Treasure of the Golden Cheetah (32 page)

Muturi and the remaining porters nodded appreciatively. They could have done the same, but they were tired from carrying the cookpots and stores. Jade’s exertions went a long way towards smoothing ruffled tempers. Jade watched the fire blaze away with a feeling of satisfaction. “There you are, Harry. Our troubles are over for the day. We’re here and—” The sound of running feet coming from up the trail interrupted her.

“Hold that thought, Jade,” said Harry as he went out to meet the two men who’d just broken out of the trees and raced towards them. Jade recognized them as two Chagga men hired from the village of Zakayo to act as porters on this climb. Harry held up his hand for them to halt and addressed them in Swahili.

“What’s wrong? Why have you left Nakuru and your duties?”

“Bwana Nyati,” said one man, “we will go no farther up God’s mountain. It displeases him and he has cursed us.”

CHAPTER 20

—The Traveler

HARRY’S VOICE RANG OUT LOUD AND ANGRY, EFFECTIVELY BREAKING up the rest of the poker game and attracting all but the napping actresses to find out what was happening. Since Harry’s conversation was in Swahili, the Americans looked to Jade to translate and explain.

“What’s the commotion about?” asked Julian. “Are we under attack?”

Jade shushed him with a wave of her hand while she listened.

“What is this foolishness about curses?” demanded Harry.

“We go up too high,” exclaimed the pair’s spokesman. “The boxes come apart. When the headman tells us to go higher, blood comes from our noses. The ground shakes. Ruwa is angry.”

“Ruwa is not angry,” said Harry with all the authority he could muster. “But I am. I hired men, not frightened women.”

Jade stepped forward, letting the men see that she, for one, was not afraid. When the spokesman saw her, he rolled his eyes and pointed. “She is the reason for this trouble. She was cursed. Now the curse follows us.”

“If I was cursed,” said Jade, “then the curse is on
my
head, not on yours.” She took another step closer. “Does a box break only when it is cursed? Your nose bleeds because it does not like to be high. It will stop in a day or two.”

The two men glanced at each other, then ducked their heads and shifted, apparently feeling a little foolish now that they were face-to-face with the big bwana and Simba Jike. Their gazes darted towards the cooking fire and the now bubbling pot for posho.

Harry must have had similar thoughts. “I will not stop you if you wish to return to your village now. But I will not spare food for you if you go. If you stay to eat, then you must go up with us tomorrow. And I do not want you spreading your lies around the camp.”

Jade worried that the two men would choose to return to their village. There were still a few hours of daylight left. She decided to sway the decision in the group’s favor.

“Biscuit,” she whispered, “greet.”

The cheetah, which had stood at her side during the proceedings, padded forward until he was in front of the two men. From his throat erupted a loud, raspy purr. He rubbed his broad head against their hands one at a time before stepping back to Jade. His pose appeared so stately, so regal, that they couldn’t help but be affected by his notice.

“We will stay,” said the spokesman. “And go up with you tomorrow.”

Harry waited a moment before responding, letting the men know that whether they stayed or left was ultimately his decision. “Since memsahib Simba Jike’s
duma
has made you welcome, I will let you stay.” He turned aside and walked away, putting an end to the discussion. “I’m going to see if I can hunt down another wild pig,” he said. “You’ve got the camp, Jade.”

 

 

“NOW TELL ME what happened!” demanded Mr. Julian as Harry left.

Jade briefly recounted the incident of the frightened porters, being careful not to stress the broken supply boxes. One didn’t have to be an uneducated native to have superstitions. She knew that they ran deep within some Americans as well.

“The nosebleed frightened them,” she said. “And they thought it was a warning from Ruwa to keep them from climbing his mountain. But it’s hard to explain thinner air and changing pressure. That’s why Harry has us staying here tonight instead of going up to Pete’s hut. You need to acclimate to the changing altitude.”

“Nosebleed!” exclaimed Hall. “Look. I’m not a sissy or anything, Julian, but do you really think this sort of risk is necessary?”

“Of course it is,” snapped Julian. “Think of the realism of seeing Kilimanjaro as a backdrop to the climax scenes. Why, it’s essential. We should be there tonight and filming tomorrow. This lollygagging around is wasting my time. And think of what’s up there!”

“Mr. Julian,” said Jade, “if we hurry up the mountain, nose-bleeds will be the least of the problems. Altitude sickness is a very real danger. I’m sure Harry told you the risks.” She gestured towards the porters, Jelani, and Lwiza. “These people can’t go any higher than the saddle.”

Julian waved his hand, dismissing the problem. “Yeah, sure. Headaches, dizziness.”

“No, Mr. Julian. Those are the first warnings. People die at high altitudes. They don’t breathe right. The air’s thin up there. And cold,” she added. “There’s frostbite, too.”

“Risks exaggerated by safari companies so that they can increase their fees,” said Julian. His lips curled in a sneer. “Name one person who’s died climbing Kilimanjaro.”

Jade studied Julian for a moment; then a faint smile played across her own lips. “Well, there’s your precious Emperor Menelik, for starters. Careful, Mr. Julian, as you strive for accuracy. You might get more than you bargained for.”

She turned to walk away and caught Lwiza’s eye. For once the woman was alone.
Maybe I can talk with her privately.
Here was someone who had access to all the women’s personal items. She would know which one of them had owned that compact. But Jade couldn’t ask outright.
For all I know, she stole it from one of them.

She decided to ask each of the women indirectly by inquiring what beauty line they would recommend to her. Then she’d ask what the other women used. Hopefully, by cross-checking answers, she’d find out who was telling the truth. The concept was laughable, considering Jade didn’t wear any creams or paints. She found a good broad-brimmed hat did as much as anything against the sun’s ravages.
Now we’ll see how good an actress I am.
There was one problem, though. What if
all
the women lied? She’d have to learn their individual tells and see what they did when they prevaricated.
I’ll ask them their ages.

Jade plastered a big smile on her face. “Lwiza,” she called. “May I talk with you?”

“Yes,
bibi
. In what may I serve you?”

“With advice, Lwiza.” She took the young woman’s arm by the elbow and led her aside to stroll with her out of earshot of the others. Not that the men would bother them, but she wanted to create a feeling of privacy, to exchange confidences. “I’m finding this safari is not agreeing with my skin. Yours is so smooth. I thought you might tell me what you put on it?”

Lwiza’s eyes opened in surprise. “I have a special cream that is made from many ingredients. It is a recipe handed down among the ladies of my family for generations.”

“Ah,” said Jade. “You have lovely skin. Then I imagine you are only nineteen years old.”

Lwiza didn’t respond beyond a faint smile and a graceful inclination of her head. Jade tried a different tack. “Do you give any of your cream to the American ladies?”

“They have their own, but I do not know what they are made of. They keep such things locked away from me.” One side of her mouth curled up in disdain. “As if I would wish to take any of their trinkets.”

Jade could tell that she wasn’t going to get very far with Lwiza. The woman was too reserved. But as Jade walked with her, she detected a faint spicy fragrance that intrigued her. “Whatever you use, Lwiza, it certainly smells pretty. It reminds me of something sacred, a scent I smelled as a child in church.”

Lwiza arched her brows and tilted her head, her dark eyes watching Jade’s face. “Yes. There is oil from myrrh in it. A gift of the magi to the Lord. It has healing properties as well.”

“Old recipes are usually better than modern ones, aren’t they?”

Lwiza smiled and nodded. “I can bring some to you later if you like. Is that all,
bibi
?”

“Not quite,” said Jade. “I am very curious about you. You are educated. At least, you’ve read some books, considering your help with the costumes. How is it you came from a home in Zanzibar to do maid’s work in Nairobi?”

Lwiza held her head a trifle higher. “Is there dishonor in working,
bibi
?”

“No, there is not, but—”

“Excuse me,
bibi
Jade.” Lwiza pointed to the other side of the camp. “Bwana Hascombe has returned with his kill. I must wake the other mistresses to prepare for their meal.”

Jade followed Lwiza’s hand as she saw Harry hand a young wild pig to Muturi. When she turned back, Lwiza was already halfway to the stone hut. As Jade watched her, her mind turned over two facts: Lwiza hadn’t answered her last question, and most Swahili were Muslim, not Christian.

 

 

PRIVATE CONVERSATION HAD been impossible during dinner, but Jade paid attention to everyone’s faces as they talked anyway, observing expressions and mannerisms. Most of them met their listener’s eyes when they talked to just one person. Both Cynthia and Hall always managed to look beyond the others, as though they were playing to a distant audience.
Probably some deeply ingrained acting technique.
Julian didn’t look up from his food when he said anything. And both Budendorfer and Brown had a tendency to punctuate statements with a laugh. Homerman rarely spoke at all. The other men mostly just ate, sometimes pausing to share a joke. Jade did manage to talk to each of the women alone when she went along to guard them during their necessary visits into the woods.

“I swear by Pond’s cold cream,” said Pearl, her lids half-closed in her usual sultry fashion. “But I use Joncaire powder.” She touched her face, currently devoid of makeup. Her youthful skin glowed. “At least, I do for the camera. Wouldn’t want a shiny nose.” She laughed. “But if you think I’m going to reveal my age, then you’ve been in the equatorial sun too long.”

Pearl had no idea nor even cared what Cynthia or Bebe used. One of them, she thought, had worked for or advertised for somebody. “I’m not certain of the fact. But they’re both getting so long in the tooth that it’s probably ancient history.”

“I understand you used to work in a circus sideshow,” said Jade. They’d reached the edge of their clearing and she wanted to milk as much information out of the woman as she could. “That sounds exciting. How ever did you find your way into that?”

“Easy when you grow up in Florida. Half the circuses winter down there.” Pearl moved away from Jade and headed towards the men. She turned and spoke over her shoulder. “Thank you for the escort, Jade. Let me know if you want to borrow some of the cold cream.”

Bebe advised Jade to wash her face with a resin-based soap and, in general, danced around all of Jade’s questions regarding her life. “We spent so much time in my girlhood on the Italian Riviera that I nearly consider it my home, and that’s why I now use Italian creams, powder, and rouge. Ciprie Gi Vi Emme.
Very
fine quality. However,” she added, “if you
do
find out what Cynthia uses, let me know. I want to be sure to avoid it.”

“You probably don’t need anything special at all,” said Jade. “You can’t be more than twenty-four or twenty-five years old. And I’m only guessing that because of the number of pictures you’ve been in.”

Bebe looked at Jade. “I’m twenty-seven and not ashamed to admit it.”

Cynthia swore by Pompeian creams, and chose La Dorine face powder for her personal use. “I think my husband brought it back for me from Paris one time. Told me that a Swedish actress, Martha Hedman, endorsed it.” She scoffed. “I don’t know why she managed to get a contract to advertise for them and not me. She’s only made one picture that I know of.”

“It looks like most of you ladies prefer foreign powders. Pearl has some French-sounding brand, too. And Bebe fell in love with an Italian brand that she picked up during her summers on the Italian Riviera.”

“She told you that nonsense about living in Italy?” Cynthia stifled a laugh that came out more like a snort from a bull. “Excuse me, but her Italian experience comes strictly from her immigrant grandmother’s stories. Bebe’s from Cleveland, for heaven’s sake.”

Jade decided to jump in completely and learn more about Cynthia’s relationship with Mr. Wheeler. “You appear to be holding up better after your husband’s death, Miss Porter. But I imagine you still miss him a great deal.”