There was something extraordinary about wandering down the middle of the great Limpopo River. A touch of the forbidden, Derek thought. It felt as though he were exploring a channel of dry ocean bed haunted by the ghosts of old sea wrecks. He found himself checking the horizon every so often, each time expecting to see a wall of water rushing towards him. The chances of the river coming down in flood were remote, but still he watched for it. Just because a child knew he was alone in the dark, that did not stop him from looking over his shoulder. Relieved to have stolen past Crook’s Corner – somewhat providentially under the cover of darkness – Derek had now depleted the last of his rations and was eagerly searching the banks for the distinctive St George’s cross. The promise of fresh food was making his head spin.
Parts of the river were spectacularly dry – a finely ground chalk dust – while other portions were littered with small pans of water, some ring-fenced by crocodiles. Their presence, however, did little to perturb Shawu. When thirsty, she would simply wade out into the water and drink freely. Not surprisingly, the crocodiles were content to make room for her. When Derek wanted a drink he would first have to find an unoccupied pan and then dig a hole a few yards away from it. The water would then drain through the sand, filtering away most of the excrement that so many of the animals left at the water’s edge. It was one of Maquaasi’s earliest and most valuable lessons.
Derek was applying a fresh coat of mud to his arms and neck, cursing the infernal sun and wondering why the hell there were so many clouds in Europe yet such a paucity of them in Africa, when something pulsed in the distance. Intrigued, he cupped his hands over his eyes. It shimmered through the heat before assuming a meaningful shape.
It was the vivid scarlet of the St George’s cross.
‘Yes,’ he uttered, his spirits lifting. He had been concerned that he wouldn’t be able to spot the painted rock and would ghost past it, especially in poor light. He assumed it would be small, perhaps the size of a football. But, as he should have known, Edward had shared his concern and had severely overcompensated, choosing a rock the size and shape of a truck. Although an obscene beacon, it was a welcome sight.
Ignoring his aching legs, he broke into a run. Passing Shawu, his boots churned up small sand clouds until he was scrambling up the bank. He immediately slapped his hands onto the painted rock – just to make sure it was real – and then sunk to his knees and began to dig furiously at its base. He was barely two feet down when his hand struck something solid. He widened the hole, traced a line around the object, and pried it up. It was an old metal case more than twice the size of a large cake tin.
He ran his fingers along its sides and found a small latch. Before opening it, he looked up and saw that Shawu had caught up to him and was now standing in the river bed below, watching with interest.
‘Maybe there’s something in here for you,’ he beamed.
Looking back down, he flicked open the latch and lifted the lid. The contents were wrapped in a fresh cloth firmly secured with twine. Hastily untying the knot, he unfurled the material and nearly wept at what it revealed. A large packet of rusks, handfuls of biscuits, a canister of fruit juice, three more of water, some dried fruit and vegetables, some brandy, a flint and several other basic supplies. There was even a newspaper. But of all the items that competed for his attention, two things immediately commanded it. Wrapped in a smaller cloth was a brandy-soaked fruit cake. Before he even knew what he was doing, he was shoving handfuls of the sticky dessert into his mouth, grateful almost to the point of tears for its inclusion. Nothing, he was certain, had ever tasted this good. As he finished the last of it and felt his stomach stretch and bloat in appreciation, he placed the box down at his feet and pulled out the second item. Staring at it, he noticed his hands were shaking slightly.
It was an envelope.
Derek,
For the second time this year, I’m writing a letter that I pray finds you in good health.
In travelling here we crossed over vast tracts of burnt land and I can only hope and trust that you and Shawu were untouched by it.
Speaking of the great elephant, I hope there is no longer a cloud over her health and that she is recovering well. Upon which, I have some wonderful news to share with you. Andrew and I managed to find the place where Shawu’s family came under attack and have made a fascinating discovery. We found several tracks leading away from the area. We believe that Shawu is not the sole survivor. We suspect strongly that there are others. And if this is true then there is a good chance that she is trying to track them down. You may soon be the guardian of a remarkable herd.
Of course, you may well have already worked this out for yourself. In which case I have no doubt that you are just as encouraged as we are.
Anyway, I hope the supplies we have left you will serve you well and go some distance towards giving you the strength you will no doubt need for the next part of your journey.
I look forward to hearing about your exploits so far, but in truth would settle for plain news that you are alive and in good spirits.
And that the gods have not found you with one of their baobabs.
Yours,
Ed
Surprised by the general solemnity of his brother’s words, Derek took a moment before slipping the page into his pocket. He withdrew his own letter and dropped it into the empty case. After he had buried it, he straightened up and saw that Shawu had still not moved. Despite the urgency of her passage, she seemed strangely content to wait for him. Only when he made his way down the embankment, did she begin to lumber forward.
As she drifted past him, floating as she always did, Derek smiled and held out a large orange.
‘I was right,’ he said. ‘There was something in there for you.’