Rhinoceros Summer Page 14

  Instead, he heard a noise and spun on his heels to see Jack now dressed in a clean outfit.

  He walked up to Jack and drove his fist so hard into his cheek, Jack did a half-flip onto the wood floor.

  Caleb didn’t look back as Lydia yelped and Paul yelled for Muna to get some ice.

  He stormed out the tent and ran into M’soko dressed in a cloak too small to reach across his chest.

  M’soko’s eyes widened.

  Caleb kept going until the noises from the dining tent faded and he fled into the wilderness for the night.

  CHAPTER 14

  Paul

  The small caravan drove into the front parking area of the resort, kicking up dust in the late afternoon heat.

  Paul sat in the passenger seat, smelling the sweat of four people. He felt the need for release vibrating through his body after all the hell he’d smoothed over these last several days.

  When Caleb had returned to camp the next morning after punching Jack, Paul made sure to send him ahead and to stay out of Jack’s sight.

  He glanced into the rearview mirror and saw the paired faces of Lydia and Jack, both tired, both without the energy to cause any more trouble.

  He knew what Caleb would not admit.

  Caleb looked at Lydia with the same possessive stare Paul used to look at Abiba with—the right to protect. The right to keep anyone from harming her but himself.

  He thought about how to use that to get his son back. He figured it would mean giving up the rhino.

  Maybe he could have both. If he played it right, he could get his pictures, his rhino hunt, and Caleb too.

  Nothing could happen to Lydia. If she was hurt in some way, Caleb would blame it all on Paul again.

  Mary Hellerman waited on the resort steps, and then rushed the car as Jack climbed out of the back seat. “Oh, dear! Are you all right?”

  Paul had talked with him that morning. If Jack stuck to the story, he’d come out a hunting hero.

  Jack brushed her off, saying something about a headache. “I’m fine. No fuss, Mary. I killed an elephant and was almost killed myself. Of course I’m beat up.”

  “But how’d you get the black eye? You didn’t say anything about it on the phone.”

  Jack’s expression turn from impatience to anger. “Not now! I’ve got a headache and the—Where’re the tusks, Paul? Show her the damn things.”

  Paul motioned Mary over and spoke in a low voice. “Let him rest now.” He rested a warm hand on her shoulder. “We’ll tell you everything at dinner.” He took in the thick smell of her perfume and noticed the outline her bra made through her shirt.

  He shook his head. She must be at least fifteen years older than him. He could do better.

  Mary’s hands fluttered around her face. “Is he really all right?”

  “He’ll be fine after some rest.”

  Her hands paused for a second. “Was he brave?”

  Paul put on his take-no-prisoners stare. “Damn straight he was brave. I owe him my life.”

  Her eyes widened. She looked back at Jack making careful steps towards the resort while holding his head between his hands. She mouthed an, “Oh,” and scurried to his side.

  Lydia remained in the backseat of the Land Cruiser. He’d lied straight-faced to Mary. More lies to Lydia were ahead of him. At least she was more pleasing to look at.

  “You okay?”

  Lydia’s chin quivered a moment then steadied. Her hair was in disarray, her face blotchy from the heat and whatever thoughts had run through her head during the drive. The camera bag rested in her lap, her small hands clasped over it.

  “Lydia.”

  She stopped staring at her hands and looked up at him.

  “Meet me in my office after you get cleaned up.”

  She stayed silent, her eyes wide and unblinking.

  She nodded her head in agreement.

  Paul entered the resort and found Muna and Abiba in conversation. He’d considered taking Muna to bed many times but knew M’soko was likely to put a spear through his back for it. He needed M’soko as a tracker and for other duties like keeping Caleb out of the way today until after Jack left.

  He was about to brush past the two women when their whispers stopped him. Women whispering never meant anything good.

  “What was that?” Paul said. They jumped at his question. It felt good to catch Abiba by surprise. “What did you say?”

  They looked at each other over the camp supplies of dirty tablecloths and dishes. “We wonder how long we have jobs,” Abiba said.

  “What are you talking about? Is someone leaving?” Would Abiba dare leave him?

  “Wondering what jobs left if Msaka drives away clients.” Abiba stared at him, stiffening her back.

  Muna muttered, “Mkorofi,” so softly he almost didn’t hear it.

  “No, Muna. He not evil,” Abiba said, continuing to stare, daring Paul to look away first. “He kisettler with plan. This plenty dangerous.”

  “I have work to do,” Paul said.

  Abiba arched her eyebrow as if to say she knew what kind of work he planned.

  Paul brushed past Abiba so her orange kanga fluttered against him. “I work so you have jobs tomorrow.” He retreated to his office, closing the door against Abiba’s accusations.

  Paul knew every word he spoke soon to Lydia could turn her to him or drive her further away. He had two days to convince her to stay. Two days before the next client arrived for his month-long safari. Billy Compton, an old war buddy of Paul’s, was a repeat client.

  One more client, another married couple, was scheduled after Billy. The rest of the season was empty but Paul wouldn’t let it stay that way.

  The video camera had broken, but even with still photos, Lydia could take some damn fine pictures. If she got some decent shots of him and Billy green hunting the rhino, he’d get people so fired up his schedule would burst with activity.

  He gathered the paperwork proving he’d subleased parts of the bloc. The Wildlife Division wouldn’t be happy, but it was better to take the hit for subleasing than for grenading those elephants.

  He found Caleb unpacking his gear from the Land Cruiser. A small wind had picked up, blowing dust into the air. He cleared his throat. “These are the documents.” Paul shoved the papers at Caleb’s chest. “They’ll tell you exactly who I subleased to and what areas.”

  Caleb slowly took the papers and shuffled through a few. “Why are you giving this to me?’

  Paul thumbed his belt and shifted his weight to his heels. “I may not do things the way you or your government like them, but I’m not a poacher.” Paul was willing to cross a great many lines to get what he wanted but throwing hand grenades at elephants wasn’t one of them. Everyone poached a few animals when times got rough: when the power went out, when the harvest wasn’t enough to feed the family, when a person desired a little meat in the soup pot. It was irresponsible to take out an entire herd.

  “I’ll pass this along to my supervisor,” Caleb said. He turned back to unpacking his gear.

  Paul didn’t move. He made another peace offering. “Did you get the samples you wanted from the elephants?”

  Caleb opened a cooler and repacked a couple tranq needles. “Yeah.”

  Paul turned to go back inside.

  “I appreciate you handing these papers over,” Caleb said.

  Paul returned to his office and thought maybe there was a chance to get through to his son after all.

  The smell of shampoo hit him long before Lydia moused her way through his door. She wore jeans and a T-shirt. Her hair was held back in a wet ponytail. She no longer seemed to be on the verge of tears.

  “You look better,” he said. “Well.” He settled his hands on the desk, barely feeling the wood beneath his callused fingers. “I want you to know, these last two weeks were unique. This isn’t the way I usually do things. I know Jack wasn’t very pleasant to be around.”

  Lydia looked up quickly. “I didn’t—”r />
  He waved her quiet and continued. “I know it’s been hard. But I’m very proud of your professionalism.”

  “Thank you.”

  He judged his next words carefully. “Don’t blame yourself for what Caleb did.”

  Tears welled up in her eyes.

  “We don’t get along like you and your parents.”

  “I think he’s really angry—”

  “I know he is. But I’m going to fix that. If you hadn’t come, Caleb wouldn’t be here, I wouldn’t have a chance to work on our relationship. Having you around makes him more willing to talk to me.”

  She kept her head lowered. “I think I should go home.”

  He acted like he hadn’t heard her. “I had a client sign up for a month-long safari. He was thinking about going with a different outfit until I told him you would be on safari with your camera.”

  She seemed to shrink back from him. “I’m not going to be there for that.”

  “Think it over, don’t make any decisions now. Billy Compton is a very different kind of man than Jack.”

  She shook her head.

  “Just promise you’ll think it through. There’s two days until we head out again. Think about it until then. Will you do that?”

  She gave a slight nod that Paul decided to take as a yes. “All right. I need to get back to this paperwork.”

  Lydia closed the office door on her way out.

  Paul leaned his chair back so it touched the wall. Something in her voice. He could almost smell it on her—Lydia was ready to bolt. If she left so would Caleb.

  He thought about his options, ways of making things work to his advantage, what he would do to make sure Lydia stayed. Or, if she wouldn’t stay, ways to make sure her equipment stayed. He thought about ways of doing the green hunt without Caleb knowing. He stared up at the underside of the zebra’s neck above his desk, dust clinging to its fur after so many years left untouched—thought and thought about what could be done, but nothing came to him.

  2

  At lunch the next day, it was just the three of them—Paul, Mary, and Jack—sitting around platters of cold ham, fresh boiled corn ears, rice, and a bottle of champagne to celebrate Jack’s success.

  Jack was in a fine mood, retelling his ‘hunting’ story for Mary’s sake. “I got this,” he pointed to his black eye, “when one of the elephants grabbed me with its trunk. Looked like it was gonna skewer me on its damn tusk.” He glanced sideways at Paul.

  “Amazing,” Paul said on cue.

  Mary ate up the story, her eyes filled with wonder at how close Jack had come to being killed. “Sounds so dangerous.” She shivered in her chair, taking a delicate sip of tea from a porcelain cup.

  “It was.” Paul slapped Jack on the back, making him cringe. “But this brave man saved the day.”

  Jack was too good with his story. A man that good with words wouldn’t have the time to physically experience all he said he’d experienced. Most people who Paul came across believed safari was like how Hemingway had written about it. The fiction writer had all this time to write about getting his hands dirty, but Paul couldn’t see how he’d actually had the time to do it.

  Paul knew he came across as an uneducated cowboy, but it was an image Walter Fritz had helped form. He’d read most of the big game hunting books. People expected him to act and talk a certain way. Walter Fritz had stood out as an exception because he’d chosen not to fit the stereotype. Instead, Walter had kept himself strapped with binoculars and a vest of full pockets and thick glasses. People remembered him for it. Paul had cultivated his own image, a mix of old-time hunting glory and crazy showdown bravery that he also hoped people would remember.

  “You must be bruised all over,” Mary said, giving Jack a sympathetic look.

  “Well.” Jack shifted in his chair. “I’m a little bruised up, but—”

  “This is a tough man,” Paul interrupted. “Takes more than an elephant to make him feel pain.”

  Jack gave Paul a grateful look and said, “That’s right, honey. A man can endure a lot more pain than a woman.”

  If Paul had ever thought about living a different kind of life, Jack Hellerman was here to send him running back into the bush.

  He relaxed in his seat and took another bite of cold ham, enjoying the texture of it as his teeth bit through. Like indulging a small child, he let Jack talk because he knew that was all this man had. Now that Paul had the money from the safari, it was none of his business what Jack did next.

  “I was thinking, Paul. My son has some contacts with a pig ranch in Northern California.”

  “Your Hollywood son?”

  “Yeah. You ever hunt in the U.S. before?”

  “Nope.” Paul took in the eager shine to Jack’s face and waited.

  Jack took a napkin and wiped his mouth. “You mean it, what you said before about spear-hunting a lion?”

  “Don’t know what you’re talking about.” Paul didn’t intend to have this conversation in front of Mary.

  “Yeah, all right,” Jack said.

  “What are you talking about, dear?”

  “Nothing, Mary. Just stories.”

  3

  Billy Compton was the kind of guy who didn’t like a lot of fuss. He arrived at the resort with one suitcase of clothes, one suitcase of gear, and a rifle cover that held his double-barreled glory.

  Paul signaled one of his staff to take up the bags then ushered Billy through the entryway, dining hall, and back to the privacy of his office.

  “Good to see you,” Paul said, shaking his hand in a firm grip.

  “Almost feels like home,” Billy responded.

  They didn’t speak again until Paul closed his office door and took his seat behind the desk.

  The two of them had waited in silence, together in Vietnam, faces tense, cigarettes burning out in the wet jungle, guns ready for a target. The third man with them hadn’t made it out. Billy Compton had done well for himself after. He’d become involved in developing a new line of food containers. This had made Billy rich enough for plenty of safaris over the years.

  “Want to go for the Big Five this time?” Paul brought Billy’s papers out to confirm all the licenses were in order.

  Billy shifted in his chair. “Getting older, and I promised my wife a nice thick lion mane this year. I want to drape the skin over my sitting chair at home.”

  “Well, we got plenty of time. Going for some grazers?”

  “Yep.”

  They both lapsed into silence, not needing to fill the air with meaningless talk. Paul continued with the paperwork, pointing out where Billy needed to sign.

  “Abiba still around?” Billy asked after a few minutes.

  “Yep.”

  “She the same?”

  Paul caught the smile in Billy’s eyes. “Damn straight, she’s the same.”

  Billy laughed, crunching up his eyes, bringing out the wrinkles in his stubbly cheeks. “You still a heathen?”

  “You still a bastard?” Paul replied.

  They stared like two old lions sizing each other up, not interested in a fight, just moving the blood around.

  “I guess that means I’m still a heathen,” Paul said, smiling.

  “I remember you those first few years, little baby in one hand, gun in the other, and a bible in your teeth.”

  “Yeah, well. People change.”

  “Seemed to change real fast for you.”

  “We both got a lot of years behind us,” Paul said. “Want a smoke?”

  “Nothing better.”

  Paul poked through a cabinet and took out a couple cigars from a small humidor. They blew clouds of smoke around their two figures, sending up billows of it to the photos and taxidermied heads on the four walls.

  “Caleb’s back.”

  “That should make it interesting.” Billy took a long puff. “Heard there was a new girl around. They got a thing?”

  “I’m working on it.”

  “You working on her or
you working on setting those two up?”

  “Both.”

  They lapsed into silence again.

  “This would be a good way to go out,” Billy said.

  “Smoking?”

  “Living the way you live. Hunting out in what’s left of the wild. Testing the mettle of a man.” Billy paused as if realizing he was talking too much. He closed his eyes and took another puff then added it to the atmosphere of the enclosed office. Every breath became a communal smoke. Each breathed in what the other let out—as close as either man was willing to get to another male.

  “My last client got me thinking again about hunting without bullets,” Paul said.

  “You mean with bow and arrows?”

  “No.”

  A disgusted look came over Billy’s face. “Dogs?”

  “Like how the Barabaig hunt elephant. With their bare hands and a spear about that long.” Paul spread his arms four feet apart.

  “That would be the way to die, except I’d want it like Gordon Cumming—go up against a hippo in the water with a knife in my mouth.”

  “I was thinking it myself. Be like the Nandi hunters. Bully a lion with only a spear to bring him down,” Paul said.

  “This is the way life oughta be. No worries about stainless steel appliances or whether the new line of plasticware is going to melt in a person’s dishwasher. Just a man and his gun.”

  “Hey Billy, we’re not out in it yet.”

  “Yeah. Just remembering.”

  “It’s gonna be like that this time too, and I’ve got something extra special planned this year. Something no other PH can offer.”

  “Yeah?”

  Paul nodded. “Just wait and see.”

  They smoked the rest of the cigars in silence, enjoying another person who understood what it meant to live as a man in a world that didn’t want them to exist. They didn’t say it, but it was in the air, circulating among the smoke, furniture, and animal heads, the knowledge that men like them were going the way of wild Africa, of the very animals mounted on the walls. Extinct, hunted out, domesticated so they weren’t worth the effort of a good bullet.