Storms Over Africa (51 page)

Quite suddenly, he came to a snap trap which had not been tampered with. Instead, lying on his side with terror and pain in his eyes, a young impala had his back leg snared. Richard dropped to his knees beside the stricken animal. The leg was torn and broken. Adam shook his head. It was beyond repair. Taking out his knife, Richard slit the impala's throat quickly. There were tears on his cheeks as he watched the trembling limbs go still and the light of life die from the animal's eyes. The suffering and fear of the impala was something he could really relate to now.

Still kneeling beside the animal, he sensed, rather than saw, an indistinct mountain of
grey off to his right. Looking through the trees he saw a large bull elephant, no more than fifteen metres from where he knelt. The animal had his back to Richard. There was no wind. Unless they made a noise, they could move away from the elephant without the animal becoming aware of their presence.

Adam was moving silently backwards, his rifle held ready in case the animal saw them and charged. Richard moved with him. They found an ant hill and crouched down behind it. ‘He'll move on in a minute,' Adam whispered. One of the mysteries of Africa, an elephant's ability to camouflage itself even from such a short distance, made it difficult for them to see what the animal was doing. It was swaying on it's huge feet and making deep rumbling growls. They watched the elephant pluck a branch from overhead, shake it fiercely, then lay it on top of a pile of others. Next, the bull inhaled dirt into his trunk and blew it out in a fine spray. Then, as if to check his handiwork, the elephant ran his trunk along the entire length of the mound of branches, occasionally stopping to adjust a branch, rumbling constantly. The bull had curiously shaped ears, torn in half, which looked like old-fashioned bloomers.

The actions of the elephant seemed almost tender, the rumbling growl coming from his stomach was constant and, once or twice, he
trumpeted loudly as if in outrage. They watched him for ten minutes before, satisfied, the animal gave one final trumpet and ambled away. He was very soon lost from view.

Cautiously, they approached the mound of leaves, twigs, branches and dirt. Then Richard saw the shoe. It was a sports shoe, the kind David always wore. He stopped, staring at it. There was something odd about the way it was lying, with the toe sticking upwards. Realisation was slow in coming as he tried to deny what he knew must be. With a cry of fear, he flung himself at the heap on the ground, feverishly removing the branches and brushing away the dirt, telling himself it could not be David. But in his heart he knew it was David, even before he uncovered his son's face.

‘Noooooooooo.' Richard's voice rang out in the stillness of the game reserve.

David lay on his back, his eyes staring up to the sky. Philamon's bullet had taken him cleanly in the back of the head. He must have died instantly.

‘No, God, no,' Richard shouted, cradling his son in his arms. He pulled David's stiff body onto his lap and rocked him, calling his name over and over, great tearing sobs welling up from the bottom of his guts. ‘My son, my boy,' he called, heartbroken.

Adam Robinson stood in shock next to
them, swearing obscenely. Then he swore again as he noticed a second mound of the elephant's work.

Bloomer Ears had not gone very far and, when he heard the man's shout, returned to see what had made the noise, not at first identifying it with the dreaded sound of his enemy. He had never forgotten that day at the river, when his family, his friends, cousins, aunts and acquaintances had been slaughtered by the loud repeating thunder which came from the trees and smelled of man. He had been wary of man ever since, except the one who came and made the ground safe. He saw the man with the dead boy in his arms, rocking him, and somehow, instinct told him he was in no danger.

‘Sweet Jesus, David, my son, oh, dear God, David.'

Bloomer Ears sensed sorrow and anger. He was familiar with the emotion. He had felt the same way at the river . . . confused, frightened, angry and sad. It was clear that this man felt the same. He swayed on his huge feet, pushing his trunk forward and up, flicking his ears. Instinct stopped him rushing the man to rebury the still one. The same instinct that had him cover the bodies in the first place. The man cradled the still one and made strange choking noises. The other man uncovered the second still one, the one who was still holding the thunder stick under his chin.

‘Kathy, Kathy, have you got him with you? Take care of him, darling. I love you, David. Oh, Jesus, who would do this to a schoolboy?'

Bloomer Ears saw the man lower his face into the still one's neck and saw the sobs racking his body and heard the wrenching anguish.

He could have had no way of knowing that this man in front of him had once been as guilty as those responsible for the carnage in the game reserve. Even if he had been able to perceive this fact, it would not have prevented him from following his instincts and gently covering the bodies of David and Philamon. He was a wild thing and his intuition rather than reason guided his actions. So he watched the man and the boy for a while, before turning away and ambling off in search of food. In her mysterious way, fate had brought Richard Dunn and Bloomer Ears together for a fraction in time and then allowed them to go their separate ways, neither of them knowing how connected they were and neither of them perceiving that justice, in this terrible form, could be seen to have been done.

Richard buried David in the reserve. The little glen where he lay became known as Bloomer's Boma. The elephant seemed attached to the spot and was seen there more often than not, sometimes with his trunk resting gently on the headstone of David's grave. The headstone simply read

D
AVID
J
AMES
D
UNN

A
GED
17 Y
EARS

G
O WELL, MY SON
.

Theoretically David should not have been buried there, it was against the law. But Adam said, ‘It's a big park, Richard.
I
can't be everywhere at once.' He, like Richard, wanted David to lie forever among the animals he had loved so much and for whom he had lost his life.

Philamon had been taken to his village to be buried by his wives. Richard bore him no grudge. He took full responsibility for David's death and felt an honest sadness that Philamon had taken his own life when he realised who he had shot that night.

Somehow time healed them. Faces, sadly missed—David, Samson, Philamon—were less painful to recall. Richard sometimes found himself smiling at a memory instead of crying. He and Penny leaned on each other, drawn together by their need to find comfort instead of grief, held together by their battered self-confidence, welded as one while they clawed their way back to what they used to be.

Penny's drug habit was cured before she stopped grieving, before she even had time to think about it. Her nightmares took longer. Her body, strong and young, shrugged off the cocaine, alcohol, miscarriage and the bruising from the attempted rape. Her mind would not let it go. She shunned all contact with the outside world.

Richard worried about her. He started inviting Adam Robinson to the house. He liked the man enormously and thought he would be good for his daughter. Penny treated Adam with complete indifference. But she would grow cranky and difficult if he stayed away too long. Adam, a strong and fiercely independent man with the patience of one who lives alone and with nature, gave her all the time and space she needed, content to let her find out in her own time that which he already knew.

It was Adam who gave Richard the idea of turning Pentland Park into an exclusive game-viewing ranch. Under other circumstances he
would have rejected the idea. He did not want tourists tramping all over Pentland. But once the seed had been sown he came to see that this was his chance to perpetuate David's dream of another safe haven for the wild animals of Africa in their diminishing world of safe havens. On a plateau, halfway up the hills on the other side of the valley from his house, he built eight chalets and a large complex to house the staff he would need to look after the tourists. An indoor/outdoor bar, a small cinema, a swimming pool and tennis court completed this luxurious yet rustic hideaway. He sold all but a few of his cattle which he kept on the western side of his land. The animals from the reserve quickly learned they would come to no harm on this extension of their space and, before long, the land which had been dotted with cattle now supported herds of zebra, wildebeest, tsessebe and kudu. Cheetah found the grassy hills in front of the escarpment to their liking. Leopard adopted the rocky bush country near the reserve.

Six months after David died, Pentland Park Game Ranch was opened for business and became an overnight sensation, bringing in overseas tourists and tourist dollars. A mere 100 kilometres from the capital, it was within easy striking distance. The reserve next door was a natural extension to the ranch.

Penny helped her father run the ranch. If any
of the male guests tried to get close, they were slapped down with a sharply sarcastic comment. Very few were tempted to try their luck again with this coldly beautiful girl. They did speculate, though, and many fantasised what she would be like under her cold exterior.

There were rumours, of course. Africans love to gossip. News spread of terrible deeds at Pentland Park, of rape and pillage, murder and torture. As it spread, the rumour grew. By the time it reached the ears of anyone who knew what had really happened it had been distorted to such an extent that no-one believed it. It was just another wild tale. Richard and Penny, bonded together by all that had happened, were able to shrug off any curiosity. They were so good at it, the rumour died. In fact, it was buried so deep it only exploded to the surface on one occasion.

Adam had heard the rumour too. He had asked Richard if any of it were true. Richard looked at the calm man who was so obviously in love with his daughter. ‘Yes,' he said bluntly. ‘Some of it.'

Adam nodded. ‘Explains a lot.'

‘You didn't hear it from me.'

‘I didn't hear it at all.'

That was the night Adam proposed. After she had screamed at him, told him of that terrible day sparing no details, cried on him, threatened him and said he would never lay a
finger on her, she accepted his proposal. Adam always knew she would. He loved her so deeply he would have spent his days with her in platonic friendship. But two months after he placed his engagement ring on her finger she flew at him and accused him of not finding her attractive. Adam picked her up in his arms, took her to bed, and showed her just how attractive he found her.

Once she began to get better Penny stopped leaning on her father. Richard had a relapse. He grieved for his son deeply. He regretted the lost opportunities to get close to him and be a better father. He tried to heap all his love and attention onto his daughter. Penny, who would once have revelled in being the sole focus of her father's concern, complained, ‘You're smothering me, Daddy, give me some space.'

Feeling rejected, he became moody and introspective. He started visiting David's grave every day. There, in the glen and the silence of the reserve, he felt more at peace than anywhere else. Bloomer Ears was often there and would retreat a short distance, wary, yet not frightened by this man who came to be with the still one, who sometimes wept, sometimes sat speaking quietly and sometimes stalked around yelling. Richard knew the elephant was there but never tried to approach him. The two of them developed a trusting but
indifferent relationship, the elephant somehow understanding the man's need to be in the glen and the man respecting the elephant's adoption of the place.

David had been dead nearly a year when Richard brought his increasing preoccupation with Steve to him. Since Penny stopped needing him his thoughts had turned more and more to Steve. ‘I miss her, son,' he said quietly. In the distance, Bloomer Ears's stomach rumbled conversationally. ‘What should I do?'

The glen was a sheltered spot, allowing only a small amount of dappled sunlight through the trees to the ground below. Sometimes, when the sun was at just the right angle and the breeze blew the branches overhead and a passing animal had raised enough dust, thin shafts of light blazed briefly through the dust particles, like sunlight shining through a stained glass window in a dusty church. On this afternoon, the sun was an hour off setting, the breeze blew, the branches parted, Bloomer Ears's dust was still hanging in the air and Richard saw a bright haze of yellow sunlight which ran through the branches overhead and slanted down so it touched David's name on his headstone. ‘Should I try to get her back here, son?' He watched the light. It glowed steadily on David's name. Richard took it as a signal.

Bloomer Ears watched the man leave. There
was purpose in his walk and intent on his face. The still one had given his blessing.

No-one ever saw Bloomer Ears again. He left for the far northern corner of the park and never returned. He ambled slowly, a great mountain of grey, wild as the land in which he lived, noble and beautiful and endangered, a majestic reminder of an age when man needed less and the animals had all they required. He would, if he was lucky, sire many fine sons who in turn would vie for space in their ever-decreasing allotment of land.

Richard's sons, if he had any more, might inherit Pentland and might, depending on their nature, maintain the extended haven for animals which had been created in the memory of David Dunn. Bloomer Ears's sons would have to rely on the caring and sensitive nature of David being passed onto others.

In the end, however, unless a miracle takes place, the animals would always lose.

Steve leaned towards the man across the table. ‘I'm not going, Craig.'

‘Yes you are, darling.'

‘I've told you, I'm not going back to Zimbabwe.'