“Both of you have the consciences of bush-wacky delinquents,” Miss Mary said. “When will we see the lionesses?”
“To your right bearing forty-five degrees about three hundred more yards up this track.”
“And what Force is the wind?”
“About Force Two,” I said. “Honey, you are a little lion-wacky.”
“Who has more right to be? Of course I am. But I take lions seriously.”
“I do too, really. And I think I care as much about them as you do even if I don’t talk about it.”
“You talk about it plenty. Don’t worry. But you and G.C. are just a pair of conscience-ridden murderers. Condemning things to death and carrying out the sentence. And G.C. has a much better conscience than you too and his people are properly disciplined.”
I touched Mthuka on the thigh so that he would stop the car. “Look, honey. There is what’s left of the zebra kill and there are the two lionesses. Can we be friends?”
“I’ve always been friends,” she said. “You just misinterpret things. May I have the bini please?”
I handed her the good binoculars and she watched the two lionesses. The one was so big with cubs that she looked to be a maneless lion. The other was possibly her grown daughter; perhaps only a devoted friend. They each lay under the shelter of an island of brush; the one calm, dignified and pre-matronly, her tawny jaws dark with blood; the other young and lithe and equally dark about the jowls. There was not much of the zebra left but they were protecting their property. I could not have told from the sounds I had heard in the night whether they had killed for the lion or whether he had killed and they had joined him.
The birds perched heavily in both of the small trees and in the biggest tree in one of the green islands of bush there must have been a hundred more. The vultures were heavy, hump shouldered and ready to drop but the lionesses were too close to the striped quarter and neck of the zebra that lay on the ground. I saw a jackal, looking neat and handsome as a fox, at the edge of one of the patches of bush and then another one. There were no hyenas in sight.
“We shouldn’t spook them,” I said. “I favor not going near it at all.”
Mary was friends now. Seeing any lions always excited and pleased her and she said, “Do you think they killed or he killed?”
“I think he killed and ate what he wanted and they came much later.”
“Would the birds come in the night?”
“No.”
“There are an awful lot of them. Look at the ones stretching their wings to dry like the buzzards do at home.”
“They’re awfully ugly to be Royal Game and when they have rinderpest or other cattle diseases they must spread it terribly with their droppings. There are certainly too many of them for this area. The insects and the hyenas and the jackals could clean up after any kills made here and the hyenas can kill what is sick or too old and eat on the spot and not spread it all over the countryside.”
Seeing the lionesses in their shelter and the truly horrible vultures clumped in such numbers in the trees had made me talk too much; that and that we were friends again and that I would not have to pit my truly loved Miss Mary with the lion until another day. Then too I hated vultures and I believed their true utility as scavengers was greatly overrated. Someone had decided that they were the great garbage disposers of Africa and they had been made Royal Game and could not be held down in numbers and their role as spreaders of disease was heresy against that magic word Royal Game. The Wakamba thought it was very funny and we always called them King’s birds.
They did not look funny now though perched obscenely above the remains of the zebra and when the big lioness rose and yawned and went out to feed again two big vultures dropped as soon as she was on the meat. The young lioness flicked her tail once and charged them and they rose running and heavy winged as she slapped at them as a kitten slaps. She then lay down by the big lioness and started to feed and the birds stayed in the trees but the closest ones were almost overbalanced with hunger.
It would not take the lionesses long to finish off what was left of the zebra and I told Mary it was probably better to leave them feeding and drive on up the road as though we had not seen them. Ahead of us there was a small bunch of zebra and beyond were wildebeest and many more zebra.
“I love to watch them,” Mary said. “But if you think it’s better we can go on up and see how the salt flats are and maybe see the buff.”
So we went up as far as the edge of the salt flat and saw no tracks of buffalo and no buffalo. The flats were still too wet and slippery for a car and so was the ground to the east. We found the tracks of the two lionesses at the edge of the salt flats headed in the direction of the kill. They were fresh tracks and it was impossible to tell when they had hit the kill. But I thought it must have been the lion who killed and Ngui and Charo agreed. “Perhaps if we just drive back the way we’ve come he’ll get used to seeing the car,” Mary said. “I don’t have a headache but it would be fun to have breakfast.”
It was what I had been hoping she would suggest.
“If we don’t shoot at all.” I stopped because I would have said that it would give him confidence.
“Maybe he will think it is a car that just goes up and down,” Mary finished for me. “We’ll have a lovely breakfast and I will do all the letters I should write and we’ll be patient and good kittens.”
“You’re a good kitten.”
“We’ll drive back to camp like tourists and see the new wonderful green fields and breakfast feels so good in advance.”
But when we got to camp for breakfast there was the young policeman in his mud-spatted Land Rover waiting for us. The car was under a tree and his two askaris were back at the lines. He got out of the car as we came up and his young face was lined with his great cares and responsibilities.
“Good morning, Bwana,” he said. “Good morning, Memsahib. Been making an early patrol I see.”
“Will you have some breakfast?” I asked.
“If I’m not in the way. Turn up anything interesting, governor?”
“Just checking on the stock. What’s the word from the Boma?”
“They nailed them, governor. They got them over on the other side. North of Namanga. You can call in your people.”
“Much of a show?”
“No details yet.”
“Pity we couldn’t have fought here.”
Miss Mary looked at me warningly. She was not happy at having the young policeman for breakfast but she knew he was a lonesome boy and while she was intolerant with fools she was feeling kindly until we had seen the policeman exhausted in his mud-covered vehicle.
“It would have meant a lot to me. Governor, we had almost the perfect plan. Perhaps it was the perfect plan. The only aspect I worried about was the little Memsahib here. If you’ll pardon my saying it, ma’am, this is no work for a woman.”
“I wasn’t in it at all,” Mary said. “Would you have some kidneys and bacon?”
“You were in it,” he said. “You were a part of The Screen. I’m mentioning you in my report. It’s perhaps not the same as a Mention in Dispatches. But it’s all part of one’s record. Someday those who fought in Kenya will be very proud.”
“After wars I’ve found that the people are usually just crashing bores,” Miss Mary said.
“Only to those who did not fight,” the policeman said. “Fighting men, and with your permission fighting women, have a code.”
“Try some beer,” I said. “Have any gen on when we’ll fight again?”
“You’ll have the word, governor, before anyone else has it.”
“You’re too kind to us,” I said. “But I suppose there is glory enough for all.”