Authors: Jennifer Donnelly
"Did you know, Mummy," she'd said to India, "that the Swahili word
for a white man is Mzungu. Only it doesn't translate as white man, it
translates as strange or startling thing." She'd furrowed her little
brow, then said, "Do you suppose Father knows this?"
Sitting by the window in Governor James Hayes Sadler's private
railway carriage, in a white blouse, khaki split skirt, and lace-up
boots, ready to depart for Nairobi with her parents, the Delameres, and
various colonial officials, she looked as if she'd been in Africa her
entire life. She wore a cluster of bright Masai beads around her neck
that Lord Delamere had given her and which she refused to take off.
"Do you like animals, Charlotte?" he asked her now, after swallowing his meringue.
"Yes, sir. Very much."
"You're in for a treat, then. You're about to see hundreds of them. Maybe thousands. When we cross the Athi Plains."
Charlotte gave him a skeptical look.
"You think I'm making it up?"
"Your figures do sound a bit exaggerated, sir."
Delamere roared with laughter. "Tell you what, old girl, you count
them, and I'll give you one rupee for every zebra, an anna for every
giraffe, and a pice for a lion. Do we have a deal?"
"Oh, yes!" Charlotte said eagerly.
Hayes Sadler joined them. He put his hand on Delamere's shoulder.
"Freddie has questions on the Colonists' Association. Thought you could
answer them better than I can."
"Certainly will!" Delamere said. "In fact, he's going to get an
earful from me on how shabbily London's been treating us." He bade
Charlotte goodbye, told her to have her figures ready for him, then
followed Hayes Sadler to the compartment ahead of them. Freddie was in
it, writing reports and dispatches, all business, as ever.
Suddenly, a whistle blew. The conductor yelled, "All aboard!" Doors
were slammed down the length of the train. The engine released a
volcanic cloud of steam and the train lurched forward, its iron wheels
screeching against the track. Fifteen minutes later they were leaving
Mombasa Island and crossing a long bridge to the mainland.
For most of the day, the train ran westward through a green jungle,
humid and dense and filled with bright birds, butterflies, and flowers.
Here and there it passed plantations where rubber, cotton, or sisal
grew; skirted valleys and gorges; and stopped at little substations that
were neatly painted and planted with flower boxes and looked as if they
belonged in a suburb of London instead of in the wilds of Africa.
Charlotte was glued to the window the entire time, taking everything in.
She had to be called away for luncheon and again for tea.
By evening, they had left the jungle well behind them and were
entering the grasslands. It was there, against the backdrop of a blazing
African sunset, that Charlotte saw them--all the animals Delamere had
promised her and more.
"Oh, Mummy! Mummy, look!" she cried, upon seeing her first herd of zebra. "There must be fifty of them!"
"More like five hundred, I should think." It was Delamere. He'd
dashed out of Freddie's compartment, where he'd spent most of the day,
and rushed to sit down next to Charlotte. It was impossible to tell who
was more excited.
Charlotte reminded Lord Delamere of his pledge, then gleefully started counting, reaching one hundred in no time.
"My husband has bankrupted us," Lady Delamere exclaimed.
"Tell the damned man to slow the bloody train!" Delamere suddenly shouted. "How can anyone see anything?"
Lady Hayes Sadler blinked. Lady Delamere shook her head. An eager
young man in a linen suit, Tom Meade, the assistant district
commissioner of Kenya Province, dashed off to have a word with the
engineer. And India bit back a smile, more than willing to put up with
the odd profanity in order to see her daughter so happy.
"Florence? Florence! Where are my blasted field glasses?"
"Really, Hugh, must you shout so? They're right here!" Lady Delamere said, fumbling them out of her valise.
Delamere grabbed them and handed them to Charlotte. "There!" he shouted. "Ten o'clock! Do you see them, girl?"
Charlotte was silent for a few seconds then, in a hushed voice, she said, "Lord Delamere, are they really giraffes? Truly?"
"Six of them!" he crowed. "Plain as day."
"And look over there ...a herd of Tommies--Thomson's gazelles... and
there--those big ugly brutes? Wildebeest. Do you know what the Masai say
about them, Charlotte? They say God put them together with what he had
left over from all the other animals."
"What about lions, Lord Delamere?" Charlotte said, her eyes scanning the plains. "Do you see any?"
"I don't, but not to worry. If we don't see some here, we'll surely
bag ourselves some on safari at Thika. Last time I was up there I shot
three."
Charlotte looked stricken. "But I don't want to shoot them," she said.
Lady Delamere gave her husband a look so scorching that he blanched.
"I meant with a camera, my dear," he said quickly. "We shan't shoot
them with a gun, of course not! In fact, I know the most wonderful
guide. He refuses to shoot anything. We'll have him take us to see
lions. We'll look him up as soon as we get to Thika. His name is Sid
Baxter."
India had been looking out of the window. She slowly turned around.
"Did you say Sid Baxter?" she asked, before she could stop herself.
"I did. Do you know him?"
"No, no, of course not," she said, forcing a laugh. The name had to
be a coincidence. Sid was dead. "I ...I heard the name in Mombasa," she
lied. "He's very good, I gather."
"The best. He works for a planter up past Thika. He's a bit of a
loner, but we shall draw him out. If he can't find Charlotte lions, no
one can."
Lord Delamere continued to talk, but India barely heard him. God, but
it hurt. Still. For an instant, she had been back at Arden Street in
their flat. Sid was standing in the doorway, a bunch of white roses in
his hand. "Hello, Mrs. Baxter," he said, before gathering her into his
arms.
"Mummy? Mummy, are you all right?" Charlotte asked, concern darkening her face.
India quickly smiled at her. "I am, darling. Just feeling a bit tired suddenly."
Charlotte stared at her for a few seconds, as if weighing her words and wondering whether to believe them.
"Why don't you lie down for a bit, India, dear?" Lady Delamere suggested. "We'll keep Charlotte company."
"Will you be all right?" India asked her daughter.
Charlotte nodded, then watched her mother leave the main salon for
one of the sleeping compartments. Her mother was lying; she knew she
was. She'd seen that look in her eyes before--the sad one she'd seen
only seconds ago. It was there when she gazed too long at the vase of
white roses she always kept on her desk. And sometimes it was there when
she gazed too long at her.
"She's fine, Charlotte, darling," said Lady Delamere, patting her hand. "Just weary from all the traveling."
Charlotte realized that her feelings were on her face. She nodded and
quickly rearranged her expression into one of pure, unadulterated joy.
Though she was not quite six, she had already worked out that grown-ups
asked fewer questions of smiling, happy children, and she did not want
any questions right now--only answers.
She turned back to the window and looked over the darkening plains,
pointing at this animal and that for Lord Delamere's benefit, but she
was no longer interested in them. She was too busy wondering who Sid
Baxter was and why the mention of his name had made her lovely mother so
sad.
The tall, silent boy heated the needle in the flames of the campfire.
When it was glowing, he tapped Seamie's foot and spoke to him in Maa.
Tepili, the headman, a Masai who spoke English, translated. "He says
do not move," Tepili whispered. "He says be very still now."
"Easy for him to say. He's got the needle," Seamie muttered.
Wordlessly, the boy slid the red hot needle into Seamie's toe, just
below the nail, pushing it farther and farther in. He canted it slightly
then held his breath and slowly pulled it back out. An egg sac, small
and white, popped out of the wound. The boy grinned.
"Jiggers," Tepili said.
"Jiggers," Seamie echoed.
"Very bad. Make you very sick," Tepili said. "No walk, no climb."
"I've heard of them," Willa said, swabbing Seamie's toe with carbolic
from a vial. "They're some sort of fiea that lays its eggs by the nail.
If the egg sac bursts while you're trying to remove it, the beasties
get everywhere and wreak havoc. Infection, pain, gangrene, all of that."
"Lovely," Seamie said. "Give me the Antarctic any day of the week.
Fifty below and a howling blizzard. Too cold for anything but penguins.
Definitely too cold for jiggers, ticks, snakes, scorpions, and giant
man-eating spiders."
Willa laughed. "The spider wasn't that big," she said.
"It was as big as a bloody dinner plate!"
"What a fibber you are."
"It was!"
"A saucer, maybe," she conceded.
"It jumped on my head!"
"Dropped."
"Jumped!"
It was the first day of their trek, and not a good one for Seamie. A
large and horrible spider had attached itself to him as they were
passing under some trees, causing him to dance around shouting until he
got it off--to the great amusement of Willa, Tepili, and the rest of the
porters. He'd also been charged by a gazelle, of all things, cut his
hand on a thornbush, been bitten by a tick, and now the jigger. He was
looking forward to a good night's sleep on a camp bed with plenty of
netting to keep the bugs out.
Willa finished with his toe, and he put his socks and boots back on.
Tepili had asked that he and Willa remove their boots after they'd
finished supper. They'd thought it strange, but he insisted. He'd
inspected Willa's toes and nodded, but when it was Seamie's turn he'd
frowned and then the boy had been called. The extraction had been
unpleasant, but Seamie was glad the thing had been found. Infections
were never good, particularly when one was miles away from a doctor.
"We sleep now," Tepili said. "We walk at dawn." And with that, he was gone.
It was just Willa and Seamie, then, sitting at a camp table by the
fire, listening to the sounds of the African night. Willa had her books
on the table. She'd brought everything she could find on
Kilimanjaro--accounts by Samuel Teleki von Szek, a Hungarian explorer,
and the first to attempt Kibo peak, and by the German Hans Meyer, the
first to summit it.
"You hate it here, don't you?" she said worriedly. "You're sorry you've come."
Seamie shook his head. "No, Wills, not at all. In fact, I love it. I
could do without the bugs, but when we started out from Voi and I could
see Kili rising in the distance, its top all white with snow, I was
really happy I came. It's beautiful, that mountain. I can't wait to
climb it."
Willa brightened. "Africa's extraordinary, isn't it? The golden plains that stretch out forever, the soft hills..."
"A lot like Croydon."
"Will you stop? I'm serious."
"I know you are. And I agree, it is extraordinary. I think the most
amazing thing of all is the freedom. It's not just a word here, is it?
It's a concrete thing. You can see it, same as you see the endless sky,
or hear it, like the thundering of zebra. And feel it, like you do the
sun on your back. I honestly don't think I've ever felt so free anywhere
I've been--not even Antarctica--as I do here."
Willa looked at him closely. "Seamus Finnegan, explorer-poet," she said. "That's how I'll describe you in my book."
She bent her head over her books again, jotting notes as she read. He
watched her, his eyes lingering on the line of her jaw, the rise of her
cheek-bones, the curve of her mouth. They'd been on the go for hours,
covering just under fifteen miles today before stopping to set up camp.
They were dusty and sweaty, and yet she looked as lovely as ever to him.
They'd set out two days ago, taking the train from Mombasa, and
disembarking at Voi, a small village due east of the mountain. The
journey to Voi had been a long one. The train kept slowing down, adding
hours to the trip. Willa had found out why. The diplomat who'd arrived
in Mombasa just before they had--Lytton was his name--was on board in a
private carriage and his daughter wanted to see the zebras. She was a
lovely child; they'd met her on the beach at Mombasa. When they finally
arrived at Voi it was already dark and they had to spend the night there
in a thatched hut. The next morning they'd started walking west toward
the village of Taveta, where they planned to stop and top up their
provisions. From there they would veer north, avoiding villages and any
overzealous officials who might be policing them.
Seamie was in excellent physical shape and he'd wondered if Willa
would be able to keep up with him and with their long-limbed porters. He
needn't have worried. She walked tirelessly and without complaint. She
never asked to stop and rest, never showed fear--even when they'd
startled a fat crocodile on the Voi River. In fact, she was the one
who'd pulled that disgusting spider off his head. He kept looking for
flaws in her, hoping she would somehow disappoint him and make him fall
out of love with her, but she didn't, and his feelings only grew.
He had come to know her so well over the past weeks. He knew her
every mood and expression, what she ate for breakfast, how she took her
tea. He knew how she smelled--like fresh air and sun-warmed grass. He
knew that she liked old men and dogs, and hated crossword puzzles. He'd
traveled on a boat with her for six weeks and slept in the same bed at
the Mombasa Club for five nights. He would never forget those nights,
listening to her breathe as she fell asleep, feeling the warmth of her
next to him, aching for her. He'd woken in the mornings to find her arm
slung over his chest. Knowing she'd be embarrassed if she woke like
that, he'd gently disentangled himself; but not before he kissed
her--just once--on her forehead or her cheek.