I went to bed with two muesli rusks and a fresh cup of rooibos tea with a dab of condensed milk. I was avoiding opening a box of long-life milk and having it go bad—that, and the desire for the sweetness of comfort food. Anything to soothe me after the horror I had just witnessed. I lit a candle, and by the time I had arranged my mosquito net, a moth had already gotten into my tea.
I gently removed the moth and put it on my cardboard box nightstand. It tried pathetically to flutter its wet, sticky wings. After staring at its struggle, I got up and released it through a hole in the screen, knowing it wouldn’t survive.
I dipped my rusk into my now scaly tea and took a bite, the crunching echoing in my head. After a few more bites, I blew out the candle, got into bed, and shut my eyes. Somehow I managed to pass the night between nightmares and waking dreams.
I woke with a start and looked at my watch. Five thirty A.M. and still dark. It didn’t matter how pointless it was to relive it, but when I woke from the recurring reenactment of Sean’s death, I always kept rewinding and replaying it again and again. Sometimes I froze up, and the actual memory would restart. Sometimes I’d follow through with the killing blow, and the altered memory would restart.
I opened the tiny woven basket on my nightstand and pulled out my ring. I held it in my fingers, turning it around and around, and then put it on. I had been afraid to wear it again, but it suddenly felt like I needed the crutch.
I groaned, got up, and splashed cold water on my face from the bathroom tap. I inhaled and then exhaled slowly. A shower would have helped, but I hadn’t hooked up my Geyser hot water heater yet. I wasn’t in the mood for a tongue-biting shower despite how much I would have appreciated it afterward. Showering in the middle of the day when the water had been heated up in the pipes was more bearable. I promised myself that I’d hook up the Geyser the following week.
I went to the kitchen to light the kettle, grab a couple of rusks, and put together my backpack. I packed a small bottle of gin, two tonics, and a can of pilchards. I didn’t think I’d feel much like drinking, but I couldn’t help anticipating the probable fate of the baby elephant. I shoved an extra shirt and light sweater into my bag, not sure how long a day it would be. Habit forced me to pack for getting stuck. I also packed my binoculars, my revolver, and some extra shells.
I sat on my porch staring at the floodplain for a while, dunking my rusk into my tea, until Jon’s vehicle pulled up. He got out and walked up the steps. “You look refreshed.”
“Good night’s sleep and tea fixes just about anything, right?” I smiled unconvincingly. “Tea?”
“Cheers, thanks. I’ve had.” Jon looked around at the wasps’ nests and sagging roof. “How are you getting on in this ol’ dump anyway?”
“Love the view.”
“Must be an oven inside.”
I nodded. “Not sure which is worse, the ghosts or the bad dreams.”
Jon picked up a rusk and pointed it at me. “The truth holds more horror than dreams around here, Catherine.” He took a bite and crunched loudly as he walked down the stairs with me following. “Of that, I can assure you,” he said over his shoulder.
“How is Bernie’s wife?”
He grimaced. “She’ll be okay. She had to be expecting it. It’s amazing he lasted this long.”
Jon climbed into the vehicle and started it up as I threw my backpack into the passenger seat and got in. We drove over a rise and down to the expansive floodplain, chasing a herd of zebra back into the forest. The sky was wide and blue, spotted with fluffy clouds that promised to stay innocuous, at least for a while.
“You’ll be relieved to know that the wounded buffalo has been put out of its misery. They found the tracks near the station a half hour ago and decided to follow them up the river.”
“That’s good to hear. After yesterday, I couldn’t help wondering what happens when you come across poachers. Do you shoot them?”
Jon shook his head and lowered his voice. “I’ve got a letter from the permanent secretary. Says we’re allowed to defend ourselves in the line of duty. No one would go out if they couldn’t. You saw what it was like.”
As we approached the clearing where we had seen the elephants the day before, Jon parked next to a tree and turned off the engine. I pulled out my holster. “Okay for me to carry?”
Jon paused and looked at my pistol. “That thing registered?”
I nodded.
“Then, okay, as backup.”
We got out and walked cautiously toward the site of the poaching incident. I wasn’t sure what to expect, but I braced myself for the worst.
We heard a low cough.
Jon whispered, “Lion.”
Jon held up his rifle and peered into the clearing. It was a gruesome sight—elephant entrails splayed out and a pride of fatted lions littered about the clearing, sticky with blood. Some yearling lions were crouched down, stalking something behind the carcass.
We kept our distance from the lions and slowly walked around the carcass. The lions glared at us with mouths open and panting, immobilized by their full bellies. The baby elephant stood behind its dead mother, exhausted and mortally wounded with deep claw marks across its back. His hindquarters were gnawed to the bone. I couldn’t believe he was still alive.
The poor thing was charging at the lions hopelessly, ears out, tossing its torn and flaccid trunk at the taunting lions. The young lions seemed amused and surrounded the calf, some crouching at the front while another jumped on its back.
The calf bellowed.
Without thinking, I pulled my revolver out of the holster and fired off a shot. The lions scattered—the elders more sluggish than the youngsters. The baby elephant also ran off.
“Catherine!”
“I just couldn’t let them do it!”
“But that’s nature, Catherine. It’s goddamned bloody nature.”
I was furious. “That elephant didn’t lose its mother by natural causes!” I moved to follow the baby, and Jon held me back by the arm.
“Catherine, the little bugger is finished. As soon as you make this personal, you lose everything. Can’t you see that?”
I shook my head and tried to hold back a flood of tears. “It doesn’t seem fair.”
He turned and gave me a grave look. “I just don’t want to see you make a mistake. You need to keep your head on straight if you really want to make a difference in this place.”
I hesitated. If Jon only knew just how straight my head had been on in order to keep everything that I had witnessed in the past week inside, he wouldn’t have said that. I kicked the sand littered with acacia thorns. “Couldn’t we at least put it out of its misery?”
Jon tightened his lips and motioned for me to follow him. We tracked the baby and found it standing next to a tree looking hideously mauled and pathetic. Jon held up his rifle and shot once. The calf collapsed.
In the silent aftermath, Jon put a hand on my shoulder. “The broken dreams of both man and beast.” He took my hand, squeezed it, and led me away. “Come, I know just what we need right now.”