I went over to Mary and kissed her. She was happy but something was wrong.
“You shot before I did,” she said.
“Don’t say that, honey. You shot and hit him. How could I shoot before you when we’d waited all that time?”
“Ndio. Memsahib piga,” Charo said. He had been right behind Mary.
“Of course you hit him. You hit him the first time in the foot I think. You hit him again too.”
“But you killed him.”
“We all had to keep him from getting into the thick stuff after he was hit.”
“But you shot first. You know you did.”
“I did not. Ask G.C.”
We were all walking up to where the lion lay. It was a long walk and the lion grew larger and deader as we walked. With the sun going it was getting dark fast. The shooting light was gone already. I felt wrung out inside and very tired. G.C. and I were both wet with sweat.
“Of course you hit him, Mary,” G.C. told her. “Papa didn’t shoot until he went into the open. You hit him twice.”
“Why couldn’t I have shot him when I wanted to when he was just standing there and looking at me?”
“There were branches that could have deflected the bullet or broken it up. That was why I made you wait.”
“Then he moved.”
“He had to move for you to shoot him.”
“But did I really hit him first?”
“Of course you did. Nobody would have shot at him before you did.”
“You’re not just lying to make me happy?”
This was a scene that Charo had seen before.
“Piga!” he said violently. “Piga, Memsahib. PIGA!”
I slapped Ngui on the hip with the side of my hand and looked toward Charo and he went over.
“Piga,” he said harshly. “Piga Memsahib. Piga bili.”
G.C. came over to walk by me and I said, “What are you sweating for?”
“How far did you hold over him you son of a bitch?”
“A foot and a half. Two feet. It was bow and arrow shooting.”
“We’ll pace it when we walk back.”
“Nobody would ever believe it.”
“We will. That’s all that matters.”
“Go over and make her realize she hit him.”
“She believes the boys. You broke his back.”
“I know.”
“Did you hear how long it took for the sound of the bullet hitting to come back?”
“I did. Go over and talk to her.”
The Land Rover pulled up behind us.
Now we were there with the lion and he was Mary’s and she knew it now and she saw how wonderful and long and dark and beautiful he was. The camel flies were crawling on him and his yellow eyes were not dull yet. I moved my hand through the heavy black of his mane. Mthuka had stopped the Land Rover and come over and shaken Mary’s hand. She was kneeling by him.
Then we saw the lorry coming out across the plain from camp. They had heard the shooting and Keiti had come out with everyone except two guards that they had left in camp. They were singing the lion song and when they piled out of the lorry Mary had no more doubt about whose lion it was. I have seen many lions killed and many celebrations. But not one like this. I wanted Mary to have all of it. I was sure it was all right with Mary now and I walked on to the island of trees and thick brush the lion had been making for. He had nearly made it and I thought of what it would have been like if G.C. and I had to go in there to dig him out. I wanted a look at it before the light was gone. He would have made it there in sixty more yards and it would have been dark when we got up to it. I thought about what could have happened and went back to the celebration and the picture taking. The headlights of the lorry and the Land Rover were centered on Mary and the lion and G.C. was making the photographs. Ngui brought me the Jinny flask from the shell bag in the Land Rover and I took a small swallow and handed it to Ngui. He took a small drink and shook his head and handed it to me.
“Piga,” he said and we both laughed. I took a long drink and felt it warm and felt the strain slip off me like a snake shedding his skin. Until that moment I had not realized that we had the lion finally. I knew it technically when the unbelievable long bow and arrow shot had hit and broken him down and Ngui had hit me across the back. But then there had been Mary’s worry and being upset and walking up to him we had been as unemotional and as detached as though it were the end of an attack. Now with the drink and the celebrating going on and the photography, the hated and necessary photography, too late at night, no flash, no professionals to do it properly to make Miss Mary’s lion immortal now on film, seeing her shining happy face in the glare of the headlights and the lion’s great head that was too heavy for her to lift, proud of her and loving the lion, me feeling as empty inside as an empty room, seeing Keiti’s gashed slant of a smile as he bent over Mary to touch the lion’s unbelievable black mane, everyone cooing in Kikamba like birds and each man individually proud of this our lion, ours and belonging to all of us and Mary’s because she had hunted him for months and had hit him in that barred phrase standing on her own two feet and when the chips were down, and now happy and shining in the headlights looking like a small, not quite deadly, bright angel and everyone loving her and this our lion, I began to relax and to have fun.
Charo and Ngui had told Keiti how it was and he came over to me and we shook hands and he said, “Mzuri sana Bwana. Uchawi tu.”
“It was lucky,” I said which God knows it had to be.
“Not lucky,” Keiti said. “Mzuri. Mzuri. Uchawi kubwa sana.”
Then I remembered that I had given this afternoon for the lion’s death and that it was all over now and that Mary had won and I talked with Ngui and Mthuka and Pop’s gun bearer and the others of our religion and we shook our heads and laughed and Ngui wanted me to take another drink from the Jinny flask. They wanted to wait until we would get to camp for beer but they wanted me to drink now with them. They only touched the bottle with their lips. Mary stood up now after the photography and saw us drinking and she asked for the flask and drank from it and passed it to G.C. They passed it back and I drank and then lay down by the lion and talked to him very softly in Spanish and begged his pardon for us having killed him and while I lay beside him I felt for the wounds. There were four. Mary had hit him in the foot and in one haunch. While I stroked his back I found where I had hit him in the spine and the larger hole G.C.’s bullet had made well forward in his flank behind the shoulder. All the time I was stroking him and talking to him in Spanish but many of the flat hard camel flies were shifting from him to me so I drew a fish in front of him with my forefinger in the dirt and then rubbed it out with the palm of my hand.