Private Lies (19 page)

Ken, she concluded, was a morbid man. He took his pleasure
as she gave it, had always given it, as a mere marriage right. Eliot both gave
and took pleasure and she reveled in his joy and her own. Their sexual
awakening had been simultaneous, which had deep implications of a magnetism
beyond logic. When Eliot touched her all nerve endings responded. She yearned
to suck him into her, engulf him.

Even now Ken was a supernumerary in her life. He had given
her children and a transitional life, of which more than half was statistically
over. Had she loved him once? No, she decided firmly. That was an illusion, a
construction of what was acceptable and expected of a woman in her time and
place. Real love was powerful, volcanic, basic, and unfettered.

Unable to go back to sleep, she slipped out of bed and,
unzipping the tent, went outside to sit under the fly. She looked into the
predawn darkness, barely able to pick out the outlines of the tall trees that
stood in a semicircle around their camp.

The hot embers of the cooking fires near the servants' tent
glowed pink, occasionally provoked to red by a rare breeze that whispered
through the branches of the low brush. Surrounding the camp was the black void
of night Africa, alive with sounds.

She heard another lioness roar. Or was it the roar of a
lion, she wondered? It sounded very close. Then she heard footsteps and saw the
outline of one of the servants. He was holding a flashlight as he marched
around the perimeter of the camp, sweeping the darkness with beams of light.

An ill wind of an idea brushed her cheek and made her
shiver. Suppose, she thought, trying to hold down the ugliness of it, then
risking it. After all, it was only an idea, only a fleeting image. The big
cats, probably two fierce and hungry lionesses, would enter the camp, silent,
cautious, padded step after padded step. For some unknown reason, like the
random selection of lovers, the lionesses would split up and home in on the
sleeping Ken and Carol. Death would come swiftly, silently, painlessly, then
they would drag their carcasses like fallen wildebeests back to the pride.

On that note, Maggie went back into the tent and crawled
between the covers of the cot. She shivered. Goose bumps broke out on her skin.
The idea was frightening, unworthy, hateful. She rebuked herself for her
unfeeling callousness.

Above all, she vowed, she must not poison the well of her
love for Eliot with such terrible thoughts.

FOR THE NEXT three days, they were summoned by the servants
at the crack of dawn with the familiar and lyrical cry of "Jambo" and
presented with a tray of hot tea. Then the servants would bring warm water for
the basins and they would wash, dress, breakfast, and be out on safari as the
sun peeked its fiery golden ball over the horizon.

They roamed for miles over the vast plains of the Samburu,
through herds of gazelles, impalas, African buffaloes, zebras, giraffes,
baboons, and elephants. They came across the occasional warthog, oryx, duiker,
mongoose, jackal, and dik-dik, all appropriately described by both Meade and
Eliot.

Standing in the van, they poked their heads through the
portals in the roof and snapped hundreds of pictures. They searched copses and
underbrush and found cheetahs and leopards and lions munching on carcasses and
vultures eating carrion. Above them flew eagles and plovers and buzzards,
quails, pigeons, guinea fowl, herons, and egrets.

No doubt about it, Maggie thought. It was a feast to the
eyes and heart. Nature's wild creatures in their natural habitat, living in
harmony according to the natural order. Why not man, she wondered? Why not her
and Eliot, prime examples of natural selection?

They would head back to the camp to escape the hot midday
sun and have lunch and siesta and head out again in the late afternoon,
returning to camp after a long hard drive looking for the new species and
unique sights. After showering, they would have drinks around the log fire as
the purple sunsets faded into night, then they would adjourn to the mess tent
for dinner.

After dinner, they would return to the fire, for more
drinks and conversation. This was the routine of African safari life, exactly
as Eliot had described it, stimulating, romantic, and mysterious.

There was little time for her and Eliot to discuss aspects
of their real agenda. So far, they had made little effort to fade away and
leave Ken and Carol to their own devices. The most frustrating part was not
finding a spare moment for themselves. Not being able to make love, especially
against the stimulating backdrop of this gorgeous wonderland. It was a
deprivation not easily endured.

But to Ken she did make periodic references to Carol's
beauty, charm, and grace, or whatever flattering attribution sprung to mind.

"She looks wonderful, doesn't she?" Maggie would
say to Ken as Carol emerged from the tent she and Eliot shared. With her
exquisitely tailored khaki slacks and khaki jacket with epaulets and pockets,
and her wide-brimmed hunter's hat, rakishly angled on her head and held steady
with leather thongs around her chin, Carol, indeed, looked like an African
queen. Although Maggie wore a similar hat, she could never quite get it as
angled and dashing as Carol's.

Though one might say they all looked dashing and wonderful
in their safari outfits and leather boots. Even the cameras and binoculars they
carried slung around their necks and shoulders added to the illusion that they
were, somehow, superior beings; royalty come to observe their subjects, the
animals, who stared laconically at them as they passed in the van, their royal
carriage.

There were two rows of leather benches in the van. Eliot
normally sat up front with the driver and Maggie maneuvered herself to stand in
the rear, her head in the portal, leaving Ken and Carol to share the back bench
and its portal for viewing and taking pictures. Proximity had its virtues in
their scheme. Ken and Carol had to squeeze together in their shared portal if
they were to take simultaneous pictures. Yet so far, in three days, nothing in
the relationship between Ken and Carol had changed perceptibly.

Maggie waited for Eliot's signals.

"Be late for lunch," Eliot had whispered as they
left the van after the morning run.

Obedient to his wishes, she lingered under the fly of her
tent, slowly applying her makeup. The others had gone into the mess tent. Then
Eliot had emerged from his tent, directing her with a movement of his head.
Instantly, Maggie moved back into the tent, zipping up the back flap and
emerging from the rear. They met in a stand of trees that shielded them from
the mess tent.

Maggie rushed into his arms. They kissed deeply, then Eliot
gently moved her away.

"You mustn't," he said.

"I can't stand it."

"Neither can I."

"Maybe we can get away, take a walk," she
whispered, looking for emphasis at the endless plain beyond the trees.

"Not yet," Eliot whispered. "But tonight I'm
going to turn in early. I'll say I don't feel well or that I need to rest. I'll
go in the middle of dinner."

"What should I do?"

"The point is to get them to be alone around the
campfire."

"And Meade?"

"He'll be tinkering with the van as usual."

"And tomorrow?" Maggie asked.

"You'll have a stomach upset," Eliot said.
"And I'll beg off on other grounds. My work." He had brought some
books and journals and was making notes.

He started to leave, but they embraced again.

"What about us?" Maggie asked.

"If they go off alone, we've got our chance."

"Your tent or mine," Maggie said, caressing his
ear with her tongue.

But that evening, after they had showered, Ken said to
Maggie:

"You go on without me. I'm a bit tired. I might join
you later."

"You've got to eat, Ken."

"I just need a short nap," Ken said. "You go
ahead."

"Really, Ken. Isn't that a little rude?"

"I told you. I'm tired. No sweat. You go on ahead.
I'll join you."

"Please do," Maggie said angrily, storming out of
the tent.

She took her seat at the mess table and exchanged glances
with Eliot. Carol seemed unconcerned.

"Ken will be along soon," Maggie said.

"He's not under the weather, is he?" Eliot asked.

"He did look kind of piqued," Carol said,
concentrating on carefully covering a sliver of toast with the pâté appetizer.

"He seemed fine to me," Maggie said, exchanging
urgent glances with Eliot. "Just needed a little rest."

Meade, sitting at the head of the table, led the
conversation, previewing what they could expect tomorrow.

"We'll be looking for leopard on the morning run.
Might not see any, though. They're tough to find. But there'll be other
species. Come afternoon we'll go for elephant. We'll time it so we hit the
river when they all come for tea and crumpets."

"It's a sight," Eliot said. "If we hit it
right we might get to see more than a hundred at one time. One of the wonders
of the world."

"Is it dangerous?" Maggie asked.

"Only if we get Auntie mad," Meade said, laughing
at what seemed like a private joke, which he quickly explained. "It's a
matriarchal society, you see. Usually some overbearing auntie is in charge of
things. The bulls make lots of noise but spend their time mostly on their own.
The ladies drive them from the herd. Sometimes a bull goes bonkers, like that
rogue last night."

"He did sound quite angry," Carol said.

"Madder than hell."

"Why?" Maggie asked.

"Lonely. Frustrated. Unhappy," Meade said.
"Happens to people, too."

There seemed no point in commenting and they ate in silence
until Meade spoke again.

"Not coming, is he," Meade said when it was
apparent that Ken was going to miss his dinner. The others had already finished
theirs. "Too bad. Our chef takes great pains." Meade was proud of the
meals served on his safari, which were wholesome and tasty and as
"gourmet" as one could get cooking on a charcoal ground fire.
"Shall I have one of the boys bring him a tray?"

Maggie felt anger bubble in her chest. Damn Ken. "I'll
go see," she said, getting up.

She returned to the tent. Ken was lying on the cot with his
eyes closed. She shook him.

"Come on now, get up," she said testily.

He opened his eyes slowly. "I told you. I'd rather
sleep. Go ahead and eat without me. It's no big deal."

"It is a big deal. It's not polite."

"I'm tired," Ken said, turning to face the sides
of the tent.

"You're spoiling everything," Maggie said.

He turned again and faced her, opening one eye, studying
her face.

"Join them, for crissakes. I'm fine."

"Considering what this is costing Eliot, I think
you're being a shit."

"It's jet lag," Ken said.

"It's rudeness," Maggie persisted, feeling a
rising sense of frustration. She wanted to reach out and shake him, but she
repressed the urge and stood for a moment in the tent, watching him and
collecting herself.

"I'll have a tray sent in," she said.

He shrugged and grunted noncommittally.

She went out of the tent and stood for a moment gulping
deep breaths of the clear night air. Mustn't get discouraged, she told herself.
Gears had to be shifted, strategies recalibrated. Hiding her irritation, she
came back to the mess tent. A pudding and chocolate cake were being served.
Carol, unconcerned, sipped her coffee. As Maggie sat down she looked at Eliot.

"He's tired," she said.

"It's not unusual the first few days," Eliot
shrugged, calming her with his eyes.

"I guess we should send him a tray," Maggie said
to Meade, who gave orders in Swahili to one of the waiters.

They finished the dessert and Meade said:

"Coffee and brandy round the fire?"

The routine was to linger around the campfire until they
got sleepy. Meade, after presiding politely for a while, would go off to check
the van for the next day's excursion.

Carol was the first to rise. "Eliot, I'm bushed, too.
Would you mind if I turned in?"

"So early?" Eliot asked, exchanging glances with
Maggie. What did it matter? The original idea was aborted anyway.

"Early to bed, early to rise," Carol said. She
blew a kiss to Maggie and pecked Eliot on the cheek. Then she left the mess
tent and they heard her making her way back to her tent.

* *
* *

Later, Eliot and Maggie sat on director's chairs, sipping
brandy and watching the play of living shadows created by the firelight on the
leaves of the trees. Above the trees, Maggie could see an astounding display of
stars, a canopy of the universe.

As expected, Meade had gone to his tent and they could see
him fiddling with the exposed inner works of the van under a bright light.

Eliot threw more wood on the fire, which crackled into
flames.

"Too bad," Eliot said. "It's a lovely
night."

"Spectacular," Maggie said, her eyes staring
upward at the stars.

"Maybe tomorrow," Eliot said. He sipped the
brandy and seemed lost in thought.

"It's maddening," Maggie said. "They're the
ones that are supposed to be sitting here making goo-goo eyes. Not us."

She smiled and looked at Eliot, who lifted his head and
smiled.

"Can you see my goo-goo eyes?" she teased. The
brandy had heated her insides and made her lightheaded.

"Barely," he said. Then he lapsed into silence
again.

"Maybe we can both have upset stomachs tomorrow. Let
them go see the elephants." She paused. "Give us the time to get
reacquainted." But he seemed lost in thought.

"I'll come up with something," Eliot muttered at
last. He turned his face toward her and she could see the outline of his
features but not his complete expression.

"I wish we were teenagers meeting for the first time,
without these complications."

"Yes," Eliot agreed. She heard him sigh.
"But with any luck we could have twenty-five, maybe more, good
years."

"I'm counting on it."

But it troubled Maggie to know he was thinking in those
terms. Twenty-five years looked good, but only when she looked backward.

"If I was younger I don't think I would be worried
about things like money. I would go for love alone."

"Isn't that what we're going for now?" Maggie
asked, although she knew what he meant. He had acted calmly at the sudden
change of plans, but she could tell that he was not calm inside, that the
factor of time was beginning to lean heavily on his mind and he was turning
gloomy.

She looked around her. The fire was settling down, the
flames licking lazily along the length of the last piece of wood put on the
pile of glowing embers, shrinking the circle of light. She looked into the
darkness, seeing the outline of their tents.

"We should be finishing our drinks now," she
said. "Getting up and going to our tent together to cuddle in one of those
uncomfortable single cots."

"No matter what the hardship to our bodies,"
Eliot laughed. Maggie was happy to see him throw off his sadness.

"We would fit ourselves together."

"Like a pretzel."

She wanted to reach out and touch him, but she desisted,
fearing that someone might see. Then suddenly she heard a sound coming from the
direction of their tents.

"You hear that?" she asked, looking toward the
tent. He followed her line of sight.

"Maybe a lost baboon scavenging," he replied.
"Lots of things here that go plunk in the night."

They were distracted by the sounds of the boys puttering
nearby. Meade continued to work on the van. Then they turned back to each
other.

"Tell me you love me," Maggie whispered.

"I love you."

"It is very unfair that we should find each other and
be faced with such obstacles."

"I'm sorry," Eliot said. "I wish it were
otherwise."

They did not talk for a long time, watching each other as
the fire went down.

"Like more wood?" one of the African boys came
over and asked.

"No," Eliot said, speaking again after the boy
had gone. "You see how they watch us."

"Funny. I feel as though I was being watched,"
Maggie said. Then they both sank into silence, looking into the burning embers.