Mists of the Serengeti(62)
“Melted chocolate.” He held it in his palm for a long moment. “Lily’s favorite.” He seemed lost in his thoughts as he unpeeled it from its sticky wrapper. “I hear you, baby girl.” It was barely a whisper, but he stood taller as he said it. Bit by bit, his body seemed to fill with new breath. “I hear you. Louder than all the crap in my head. Louder than all the things that scare me.” He broke the chocolate square in half and popped it into his mouth. He closed his eyes and savored the taste like it was some sweet memory.
“I haven’t forgotten how brave you were when you danced in front of all those people. I lost you, my sweet angel, but I’m not going to let those kids down. I need to face up to my own demons. I need to stop feeling like I failed you. God, Lily. Wherever you are. Daddy misses you so much. So, so much.” His voice cracked, and he shut his eyes in silent tribute. When he looked up, his eyes were glinting like diamond blue points of clarity in the diaphanous veils of mist that swirled around us.
He held out the other half of the chocolate for me and smiled. “Goma knows what she’s talking about. Chocolate makes everything better.”
Our fingers brushed as I took the candy from him. I couldn’t help the alarm bells that went off in my head. I could see danger coming, its gleaming edge sheathed in the mist. And though I had started this, sitting in a pub miles away, watching horrific images flash across the screen, I wanted Jack to walk away. How could I have known that in trying to do something for my sister, I would end up putting the man I loved in danger?
NIGHT HAD FALLEN by the time I finished tending to the kids. I put away the first aid kit and plopped down beside Jack.
“Are they all right?” he asked. But his eyes held concern for me too. We’d been slipping in and out of these moments all afternoon, where everything faded and it was just the two of us, in spite of the chaos—the kids, the cattle, the trio of Maasai men, around us.
“They’re survivors,” I replied, drinking in the comfort of his nearness.
The children had trekked a long way. They were hungry, hurt, exhausted. They had lacerations from being bound by cable ties. The ones who had fought back had more—bruises, sprains, and worse. They let me tend to their wounds, some with detached gazes, others with anger, fear, confusion, gratitude.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, as Jack fidgeted with his phone.
“I wanted to contact Bahati. Ask him to gather a couple of drivers on his way here, ones that can be trusted. We won’t be able to fit all these kids in his jeep. But my battery is gone.”
“We’ll figure something out when he gets here. Have you told Olonana that he’s coming?”
Olonana knew we’d had to ditch Jack’s car, but he didn’t delve any further. He’d done his part, and as far as he was concerned, the rest was up to us to figure out.
“If Olonana learns that Bahati is driving through Maasai land to pick us up, he won’t be too pleased. He’s planning to leave at dawn. Bahati won’t get here until later. There’s no point stirring things up.”
The chief and his warriors had offered one of their cows to feed the children. They were grilling pieces of meat, skewed on long sticks, which they stuck into the ground at an angle over the fire. Most of the kids had eaten. The younger ones were sleeping in the tent, while the older kids stretched out by the fire, on pieces of cowhide that the Maasai were carrying.
“What is it?” I asked, when I caught Jack staring at me.
“I love watching you in the firelight. The way your skin glows, the way your eyes dance, the way your hair comes alive.” He drew me into the crook of his arm and pulled a blanket around us. “The first time was that night we stopped over by the crater. Dancing with you around the bonfire. I thought you were the most exquisite thing I’d ever laid eyes on. It was the first time I’d paid attention to anything or anyone after Lily. I felt like I’d been punched in the gut.”
A warm glow spread over me as he spoke. It was like being wrapped in a cloak of invisible warmth. “Is that when you decided to play hard to get?” I poked him with my elbow.
“Doesn’t matter what I decided, or which way I turned. There was no denying this thing between us.” He shifted so I could lean my head on his shoulder. “Get some rest, sweetness. You must be exhausted.”
We stared into the inky black plains around us. A train whistle blew in the distance, followed by the chuggah-chuggah-chuggah of its engine, and then a vast, deep silence. The kind reserved for oceans and mountain peaks and the craters of the moon.
“Do you think the men in that van will backtrack or keep going?” I asked.
“I’m pretty sure they’ll be back, but I don’t know when.” He stroked my hair softly. “Don’t worry. We’ll figure something out in the morning.”
The crackling of the fire lulled me into a strange dream. I was flying over coffee farms with a flock of dove children. We were racing a storm that was brewing on the horizon. Clouds of blood rain broke loose, splattering their ivory wings. I screamed as they fell from the sky. And then I was on the ground, ankle deep in scarlet mud, when something sharp pierced my foot. I picked it up and held it to the sky. It was a mangled crown of twigs and hay.
“Jack!” My eyes flew open, heart racing.
“Jack!” Olonana’s voice echoed mine. “They’re coming.” He pointed to twin spotlights in the distance. They were faint, almost impossible to make out, but they left a telltale glow in the dark.