A Pride of Lions (6 page)

I thought ‘Welcome’ to be rather a good name for an elephant, but then I was feeling braver now. I unzipped the entrance to my tent completely and came outside to have a closer look at her. Immediately she saw me, Karibu began rumbling with joy, keeping her eye on my every movement. Her trunk waved over my head and nuzzled me gently towards her. I patted her on the shoulder, marvelling at her thick skin. She didn’t seem to mind what I did to her, she rumbled on, giving every sign of intense pleasure.

“I think she likes you,” Johnny said, smiling. “But be careful of her. She’s still a wild animal.”

I had every intention of being careful!

“Thank you for coming to my rescue,” I said with true gratitude.

“Think nothing of it!” Johnny answered. “Were you on your way up to the site?”

I glanced at my watch. “I suppose so,” I agreed without much enthusiasm.

“I’ll walk up there with you,” Johnny offered.

We set off up a path that led up from the other side of the baobab tree, with Karibu trotting along behind, still rumbling by way of keeping up her end of the conversation. It was a steep and, despite the rain that had fallen in the night, a dusty climb to the top of the great pile of rocks on which it was planned to build the Chui Safari Lodge. At the top of the path, looking rather ridiculous in the middle of nowhere, was a slatted notice-board headed with the picture of a leopard resting in a tree. Underneath were the names of the architect, Mr. Doffnang, and the various contractors for each part of the building.

Of the building itself there was as yet no sign. A group of African labourers had built a temporary road up one side of the rocky plateau and they were busy now, driving up the raw, red soil, a number of bulldozers and mechanical diggers to begin the foundations. Most of them were sitting by the road, gossiping, while the heavy machinery ploughed past them. If there was much more rain, I thought, the road would be a greasy mire and nothing would be able to get up or down at all.

“We’ll have to give that road a top dressing of stone chips,” I said, more to myself than to Johnny. He shrugged his shoulders, plainly uninterested in such considerations.

“I come up here strictly for the view,” he said. “Have you ever seen anything better than that?”

I turned to where he was pointing. It was true that it was a fantastic view. From the top of this outcrop of rock one could see a hundred miles of Africa before one. Above was the blue and gold of the hot sky, bleaching the colours from the grass and brush below. But nothing could take away from the colours of the rust soil and the deep purple shadows. The horizon was so far away, it looked as though the land gave way to water, but it was sheer distance that turned the far-off hills a vivid, deeper blue than the pale sky. And in all that space nothing apparently moved. It was only after one’s eyes had grown accustomed to the sheer size of the land before one that one could make out some elephants crossing the river to go up to the plateau, some warthogs trooping from one place to another, and the olive baboons that played on the slopes at our feet, drinking from the dripping irrigation pipes that were to bring the water from the river to a permanent artificial lake below.

“Oh well,” said Johnny, “I’d better take myself off. See you this evening!”

I nodded abstractedly. Karibu rumbled gently in my ear, calling herself to my attention. With a sigh, I leant against the grey pillar that was her foreleg and pulled my hat down over my eyes against the glare. Karibu’s trunk embraced my waist.

“It’s all home to you, isn’t it?” I said to her.

She rumbled her assent, reluctantly letting me go as Mr. Doffnang came toiling up the steep path towards us.

“So Miss deJong, you are already here,” he said fussily. “Are you sure that elephant is safe?”

Karibu rumbled some more. “I hope so,” I said in Dutch. “Mr. Doffnang, we’ll have to do something about that road. That murram surface will be washed off in no time as soon as the rains come in earnest!”

Mr. Doffnang and I happily inspected the road in question and there began my first full working day on the site. I was kept pretty busy. Mr. Doffnang’s orders had to be translated to Abdul Patel, and the men’s comments had to be translated back again. More often than not, there were messages to be run as well from one end of the site to the other, explaining in detail exactly where a trench was to be dug, either in Swahili, which most of the men understood, or in Kikuyu, or sometimes in the few words of Masai that I had at my disposal. There were not many Masai workers on the site, however. They preferred to live their own free, untrammelled existence, untouched by

the remotest touch of civilisation, in their own lands. Most of the men were Kikuyus, Embus, and Wakamba, who had come away from their own homelands to earn the big money that building hotels in the middle of nowhere could bring them.

In the middle of the day, when the heat shimmered over the land and even the elephants huddled together seeking the pathetic shade of the nearest thorn tree, the work came almost to a stop. Mr. Doffnang and I sat under a tree and shared our sandwiches and coffee.

Mr. Patel, visibly wilting, confided that he was in the middle of the Moslem feast of Ramadan and could partake of nothing, not even a drop of water, until sunset. Without his turban of the night before, he looked smaller and much less impressive, if rather nicer. He wore a pair of sand-coloured shorts that I suspected he had inherited from the British Army, for they came well down to his knees. On the top part of his body he wore a bright pink shirt, the tail of which hung down over his shorts, for he refused to tuck it in, giving him an oddly doleful look. He talked, when he talked at all, of his wife and children sadly left behind in Mombasa, which was where he normally lived.

We were still resting under the tree when Janice came up the steep path to take a look at us, her camera slung over her shoulder.

“Johnny said I might get some good shots of Karibu up here,” she said by way of greeting.

Mr. Doffnang leapt furiously to his feet. “No, no!” he said harshly in Dutch. “It is too much! Please tell the young lady that she is to leave us alone!”

Janice paid him no heed at all. “It doesn’t look to me as though you are doing anything at all!” she remarked coolly. “Where is Karibu?”

“Down by the river,” I said.

Janice gave me a cool look. “Hugo is fond of her,” she said lightly. “I don’t think he’ll like it if you cut him out with her.”

I laughed. “There’s not much danger of that!” I protested. “She was sorry this morning that she had given me a fright.” I stopped, puzzled. How had Janice known about that? She hadn’t been there when I had made my spectacular dash for my tent. “J-Johnny introduced us,” I added, not quite truthfully.

“Johnny would!” she said dryly.

“Why do you say that?” I asked.

“He likes to think he’s more important than he is. But he hasn’t got the way with animals that Hugo has. I help him sometimes, you know, with his little private zoo. The only thing that annoys him is when they get into his flower garden and eat his precious flowers! I feel rather honoured really that he asked me to help out with them. I’m the only female he allows around his house. There aren’t many women that he likes at all. But I expect you know that?”

“I suppose I do,” I answered as casually as I could. “Kate Freeman practically said as much.”

Janice’s expression hardened. “And she would know?”

I heard myself laugh. “She’d know! She and her husband know all about everyone!”

“Really?” Janice drawled. “I don’t think I know her.”

I let the remark lie. It was too hot to duel with hidden words and it was not a game I had ever much enjoyed. Janice shook out her fair hair and Mr. Doffnang made a sound of explosive anger and walked away from us.

“What’s the matter with him?” Janice asked.

I smiled faintly. “I think he finds your presence distracting,” I told her.

She looked astonished.
“Mr. Doffnang?”

“Why not?” I said.

“I thought he didn’t like me,” she said frankly. She wrinkled her nose thoughtfully. “Perhaps he doesn’t. It’s a bit different to be distracted by someone to liking them, don’t you think?”

I stared at her. I couldn’t make up my mind about Janice Kemp. “I suppose it is,” I drawled.

The colour crept into her cheeks. “Don’t pay any attention to me,” she said. “I say silly things all the time!” She laughed, biting her lip. She looked very pretty indeed. “I take the most marvellous photos, though. I’ll show them to you some time.”

“I’d like that,” I said sincerely.

She rose to her feet easily, stretching her long limbs. “Poor Mr. Doffnang! The language barrier does have its problems for him, doesn’t it?”

I grinned. “But I’m a terrific translator!” I said lazily.

She laughed. “I daresay, but I can think of occasions when you might be rather
de trop—”

“You could always learn Dutch,” I suggested helpfully.

“Mmm,” she considered, “I could. I might if it weren’t for Hugo. Happily, we speak the same language—and I don’t only mean English!” She wandered away, easing the strap of her camera on her shoulder, leaving me uneasily aware as to her meaning. As far as Hugo was concerned, she was busily putting up the signs of ‘Keep off the grass’ for me to read. Well, she was welcome to him. I had other, far better things on my mind!

Work came to an abrupt end at four o clock in the afternoon. I was surprised to discover how tired I was. It had been an ordeal in more ways than one, for language is a hard taskmaster, and to work in three or four languages at a time was more than I had ever done before. But somehow we had scrambled through the day and Mr. Doffnang had calmed down into his usual amenable self, once more in contact with the rest of the world.

“It will be the most beautiful hotel I have built,” he sighed happily, as we scrambled down the steep path towards the camp. “It will be perfect! How often does one have the opportunity to plan every detail? Even the cups and saucers will be made to my design! It is an opportunity without parallel!”

I could understand his excitement. Even the colour of the tiles on the floor was to come under his general supervision, even the material of the curtains in the bedrooms and the tablecloths in the dining room. Everything was to bear the Doffnang hallmark.

“How long will you have to stay here?” I asked him.

He shook his head. “Perhaps a year. For such a long time I would be wise to learn a little English, don’t you think?”

“I’ll teach you!” I offered cheerfully.

I slid down the last few feet of the path, coming to a breathless stop by the baobab tree. A triumphant trumpeting announced Karibu’s pleasure at my arrival. She rushed towards me, fondling me gently with her trunk and rumbling in my ear. Close behind her stood Hugo.

“The Elephant Child herself!” he said dryly.

I tried vainly to get free of Karibu’s attentions. “Can’t you take her away?” I asked crossly.

He grinned. “I never interfere in others’ love affairs!” he said smugly.

Karibu rumbled on affectionately. “I’m not so sure her devotion is reciprocated,” I said.

He laughed. ‘You make a charming couple!” he assured me. “Come and meet my other orphans and I’ll give you a cup of tea.”

I hesitated for a long moment, remembering all that Janice had said.

“Well?” said Hugo.

“I’d love to!” I said with a burst. I was an Elephant’s Child in more ways than one, I thought ruefully; for I was quite insatiably curious about the house where he lived and the flower garden he tried so hard to protect from the ravages of his orphaned animals.

CHAPTER FOUR

Hugo’s house had been built on the other side of the rocky plateau where the Safari Lodge was destined to be built. The view from the house was only a little less magnificent than from the other side, but it had the advantage of taking in a stretch of the river as well as the endless bush. Around the house were samples of most of the trees for which the Tsavo Park is famous. There was the aromatic gum tree which supplied the myrrh and frankincense of old; some of the many species of acacia; and the beautiful tamarinds I had heard so much about. Nearer still to the house, Hugo had planted an avenue of jacaranda trees which were now purple with flowers and were breathtakingly lovely. On the corner of the house, hiding the dustbins at the back door, was a flamboyant tree from Madagascar, a mass of scarlet flowers which truly lived up to its name.

He had taken trouble with his garden. Apart from the obvious varieties of bougainvilleas, there were frangipani, petunias, marigolds and galadias, and a whole orchard of fruit trees, mostly bananas and pawpaws, mangoes and custard apples, all of which looked ready for the picking.

“Karibu is devastation in a garden,” Hugo remarked dryly as I feasted my eyes on this bright oasis of colour. As if to prove his words, the young elephant trotted forward between the trees, taking a mouthful of blossom as she went. She obviously felt absolutely at home anywhere in Hugo’s domain and she knew where all the garden taps were and would turn them on with her trunk, drinking whenever she would. She was rather less inclined to turn the tap off again.

“I never would have thought that anything could be so beautiful!” I sighed. “It must have taken a long time—”