Authors: Wilbur Smith
Rage (27 page)
However, it was ten days before they were allowed to fire a shot and then it was only bird-hunting. Under strict supervision, they were allowed to hunt the fat brown francolin and speckled guinea fowl with their strange waxen yellow helmets in the scrub along the river. Then they had to clean and dress their kill and help the Herero chef to prepare and cook it.
âIt's the best meal I've ever eaten,' Sean declared, and his brothers agreed with him enthusiastically through full mouths.
The next morning Shasa told them, âWe need fresh meat for the men.' In camp there were thirty mouths to feed, all with an enormous appetite for fresh meat. âAll right, Sean, what is the scientific name for impala?'
âAepyceros
melampus
,' Sean gabbled eagerly. âThe Afrikaners call it
rooibok
and it weighs between 130 and 160 pounds.'
melampus
,' Sean gabbled eagerly. âThe Afrikaners call it
rooibok
and it weighs between 130 and 160 pounds.'
âThat will do,' Shasa laughed. âGo and get your rifle.'
In a patch of whistling thorn near the river, they found a solitary old ram, an outcast from the breeding herd. He had been mauled by a leopard and was limping badly on one foreleg, but he had a fine pair of lyre-shaped horns. Sean stalked the lovely red brown antelope just as Shasa had taught him, using the river bank and the wind to get within easy shot, even with the light rifle. However, when the boy knelt and raised the Winchester to his shoulder, Shasa slipped the safety-catch of his heavy weapon, ready to render the
coup de grâce,
if it was needed.
coup de grâce,
if it was needed.
The impala dropped instantly, shot through the neck, dead before it heard the shot, and Shasa went to join his son at the kill.
As they shook hands, Shasa recognized in Sean the deep atavistic passion of the hunter. In some contemporary men that urge had cooled or been suppressed â in others it still burned brightly. Shasa and his eldest son were of that ilk, and now Shasa stopped and dipped his forefinger in the bright warm blood that trickled from the tiny wound in the ram's neck and then he traced his finger across Sean's forehead and down each cheek.
âNow you are blooded,' he said, and he wondered when that ceremony had first been performed, when the first man had painted his son's face with the blood of his first kill, and he knew instinctively that it had been back before recorded time, back when they still dressed in skins and lived in caves.
âNow you are a hunter,' he said, and his heart warmed to his son's proud and solemn expression. This was not a moment for laughter and chatter, it was something deep and significant, something beyond mere words. Sean had sensed that and Shasa was proud of him.
The following day they drew lots and it was Michael's turn to kill. Again Shasa wanted a solitary impala ram, so as not to alarm the breeding herd, but an animal with a good pair of horns as a trophy for the boy. It took them almost all that day of hunting before they found the right one.
Shasa and his two brothers watched from a distance as Michael made his stalk. It was a more difficult situation than Sean had been presented with, open grassland and a few scattered flat-top acacia thorns, but Michael made a stealthy approach on hands and knees, until he reached a low ant heap from which to make his shot.
Michael rose slowly and lifted the light rifle. The ram was still unaware, grazing head down thirty paces off, broadside on and offering the perfect shot for either spine or heart. Shasa was ready with the Holland and Holland to back him, should he wound the impala. Michael held his
aim, and the seconds drew out. The ram raised its head and looked around warily, but Michael was absolutely still, the rifle to his shoulder, and the ram looked past him, not seeing him. Then it moved away unhurriedly, stopping once to crop a few mouthfuls. It disappeared into a clump of taller grass and without having fired, Michael slowly lowered his rifle.
aim, and the seconds drew out. The ram raised its head and looked around warily, but Michael was absolutely still, the rifle to his shoulder, and the ram looked past him, not seeing him. Then it moved away unhurriedly, stopping once to crop a few mouthfuls. It disappeared into a clump of taller grass and without having fired, Michael slowly lowered his rifle.
Sean jumped to his feet, ready to rush out and challenge his brother, but Shasa restrained him with a hand on his shoulder. âYou and Garry go and wait for us back at the jeep,' he said.
Shasa walked out to where Michael was sitting on the ant heap with the unfired Winchester held across his lap. He sat down beside Michael and lit a cigarette. Neither of them said anything for almost ten minutes and then Michael whispered, âHe looked straight at me â and he had the most beautiful eyes.'
Shasa dropped the butt of his cigarette and ground it out under his heel. They were silent again, and then Michael blurted, âDo I really have to kill something, Dad? Please don't make me.'
âNo, Mickey,' Shasa put his arm around his shoulders. âYou don't have to kill anything. And in a different sort of way, I'm just as proud of you as I am of Sean.'
T
hen it was Garrick's turn. Again it was a solitary ram with a beautiful head of wide-curved horns and the stalk was through scattered bush and waisthigh grass.
hen it was Garrick's turn. Again it was a solitary ram with a beautiful head of wide-curved horns and the stalk was through scattered bush and waisthigh grass.
His spectacles glinting determinedly, Garry began his stalk under Shasa's patient supervision. However, he was still a long way out of range of the ram when there was a squawk and Garry disappeared into the earth. Only a small cloud of dust marked the spot where he had been. The
impala raced away into the forest, and Shasa and the two boys ran out to where Garry had last been seen. They were guided by muffled cries of distress, and a disturbance in the grass. Only Garry's legs were still above ground, kicking helplessly in the air. Shasa seized them and heaved Garry out of the deep round hole in which he was wedged from the waist.
impala raced away into the forest, and Shasa and the two boys ran out to where Garry had last been seen. They were guided by muffled cries of distress, and a disturbance in the grass. Only Garry's legs were still above ground, kicking helplessly in the air. Shasa seized them and heaved Garry out of the deep round hole in which he was wedged from the waist.
It was the entrance to an antbear burrow. Intent on his stalk, Garry had tripped over his own bootlace and tumbled headlong into the hole. The lenses of his spectacles were thick with dust and he had skinned his cheek and torn his bushjacket. These injuries were insignificant when compared to the damage to his pride. In the next three days Garry made as many attempts to stalk. All of these were detected by his intended victim long before he was within gunshot. Each time as he watched the antelope dash away, Garry's dejection was more abject and Sean's derision more raucous.
âNext time we will do it together,' Shasa consoled him, and the following day he coached Garry quietly through the stalk, carrying the rifle for him, pointing out the obstacles over which Garry would have tripped, and leading him the last ten yards by the hand until they were in a good position for the shot. Then he handed him the loaded rifle.
âIn the neck,' he whispered. âYou can't miss.'
The ram had the best trophy horns they had seen yet, and he was twenty-five yards away. Garry lifted the rifle and peered through spectacles that were misted with the heat of excitement and his hands began to shake uncontrollably.
Watching Garry's face screwed up with tension, and seeing the erratic circles that the rifle barrel was describing, Shasa recognized the classic symptoms of âbuck fever' and reached out to prevent Garry firing. He was too late, and the ram jumped at the sharp crack of the shot, and then
looked around with a puzzled expression. Neither Shasa nor the animal, and least of all Garry, knew where the bullet had gone.
looked around with a puzzled expression. Neither Shasa nor the animal, and least of all Garry, knew where the bullet had gone.
âGarry!' Shasa tried to prevent him, but he fired again as wildly, and a puff of dust flicked from the earth halfway between them and the ram.
The impala went up into the air in a fluid and graceful leap, a flash of silken cinnamon-coloured skin and a glint of sweeping horns and then it was bounding away on those long delicate legs, so lightly it seemed not to touch the earth.
They walked back to the jeep in silence, Garry trailing a few paces behind his father, and his father, and his elder brother greeted him with a peal of merry laughter.
âNext time throw your specs at him, Garry.'
âI think you need a little more practice before you have another go at it,' Shasa told him tactfully. âBut don't worry. Buck fever is something that can attack anyone â even the oldest and most experienced.'
T
hey moved camp, going deeper into the little Eden they had discovered. Now every day they came across elephant droppings, knee-high piles of fibrous yellow lumps the size of tennis balls, full of chewed bark and twigs and the stones of wild fruit in which the baboons and red-cheeked francolin delved delightedly for titbits.
hey moved camp, going deeper into the little Eden they had discovered. Now every day they came across elephant droppings, knee-high piles of fibrous yellow lumps the size of tennis balls, full of chewed bark and twigs and the stones of wild fruit in which the baboons and red-cheeked francolin delved delightedly for titbits.
Shasa showed the boys how to thrust a finger into the pile of dung to test for body heat and judge its freshness, and how to read the huge round pad-marks in the dust. To differentiate between bull and cow, between front and rear foot, to tell the direction of travel and to estimate the age of the animal. âThe tread is worn off the feet of the old ones â smooth as an old car tyre.'
Then, at last, they picked up the spoor of a huge old bull elephant, with smooth pad-marks the size of garbagebin lids, and they left the jeep and followed him on foot for two days, sleeping on the spoor, eating the hard rations they carried. In the late afternoon of the second day, they caught up with the bull. He was in almost impenetrable jess bush through which they crept on hands and knees, and they were almost within touching distance when they made out the loom of the colossal grey body through the interlaced branches. Eleven foot high at the shoulder, he was grey as a storm cloud, and his belly rumbled like distant thunder. One at a time Shasa took the boys up closer to have a good look at him, and then they retreated out of the jess bush and left the outcast to his eternal wanderings.
âWhy didn't you shoot him, Dad?' Garry stuttered. âAfter following all that way?'
âDidn't you see? One tusk was broken off at the tip, and despite his bulk the other tusk was pretty small.'
They limped back over the miles on feet that were covered in blisters, and it took two rest days in camp for the boys to recover from a march that had been beyond their strength.
Often during the nights they were awakened and lay in their narrow camp beds, thrilling to the shrieking cries of the hyena scavenging the garbage dump beside the lean-to kitchen. They were accompanied by the soprano yelping bark of the little dog-like jackals. The boys learned to recognize all these and the other sounds of the night â the birds such as the night jar and the dikkop, the smaller mammals, the night ape, the genet and the civet, and the insects and reptiles that squealed and hummed and croaked in the reeds of the waterhole.
They bathed infrequently. In matters of hygiene Shasa was more easy-going than their mother and a thousand times more so than their grandmother, and they ate the delicious concoctions that the Herero chef dreamed up for
them with plenty of sugar and condensed milk. School was far away and they were as happy as they had ever been with their father's complete and undivided attention and his wonderful stories and instruction.
them with plenty of sugar and condensed milk. School was far away and they were as happy as they had ever been with their father's complete and undivided attention and his wonderful stories and instruction.
âWe haven't seen any signs of lions yet,' Shasa remarked at breakfast one morning. âThat's unusual. There are plenty of buffalo about, and the big cats usually keep close to the herds.'
Mention of lions gave the boys delightful cold shivers, and it was as though Shasa's words had conjured up the beast.
That afternoon, as the jeep bumped and weaved slowly through the long grass avoiding antbear holes and fallen logs, they came out on the edge of a long dry vlei, one of those grassy depressions of the African bush that during the rainy season become shallow lakes and at other times are treacherous swamps where a vehicle can easily bog down, or in the driest months are smooth treeless expanses resembling a well-kept polo ground. Shasa stopped the jeep in the tree line and searched the far side of the vlei, panning his binoculars slowly to pick up any game standing amongst the shadows of the tall grey mopani trees on the far side.
âOnly a couple of bat-eared foxes,' he remarked, and passed the binoculars to the boys. They laughed at the antics of these quaint little animals, as they hunted grasshoppers in the short green grass in the centre of the vlei.
âHey, Dad!' Sean's tone changed. âThere is a big old baboon in the top of that tree.' He passed the binoculars back to his father.
âNo,' Shasa said, without lowering the glasses. âThat's not a baboon. It's a human being!'
He spoke in the vernacular to the two Ovambo trackers in the back of the jeep, and there was a quick but heated discussion, everybody taking differing views.
âAll right, let's go and take a look.' He drove the jeep
out into the open vlei, and before they were halfway across there was no longer any doubt. In the top branches of a high mopani crouched a child, a little black girl dressed only in a loincloth of cheap blue trade cotton.
out into the open vlei, and before they were halfway across there was no longer any doubt. In the top branches of a high mopani crouched a child, a little black girl dressed only in a loincloth of cheap blue trade cotton.
âShe's all alone,' Shasa exclaimed. âOut here, fifty miles from the nearest village.'
Shasa sent the jeep roaring across the last few hundred yards then pulled up in a rolling cloud of dust and ran to the base of the mopani. He shouted up at the almost naked child. âCome down!' and gestured to reinforce the command that she would certainly not understand. She neither moved nor raised her head from the branch on which she lay.
Shasa looked around him quickly. At the base of the tree lay a blanket roll which had been ripped open; the threadbare blankets had been shredded and tom. A skin bag had also been ripped and the dry maize meal it contained had poured into the dust, there was a black threelegged pot lying on its side, a crude axe with the blade rough-forged from a piece of scrap mild steel, and the shaft of a spear snapped off at the back of the head, but the point was missing.
A little further off were scattered a few rags on which blood stains had dried black as tar, and some other objects which were covered by a living cloak of big shimmering iridescent flies. As Shasa approached, the flies rose in a buzzing cloud, revealing the pathetic remains on which they had been feasting. There were two pairs of human hands and feet, gnawed off at the wrists and ankles, and then â horribly â the heads. A man and a woman, their necks chewed through and the exposed vertebrae crushed by great fangs. Both heads were intact, although the mouths and nostrils and empty eye-sockets were filled with the white rice pudding of eggs laid by the swarming flies. The grass was flattened over a wide area, crusted with dried
blood, and the trodden dust was patterned with the unmistakable pug-marks of a fully grown male lion.
blood, and the trodden dust was patterned with the unmistakable pug-marks of a fully grown male lion.
âThe lion always leaves the head and hands and feet,' his Ovambo tracker said in a matter-of-fact voice, and Shasa nodded and turned to warn the boys to stay in the car. He was too late. They had followed him and were studying the grisly relics with varied expressions â Sean with ghoulish relish, Michael with nauseated horror and Garry with intense clinical interest.
Swiftly Shasa covered the severed heads with the torn blankets. He smelt that they were already in an advanced state of decomposition: they must have lain here many days. Then once again he turned his attention to the child in the branches high above them, calling urgently to her.
âShe is dead,' said his tracker. âThese people have been dead four days at least. The little one has been in the tree all that time. She is surely dead.'
Shasa would not accept that. He removed his boots and safari jacket and climbed into the mopani. He went up cautiously, testing each hand-hold and every branch before committing his weight to it. To a height of ten feet above the ground the bark of the tree had been lacerated by claws. When the child was directly above him, almost within reach, Shasa called to her softly in Ovambo and then in Zulu.
âHey, little one, can you hear me?'
There was no movement and he saw that her limbs were thin as sticks, and her skin ash-grey with that peculiar dusty look that in the African presages death. Shasa eased himself up the last few feet and reached up to touch her leg. The skin was warm, and he felt an unaccountable rush of relief. He had expected the soft cold touch of death. However, the child was unconscious and her dehydrated body was light as a bird as Shasa gently loosened her grip on the branch and lifted her against his chest. He climbed down
slowly, shielding her from any jarring or rough movement and when he reached the ground carried her to the jeep and laid her in the shade.
slowly, shielding her from any jarring or rough movement and when he reached the ground carried her to the jeep and laid her in the shade.
The first-aid kit contained a comprehensive collection of medical equipment. Long ago, Shasa had been forced to minister to one of his gun-bearers mauled by a wounded buffalo and after that he never hunted without the kit, and he had learned to use all of it.
Swiftly he prepared a drip set and probed for the vein in the child's arm. The vein had collapsed, her pulse was weak and erratic, and he had to try again in the foot. This time he got the cannula in and administered a full bag of Ringers lactate, and while it was flowing he added 10 ccs of glucose solution to it. Only then did he attempt to make the child take water orally, and her swallowing reflex was still evident. A few drops at a time he got a full cup down her throat, and she showed the first signs of life, whimpering and stirring restlessly.
As he worked, he gave orders to his trackers over his shoulder. âTake the spade, bury those people deep. It is strange that the hyena haven't found them yet, but make sure they don't do so later.'
One of the trackers held the child on his lap during the rough journey back to camp, protecting her from the jolts and heavy bumps. As soon as they arrived, Shasa strung the aerial of the short-wave radio to the highest tree in the grove, and after an hour of frustration finally made contact, not with the H'ani Mine, but with one of the Courtney Company's geological exploration units that was a hundred miles closer. Even then the contact was faint and scratchy and intermittent, but with many repetitions he got them to relay a message to the mine. They were to send an aircraft, with the mine doctor, to the landing strip at the police post at Rundu as soon as possible.
By this time, the little girl was conscious and talking to the Ovambo trackers in a weak piping voice that reminded
Shasa of the chirping of a nestling sparrow. She was speaking an obscure dialect of one of the river people from Angola in the north, but the Ovambo was married to a woman of her tribe and could translate for Shasa. The story she told was harrowing.
Shasa of the chirping of a nestling sparrow. She was speaking an obscure dialect of one of the river people from Angola in the north, but the Ovambo was married to a woman of her tribe and could translate for Shasa. The story she told was harrowing.
She and her parents had been on a journey to see her grandparents at the river village of Shakawe in the south, a trek on foot of hundreds of miles. Carrying all their worldly possessions, they had taken a short cut through this remote and deserted country when they had become aware that a lion was dogging them, following them through the forest â at first keeping its distance and then closing in.
Her father, an intrepid hunter, had realized the futility of stopping and trying to build some sort of shelter or of taking to the trees where the beast would besiege them. Instead he had tried to keep the lion off by shouting and clapping while he hurried to reach the river and the sanctuary of one of the fishing villages.
The child described the final attack when the animal, its thick ruff of black mane erect, had rushed in at the family, grunting and roaring. Her mother had only time enough to push the girl into the lowest branch of the mopani before the lion was on them. Her father had stood gallantly to meet it, and thrust his long spear into its shoulder, but the spear had snapped and the lion leapt upon him and tore out his bowels with a single swipe of curved yellow claws. Then it had sprung at the mother as she was attempting to climb into the mopani and hooked its claws into her back and dragged her down.
In her small birdlike voice the child described how the lion had eaten the corpses of her parents, down to the heads and feet and hands, while she watched from the upper branches. It had taken two days over the grisly feast, at intervals pausing to lick the spear wound in its shoulder. On the third day it had attempted to reach the child, ripping at the trunk of the mopani and roaring horribly. At
last it had given up and wandered away into the forest, limping heavily with the wound. Even then the child had been too terrified to leave her perch and she had clung there until at last she had passed out with exhaustion and grief, exposure and fear.
last it had given up and wandered away into the forest, limping heavily with the wound. Even then the child had been too terrified to leave her perch and she had clung there until at last she had passed out with exhaustion and grief, exposure and fear.
While she was relating all this, the camp servants were refuelling the jeep and preparing supplies for the journey to Rundu. Shasa left as soon as this was done, taking the boys with him. He would not leave them in the camp while there was a wounded man-eating lion roaming in the vicinity.
They drove through the night, recrossing their jerrybuilt bridge and retracing their tracks until the following morning they intersected the main Rundu road, and that afternoon they finally arrived, dusty and exhausted, at the airstrip. The blue and silver Mosquito that Shasa had left at H'ani Mine was parked in the shade of the trees at the edge of the strip and the company pilot and the doctor were squatting under the wing, waiting patiently.
Shasa gave the child into the doctor's care, and went quickly through the pile of urgent documents and messages that the pilot had brought with him. He scribbled out orders and replies to these, and a long letter of instruction to David Abrahams. When the Mosquito took off again, the sick girl went with them. She would receive first-rate medical attention at the mine hospital, and Shasa would decide what to do with the little orphan once she was fully recovered.
The return to the safari camp was more leisurely than the outward journey, and over the next few days the excitement of the lion adventure was forgotten in the other absorbing concerns of safari life, not least of which was the business of Garry's first kill. Bad luck now combined with his lack of coordination and poor marksmanship to cheat him of this experience that he hungered for more than any
other, while on the other hand Sean succeeded in providing meat for the camp at every attempt.
other, while on the other hand Sean succeeded in providing meat for the camp at every attempt.
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