its large black eyes. It flinched, hissed. Devin remained stock-still, staring down at it. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, the snake brought its head and upper body back down to the ground and slithered off, heading directly west.
Devin waited a full five minutes, watching its progress through the grass, occasionally seeing its head appear like a periscope above the gently swaying burnished grass, before she climbed out of the tree. She walked back to where Angela had been so atrociously disturbed and retrieved and refilled the socks. She found the guinea fowl, still unplucked, behind the tree, and swiftly cleaned it, retrieved her kindling and carried all back into the house, leaving the back door ajar as she knew she would have to go back outside to get more wood, the water and the bulrush bulbs.
She found Angela sitting in the middle of the bedroom floor, her face still grey with shock, tears pouring down her cheeks and blood soaking into the old wood floorboards. Devin threw the filled socks at her, and set about quickly making a fire in the hearth. A fat black scorpion crawled out from under a jutting stone and she impaled it on the end of a sharp twig, smashing it on the floor. She brought the kindling to a roaring blaze and watched as centipedes tried to escape the flames, then went back out for more wood. Darkness had come swiftly, so she was reluctant to venture too far from the house and / or pick up old branches when she could not see what they harboured. She settled for a few more medium size, dry limbs dangling from a nearby tree and brought those in, placing them across the fire. Searching the kitchen cupboards, she found an old, black, cast-iron pot bearing a close resemblance to a cauldron. It was home to numerous spider webs and mouse droppings. She took it outside and upended it, banging on its bottom, then broke a green switch from a small bush and used that to sweep the webs out. That done, she poured a little water into the bottom and dropped the guinea fowl and bulbs into it. Ensuring that the handle was facing her, she set the pot into the fire, and went out to rub more dir
t into her hands to clean them.
She paused there in the erstwhile backyard, listening to the night, feeling strangely calm, safe. She closed her eyes and relaxed. The whispering in the baobab was clearly audible. Devin grinned, turned, climbed the back steps and pushed the door closed, latching it. “Good-night, fairies,” she whispered, before heading back into the sitting-room.
Angela was sitting on the floor against the wall farthest from the fire, weeping. She looked up as Devin entered. “I’m sorry,” she said.
“For what?”
“Look, I know you’re mad with me...”
“Who said I’m cross? I was just in a hurry to get this all done before it got really dark. You did what I told you. If you hadn’t, you’d be lying out there dead, cold as an Eskimo’s arse right now.” She squatted in front of the fire and gingerly raised the lid on the pot, letting fragrant steam out. It swirled up the chimney with the grey smoke and sparks from the sap falling into the coals. She was dying for a cigarette, but told herself to wait until after she had eaten.