A Pride of Lions (18 page)

“Then you don’t think the cities offer greater security to a woman?” Hugo asked me, as we walked along the path to my
boma.

“Not to me,” I said.

“Most white women are afraid of the open spaces,” he went on with a touch of bitterness.

“I was born and bred to them,” I said.

He smiled faintly in the darkness. “Harry deJong’s daughter?” The smile faded. “But what would you do without any shops for the greater part of the year? How would you manage without even a village
duka
?”

It was my turn to smile. “How do I manage now?” I said. Katundi brought me some early morning tea at six o’clock the next morning.

“The Bwana is already at breakfast, mama,” he greeted me urgently. “He wishes to look at your arm before he goes out to set up the nets.”

I eyed the day with, disfavour. “I’m coming,” I grunted.

When I was properly awake, I found it rather pleasant, lying in bed and drinking hot tea from a mug. The brick-built
boma
was comfortable without being opulent, and the view from the doorway was magnificent. I could see the whole of the artificial lake and most of the green bank of the dam. What I couldn’t see were any lions.

Not wanting, or daring, to keep Hugo waiting, I dragged myself out of bed and dressed as quickly as I could. Hugo was alone on the
patio
when I joined him. He looked up and smiled at me.

“How is the arm?” he asked. “Any pain?”

I hesitated. “Not really,” I said at last. “It’s more stiff than painful.”

He unrolled the bandages and peered at the rapidly healing gash in my arm. “I think you’ll live,” he said.

“I hope so!” I protested.

I watched his strong, neat fingers as he re-bandaged my arm. His hands were large, even for a man’s but he was astonishingly dexterous with them.

“There!” he said when he had finished. “Clare, I’m going to put you behind the nets. You shouldn’t have to do anything there, but you’d better take one of the dart guns just in case. Will you be all right?”

I nodded. “Where will you be?”

“Right behind the lions, I hope,” he said.

I was too excited to eat much breakfast. I swallowed down some scalding coffee, but I couldn’t be bothered with anything more solid. I wanted to go with the men when they put out the nets and I was afraid they would leave me behind if I weren’t ready and waiting beside the Landcruiser.

It was a major operation. We fenced in about a quarter of an acre, with nets spread wide on either side, much like a fishing net when it is dragged behind a boat. The idea was that the lions would be beaten out of their lair and into the fenced area and the nets would be hurriedly shut, holding the lions captive. From there they could be enticed into cages and then taken away by lorry to their various destination. Most of the fencing had already been done by the time we got there. Hugo and Mr. Patel helped unload the heavy nets, spreading them out from tree to tree. And then, at last, we were ready.

I chose for myself the branches of a hospitable acacia tree that overlooked the whole length of the fences. There, I thought, I would be able to see everything that was going on in reasonable comfort. Hugo loaded the gun with anaesthetic darts and handed it up to me.

“Don’t use it unless someone gets into trouble,” he ordered me. “I want to try gentle persuasion first. Okay?”

“Okay,” I said.

The beaters had lined themselves up along the top of the dam, armed with drums and rattles and anything else that would make a noise. The din was terrific. Slowly they moved forward, foot by foot, constantly alert to the danger that the lions might turn on them in their anxiety to escape. Hugo and Abdul Patel, both armed with rifles, brought up the rear.

Nothing moved. I craned forward from my perch in the tree to see better, but there was nothing to see. A family of warthogs burst out from the undergrowth, squealing and grunting a warning of danger to the world.

The beaters advanced a few feet more and a single lioness broke cover and made a rush for open country. She ran straight into the fenced area, followed closely by her cubs. In a fury, she rushed the fences, but they held against her. Defeated, she turned, and turned again, throwing herself down on the ground. There she lay panting in the sun, her ears flicking with temper, while she considered the situation. She was followed by a male lion, and then another, and then four fully adult lions walked into the cage together.

One of the males came right up to the tree where I was hiding, staring out through the fence. He put his front paws on a termite heap just beneath me, and yawned. He had a spectacular set of teeth, for he was young and well in his prime. Then, without any warning, he roared his message of contempt for all men in a bellow that almost unseated me. The whole tree shivered as the sound echoed round and round the hollow of the lake.

The beaters faltered in their line. A lion snarled close to their feet, threatening vengeance, but even as I watched, it changed its mind and followed the others into the cage. Only a few cubs remained now and I relaxed, thinking the danger was over. But even a lion cub can savage a man. One of the
askaris
almost stepped on an adolescent lion hiding in a bush. In retrieving the situation, he lost his hat. The cub sniffed it disdainfully for a few seconds and then, slowly and deliberately, tore it into shreds.

The men were badly frightened by the incident, but Hugo and Mr. Patel moved in closer behind them and they pushed on the last few feet to the nets without incident. In a few seconds, the nets were closed, and the men cheered and slapped one another on the back, delighted with their efforts.

“Mzee
has stayed away!” they called to one another, almost in ecstasy. The Masai amongst them began to chant their age-old victory song over the lion, a rhythm that rolled back and forth in triumphant sequences. I found myself humming the same chant under my breath, beating time with my fingers on the branch that held me.

Then I saw him.

I saw first his amber eyes as he padded over towards the tree. Lions do not normally climb trees, so I thought I was safe enough. I should have known better. The acacia tree, with its spreading, low branches, made an ideal stepping-stone over the fence and into the cage beyond.

The
Mzee
hiccoughed in his throat, the sound of a hunting lion. I froze where I sat, quite unable to move in any direction. Beneath me, the great lion gathered himself together and

sprang on to the branch beneath me. I clutched the gun with its anaesthetic dart closer to me, scraping the barrel against the bark of the tree.

The lion looked up and saw me. I was surprised to see that he had round pupils, like a human being’s, and not the long, slit pupils of the ordinary cat. I thought for a moment he was going to ignore me and go on into the cage. He glanced down at the ground, his heavy mane moving slightly in the breeze. Then he gathered himself up again, measuring the distance between us.

I know now how a lion’s prey feels, transfixed and resigned to its fate. I even knew that I wouldn’t struggle, any more than a gazelle argues with the smothering death that a lion deals out to its victim. But my other self refused to be hypnotised by those amber eyes. I heard a gun fire and was surprised to discover that it was I who had pulled the trigger. The dart landed with a dull thud in the great beast’s shoulder. He started his leap towards me, but his eyes were already clouded with sleep. He fell heavily to the ground and I fell after him. When Hugo arrived, I was standing over him like the traditional hero of old, yelling blue murder into the empty air.

CHAPTER TEN

“I’ve killed him!” I sobbed.

‘You’ve done nothing of the kind!”

“How could I? He would have rescued them! He would! He would!”

To my surprise, Hugo agreed with me. He thought that the lion would have found a way of breaching the fences. Indeed, he thought he had had a plan of some kind in his mind, or he would not have come out from his hiding place.

“I wish I hadn’t done it!” I said bitterly.

Hugo gave me a quick hug. “He wouldn’t have offered you much mercy,” he commented.

But that seemed a mere side issue to me. I couldn’t bear to see the fine animal lying helpless on the ground at my feet.

“What are we going to do?” I mourned.

Hugo leaned over the lion, examining in detail his large paws, the strength of his muscles, and his wide, intelligent eyes.

“No wonder you feel a sense of kinship with him,” he remarked when he came to the still open, though sightless eyes.

“Why?” I asked, still nursing a sense of grievance over the whole affair.

“You could be related, your eyes are so alike!” he teased me, “Perhaps we are,” I said.

Hugo removed the dart from the lion’s shoulder and massaged gently the place where the tip had entered. “He won’t feel a thing when he comes round,” he said. “Happily, that won’t be for a while yet. We’d better get the other animals out of here—” “All of them?” I asked.

Hugo looked up at me over his shoulder. He was smiling. “Not all of them,” he conceded. “But certainly all the males.”

“He would be lonely by himself,” I said, happy that this was not to be so.

“I imagine he is less susceptible than you are,” Hugo grunted. “Oh?” I said coldly.

Hugo grinned. “We’ll leave him the three best-looking females together with their cubs. Will that do?”

“I suppose so,” I agreed grudgingly.

“Look,” he said, “lions don’t form prides in order to be sociable. It’s a hunting unit. Nothing more than that—”

“I suppose you could say the same about primitive man!” I suggested.

“Very probably,” he agreed. “At the moment it seems an enviable arrangement to me! At least primitive man didn’t have to consider everybody else’s happiness all the time. He clubbed his female over the head and that was that!”

I coloured faintly. “Charming!” I said. “Is that what you want to do?”

To my surprise he looked uncertain. “No,” he said. “I want a great deal more than that. Any such tactics are best left to the Hans Doffnangs of this world.”

He was mad, of course! Anything more unlikely than the round-faced, placid Dutchman clubbing anyone, let alone a woman, was hard to imagine.

Abdul Patel came running over to us, his dark eyes snapping with excitement. “Did you ever see anything like it?” he cried out. “That animal was actually climbing a tree!”

Hugo stood up. “They do sometimes,” he said.

“I thought they never did!” Mr. Patel demurred.

“Sometimes,” Hugo answered. “In Lake Manyara Park, and Queen Elizabeth Park too, the lions are well known for climbing the trees. They rest in the branches out of the way of the tsetse flies. They make a very good tourist attraction.”

“But the
Mzee
could hardly have learned the trick from them!” Mr. Patel exclaimed.

“No, but this is much the same kind of tree as the ones they climb there,” Hugo remarked.

“It’s easy to climb,” I pointed out. “That’s why I was sitting in it!”

“Naturally,” said Hugo.

I made a face at him. Mr. Patel looked from one to the other of us, his eyes widening with surprise. “Am I interrupting?” he asked diffidently.

“Certainly not!” Hugo assured him.

He put an end to all such speculation by busying himself with hauling the unconscious lion into a more comfortable position. It took all his strength to move the great cat, for a lion is somewhat bigger than a man and probably heavier as well.

“We’d better get going with the others,” Hugo panted, when he had finished. “Patel, could you get the first lorries lined up?”

The Indian was only too pleased. He rushed away to see that the first lorry was properly backed into the entrance of the fenced-off area. A ramp was laid for the lions to walk up and yet more net was placed all round the area. The lions were then tempted, one by one, to walk into the lorry.

It was a very long process, but finally the lorries and their outraged cargoes were being driven away down the dirt track towards their new homes, leaving only the
Mzee
and the three females with, their cubs that Hugo had promised to leave him.

It was well into the afternoon before the last lorry had gone.

“I am very hungry,” Abdul Patel complained, rubbing his stomach. “Have we time to have something to eat?”

“We’ll make time,” Hugo assured him.

I went over to the acacia tree, ignoring their cries to me to come on, to take a last look at the king of the lions. But he was no longer there. Some time during the morning he must have come round and had taken himself off into the safety of the bush. I could see his tracks leading away from the tree, but they were soon lost in the dust. For me, it was a sad moment. There was, after all, no reason why I should ever see the lion again.

Mr. Patel was a dab hand at making curry out of practically nothing, and he set to work with a will back in the compound, with Katundi acting as his assistant. In actual fact there was little to do but blow on the glowing embers and wait for the rice to cook, a job which Katundi insisted was his own.