“No one knows,” I said. “They’re all reluctant to talk.”
“Always had the greatest respect for mountaineers,” Willie said. “No one ever gets a word out of them. They’re as tight mouthed a lot as old G.C. or you yourself Papa.”
“Nerveless too,” I said.
“Like us all,” Willie said. “Should we try for that food, Miss Mary? Papa and I have to go out and have a little look around the estate.”
“Lete chakula.”
“Ndio Memsahib.”
When we were airborne and flying along the side of the Mountain watching the forest, the openings, the rolling country and the broken ground of the watersheds, seeing the zebra always fat looking from the air running foreshortened below us, the plane turning to pick up the road so that our guest who sat beside Willie might orient himself as we spread the road and the village before him, there was the road that came up from the swamp behind us and now leading into the village where he could see the crossroads, the stores, the fuel pump, the trees along the main street and the other trees leading to the white building and high wire fence of the police Boma where we could see the flagpole with the flag in the wind.
“Where is your Shamba?” I said in his ear and as he pointed, Willie turned and we were over the Boma and up and along the flank of the Mountain where there were many clearings and cone-shaped houses and fields of mealies growing green out of the red brown earth.
“Can you see your Shamba?”
“Yes.” He pointed.
Then his Shamba roared up at us and spread green and tall and well watered ahead and behind the wing.
“Hapana tembo,” Ngui said very low in my ear.
“Tracks?”
“Hapana.”
“Sure that’s your Shamba?” Willie said to the man.
“Yes,” he said.
“Looks in pretty good shape to me, Papa,” Willie called back. “We’ll have another dekko.”
“Drag her good and slow.”
The fields roared by again but slower and closer as though they might hover next. There was no damage and no tracks.
“Don’t have to stall her.”
“I’m flying her, Papa. Want to see the other side of it?”
“Yes.”
This time the fields came up gently and softly as though they were maybe a green formally arranged disk being raised gently for our inspection by a skilled and gentle servant. There was no damage and no elephant tracks. We rose fast and turned so I could see the Shamba in relation to all of the others.
“Are you very sure that is your Shamba?” I asked the man.
“Yes,” he said and it was impossible not to admire him.
None of us said anything. Ngui’s face had no expression on it at all. He looked out of the Plexiglas window and drew the first finger of his right hand carefully across his throat.
“We might as well wash this and go home,” I said.
Ngui put his hand on the side of the plane as though grasping the handle of the door and made a motion as though turning it. I shook my head and he laughed.
When we landed at the meadow and taxied up to where the hunting car was waiting by the wind sock on the leaning pole the man got out first. No one spoke to him.
“You watch him, Ngui,” I said.
Then I went over to Arap Meina and took him aside.
“Yes,” he said.
“He’s probably thirsty,” I said. “Give him some tea.”
Willie and I rode over to the tents of the camp in the hunting car. We were sitting on the front seat. Arap Meina was in the back with our guest. Ngui had stayed behind with my 30-06 to guard the plane.
“Seems a little on the sticky side,” Willie said. “When did you make up your mind, Papa?”
“The law of gravity business? Before we went out.”
“Very thoughtful of you. Bad for the company. Put me out of business. Do you think Miss Mary would care to fly this afternoon? That would put us all up and we could have an interesting, instructional and educational flight in pursuit of your duties and all of us be airborne until I leave.”
“Mary would like to fly.”
“We could have a look at the Chulus and check the buff and your other beasts. G.C. might be pleased to know where the elephant really are.”
“We’ll take Ngui. He’s getting to like it.”
“Is Ngui very high in the religion?”
“His father once saw me changed into a snake. It was an unknown type of snake never seen before. That has a certain amount of influence in our religious circles.”
“It should, Papa. And what were Ngui’s father and you drinking when the miracle occurred?”
“Nothing but Tusker beer and a certain amount of Gordon’s gin.”
“You don’t remember what type of snake it was?”
“How could I. It was Ngui’s father who had the vision.”
“Well, all we can do at the moment is hope Ngui watches the kite,” Willie said. “I don’t want it changing into a troop of baboons.”
Miss Mary wanted to fly very much. She had seen the guest in the back of the hunting car and she was quite relieved.
“Was his Shamba damaged, Papa?” she asked. “Will you have to go up there?”
“No. There was no damage and we don’t have to go up.”
“How will he get back up there?”
“He’s hitchhiking, I think.”
We had some tea and I took a Campari and Gordon’s with a splash of soda.
“This exotic life is charming,” Willie said. “I wish I could join in it. What does that stuff taste like, Miss Mary?”
“It’s very good, Willie.”
“I’ll save it for my old age. Tell me, Miss Mary, have you ever seen Papa turn into a snake?”
“No, Willie. I promise.”
“We miss everything,” Willie said. “Where would you like to fly, Miss Mary?”
“The Chulus.”
So we flew to the Chulus going by Lion Hill and crossing Miss Mary’s private desert and then down over the great swampy plain with the marsh birds and the ducks flying and all the treacherous places that made that plain impassable clearly revealed so that Ngui and I could see all of our mistakes and plan a new and different route. Then we were over the herds of eland on the far plain, dove colored, white striped and spiral horned, the bulls heavy with their awkward grace, breaking away from the cows that are the antelope cast in the form of cattle.
“I hope it wasn’t too dull, Miss Mary,” Willie said. “I was trying not to disturb any of G.C.’s and Papa’s stock. Only to see where it was. I didn’t want to frighten any creatures away from here or disturb your lion.”
“It was lovely, Willie.”
Then Willie was gone, first coming down the truck path at us bouncing into a roar as the widespread crane-like legs came joggling closer to clear the grass where we stood and then rising into an angle that creased your heart to take his course as he diminished in the afternoon light.
“Thank you for taking me,” Mary said, as we watched Willie until the plane could no longer be seen. “Let’s just go now and be good lovers and friends and love Africa because it is. I love it more than anything.”
“So do I.”
In the night we lay together in the big cot with the fire outside and the lantern I had hung on the tree making it light enough to shoot. Mary was not worried but I was. There were so many trip wires and booby snares around the tent that it was like being in a spiderweb. We lay close together and she said, “Wasn’t it lovely in the plane?”
“Yes. Willie flies so gently. He’s so thoughtful about the game too.”
“But he frightened me when he took off.”
“He was just proud of what she can do and remember he didn’t have any load.”
“We forgot to give him the meat.”