Cyrus Reed showed signs of notbeing infected. Chanda sat down cross-legged on the ground beside Mrs. Pollifax and gave her a dazzling white smile. “I sit here. You
nunandi.
”
“Damn awkward eating from one’s lap,” growled Reed.
“Try a corner of this little table,” suggested Mrs. Pollifax. “After all, the word safari means camping.”
“Touché,”
he said, smiling. “Thanks. Incredibly good food. Can’t imagine how they do such a
cordon bleu
job out here without electricity.”
“There is big wood stove,” Chanda told him eagerly, “and very fine cook. Julian calls him a—a chef.”
Reed nodded. “That’s it, then. Saw you up there poking around. Anyone else speak Bemba here?”
“
Cimo
,” said Chanda, holding up one finger. “There is good life here in park, maybe I not be hunter.”
“Tom said you’re damn good at hunting and tracking and only twelve years old,” pointed out Reed, deftly spearing a piece of steak. “Said you went off to see what’s left of your old village on the Angolan border this spring, and hiked fifty miles through the bush alone.”
Chanda’s smile deepened. “Yes, that. He tell you about the lions?”
“Lions!” exclaimed Mrs. Pollifax.
“Three of ’em,” said Reed, nodding, “but how did you know they were following you, Chanda?”
“Because—” Chanda hesitated. “I do not know name for
cula.
”
Several chairs away, Julian said, “Frogs, Chanda.”
“Ah! Yes. I hear them, you know. They make a frog sound, and then I cross
kamana—
”
“Brook,” called Tom Henry.
“Yes, brook, and frogs are very noisy talking to eachother. I walk more, and then—” He lifted one hand and cut the air dramatically. “
Cula
sound stop. So I look for big tree to climb because it becomes dark, like now, and I know something follows me or the frogs would be making noise.”
“Good heavens,” said Lisa. They were all listening now.
“Three lions try to climb tree for me, but I am too high. I sit all night for them to go away.”
“I take it they did eventually,” said Steeves.
“But not until morning,” put in Tom Henry.
“Yes, I climb down from tree but cannot walk.
Mwendo
become like tree too.”
“He means he’d lost all circulation in his legs,” explained Tom. “His limbs had become like the tree.”
Chanda nodded. “So I hunt sticks and dry grass and after long time make fire rubbing sticks. This is very hard to do. For many hours I sit to warm myself at fire, and then I go.”
“Something I can’t imagine any American twelve-year-old doing,” said Reed.
“Still, Africa’s a shade more hospitable a country than Mongolia,” put in Steeves. “There you’ve panthers and tigers, but even if the sun shines three hundred days a year you get tremendous winds and a horrendous wind-chill factor.”
“Tigers we don’t have,” said Julian, “but tomorrow we look for lion for you.”
“Oh, I do hope we see one,” cried Lisa eagerly.
“What time do we start?” asked Mrs. Pollifax.
“Directly after breakfast, about half-past seven.”
“Early,” said Amy Lovecraft, making a face.
The white-jacketed waiter had brought down a newtray which he set upon the table. Now he bowed, his face grave, and said, “Pudding is served, please, ladies and gentlemen.”
It was after the pudding that Tom Henry reminded Chanda he was tired today and it was time for him to invest in some sleep. The boy arose from his cross-legged stance on the ground, and at the same moment Mrs. Pollifax had a sudden, dazzling idea. She, too, arose. “I’ll go up with Chanda,” she said. “It’s so dark I couldn’t bring myself to go alone, but if we’re breakfasting at seven—”
“What, no snapshots of your grandchildren?” asked Reed mischievously.
“I’m still catching up on my sleep,” she said, ignoring him and picking up her purse. “Good night!”
A chorus of farewells followed her as she turned away from the fire. It was very
nunandi.
”
“Damn awkward eating from one’s lap,” growled Reed.
“Try a corner of this little table,” suggested Mrs. Pollifax. “After all, the word safari means camping.”
“Touché,”
he said, smiling. “Thanks. Incredibly good food. Can’t imagine how they do such a
cordon bleu
job out here without electricity.”
“There is big wood stove,” Chanda told him eagerly, “and very fine cook. Julian calls him a—a chef.”
Reed nodded. “That’s it, then. Saw you up there poking around. Anyone else speak Bemba here?”
“
Cimo
,” said Chanda, holding up one finger. “There is good life here in park, maybe I not be hunter.”
“Tom said you’re damn good at hunting and tracking and only twelve years old,” pointed out Reed, deftly spearing a piece of steak. “Said you went off to see what’s left of your old village on the Angolan border this spring, and hiked fifty miles through the bush alone.”
Chanda’s smile deepened. “Yes, that. He tell you about the lions?”
“Lions!” exclaimed Mrs. Pollifax.
“Three of ’em,” said Reed, nodding, “but how did you know they were following you, Chanda?”
“Because—” Chanda hesitated. “I do not know name for
cula.
”
Several chairs away, Julian said, “Frogs, Chanda.”
“Ah! Yes. I hear them, you know. They make a frog sound, and then I cross
kamana—
”
“Brook,” called Tom Henry.
“Yes, brook, and frogs are very noisy talking to eachother. I walk more, and then—” He lifted one hand and cut the air dramatically. “
Cula
sound stop. So I look for big tree to climb because it becomes dark, like now, and I know something follows me or the frogs would be making noise.”
“Good heavens,” said Lisa. They were all listening now.
“Three lions try to climb tree for me, but I am too high. I sit all night for them to go away.”
“I take it they did eventually,” said Steeves.
“But not until morning,” put in Tom Henry.
“Yes, I climb down from tree but cannot walk.
Mwendo
become like tree too.”
“He means he’d lost all circulation in his legs,” explained Tom. “His limbs had become like the tree.”
Chanda nodded. “So I hunt sticks and dry grass and after long time make fire rubbing sticks. This is very hard to do. For many hours I sit to warm myself at fire, and then I go.”
“Something I can’t imagine any American twelve-year-old doing,” said Reed.
“Still, Africa’s a shade more hospitable a country than Mongolia,” put in Steeves. “There you’ve panthers and tigers, but even if the sun shines three hundred days a year you get tremendous winds and a horrendous wind-chill factor.”
“Tigers we don’t have,” said Julian, “but tomorrow we look for lion for you.”
“Oh, I do hope we see one,” cried Lisa eagerly.
“What time do we start?” asked Mrs. Pollifax.
“Directly after breakfast, about half-past seven.”
“Early,” said Amy Lovecraft, making a face.
The white-jacketed waiter had brought down a newtray which he set upon the table. Now he bowed, his face grave, and said, “Pudding is served, please, ladies and gentlemen.”
It was after the pudding that Tom Henry reminded Chanda he was tired today and it was time for him to invest in some sleep. The boy arose from his cross-legged stance on the ground, and at the same moment Mrs. Pollifax had a sudden, dazzling idea. She, too, arose. “I’ll go up with Chanda,” she said. “It’s so dark I couldn’t bring myself to go alone, but if we’re breakfasting at seven—”
“What, no snapshots of your grandchildren?” asked Reed mischievously.
“I’m still catching up on my sleep,” she said, ignoring him and picking up her purse. “Good night!”
A chorus of farewells followed her as she turned away from the fire. It was very
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