The Last Leopard (20 page)

The vet was not able to approach Khan and had to examine him from the other side of the cavern, but he saw enough to be impressed that Martine had managed to stem the bleeding, and disinfect and seal the wound with only moss, honey, and superglue at hand.

“All those years at veterinary school and I could have just stayed in the Matopos picking up tips from an eleven-year-old,” he joked.

After that, things got serious. Chief Nyoni sat Martine and Ben down and told them that late the previous night the leopard clan had gathered together to discuss Khan’s future if he was found alive. Their number-one priority was preserving Khan and his descendants for the benefit and enjoyment of future generations in the Matopos, and they agreed that if he had to be sent away to a place of safety for a few years until peace returned to Zimbabwe, then so be it. The following morning, they’d talked it over with Sadie and Gwyn Thomas, and the clan had unanimously agreed that if Khan survived he should go to live at Sawubona.

“Sawubona!” gasped Martine. “That would be awesome. I mean, I couldn’t imagine anything more brilliant, but surely there’s somewhere closer. Surely there’s one place in Zimbabwe where he could go and be safe?”

“It is sad to say,” Chief Nyoni said, “but at this time there is not. We hope that peace and prosperity will return to our beautiful land one day, of course. But for the foreseeable future nothing is certain and we want Khan to be in a place of true sanctuary, with people who will honor and care for him.”

“Oh, we will definitely do that,” Martine assured him. “You have my word. But how will he get there? I’m not sure if there’s room in the Land Rover for all of us.”

Ngwenya laughed. “We have a network,” he said. “Since Mzilikazi’s time, the Ndebele people have had many enemies, so we have learned to have friends in many places. Chief Nyoni’s grandson is the best wildlife veterinarian in Zimbabwe. He is authorized to sign the necessary papers. He will sedate Khan now and they will leave within the hour for the border. The fuel delivery truck came today and we have already arranged the transport. At the border we also have friends among the customs officials.

“Chief Nyoni’s grandson will stay with the leopard until they reach Sawubona. Mrs. Thomas said that your game warden, Tendai—did you know that
Tendai
is an Ndebele word for ‘thank you’?—will take care of him in your wildlife sanctuary until he is well enough to be released into the wild.”

Martine could hardly believe what she was hearing. The magnificent creature now growling in the circle of her arms was going to be living at Sawubona. Even if she rarely glimpsed him, she’d always know he was there. Watching her.

Watching over her.

“But how long will he be able to stay with us?” she’d asked excitedly.

“Perhaps a couple of years, perhaps forever,” the chief replied. “We give you our word that we will never send for him or for his sons and daughters until they can once again live without fear in the Matobo Hills.”

The vet had tapped his watch then. “Time is running short if we are to make the border before nightfall,” he said.

Tears had poured down Martine’s face as she realized that, after everything they’d been through together, she and Khan were about to be parted. To the shock and awe of the onlookers, she put her nose to that of the leopard in a sort of Eskimo kiss.

“I’ll always love you, Khan,” she whispered, and was rewarded with a final purr.

Minutes later, he’d been sedated and was fast asleep, and Chief Nyoni’s grandson and men with a stretcher bore him away. His long journey south had begun.

Chief Nyoni broke the awkward silence that followed. “I’m glad to have seen with my own eyes that we have appointed the right guardian for the leopard,” he said.

At a word from Martine, Ben left the cavern and she was alone with the chief and Ngwenya.

“I have something for you,” Ngwenya told her. He dug in his pocket and handed her a pink Maglite flashlight, a Swiss Army knife, and one or two other shiny things from her survival kit.

Martine was thrilled. “Where did you find these?”

“In the hornbill’s nest. At the top of the hill, a bees’ nest had been knocked down. Magnus’s house was behind it. It was full of money and jewelry, like Aladdin’s cave.”

“Enough to feed the whole of the Matopos for a year?” Martine teased.

Ngwenya laughed. “For a year at least.”

“I also found something,” Martine said.

Chief Nyoni sat up straight.

“You found what?” Ngwenya said carefully.

Martine handed him the candle. “I’ve left my sweatshirt back there in the shadows,” she said. “I’ll leave it up to you to decide what to do with it.”

She almost ran from the chilly cavern after that, rushing along the tunnel and emerging, blinking, into blazing white sunshine and the waiting arms of her grandmother.

“To think that I was worried about you having a little canter on the white giraffe,” Gwyn Thomas said, hugging her. “Instead I bring you to the Matopos, where you’re chased by hunters, kidnapped by treasure seekers, and buried alive with a leopard. The next time I suggest dragging you across the countryside for a so-called vacation, say to me, ‘Grandmother, I’d much rather stay home and read books and ride Jemmy.’”

“Umm, I did try,” Martine reminded her with a grin.

“I know,” said Gwyn Thomas. “But next time I’ll listen.”

They were waiting by the tractor trailer when Ngwenya and Chief Nyoni appeared at the tunnel entrance. Ngwenya was holding Martine’s sweatshirt but nothing else. They were halfway down the hill when there was a muffled explosion. Martine guessed that they’d removed the planks holding up the tunnel roof and triggered a landslide. A dust cloud blasted out of the space where the tunnel had been, and then the whole hillside seemed to buckle and change shape. It was as if the cavern and its precious contents had never been.

Ngwenya and Chief Nyoni never looked back. When they reached the tractor, Ngwenya handed Martine her sweatshirt.

“Was that the only thing you found?” she couldn’t resist asking him.

“The only thing worth keeping,” he said. “We have love, freedom, and enough to eat in the Matobo Hills. That’s all we could possibly need.”

The evening star was sparkling over Elephant Rock by the time Martine and Ben made their way down to the retreat. With the coming of night, the intense silence of the Matopos that had so unnerved Martine on their arrival was settling over the hills and valleys, and she thought how much she’d miss it when she was gone. It was the most beautiful sound she’d ever known.

The change in Sadie’s fortunes and the decision to send the leopard to Sawubona meant that she, Ben, and Gwyn Thomas were leaving Zimbabwe earlier than planned. She’d have time to spend reading and riding Jemmy after all. She was ecstatic about that, but her heart ached at the thought of leaving the Matobo Hills. She was also wondering whether she’d ever see the leopard again.

“Of course you will,” said Ben. “Especially if he’s going to be living at Sawubona.”

“Yes, but it won’t be the same,” Martine told him. “I won’t ever get to fall asleep cuddled up next to him again.”

They were on their way to say good-bye to the six horses when they bumped into Ngwenya, who’d just finished feeding them.

“I wanted to wish you both a safe trip,” he said. “I am going to the far village with Mercy and Odilo and I won’t be back before you leave in the morning. Thank you again for what you did for Khan. And please convey our gratitude to your
sangoma
for providing the medicine that helped Emelia.”

“Come with us,” Martine pleaded. “Tendai’s always saying he could do with an extra pair of hands at Sawubona. Travel back with us. You’d love it.”

Ngwenya laughed. “I’m sure I would, but no matter how difficult things get in Zimbabwe, no matter how much we have to struggle, I will never leave the Matopos. My ancestors have walked in these hills.”

“I understand,” Martine said. She shook his hand in the African way—gripping his hand, then his thumb, and then his hand again. “Good-bye, Ngwenya.”

He smiled. “No, not good-bye. The Ndebele have a proverb: ‘Those who once saw each other will see each other again.’”

EPILOGUE

The leopard lay with his forelegs stretched out before him, his spotted coat gleaming like liquid gold in the early-morning sunlight. In the valley below, the dark shapes of buffalo and striped hides of zebra moved in slow motion across the plain surrounding the lake. Ordinarily the sight of so much food on the go would have made him think of dinner, but today he was only interested in the girl and her rather odd companions, an old woman and a white giraffe. The three of them were watching the sunrise over the lake, and the white giraffe was resting his head on the girl’s shoulder.

For reasons that Khan found confusing and nice all at once, his heart felt soft and full whenever the girl was around. Once, without realizing it, she’d been so close to him in his new den in the Secret Valley that she’d brushed his fur, but although she’d reacted as if she’d been scalded, she hadn’t seen him in the dark. She’d had a bright light with her, but she had chosen not to shine it his way.

He’d followed her into the cave with the pictures after that, and watched from the shadows as she’d met with an exuberant African woman of colorful dress and considerable proportions. After they’d embraced, they’d sat gazing at the pictures and talking. Neither of them looked around, but Khan sensed they knew he was there.

“You were right about what you said before I went to Zimbabwe,” he’d heard Martine say to Grace, although, of course, he didn’t know either of their names because names didn’t mean anything in his world. He judged both animals and people on their actions and the light in their eyes. “Any time Ben and I were separated, danger did seem to follow us.”

“Uh-huh,” agreed the colorful woman. “That’s because your destinies be as entwined as the branches of the tree that guards the Secret Valley. But ya listened to ole Grace and trusted in your gift, and your gift kept ya out of harm’s way.”

“But why?” Martine wanted to know. “Why are Ben and I connected? And how are we connected? And please don’t say that only time and experience will give me the eyes to see.”

“What else am I ta say, chile?” asked Grace. “You do not even have the half-closed eyes of a newborn lion cub. You are still blind to the truths of nature and the forefathers.”

“No I’m not,” said Martine, offended. “I notice lots of things.”

“Sure you do, honey. But you don’t always see tha big picture. Look at the wall in front of you. What d’you see there?”

“I see our own private African art gallery, with lots and lots of amazing little pictures of animals and San people hunting, feasting, or celebrating. Same things I always see.”

“Are ya sure?” Grace asked. “Come and sit in my place.”

They swapped seats on the bench-like rock. Martine looked at the paintings again. From this angle they seemed to waver, almost as if they were being viewed on a movie screen that had warped in the sun. There was something odd about them. She saw now that the paintings were arranged into groups so that they formed a sort of pattern.

Martine gasped. She reached for Grace’s hand and gripped it tightly. When seen from a particular slant the scores of little pictures made up a single giant mural that took up an entire rock wall. It showed a girl bending over a wounded leopard. They appeared to be in some sort of cavern. At the door of the cavern stood a boy. There was something protective about his posture, as if he were a kind of guardian.

“Ben!” breathed Martine. “Oh, Grace, it was here all the time. I was just looking at it in the wrong way.”

“Yes,” replied Grace, “but ya look at many things in the right way. That’s why you be on this path. There be many challenges still to come.”

Behind them, the leopard had raised his head and growled so softly neither of them heard it. On that occasion as on several others, he could have killed the girl with one bound. She’d trespassed into his territory. But the only urge he ever felt around her was a burning desire to protect her. She had, after all, saved his life. On the long night in the airless cavern, when he’d suffered ten kinds of agony and felt the strength ebbing from his limbs with every breath, the magic from her hands had been a balm. She’d done something to the wound on his chest (at one stage he was quite sure he smelled honey, which he loathed) and had sort of tricked him into swallowing the most revolting liquid he’d ever tasted.

But afterward the bleeding had stopped, the pain had gone away, and the hole in his chest had vanished as if by a miracle.

Then something most peculiar had happened. She’d dared to lie beside him and snuggle up to him as if he were her pet cat. She’d even put a hand on his paw. And much to his own bewilderment he hadn’t just tolerated her presence because he was too weak to do anything about it, he’d cherished every moment, because the energy that flowed from her was pure love.