Authors: Michael Siemsen
There! Another one, closer. Now he could hear Enzi and the other two, talking in hushed voices. He stood up and cracked the door open. All three stood a short distance away, staring into the forest blackness to the northeast. One of them whispered something, and Enzi shushed him. Rheese opened the door some more and peered out in the direction they were staring. Their eyes all remained fixed on the tarped corner where Kanu had found the strange object. Rheese noticed that the usual din of chirping insects had ceased entirely.
“What is it?” He whispered to Enzi, who stood nearest the trailer.
“They good Christians, Professor,” Enzi whispered. “They think we disturb the devil. We open gateway to hell.”
The earth shook for a few more seconds, sending Zuzuwi running for the Jeep. More cracking, but this time it was clearly from the woods—heavy crashing, so that the ground shook continuously.
Zuzuwi shouted something from the Jeep, and Chui yelled back at him.
“Tembo, Che! Tembo!”
Rheese’s stomach tightened as he stumbled down the steps. Enzi ran away toward the equipment trailer.
“What is it, Enzi?” Rheese shouted to his back, unsure if he should follow. The headlights from the Jeep swung across his face as Zuzuwi spun it around and paused for Chui to jump in before skidding off in the opposite direction.
“Tembo,” Enzi shouted back. “Elephant!”
It knocked over a small tree as it crashed into the clearing, and continued its clumsy stampede into the rain-filled rays of the spotlights. Rheese caught a glimpse of its face and trunk before running to the other side of his RV and sliding into the mud behind the front tire. Enzi was trying to load the double-barrel shotgun from the equipment trailer while the rampaging elephant continued on its path straight to the tarped corner of the pit. He watched it try to stop itself with its enormous hind legs, but the tarp gave way instantly and the trunk disappeared below. The rest followed, bringing with it a ton of loose mud, the tarps, and the rocks used to anchor them.
Enzi ran to the edge of the pit in time to see the debris settle over a good portion of the beast. Its head appeared to be turned too far to the right, the neck likely broken. A free leg writhed as the animal released a few desperate groans from beneath the mud.
Dr. Rheese moved tentatively from behind the RV and saw Enzi standing at the edge of the pit. He walked through the downpour of the clearing and joined Enzi to watch the pitiful scene.
“Is it dying?” he asked quietly.
“Not survive that drop, sah. See his neck.” Enzi clicked the shotgun barrels shut and started toward the lift.
“Just look at the bloody mess it’s made.… Wait, where are you going, Enzi?”
“Going go stop it pain, Professor.”
Rheese didn’t say anything. He wouldn’t have thought to shoot the animal for its own benefit.
Enzi’s a good black,
he thought—
probably a better man than I
.
Though the prospect revolted him, Rheese decided to stay and watch. At the very least, it would make a good story for the future, however sickening in the moment.
The lift touched ground, and Enzi slogged cautiously through the mud and puddles until he reached the corner. The stumplike hind leg no longer struggled, and for a moment it appeared that the creature was already dead. Then he saw the brown and black eyeball roll back and lock its gaze on him.
The sheet of mud covering its side heaved subtly, then subsided, as the animal strained to breathe. He saw the last few inches of its trunk emerging, pink-tipped, from the mud a couple of meters away. Enzi looked back at the eyeball. It was large and blood-rimmed beneath long, goopy eyelashes, and seemed to plead with him in a painfully human manner. He raised the shotgun to its head and wondered if that would be the right spot. The pellets might not make it through the thick skull. He’d seen their skeletons before; as children, he and his friends had occasionally come upon them when playing in the forest. The tusks were always gone, though.
Perhaps a shot through the trunk there, straight to the brain…
The eye blinked slowly, and Enzi decided to proceed.
Watching from above, Rheese flinched at the flash and blast of the shot. He watched Enzi stand there for a moment, looking at the dead creature, then turned back to his trailer. His fogged watch face reminded him that it was past midnight and the sun would be up in six hours.
Enzi crouched down and pushed open the heavy gray eyelid with his thumb. The massive creature’s side no longer heaved. It was dead. He looked back to the professor but only caught the faint click of the trailer door closing in the distance. Walking back to the lift, he examined his bloodied, dirty shirt and dungarees and realized he had no spare clothing at the site. Unfortunately, he would have to get into the sleeping bag naked and hope they would be mostly dry by morning.
He stripped down in the equipment trailer and, after wringing out his sodden pants and shirt outside, hung them on the hydraulic supports that held up the top hatch. He found a packing blanket and used it to dry himself as best he could.
“Ah, uh, here you are, Enzi.”
Startled, Enzi turned to see Dr. Rheese averting his eyes while holding out some fresh clothes. Perhaps the man had a heart after all—perhaps he was not entirely
mkundu
.
“Sir, I cannot…”
“Quiet, Enzi. I’m not in the habit of thinking of others—I’ll be able to pat myself on the back for this for years to come.”
“Thank you, sah. I don’t know how to… I will wash like new for you next week.”
Rheese walked away, saying, “Don’t worry, man. Keep them.”
You couldn’t get them clean enough for me ever to wear again.
“Sir, I…”
Enzi realized the magnitude of such a gift. The shirt off one’s own back. He had misjudged the strange, irascible Englishman. He felt guilty until finally drifting off to sleep.
M
ATT
T
URNER LAY SPRAWLED ON HIS
new couch, surfing Tahitian resort Web sites on his iPad. One in particular, the Grand Regency Royale, had exactly what he sought. A golden box on the left side of the Accommodations page elegantly announced in an italicized script that they would be open during their renovation and expansion project. He picked up his phone and dialed the toll-free number.
The woman, in an accent of indeterminate origin, declared that a few of the new rooms would be opening in the coming weeks, and yes, they would contain all new furnishings, and yes, he could make a reservation ensuring that he would be the first guest ever to occupy the room of his choice. He gave his credit card number, asked for her name, and mentioned that he would take care of her when he arrived. She thanked him for the thought but then regretfully mentioned that she worked in the company’s Newark, New Jersey, offices. He told her he’d figure something out, to which, of course, she replied that he was most kind but it really wasn’t necessary.
Next call, Iris.
“Hey, sis,” he said as he clicked again through the photos of the resort.
“How you doing, Buster? You run out of money yet?”
“Not quite. I think I’ve got around a hundred bucks left in my checking—oh, yeah, and about five mil in the money market account alone. Listen, you need to stop telling Mom I’m blowing all my cash.”
“But you are!”
“Didn’t say I wasn’t, but why do you have to get her all worried? She’s probably popping Xanax as we speak. Anyway, what are you doing in three weeks?”
“Um… three weeks?” She rustled some papers. “What’s that, like, the sixth? Studying for finals.”
“When are finals?” His doorbell rang.
“The eleventh and twelfth, why?”
Matt held the cell phone to his ear with his shoulder and looked through the diamond-shaped window in the door. UPS guy. He grabbed the gloves hanging by the door and opened up to sign for his package while continuing to speak into the phone.
“Well, I’m thinking you can study even more effectively on a powdered-sugar white sand beach. Is it just these two?”
“Just these two what?” Iris replied, puzzled.
“UPS guy.” The driver took back his scanner-and-pen thing and gave Matt a courteous smile before returning to his truck. Matt gently kicked the boxes through the doorway, removed his gloves, and returned to the couch.
“What are you asking me here, Buster? You wanna go to the beach? What are we talking: New Hanover, Crystal Coast, or what?”
“Tahiti, sister. All expenses paid, of course.”
“Dude, you can’t get a
real
date to come with you to frickin’ Tahiti? I’ve got finals—no way!”
“Come on! You don’t even have to
do
anything! I just don’t want to go alone or with someone I don’t even know.”
He paused on a picture of the sun setting behind a steep, forested mountain that dropped down to a beach lined with gently swaying coco palms.
“Don’t be an idiot. A trip like that you gotta plan like months in advance. What about my classes? What about my roommates eating all my stuff? No, you need to find yourself some chick that wants a free ride to Tahiti. Think about it—how hard can that be?” She paused for a minute as Matt sulked quietly. “You spoken to Melissa recently?”
Matt stood up, his face twisting into a scowl.
“Are you kidding me?
Her?
I don’t even think about her. She’s nothing.”
“Easy, okay? I know she hurt you. I was just wondering if you’ve spoken recently.”
“No.” His voice cracked a little. “I seriously haven’t thought about her in ages.”
“You know you’re gonna find one better than her. I know she drove you crazy with all her old crap.”
Matt had begun pacing in front of his huge new plasma TV. “Exactly. Old records, old books, even old clothes. What was she thinking, coming into my apartment in some thrift shop dress that she
knows
I’m not going to get near? Then complaining that I never want to be next to her! I’m telling you, I
never
felt at ease around her. It was like a panic attack if she was anything but naked.”
“Ew!”
“No, you know what I mean!”
“Anyway, it sounds to me like her ditching you was the best thing that ever happened to you. You probably should have done it yourself.… you know, since you don’t even think about her or anything… Welp, I’d love to hear you vent some more about your ex, but I have to get back to my books.”
“You started it. Love you.”
“Love you, too, Buster.”
“Come to Tahiti with me!”
She was already gone.
He slumped down on his couch, popping his iPad up and just snagging it before it toppled onto the hardwood floor. He sat back and imagined that white sand between his bare toes, swimming in the warm ocean, or biking through pristine woods in a T-shirt and shorts. Happy sigh.
What was the resort woman’s name? Shisha something—it sounded like “critic,” but Eastern European. Crytsik? There was no doubt an “h” and a “z” or two in there somewhere. He bought a nice gift basket online to be shipped to her attention at the company’s office in Newark.
Gloves back on—time to see what was in the boxes. He cut open the tape on the first box with a key and reached inside. Ah, yes, very nice! The new dishes. He guessed correctly that the second box would be the silverware. After a lengthy unpackaging session, he had the dishwasher filled and running. Outside went the boxes, bubble wrap, and Styrofoam. Off with the gloves—the house was clean again.
His cell phone buzzed from the TV room, and he caught it on the third ring.
“This is Matt.”
“Matthew Turner, Jon at NYMM. How are you today?”
“Very well, Dr. Meier. The therapy sessions since that last chunk of Nazi history have been helping a great deal.”
Matt could hear Dr. Meier not quite blocking the mic and whispering to someone. The someone whispered back before the director replied.
“That was a joke, right, Matthew?”
“Yes, Doctor, but it was no joke when I told George I wouldn’t be assisting with anything else, so I’m assuming this really is just a friendly call to see how I’m doing today.”
“Of course… of course, Matthew. Could you do me a favor, though, and check your e-mail?”
“I take it I’m not getting an apology for the desk thing?”
“No, I won’t be apologizing. Perhaps if you realized the significance of this desk… May I share with you?”
“No, no interest.”
“Well…” The director was clearly flustered. “The Herz family sends its heartfelt thanks to you.”
“What? You told someone about me?”
“No, no, of course not. What I meant was they send their thanks to the ‘team’ involved. I have not disclosed your ability to anyone.”
“So who knows at this point? There was a time I could count on one hand, you know?”
“Matthew,” Meier said reassuringly. “I apologize—not for the desk, mind you—but for whatever I may have done to make you question your trust in me as it pertains to your ability. I can assure you that the ‘circle’, as it were, has not expanded beyond George Miller, Peter Sharma, and myself. I made that promise to your uncle when we first met… And
you
were the one that brought George into it after Peter left, if I recall correctly.”