Softly Calls the Serengeti (24 page)

On the murram strip, she made no move to leave the aircraft. He could hear her breath coming in short, soft pants. She pulled a water bottle from her pack and, after taking a long swallow, offered it to Riley.

‘Thanks,' he said. ‘What made you take up flying?'

‘My father taught me when I was very young.'

‘He did a good job,' he said, taking a mouthful from the bottle.

She was silent for a long moment. Riley glanced at her, thinking she'd not heard him. A mix of emotions played over her features. Her eyes, now without the inscrutability of the sunglasses, burned. The change from the soft, even amorous expression she'd worn in the air was dramatic. It was almost as though she'd shed one mask to don another. She was transformed.

She sensed his eyes on her and immediately suppressed whatever thoughts had possessed her. The mood fell from her like an unwanted robe.

‘I can't stop wondering about the plane crash that killed my father,' she said without emotion. ‘Some say I should forget about the circumstances, but it's difficult.'

‘I'm sorry. Maybe we should—'

‘Don't be sorry.' Her words cut the air like a knife. Her persona had changed again. Riley watched, fascinated by the metamorphosis.

Kazlana's easy smile returned. ‘You should never be sorry for your good intentions, Mark.'

She searched for a tissue and, finding one in her pack, dabbed at the tears that had suddenly appeared, seemingly embarrassed by her display of emotion.

‘He gave me this,' she said, sliding a thick gold ring around her finger to allow the light to catch the facets of the large blue stone it held. ‘It's tanzanite—the world's newest gemstone.'

The stone might have been eight or ten carats and was remarkably blue.

‘It's very lovely,' he said.

‘Yes. It changes colour slightly depending on the light. At this time of day, when the sun is a little lower, it has yellow and orange tinges. See?'

She held her hand higher. He took it in his and studied the flare of the sun in the stone's blue depths. Her hand was ice cool.

‘They say that at midday the stone becomes true blue—what some say is its real colour.' She continued. ‘But I think it's at night, when it's shot with violet, that it comes to life. It's very mysterious.' She was silent then, studying the ring, before she added, ‘Shall we go?'

‘Sure.'

Riley went around to Kazlana's side of the aircraft and opened the pilot's door. She looked down at him with red-rimmed eyes, the tissue held to her nose. She appeared unwilling or incapable of climbing out of the plane. Riley coaxed her, holding his arms up to her. She unclipped her harness and swung her legs out of the cockpit. He caught her under the arms and allowed her to slip to the ground, supporting her weight against his body. She remained there with her cheek against his chest. Her warmth, her scent and her vulnerability made for an intoxicating combination. A woman's body against his was a rare experience since his wife's death.

Riley had returned to the Gold Coast from Bali in a fog of grief, depression and helpless rage. His friends had tried in their various ways to assist him in his recovery, but he'd been incapable of applying himself to what seemed the trivial business of meeting people and having fun. When the attentions of a well-meaning ex-wife of a friend had become more than purely sympathetic, he had been aroused at first, but then stricken with an overwhelming sense of betrayal of Melissa. After that, he'd found himself unable to have a relationship, even a one-night stand, with anyone. He'd thrown himself into his writing and refrained from any further sexual encounters. In time, he'd come to accept his life as a celibate.

Now, with Kazlana so invitingly close, to his utter dismay he felt himself becoming hard. The more he willed the erection down, the more insistent it became. He gently tried to move away, but Kazlana was leaning her body against him. He put his hand on her shoulder, gently allowing the weight of it to press
against her, but she remained there—an unbearably sexual being.

He needed a diversion. Anything.

He reached into his pocket, giving him an excuse to move away from her body. ‘Here, you can use my handkerchief.'

She looked at her tissue, which was a sodden mess, and took the handkerchief. A smile fluttered at the corners of her lips. ‘You're very sweet,' she said.

Riley didn't feel sweet at all. He felt like a bastard.

‘Why did I think of this ring?' she wondered aloud. ‘I was telling you about my father…Yes…He died in the Northern Frontier District—a place of red dust and sand that suffocates you when the wind blows. A desolate country…'

She became lost in her thoughts, perhaps revisiting the scene again.

‘He went to the desert country near Wajir,' she said eventually. ‘The aviation authority released a version of events that I refused to believe. It was ridiculous to suggest my father would make such a stupid mistake. But I feel I am missing something. Why would my father put down in the middle of the Northern Frontier District? It just doesn't make sense.' She dabbed at her nose and put the handkerchief in her jacket pocket. ‘The only other flying he did at the time was here to Nakuru. Some kind of medical facility.'

‘Medical facility?' Riley said. ‘Omuga mentioned a medical facility that the Circularians use in Nakuru. I couldn't quite get the gist of it, but he said the children had to be checked out before they were offered for adoption.'

She stared at him.

‘I think we need to take a closer look at that house,' she said.

The afternoon dragged on. After tea and too much chocolate cake, Charlotte went to sit beside the pool, but she grew bored with that and decided to go to her cabin and read her book.

She noticed rainbow-coloured lizards on the rock-lined pathway. With the remainder of her chocolate cake, which she retrieved from the dining room, she tried to coax one of the lizards to eat. It gave three quick little flicks of its head, as if nodding in agreement, but ignored her inducement.

The lizards remained unimpressed with her and, after playing their game for some fifteen minutes, Charlotte had a similar feeling about them. She stood and brushed her jeans down and tried not to imagine Kazlana and Mark flying together. The very thought of it turned her legs to jelly.

It was too late for a nap and too early for dinner. To fill the time, she decided to take a walk to the fence below the lodge's grounds.

As luck would have it, the Land Rover came rocking up the road as she was returning from her walk. She stepped from the road and remained concealed as they drove past. She didn't want them to think she had been waiting anxiously for their return.

 

Riley walked around to Kazlana's side of the car and took her hands in his as she stepped down. She looked up and thanked him, all traces of the emotional roller-coaster she'd ridden gone.

‘And thank you for your kindness back there at the strip,' she added.

‘Losing someone close is tough,' he said. ‘I know the feeling.'

‘You know the feeling?' She studied him for a moment, then said, ‘I can see you do. Every loss hardens the heart, but you have to find a way around it, otherwise the pain of loss can diminish you. In the end we can only help ourselves when bad things happen. But you see, I have an advantage.' The softness of her tone was quickly displaced. ‘I have experience in these matters. You can't live your whole life in Africa without seeing evil, and you have to find a way to deal with that. I've decided that my father is the last loved one I'll lose.'

‘How can you be so sure?'

She smiled. ‘It's simple. I don't intend to fall in love.'

‘You said you have to find a way to deal with the evil. What's your way?' he asked.

‘The only way I know how. I let the hatred burn until it becomes an anger so hot it gives me energy. It would be easy to be consumed by it, but, knowing those responsible are probably within reach, I take care to control myself. It's amazing what a person can do if he or she can channel hatred. It has such power.'

Kazlana's moods flickered between daylight and darkness, like the fall of sunshine through the branches in a dark and menacing forest. Riley wondered how such a feminine woman could harbour such ominous passion. In Kazlana's darkness he recognised some of the characteristics he'd experienced after his own loss. Following Melissa's death, he had become a very angry person. But unlike Kazlana, he doubted that anger alone would ever allow him to get over the loss of his wife. It only seemed to torment him further. But the similarities were sobering.

‘It's an interesting philosophy,' he said. ‘In my case, I'm not sure I have enough hatred there. It's my anger that I have to control, and I can't say it gives me energy. I sometimes feel it's just dragging me down.'

‘Maybe it works for some and not others. All I know is that it works for me.' She paused to reflect. ‘Only…I don't know
what I'll do when I've had my revenge. Maybe I'll just deflate. Like a balloon.'

‘Somehow I can't see you doing that.'

Kazlana shrugged and smiled. ‘Perhaps you're right. We'll see.'

She took his hand and squeezed it before reaching up to kiss him gently on the lips. Then her mood changed again. ‘We should get moving if we're going to find the house today,' she said in a businesslike manner. ‘Let's meet up again in half an hour.'

 

Charlotte watched as Mark helped Kazlana out of the Land Rover. She paused to dab at her eyes with a handkerchief, then they spoke earnestly for some time, before Kazlana kissed Mark and walked off towards the lodge.

Charlotte remained in her hideout, a voyeur hidden among the shrubs. Having witnessed the tender scene she felt a sense of guilt; as if she had intruded into something that should have remained between these two.

Suddenly Bradley came to her mind.
Odd
, she thought. It had been her decision to break off their engagement, but she now felt a trace of regret. Regret, guilt, tenderness—a mix of emotions.

Could it be that seeing Mark and Kazlana together had reminded her of how comforting it had been to have someone to care for her? Someone to dispel the loneliness?

Or was it something more primitive?

 

Kazlana had noted the landmarks well and was able to guide Riley towards the house she'd viewed from the air. He stopped the Land Rover at an overgrown track leading from the national park road. A locked gate blocked their path; Riley
helped her to scramble over it. In the tall grass beside the gate was a chipped and faded sign. In large letters were the words
Nakuru Safe House
; and in smaller, barely legible letters underneath:
Circularian Organisation, Mombasa
.

As they walked towards the house, an African boy of about fourteen came wandering down the track towards them.

‘
Habari
,' Kazlana said.

He looked at her, then at Riley, but said nothing as he continued towards the gate. He seemed absorbed in his own thoughts.

‘
Kesi!
'

The voice came from the direction of the house and a man wearing a white dustcoat came into view. He was of southern European appearance with grey-flecked hair and rimless spectacles. When he spotted Kazlana and Riley he paused ever so briefly, then smiled.

‘Oh!' he said. ‘I'm sorry, but did you see Kesi go by?'

Riley said a young man had passed them moments before.

The man hurried past them.

‘Please wait there,' he said over his shoulder. ‘I'll be back.'

When he returned, he was leading Kesi gently by the arm.

‘Is the boy all right?' Kazlana asked.

‘He's just awoken. Half asleep,' the man said. ‘He's supposed to wait for one of us to take him.' He eyed them suspiciously. ‘How can I help you?'

‘I'm Kazlana Ramanova,' she said, handing him her card. ‘And this is my assistant, Mr Mark Riley.'

He lifted his eyes from her card. ‘Pleased to meet you, Ms Ramanova. Mr Riley. But I have no need for a public relations company.'

‘Oh, I do beg your pardon,' Kazlana said, wearing a radiant smile. ‘I should have explained. With all of the poor publicity coming out of the UNICEF hearings, we've been retained by the department to put a more positive perspective on organisations such as yours.'

The man wasn't convinced. ‘Who in the department told you we were here?'

Kazlana mentioned three names who she said were her departmental contacts. They were obviously familiar to the man and, somewhat mollified but still reticent, he introduced himself as Dr Agousi.

‘As you can see, Dr Agousi,' Kazlana continued, ‘my company does work in the NGO area. We all know that organisations such as yours do some wonderful work, but the department is concerned about the flood of bad publicity that's coming out of the UNICEF inquiry. So, can you describe what facility you are operating here, please?'

‘We are a safe house for drug-affected children,' he said. ‘We have street kids like Kesi here, and others, little ones, who have acquired a dependency in vitro.'

‘Are you a private company?' Kazlana asked.

The doctor smiled. ‘No, no. We are a charitable institution.'

He explained that the members of their organisation working in the Nairobi slums identified children at risk and sent them to the safe house for rehabilitation. They'd found that the old house near the national park was suitably isolated, keeping the older children from harm's way—safe from the drug pushers.

‘And there are other benefits of our position,' he went on. ‘Being so close to the park discourages any of the boys who might want to go wandering into the town. There are enough scary sounds around us, particularly at night, to keep these city boys indoors.'

A canvas-covered truck was parked beside the house, which appeared to be an ordinary farm residence with a number of outhouses, which Agousi said were bungalows.

‘We can accommodate about a dozen boys at a time,' he said. ‘Only boys. We tried a mixed program about a year ago, but…' He shook his head. ‘Hormones, ah? It was impossible.'

Agousi led Kesi up the steps to the veranda, where he opened
the front door to let the boy enter. Kazlana got a glimpse of a handful of other boys of a similar age, sitting quietly at tables.

When the doctor came back to them, he began a lengthy overview of the organisation's methods of raising funds and covering costs. ‘Now, if you'll excuse me,' he finished. ‘I have work to do.'

They thanked Dr Agousi, who watched them retrace their steps to the car.

‘A strange man,' Kazlana said.

‘He did everything but put his hand out for a donation, but didn't offer to show us inside the house.'

‘Do you believe him? Could this be a safe house for drug-affected teenagers?'

‘Maybe. It's just…being out here, so far from everything…it's an odd place for rehabilitation. And what's the connection with the orphanage—if any?'

‘You heard what the doctor said. The location keeps them away from drugs.'

‘It just doesn't seem right,' Riley repeated. ‘How do you know those names in the department?'

‘Contacts,' she said.

They climbed the gate and returned to the car.

‘Do you think that boy, Kesi, was still suffering from drug use? He was so…out of it,' she said.

‘I've seen quite a few kids on drugs,' Riley said. ‘Kesi was definitely affected, but it may have been from something else.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘He looked as if he may have been waking from a strong sedative rather than street drugs.'

 

The lodge management had placed a notice in every bungalow to advise guests that a state of emergency had been declared in the nearby town of Nakuru. It was short on detail, but said that
guests were advised to remain in the safety of the lodge until the present short-term situation was resolved.

‘Until the present short-term situation is resolved,' Charlotte said from her seat on the edge of the sofa, a copy of the memo in her hand. ‘What does that mean?'

Nobody answered. Riley was fiddling with the TV remote, trying to get some news. Although the guests' TV room could comfortably seat about ten, Kazlana paced the floor, unable to relax.

‘Try KTN,' she suggested.

The screen flickered to reveal a scantily clad group of women and men climbing rope ladders and crawling through large plastic barrels.

‘
Survivor!
' Riley said in disgust.

‘KBC then.'

A Swahili soap was on the national broadcaster. He flicked through the subscription channels—CNN, Discovery, MTV—then sank into the chair beside the TV. ‘If there's nothing on the local channels, pay TV won't have it.'

‘Let's try the radio,' Kazlana said.

‘Here is the main story again. Counting continues in polling booths around the country. The presidential results of Thursday's national elections indicate that the opposition candidate for president, Mr Raila Odinga, is polling well ahead of President Mwai Kibaki.

‘In a stunning turnaround since the most recent opinion surveys, the figures indicate Mr Odinga has a lead of some 1.5 million votes.

‘Meanwhile, in the Rift Valley electorate, tensions are at boiling point as police and administration police try to control the continuing violent protests over land rights in the Naivasha and Nakuru regions.'

Riley watched Kazlana fumble in her purse for a packet of cigarettes. She held a match to the Marlboro and inhaled. The episode that afternoon came back: Kazlana's closeness; the
strong emotions liberated by their conversation about personal loss; her perfume. And, yes, the tantalising suggestion of tobacco on her lips. He suppressed a groan.

‘The problem is not knowing,' Charlotte said. ‘If it
is
just an isolated event, then surely the police will handle it.'

‘It's not that easy,' Kazlana said. ‘I've seen all this before, in 2002. Every cause. Every small insult. Every family feud.' She took a long draw on her cigarette. Riley watched the smoke hang at her open mouth for an instant before she sucked it in. ‘What's the word? Opportunism? Some of them don't even need a cause.' She exhaled a stream of delicious blue smoke. ‘Thugs. Thieves. Rapists. When something big happens in Kenya, the police can't handle it. And the thugs, the thieves and the rapists know it.'

‘Surely there are decent people around to keep the nasty elements in check?' Charlotte said.

‘There are. But out in the bush, on the open roads…' She shrugged. ‘There's nobody around.'

‘I think we should listen to Kazlana, Mark,' Charlotte said, turning to him.

Riley said he wasn't so sure. ‘The situation is still evolving—we could get out now. But if the trouble gets worse, we could be stuck here for days. Weeks.'

The thought of being confined to the lodge for so long when he should be doing something constructive on his article as well as the novel put him in favour of an early departure.

‘You're in the safest place you can be,' Kazlana said. ‘Nobody's going to come storming into a national park. Even lynch mobs are afraid of lions. Anyway, the park rangers are armed. Nobody comes in here.' She thought for a moment. ‘If you wish, I can fly you out. Leave the Land Rover. You can come back and collect it when it's safe.'