Authors: Michaela MacColl
“Beru, this leopard is dangerous.” Arap Maina’s face was set. “I will hear no more about it.” He walked away, his feet barely seeming to touch the ground.
“I told you, this is men’s work!” Kibii abandoned her to run after his father.
Buller came over to nuzzle Beryl’s hand with his wet nose. She stood still, watching Arap Maina’s back. “Buller, I’m going to hunt…no matter what.”
LOCATION: Elstree, England
DATE: 3 September, 1936
A nosy reporter just asked me why I’m doing it. Why am I flying to America by myself? Why take the risk? I give him my usual answer about opening new commercial routes to America, but the truth is far simpler. I never could resist a dare.
It began only a few months ago. There had been lobster, champagne, and a jazz band so noisy you couldn’t hear your dinner partner. Lord J. C. Carberry, a thoroughly unpleasant man but a generous host, leaned across the table, his black eyes glittering in their sunken sockets.
“Beryl,” he said loudly, capturing everyone’s attention. “What do you think of this woman Earhart? She’s a snappy dresser.”
“What does it matter what Amelia Earhart wears? She’s a smashing pilot,” I said. What was the old fox up to?
“She crossed the Atlantic solo. Got a lot of publicity.”
“Well deserved,” I answered.
He glanced around the table. “She took the easy route, west to east. Do you care to try it the hard way?”
England to New York. East to west. Flying in the dark over the stormy North Atlantic. The winds against me. Chasing the morning.
After a bare moment, “I would…if I had a plane.”
“It’s a deal!” J. C. cried. “I provide the plane and you do the flying.” He called for another bottle of champagne and we toasted my flight. Everyone laughed, clinked glasses, and drifted off to dance. Just as though there weren’t pilots crashing every day to their deaths in the deserts, in the forests, into the freezing water.
Why did I say yes? Everyone was setting records in those days. Tom set one just the other day, flying from London to Melbourne in only 71 hours. It’s my turn.
BY TWILIGHT, BERYL WAS TIRED OF WAITING. SHE’D DELIVERED the goat and left Arap Maina and Kibii to their task. But no sooner had the sun fully set than she was creeping toward the water tower. She wore a dark shirt and her filthiest trousers, to blend into the night. After a moment’s consideration, she kept her shell bracelet on her wrist.
As she got closer, she could see Kibii crouched underneath a rusty water tank. Beyond him, lit by the rising moon, was a clearing where the miserable goat was tethered. Careful not to step on anything that would make a noise, Beryl moved forward.
Suddenly, her body was lifted from behind and she couldn’t breathe. Arap Maina had pulled her up by the back of her shirt. She swung from his grip, like a cub in a lioness’s mouth.
“Arap Maina,” she cried. “How did you know I was coming?”
“Beru, you are louder than your goat and your yellow hair is easy to see in the dark,” he scolded. “You must go home.”
“Please let me stay,” Beryl begged.
He shook his head. “Your father…” he began.
“Wants his livestock to be safe.”
“He also wants his daughter to be safe.”
“He asked you to teach me,” Beryl reminded him. “And I want to learn, so I can help my father.”
Arap Maina looked up at the sky as if to find inspiration from the bats and owls flying overhead.
“Please,” Beryl said again. “At least let me watch.”
“If I take you back to your hut, I might miss the leopard, and all our work will be undone.” With a sigh, he put her down. “Kibii, come here.”
“Father?” came Kibii’s low voice. He emerged from the bushes, his steps silent. Then he saw Beryl and his tone became accusatory. “What is she doing here?”
“Take Beru to the top of the water tank. Stay with her and keep her safe.”
“But we were to hunt together!” Kibii protested.
“I don’t need protecting!” Beryl exclaimed at the same instant.
Arap Maina pointed. They climbed up the tank’s ladder.
“I’m sorry, Kibii,” she said as they lay on their stomachs. He didn’t answer.
The moon continued its long arc into the sky. The surface of the water tank was hard and bumpy against Beryl’s stomach. Nothing moved below. The goat bleated, as if inviting a leopard to kill him.
“Kibii,” she whispered. “I thought hunting would be more interesting.”
“This is not hunting, it is minding a girl-child who does not know her place,” he snarled. “Now, be quiet. If you can.”
“Of course I can!”
“Ssshh!”
The moon climbed higher in the sky. Beryl sighed and fingered the shell on her bracelet. She shifted on the rusty metal and heard water sloshing in the tank.
“Ssshh!” Kibii hissed.
The water reminded her of an unpleasant pressure on her bladder. The bright light of Venus had almost faded into nothing. Trying to distract herself, she counted the stars appearing, taking special note of each constellation as it formed.
“Look, there’s Cetus. That’s the whale. My father taught me all about the constellations. I’ve never seen a whale…I don’t even remember seeing the ocean.”
Beryl heard grinding. She looked over and thought it might be Kibii gritting his teeth.
“Answer me, Kibii. I’m bored.”
A hushing sound was the only answer. Beryl sighed. She had hoped for so much from the leopard hunt, but instead she was stuck on this tank, out of harm’s way.
Lips clamped shut, she inched to the edge to look straight down. The tethered goat was still crying. She felt a moment’s sympathy, but then she remembered that it always butted her with its bone-hard horns, and how it had nipped Arthur just yesterday.
Beryl looked around. The forest was as dark and empty as it had been all evening. Unable to ignore her bladder any longer, she rolled over and clambered down from the tank.
“Beru, come back,” Kibii whispered.
“I can’t wait.”
She landed hard, turning her ankle on a branch. “Ow,” she began to say, when a hand came out of the darkness and clamped down on her mouth.
Arap Maina’s silhouette against the moon towered over her. She could not see his face but his spicy smell was unmistakable. The moonlight glinted off his oiled chest. Beryl realized it was the first time she had ever seen him without his necklaces. “Beru, I told you to wait above, “ he whispered, but Beryl could hear his disapproval. “You must learn to listen.”
“It’s very uncomfortable up there, Arap Maina,” she said. “And I have to relieve myself.” She blushed a little.
She thought she saw a quick smile pass across his face. Then it was gone. “Do what you need to do, but do it quickly,” he said.
A few moments later, feeling much better, Beryl returned. “Any sign of the leopard?” she asked Arap Maina.
“The leopard will not come if you are talking.”
Beryl tugged on the tuft of her untidy braid. “But it’s been hours, and nothing has happened.”
“We may have to wait another night. A murani does not mind waiting.” He paused. “And a murani is always quiet.”
She could make out Kibii’s motionless outline on the water tank. He hadn’t moved a muscle.
“I’ll do better,” she promised.
Arap Maina made an exasperated noise. “Silence! Or perhaps you would prefer to join the women in the village again?”
“No, thank you,” Beryl said loudly.
“Hush!” Kibii and Arap Maina burst out together.
She silently climbed back to her perch on the tank.
The hours passed. Each time Beryl began to fall asleep, she would jerk herself awake. She was drifting off again when she heard Arap Maina’s low whistle. She peeked down to see a barely visible spotted shadow where the forest began.
Baa-aah. The goat ran frantically in the narrow circle around his tether, bleating with terror. Beryl felt a pang for the little animal. But then she thought of Buller.
The leopard, its stomach brushing the ground, crept closer to the goat. Beryl couldn’t tear her eyes away. This was the animal who had walked, bold as brass, into her own hut and taken her dog. Then she had been afraid, huddled on her bed. But now she was with warriors. Though he didn’t know it yet, the predator had become the prey.
The moon was high now. Beryl could see Arap Maina holding his spear in front of him, moving toward the tethered goat as stealthily as the leopard.
The leopard sank back on its haunches and leapt to the goat’s back. Beryl winced at the cracking of the goat’s backbone. The leopard rolled off and grabbed the goat’s throat between its jaws and ripped. Beryl shuddered, thinking of Buller’s barely healed wounds. Backing away from the tank’s edge, she was suddenly content to be safely out of the way.
Arap Maina appeared. With one thrust, he put his spear through the leopard’s neck. A high-pitched whine and the leopard was dead.
Kibii scrambled down from the top of the water tank. Beryl slowly followed. She stared down at the goat’s carcass. Vomit rose into her throat at the metallic smell of fresh blood. She had seen animals slaughtered before for meat and skin, but she had never seen one ripped apart by sharp teeth.
Now the leopard seemed small and not fierce at all. Its coat was covered with barely healed scars.
Arap Maina’s eyes were luminous in the night, and he shivered as though he were cold.
“Father,” Kibii said. “I saw how you waited until he was distracted by his dinner. The fresh blood of the goat filled his nose, so he could not scent you.”
Beryl interrupted, eager to show how much she, too, had observed. “He didn’t hear you coming because he was making so much noise with his eating.”
Arap Maina nodded his approval, still breathing hard through his nose. He pulled his spear from the leopard’s body and wiped it clean on the grass.
“You speared the heart,” Beryl said.
“This leopard is not afraid of men. The heart was the safest way to kill it with one blow.”
Kibii’s eyes were wide, memorizing everything.
“But you were too late to save the goat,” Beryl said. She averted her eyes from the bloody mess of the goat’s entrails.
Kibii snorted, but Arap Maina simply shook his head. “The goat was dead as soon as we used him for bait.”
Beryl’s father always said it didn’t do to get sentimental about animals. Except Buller, of course.
As though he could read her thoughts, Arap Maina pointed to the teeth marks on the leopard’s skull. “This is certainly the same leopard who attacked the dog.”
“Buller did that?” Beryl asked. Her heart swelled with pride; Buller might have lost the fight, but he had done a lot of damage.
Arap Maina nodded. “He is a warrior, your dog.”
“I saved Buller,” said Kibii, thumping his chest.
Beryl insisted, “You would never have looked for him if I hadn’t gone out into the forest.”
“You would never have found him without me,” Kibii answered. “And it is my medicine that heals him.”
“He’s a British dog,” Beryl said in a voice to end the argument.
“None of our dogs would fight a leopard,” Kibii admitted.
“Hush, totos,” Arap Maina said, but he was smiling.
“Next time, I will fight with you,” Beryl said.
Kibii hooted, “You are a girl—you won’t ever fight.”
Beryl shoved him. “I will too. Your father said I can train as a murani.”
Arap Maina held up a hand, and both children instantly stopped speaking. “I permitted you to watch this night, but only the boys of the tribe hunt. Never the girls.”
Beryl nudged the dead leopard with her foot. Its sightless eyes stared up at her.
“Arap Maina, I can be as brave as any boy.” Deliberately, she untied her new bracelet and handed it back to him. “I’ll only be one of the tribe if I can be a murani.”
Kibii laughed so hard, he had to sit down. But Arap Maina was thoughtful. He glanced toward her father’s house, then at the bracelet in his hand.
“We shall see,” he said. “But first you must learn discipline. And obedience.”
Beryl grimaced. She was going to have to wait a long time.
Exclusive Interview with Beryl Markham
The Daily Express
London, England
3 September, 1936
The Daily Express Correspondent: Mrs. Markham, we have some more questions for you.
Markham: Haven’t you already had your pound of flesh? Why do you keep following me around?
Correspondent: Our readers are clamoring to know.
Markham: That’s what all you vultures say when you invade my privacy. (sigh) Go ahead.