I stood in the doorway of Jon’s dark office. He was sitting at his desk, focusing on a piece of paper he was holding. “Jon, why are you sitting in the dark?”
Jon turned his chair and looked distractedly out the window, playing with his pencil. “I’ve always wanted to open a restaurant,” he said in a wistful tone. “The Sated Rabbit. Has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?” He looked back at me with distant eyes. “My specialty would be rabbit stuffed with quail. Sounds wonderful, hmm, Catherine? Doesn’t it sound wonderful?”
I picked up the piece of paper. Jon’s case against Dr. Geldenhuis had been postponed until a key suspect, Ernest Mkanzi, had been found.
I threw the paper. “Jon, you can still do this.”
“I hope you are talking about a restaurant. I’ve already got the place picked out. A nice houseboat on the Zambezi.”
“No, I’m talking about Geldenhuis.”
“Then we have nothing to talk about.”
“What do you mean?”
He shrugged.
“I thought you said the photos would be enough for a trial.”
“Turns out our fine justice system is still subject to the same influences as always.”
“What happened?”
“They were thrown out.”
“Why?”
“The evidence was deemed inadmissible.”
My heart sank. “On what grounds?”
“Apparently, the judge didn’t feel I was privy to that information. I have an appointment with the magistrate tomorrow to review everything.”
I reached into my pack and pulled out some of the additional photos I had taken on the airstrip of Geldenhuis and his apparent new accomplice, hoping they would be useful to the case. “I might have some new information that could help.” I tossed the photos onto his desk.
“What is this?” Jon picked up the photos and shot out of his chair. “When were these taken?”
“Same day as the others I gave you. On the Sioma Falls airstrip in Zambia.”
“Je’sus bloody Christ! Lazarus has come back from the dead.” He quickly sifted through the images.
“Who is that other man?”
“It’s bloody Ernest!”
“Ernest? So, he wasn’t eaten by a croc?”
“Apparently not.”
“What about last night? Did you find anything at the Piggery?”
“Useless. But we did hear that Geldenhuis’s lodge manager got picked up on the main road outside Katima.”
“Alvares? Did he have anything on him?”
“No, but the Portuguese don’t just stroll around for their health in this region. If he was without a vehicle it was for a reason. I’m keeping that in the back of my mind. Bloody Portuguese.”
“You think he was one of the people in the car at Liadura?”
“Quite possibly.”
I sat down. “So, we still have a case, don’t we?”
Jon looked at me with tired eyes. “Things looked a lot different a few days ago.” He picked up the photos again. “But these have brightened my day.” He rubbed his hand down his face. “Listen, I don’t want to be morose, but the only thing to look forward to around here is gastronomical. Wait till you see the choice leg I got from the butcher.”
I hesitated. “We don’t have to do this if you’re not in the mood.”
He picked up a piece of paper from his desk and handed it to me. “I suppose I could get in the mood by celebrating the endless potential for the human race to be clever.”
I looked at a poorly worded legal form with a shaky “X” in the signature line. It looked like a bad translation of a life insurance form. “Is this life insurance?”
“Bloody genius, isn’t it? Selling fake life insurance to our upstanding illiterate San elders that don’t have two pennies to scrape together to buy a loaf of bread.”
“How do you take it?”
Jon shook his head and shrugged. “I can’t, actually.” He looked down at his watch. “Listen, I have a stop to make. I’ll see you back at my place just now.”
“No problem. Take your time. Do you need anything?”
“No. Not a thing.” He hesitated. “One hour and forty-seven minutes.”
“That’s what time you’ll be home?”
“No, that’s how long it will be before that pure ambrosia hits your lips. Can you stand it?”
I smiled. “I’ll try.”
“Good. See you just now.” He tapped the glass of his watch face. “Now, now, in fact.” He looked up at me. “Come to think of it, I have something to show you.”
Jon and I bounced in our seats as his vehicle bumped along the track next to the river heading toward the Zambian border. He parked in the shade of a large acacia, and we got out and Jon read the meter stick.
“Good ole Draadie. Right on the money. Up a whole fifteen centimeters from yesterday’s ten.”
“What does that mean?”
“A flood.”
“Do you do anything to prepare for a flood?”
“It’s hard to cover the borders of the parks. Poachers get in and out by boat from many more access points. And the ivory deals get harder to locate.”
“How will you deal with that?”
“Better information. But, if they were smart, they’d head to the delta.”
“What if I were to help from the air? Wouldn’t wings make a difference?”
Jon shook his head. “Too conspicuous. We’re going to get the next deal from the Zambian side this time. Right over the border from Nigel’s place in Singalamwe. We’ve got their police involved this time.” Jon took my hand. “Come on. It’s getting dark. Gotta show you my ticket to getting out of here.”
We got back in the truck and turned down the river road toward the Catholic mission and the fish farm. As we passed the mission, Jon’s eyes lit up.
“Vera is my sanity, you know.”
“Who is Vera?”
“She will host the Sated Rabbit.”
“Along the river here?”
“Stunning view.”
“So, who is she? You never mentioned her before.” I suddenly realized that Jon could easily have had a life that I didn’t know anything about. But surely Nigel would have mentioned something if Jon had a girlfriend. Familiar feelings of jealousy arose at the thought of Jon having a woman in his life. Why hadn’t Nigel mentioned Vera?
“She’s my houseboat.”
I tried to hide my relief in surprise and asked, “You have a houseboat?”
Jon nodded with a faraway look in his eyes. “One of these days, Vera and I are going to be taking a very long trip.”
“Sounds exciting.” I almost laughed at how flustered I still was.
“Just about finished kitting her out when the Zambians pinched the solar panel last month. Got it on back order for next month as well as a diesel engine. But she’s mostly ready. Just installed an on-demand Geyser. Wait till you see the galley.”
We drove slowly down a bumpy chalky road just as the sun was setting. We parked next to the river and got out as the enormous red sun sank into the river. The glossy ibis passed and called hau di dau as it went. There in front of us was an aluminum pontoon houseboat with a covered deck that had two chairs and a roof tent on the top deck.
Jon waved a hand in front of the boat. “If it weren’t for Horseshoe and Vera, I’d have been in a straitjacket long ago.” He stepped aboard, took my hand, and pulled me onto the deck. “Come, let’s have a rock shandy.”
“Thought you said there was no power.”
“Been running the fridge battery down for occasions such as this.”
Jon fumbled with some keys, opened up a locked area at the back of the boat, and turned on a small lightbulb inside.
I touched my hand to the rich, red hardwood walls. “Wow, is this mahogany?”
“Rhodesian teak, actually. Some friends in Vic Falls refurbish old railway sleeper ties and gave me some of the off cuts.” He rubbed the wall. “Nice, eh?”
I looked around at the small but stylish galley, which included a gas oven. “Perfect for rabbit.”
“Precisely!” He smiled dreamily. “I have big plans for Vera and myself. I might have to expand the galley, though.”
I leaned against the wall and smiled. Despite all the failures around him, Jon still had enough in him to keep his own dreams alive. I couldn’t help but be drawn in by that. “Where to first?”
“Wanted to take her down to Hippo for the Zambezi Classic, but that didn’t work out.”
“What’s second on the list?”
“I’ll take her down to the eastern floodplain for a test run. Then onto the Chobe. Wanna come with?”
“I’d love to.” I looked out at the fast-flowing golden river, imagining untying the boat and just letting the river take us away.
As Jon searched in his twelve-volt fridge for ingredients, I couldn’t help but place myself in the fantasy, remembering the ad that I’d seen in that old conservation magazine in the ministry office—Zambezi River Tours. It struck me that the reality was much more alluring than the photo.
Jon poured soda and bitter lemon with some drops of bitters on top. He handed me a glass and held out his. “Cheers.”
“Cheers.” We clinked glasses. “To Vera,” he said.
“And to the Sated Rabbit,” I countered with a smile.
“Yes!” He took a sip. “Come on, we have to sit on top for this.”
Jon took my drink and helped me up the small ladder to the upper deck. At the top, the higher vantage afforded an even more stunning view, more striking than those at any of the lodges I had seen downriver. This stretch of the Zambezi, just south of the border of Zambia, was wild and untamed—gnarled mangrove trees lined the Zambian side of the bank; sand banks and tree islands dotted the river down as far as the bend to Katima with not a hint of civilization. The water roared from the rocky rapids upstream just under the bridge to Zambia.
In the far right corner of the boat was an L-shaped reed wall built onto the open deck. I walked around the wall and stood over a large oval metal tub. “Wow, that’s some bath.”
Jon shrugged and put a light hand on my shoulder. “Any fool can be uncomfortable in the bush.”
My eyes followed the copper piping that led below deck. “And hot water.”
“Of course. Just hooked up the Geyser yesterday.”
“I might ask for your advice on that.”
He pulled my hair to one side. “Might need a pitcher for rinsing all this lovely hair, though,” he whispered as he let my hair go and leaned against the railing. “Hadn’t accounted for that.” He took a sip of his drink. “I must remember to pick one up at the Dollar Store.” He rubbed his hair. “There are benefits to hair loss.”
I laughed. “Your hair isn’t thinning.”
“You Americans are worse liars than I thought.”
“You really have it in for us, don’t you?”
“I’ve had some bad experiences, I can promise you.”
I stood next to him with our arms touching as we looked out at the river, leaning against the railing, my head still tingling from the touch of his hand on my hair. “I hope I can at least provide a sample size of one decent American.”
He laughed and shifted his weight, putting a hand over mine, looking at me. “I’m leaving that possibility open.”
I looked out at the water again. As Jon drew his fingers down the veins of my hand, I felt the tranquility of the setting and the noise of the river offering an escape to counter the frustrating realities, both political and practical. As much as I wanted to, I didn’t dare turn toward him or we would have fallen into a kiss.
He took his hand away and combed it through his hair. I sensed that we both were hesitating, like we had found ourselves in this position too early and didn’t know how to navigate it. We stood there awkwardly, each waiting for the other to shift their weight, allowing us to step away tactfully.
There was a loud rustle of vegetation along the shore to our right that broke the uncomfortable dynamic. We both ducked down to see that something large was moving slowly through the reeds.
Jon put a finger to his lips, took my hand, and led me down the stairs. He locked the boat and we stepped off onto the rise above the riverbank and waited to see what would emerge from the papyrus.