A Pride of Lions (17 page)

“Perhaps he will want to go out with you this evening,” they said.

“I hope he does!” Hugo retorted. “He’ll have some idea of what we’re up against if he comes with us.”

The hot sun of the afternoon blazed down on us. The recent rains had swelled the waters of the lake, but in the compound of the Lodge, it had done no more than encourage the trees to burst into flower and the tough grass to take on a tinge of green. The earth had already turned to dust that clung to the lower leaves and branches of the plants, staining them the same red as the soil.

The only visitors to come to the
patio,
with its latticed and creeper-clad shelter from the sun, were the lizards in search of insects. These were highly coloured affairs, with bright blue throats, green and yellow backs, and sucker pads on their feet that allowed them to hang upside down on the roof without any visible signs of discomfort. They would stand stock still on a pillar. Only their complex eyes would revolve, searching ceaselessly for food or danger. Then, without warning, they would streak away, only to take up their post at some other point of the building. They certainly did a good job on the flies. There were hardly any to annoy us as we sat in the shade and waited for the afternoon to turn to evening.

Only the
askaris
were active in the heat of the afternoon. There were rumours that some lions had been seen by some tourists close by and they went off in a body to find out exactly where they were and, more important, whether the
Mzee
was with them.

It was tea-time when the Minister’s Landrover turned into the compound. He stepped out of the vehicle as immaculate as if he had just stepped out of his house in Nairobi. He wore a light tropical suit and dark glasses that hid his restless, intelligent eyes. To my surprise, Hugo’s displeasure at the day’s events dropped away from him at the sight of the Minister.

“Duncan Njugi!” he exclaimed happily.

“Didn’t you know it was I?” Mr. Njugi asked in the slightly pedantic English of most educated Africans. “Tourism and so on has been my pigeon for a number of weeks now. I work under the Minister for Tourism,” he added with satisfaction.

Hugo shook him by the hand with evident pleasure. “How long will you be in Tsavo?” he asked him.

Duncan Njugi shrugged. “A few hours. I must be back in

Nairobi tomorrow.”

He took a chair beside me, snapping off his dark glasses as he did so. Hugo introduced him to us all and he greeted each of us with the same intense look that he gave to everything.

“I have been hearing about your lion,” he said, smiling slightly.

“He’s on his way back,” Hugo told him, pulling down the corners of his mouth to show dismay.

“It is worse than that,” Duncan Njugi said carefully. “The lion must stay here.”

“For heaven’s sake, why?” Hugo demanded.

“It is a complicated situation. Have you seen your newspaper today?”

Hugo shook his head. “They’re delivered to Voi,” he explained. “I pick them up with the mail about once a week.” “Then you will not have seen the picture of your lion? It has been picked up by the international press too. The lion is famous now. The tourists will expect to see him.”

Hugo snorted. “And how will they tell one lion from another?” he asked flatly.

Duncan Njugi smiled. “Normally, I would say not. But this lion is a very fine specimen, wouldn’t you say? He will be a great attraction for the Park. Everyone will be looking out for him.”

Hugo groaned. “Do you realise that he had at least forty lions in his pride here? We couldn’t let it go on, getting bigger and bigger—”

“I know,” Mr. Njugi agreed. “But it is the other lions who must go. You must scatter the pride—put them where you will, in other Parks, anything—but the
Mzee
must stay here!”

“And how did the newspapers get this photograph?” Mr. Patel asked thoughtfully. It was the first time he had spoken since the arrival of the Minister.

“Janice—?” I hazarded.

“I’ll ring her neck!” Hugo exploded. “Duncan, it won’t do. It’ll end up with that beast ruling Tsavo, not us! Dammit, it may even come to a situation when we won’t be able to allow tourists in because it won’t be safe for them!”

Duncan Njugi looked apologetic. “It is a little more difficult to say such things in Nairobi,” he pointed out.

“Then we’ll have to move the rest of them,” Hugo said in

despair.

“I’m sorry,” Mr. Njugi said with real feeling. “What will you do?”

“Get busy!” Hugo retorted with a grin. “If we’re going to move the other males, it will be easier to do it before the
Mzee
gets back. That animal gives me a funny feeling! I’m sure he knows every move we’re up to! I wouldn’t put it past him to have the whole pride holed up somewhere where we can’t get to them if we give him the chance!”

“He is still a lion,” Duncan Njugi stated firmly.

‘You tell him that!” Hugo suggested sweetly.

“No, no, that is your job!” the Minister protested. “I beard my lions in the Assembly. That is just as difficult, I assure you!”

We all laughed. All that remained was to decide where and when we were going to tackle the lions. Mr. Patel had done some similar work once for an American zoo and he suggested that we should get the
askaris
to drive the lions away from the dam, until they could be netted and caged.

“We can try it,” Hugo said doubtfully.

Mr. Patel looked uncomfortable. “One can never insure that no animal will get hurt,” he said.

“Exactly,” said Hugo.

There was a long silence, which I broke because I felt sorry for Mr. Patel who was obviously wishing he had kept quiet.

“What about the anaesthetic darts?” I said.

Hugo cast me a look of real affection. “We might have to use them yet. Will you stand by with the gun, while we try the other way first?”

‘Yes,” I managed. I didn’t like to tell him that one way and another I was now afraid of guns.

“Good girl!” he said with warm approval. That made up for a lot. I subsided into my chair and listened to the others as they marked out on a map exactly what they were going to do. In the distance, I thought I saw a lion come out from the green bank of the dam and go down to the water to drink, but it was too early for them to be on the move. Or so I thought.

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.