Rhinoceros Summer Read online

  Muna lit a lamp for a few moments to impersonate Paul’s macho voice, Abiba’s stiff posture and cutting remarks, Caleb’s doe-eyed stares every time Lydia came into his sight—no one in the camp escaped Muna’s interpretation. Lydia wondered if others were awake and watching their shadows in the flickering light, or if anyone could hear their teasing, and then forgot about the outside as Muna did another impression that made Lydia laugh until she ached.

  Then the conversation shifted to more serious topics and they dropped their voices back to a whisper. They discussed what Paul might be planning and how Lydia might get away.

  “But I do not think it will happen soon. Not until we can return to resort,” Muna said, the laughter leaving her voice for a moment.

  “But we’re supposed to be out here for a month!”

  “If you leave, you will not get your pictures. If we take you away, M’soko loses job. We cannot.” She shook her head.

  Lydia was about to protest but stopped herself. How could she ask Muna to take a risk that might cost them their livelihoods?

  “What Paul can do now?” Muna said. “Both Caleb and M’soko, and me now watch like a lioness stalking prey. He not move where they not see.”

  “That didn’t stop Mr. Hellerman.”

  Muna pursed her lips. “I did not know it until M’soko said, but it will not happen again. But did he not get black eye? And where was M’soko when Caleb did this black eye? On outside of tent, ready to do same if it not done by Caleb.”

  Lydia let out a surprised noise. She didn’t know if she should feel thankful or chagrined that so many people thought she couldn’t stand up for herself and so needed to act on her behalf. That Caleb cared, that they all cared, warmed her. Yet, she knew deep down, it should be her job to take care of herself.

  “He cover himself in my cloak,” Muna said, laughing. “It did not reach around his chest but covered his face, and I say to him, ‘that Hellerman man so stupid he not know one African different from other.’” She shrugged her shoulders. “But Caleb there instead.” She looked sideways at Lydia. “To fight like bull in season.” She laughed and threw the pillow back at Lydia.

  Lydia woke up the next morning having decided to trust Muna’s advice. A part of her was more than happy to be given a reason to stay. She did not want to get Muna and M’soko in trouble, and Compton was nothing like Hellerman. But mainly, her hands itched to see what pictures the day’s hippo hunt would bring.

  Juja took out a vehicle to scout the hippo herd’s location while the rest of the safari party finished breakfast. Paul, Mr. Compton, Caleb, M’soko, and Lydia crammed themselves into the second Land Cruiser and followed an hour later.

  The herd rested about a mile from where Juja had radioed in. Once they reached Juja, Paul and Mr. Compton set out on foot, leading the group. M’soko and Caleb trailed behind Lydia. Juja stayed with the Land Cruisers. A few trees marked a path to the marsh. M’soko said they were the kind used to make palm wine. Otherwise, thick brambles covered the space between their walking party and the car-sized hippos bathing in the sun.

  Lydia hurried to catch up with Paul and Mr. Compton. She didn’t like being in the middle of four men with rifles, each fanned out so she felt both well protected and like a prisoner being guarded from escape. “How long does it take to hunt a hippo?”

  Mr. Compton answered first. “Depends on how brave the bastard is.”

  “We give the bull a choice of dying honorably. Most people would walk up to the marsh and shoot it as soon as its head lifted from the water,” Paul said.

  “Cowards,” Mr. Compton said.

  “We’re going to stalk one of the bachelors, let it see we’re coming and give it a choice: run or fight for its life.”

  They came within a few hundred yards of the herd and Paul motioned for everyone to stop. He lowered his voice to a loud whisper. “Hippos kill more people each year than crocodiles do. We need to be careful with it and with each other. Nobody walks in front of a person’s line of fire.”

  He drew some circles in the dirt with his finger. “Lydia, you’ll never be further than three feet from one of us. Understand?”

  She held her camera in one hand and gave a solemn nod.

  “We’re going to come straight at the group. Billy will pick which one he wants and we’ll wait till it separates from the other hippos. The others should run for the water once the first shots are fired.” Paul looked up from his scratches in the dirt. “Rifle ready?”

  Mr. Compton looked over his gun and nodded. Caleb and M’soko checked the safety on their weapons.

  “Damn straight,” Paul said. “Keep your safety on until we go into stalk mode. We want a nice brain shot, one solid to take it down.”

  Caleb pointed his rifle at the ground. M’soko stood at his side, his eyes never leaving the three bachelor bulls.

  “Which one you want, Billy?”

  Mr. Compton pointed to the biggest of the three. “Middle one,” he whispered.

  “Okay.” Paul crouched and motioned for the others to do the same. “We’re not getting into a situation where three bulls could charge at once. We’ll wait till the one you want moves away.”

  They spent the next twenty minutes in silence. None of the bulls moved from their sunbathing positions.

  Caleb stood up. “Let’s get into the shade.”

  Paul nodded and they moved under the branches of a nearby tree. M’soko peered up into it before settling at its base.

  “What were you looking at?” Lydia whispered to M’soko.

  “Maybe snake.” He shrugged his shoulders.

  They remained that way for another hour, no one talking. Lydia felt like she’d traveled back in time, watching these men wait patiently in the shade. They each held rifles in leathered arms, their sleeves rolled up and stained with sweat. Sweat trickled down their foreheads. Dark spots appeared at the armpits. No motor or sizzle of telephone wire interrupted the low buzz of insects, the marshy waters breaking against the shallow shoreline, the soft moans of mother and child hippo pairs talking to each other.

  The middle bull raised its bulk and moved away from the other two bachelors, settling into a fresh spot of mud.

  “Let’s go,” Paul said. He tapped Lydia, his stiff finger thudding against her collarbone. “Stay near Caleb.”

  These men with their guns made her keenly aware of her femaleness, of her small hands wrapped around the shiny metal of her camera. The dirt under her nails did nothing to change how her hands looked in contrast to theirs, almost like her skin was made from a different material. Feathers to their scales. Her ponytail rested against her sweating neck and her shoulder even now felt like it formed a bruise at the spot where Paul had tapped her.

  “Do or die time,” Paul whispered. “Safety off.” They moved closer to the now solitary bull. “M’soko, watch our backs and make sure the other two don’t charge. We gotta get between this one and the water.”

  They walked almost a hundred yards before the bull caught their human smells and lifted his head. His massive body gleamed pink in the sunlight as he lumbered to his feet. Paul and Mr. Compton raised their rifles.

  “Wait for it,” Paul said.

  Lydia raised her camera, blocking from sight everything except for what came into her viewfinder. She heard Caleb breathing to her left. Her own breath bounced back at her from against the camera, mixing smells of mud and metal with the eggs and orange juice she’d had for breakfast. Divots of dirt carved out by hippo toes surrounded her, making every muddy step treacherous.

  The bull snorted, flared his nostrils, pawed the ground.

  “Now let’s see what he’s gonna do,” Paul whispered. “Is he gonna run or is he gonna fight?”

  The bull continued to flare his nostrils but didn’t move.

  “Okay. We’ll get into his comfort zone now. We only shoot if he charges.”

  Mr. Compton kept his rifle raised and nodded his head.

  Lydia held her breath as she follow
ed Paul’s lead. The bull yawned. She kept her eye glued to the viewer and took careful steps across the pockmarked ground while pressing the shutter every few seconds.

  They crept within fifty yards before Paul raised his hand. He fanned his fingers. “Spread out now,” he whispered. “Stay out of the gun sights.”

  Paul and Mr. Compton crept closer. They placed themselves between the hippo and the water. Lydia followed until the three of them were within twenty yards. She could see the cracked texture of the hippo’s skin, the webbed and toenailed feet, little bits of grass stuck around the hippo’s mouth as it gave another tooth-filled yawn. She thought maybe it was his way of showing off the length of his own weapons.

  Lydia moved at an angle to capture both the hippo and hunters in the same frame. The click of her camera startled the bull so its entire body shuddered in movement.

  Paul yelled. “Now!”

  She snapped only a handful of pictures in the seconds it took the hippo to block all the sunlight from her viewer.

  Loud booms shocked her ears. She froze, unable to jump out of the way or tear her eye from the camera.

  The hippo didn’t lose momentum. Then another bullet blasted between its eyes. A spout of blood erupted from his head like a water fountain colored with red food dye.

  The hippo’s body skidded sideways through the mud. Its momentum slammed him into the ground and then out of her sight. Lydia took a last shot of the two hunters, their guns still raised—now pointed in her direction. She lowered the camera and saw the hippo’s head resting maybe two feet from her mud-covered shoes.

  She remembered to breathe. Almost puked.

  “Yeah!” Mr. Compton shouted. M’soko made a whooping noise, Paul a triumphant, “Damn straight!”

  She turned away and bumped her nose into Caleb’s shoulder. His gun still pointed at the hippo. The sweat and dirt and cotton smells of his shirt filled her nostrils, blocking out the smell of blood. She took in a deep breath. Closed her eyes. Took in another breath. If only she could stay like this and let the smell of Caleb’s shirt consume her.

  He moved away, bringing back the other smells, forcing her eyes to open. He still had his gun raised and moved to within inches of the hippo’s head. Even with the ringing in her ears, she could hear the hysterical pitch of her voice as she said, “I think he’s dead.”

  “You always make sure.” Caleb unloaded another bullet in its brain. She jumped at the large sound of the shot and the small bounce of the hippo’s head.

  “You did a damn fine job, girl!” Mr. Compton took ragged breaths. His face was dark with streaks of dirt. “Didn’t even move. Just kept taking those damn pictures.” He shifted his gun so it leaned in the crook of one arm as he stuck the other into the twisted hippo jaw. “Three feet, maybe three and a half.”

  Paul came up holding a thick branch in his hand. “We’ll measure them later. Let’s get a few more pictures.” He inserted the branch in the dead hippo’s mouth, forcing the jaws to display the tusks and razor teeth.

  Juja drove up in a Land Cruiser suddenly packed full of men Lydia had never seen before. She wiped off mud thrown onto the lens when the hippo fell but didn’t bother with the mud covering her hands and face. As Paul and Mr. Compton discussed which parts Juja should cut out as lion bait, she learned the men were from the nearest village and would take the bulk of the hippo meat back to their families.

  Paul and Billy took turns standing or kneeling on the big hippo body, guns in hand, tough looks on their faces. No smiles. She shot pictures of them playing king of the hill. Pictures of the blood fountain as it dwindled to a seeping trickle. She kept her face hidden behind the camera, her hands made unrecognizable by the mud, the hippo blood drying to a crust on her skin.

  They arrived back at Owl Camp late that same afternoon. Lydia didn’t bother showering or peeling off her dirty clothes. She collapsed on the bed and let sleep obliterate the memories of the day. To sleep and sleep and never wake up.

  4

  The sound of a car engine shook her out of her doze too soon. She woke, not at all refreshed, but excited to review her pictures, and also guilty that it had only taken a nap for her to get over the shock and gore from the hunt.

  The canvas walls shook and dust filtered through, making her sneeze. Muna’s lavender satchel still let off a hint of scent, but the dust overwhelmed it. The engine noise cut off and the sound of a strange man’s voice came through.

  Lydia stumbled back out of the tent with camera in hand. She raised her camera in time to take a picture of a man emerging from his Jeep, as if he were a desert god rising from the waves of a sandstorm.

  The man shook Paul’s hand. “We’d appreciate some help here if you can spare it.” He took off his khaki-colored cap and wiped dust off his brow. His sandy hair looked wild and stringy underneath. Lydia wanted to capture a close-up of him but did not want Paul to notice her.

  They talked in low voices. Lydia moved closer to hear. She rubbed her eyes awake and angled herself near a corner of the dining tent entrance.

  “How many does the village need?” Paul asked.

  “Five is the quota.”

  Paul rubbed the stubble on his chin. “Let me talk to my client.”

  The sandy-haired man turned and reached into his vehicle for a water bottle. Paul gave Lydia no more than a quick glance as he brushed past her and into the tent.

  She felt the slight breeze from the tent flap closing behind her but kept her eyes on the man as he squirted out clear water, holding the bottle maybe a foot from his mouth so a thin fountain-like stream erupted from it.

  She turned away.

  The tent flap opened and she tensed, thinking Paul returned. Caleb came through instead. He jerked to a stop at the sight of her, then straightened and nodded in the direction of the jeep. “Looks like we’ll be hunting buffalo tomorrow.”

  “Who is he?”

  “Mark. He’s a game officer doing patrols for the Department.”

  He looked ready to leave but Lydia didn’t want him to go. “What’s the quota he’s talking about?”

  Caleb sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “The local villages are allowed so much game meat to supplement their crops, but most villages don’t have the guns, bullets, or vehicles to get to where the buffalo graze. Sometimes PHs are willing to fill the quota if they get to keep the bosses.”

  “Bosses?”

  “The horns on a Cape buffalo.”

  They stood there, looking each other over. Except for the sunburn on Caleb’s forehead, and the brow he never seemed to unfurrow, he looked more relaxed than usual. She had a sudden desire to close her eyes, press herself against him, and take in the clean smells of his shirt. Instead, she looked down at her own bare arms and saw the deep crusty brown they’d turned from the day’s dirt and blood. “Caleb, I know you don’t like being here. So why are you? Why do you care so much?”

  He gave her a wan smile. “It’s my job.” But didn’t explain any further.

  Lydia wanted to press him, there was obviously a lot more to it than that, but a wild thought distracted her. “Could Mark take me back to the resort?”

  Caleb squinted and stared. “I already asked.”

  It was all she could do not to shake the answer out of him. She waited for him to continue, almost hopping from foot to foot. He still stared at her with that squinting look. “And?”

  Caleb shook his head. “No go. He’s patrolling in the opposite direction.”

  She had another thought. “Does he have a satellite phone?”

  Caleb shook his head again. “Look. I don’t think you should be here. You should never have come. But there’s no way to get you back right now. There won’t be a trip back for supplies for at least another week.”

  “Yeah, okay. I…” She tried to manage a smile. “Thanks for staying near me earlier.”

  “No big deal.”

  No big deal. She felt a lump rising in her throat. No big deal. No big deal.

 
“But just because Paul stands his ground doesn’t mean you should.”

  “I know. I just couldn’t think.” Didn’t want to think. “No, that’s not true. All I could think about was getting those pictures. If I could get the right picture, I would make it okay. At least, make it make sense. No, I mean…” Lydia gripped her camera harder, in reflex. “I didn’t have a choice. I was there with my camera and I took the pictures I needed to take.”

  “You don’t have to do what’s asked of you.”

  He threw it into the air between them like a challenge.

  “That’s not what I meant,” she said in a soft voice. She wasn’t taking the pictures because Paul wanted her to. She was taking them because she was there with her camera and not taking pictures wasn’t an option.

  Caleb turned away, then pivoted back. “Did you like it? Watching that hippo?”

  Her mouth opened and closed several times. She sighed and closed her eyes, exhaustion overwhelming her again. It wasn’t about liking the pictures she took. It was about taking the pictures in spite of hating them. It was about proving she could do it in spite of the hollowness in her stomach. But she wasn’t going to tell Caleb any of that.

  “It’s not like how my dad hunts rabbit back home.” Not at all like how her dad hunted, his church buddies coming along with their .22’s and guns filled with birdshot. Nothing they carried left behind holes the size of a softball.

  “Why did you come out on Billy’s safari? You could have stayed behind.”

  “He took my camera hostage! If it wasn’t for Muna and M’soko I still might not have it. You didn’t do anything to help.” She regretted the words as soon as they left her lips.