and live here forever! Silowa, your place is the best, best in the world!
Tip-toe on a turret of rock, Silowa’s laughing – hand on Joe’s shoulder, hand on Anna’s, balanced between them. It is ours, now, yes? I show it to you, and we share it! Matt, Matt! I come too , he yells at Matt clambering higher, slithering back, finally triumphant, poised like a piper with an invisible pipe, drawing the eagle up from the ravine, dark wings soaring through glowing air. My friend Ndigi will make you a pipe, Matt! I will ask him. I will bring it to you, yes? My friend will be happy to do this! He is a musician, like you, he plays as he wanders . . . sweeping his arm wide . . . we see to the beginning of time! and Joe remembers how even the giraffe far below in their undulating walk against the blood-red sky look like primeval creatures stalking the setting sun.
He remembers wanting to trap the moment forever. Even just with a photo –
But Miss had my camera, he thought savagely.
He saw the inspector watching him carefully. ‘Is this where you came with your friends?’ he heard his voice. ‘Should we search again here?’
‘No, I mean, we came here plenty of times at first,’ said Joe.‘But other places, too, after. I’d have photos, but Miss Strutton took my camera –’
‘Your camera? Why does she do this?’ The inspector’s voice was sharp, alert, and Ella, who had been gazing down at the camp as she listened, looked up quickly, as if expecting something important.
‘It’s nothing,’ Joe explained hurriedly, ‘really, it’s nothing, I mean, I was just taking pictures in the camp and she was having this argument with Mr Boyd, wasn’t she? Yelling – really mad! She thought I’d taken a picture, why would I want a picture of her? So she confiscated the camera. That’s the way she is. Won’t listen.’
There was a pause, and this time the inspector broke it softly. ‘And now that you recall this place, Joe, is there more you can remember?’
‘This isn’t stuff I forgot – it’s all before. ’
‘Before what?’
A longer silence. Ella held her breath.
‘Before what I already told you,’ Joe said. ‘In Charly’s tent –’
‘And do you remember now why you went to Charly’s tent?’
The inspector’s voice blurred. Joe couldn’t draw breath, histongue thickening. He swallowed hard, tried to fight it off, looked away, helpless.
Ella saw Joe snapping back into himself, and the barely masked frustration flare on the inspector’s face. Her own throat suddenly rasped with thirst; a persistent drumming filled her head.
By her watch it was only forty minutes since they’d left the camp. She pulled her hat lower against the intensifying glare. The rays of the climbing sun had just tipped across the eastern rim of Chomlaya, and second by second, light poured down the crags above them like an advancing tide carrying despair with it. They had climbed because Joe remembered this climb. But it was a false hope. It wasn’t telling them where Charly or Matt or Anna or Silowa were; the distant moan of the helicopters sent an unrelenting reminder. Now and then they rose into view, making steep banking turns as if something new was happening. But it wasn’t.
‘So, we will visit this path of Silowa’s: Tomis and I,’ Sergeant Kaonga announced briskly, and the two of them moved off.
At his voice, Joe gave a start and turned to follow. Swiftly the inspector intervened, ‘No, no, I think we will sit, Joe. You too, Ella. We will drink some more, and tired Murothiwill have a rest.’
Tomis and the sergeant were nearing the rim of the ravine. Ella saw them stop, and turn, and survey the vast slabs of rock rising sheer from the path. Then both men stepped closer and pulled bushes and creepers aside. Sergeant Kaonga bent double. He appeared to melt into the rocks, Tomis too, and suddenly their voices could be heard, floating from somewhere beyond view.
Joe, observing it all intently, seemed
Tip-toe on a turret of rock, Silowa’s laughing – hand on Joe’s shoulder, hand on Anna’s, balanced between them. It is ours, now, yes? I show it to you, and we share it! Matt, Matt! I come too , he yells at Matt clambering higher, slithering back, finally triumphant, poised like a piper with an invisible pipe, drawing the eagle up from the ravine, dark wings soaring through glowing air. My friend Ndigi will make you a pipe, Matt! I will ask him. I will bring it to you, yes? My friend will be happy to do this! He is a musician, like you, he plays as he wanders . . . sweeping his arm wide . . . we see to the beginning of time! and Joe remembers how even the giraffe far below in their undulating walk against the blood-red sky look like primeval creatures stalking the setting sun.
He remembers wanting to trap the moment forever. Even just with a photo –
But Miss had my camera, he thought savagely.
He saw the inspector watching him carefully. ‘Is this where you came with your friends?’ he heard his voice. ‘Should we search again here?’
‘No, I mean, we came here plenty of times at first,’ said Joe.‘But other places, too, after. I’d have photos, but Miss Strutton took my camera –’
‘Your camera? Why does she do this?’ The inspector’s voice was sharp, alert, and Ella, who had been gazing down at the camp as she listened, looked up quickly, as if expecting something important.
‘It’s nothing,’ Joe explained hurriedly, ‘really, it’s nothing, I mean, I was just taking pictures in the camp and she was having this argument with Mr Boyd, wasn’t she? Yelling – really mad! She thought I’d taken a picture, why would I want a picture of her? So she confiscated the camera. That’s the way she is. Won’t listen.’
There was a pause, and this time the inspector broke it softly. ‘And now that you recall this place, Joe, is there more you can remember?’
‘This isn’t stuff I forgot – it’s all before. ’
‘Before what?’
A longer silence. Ella held her breath.
‘Before what I already told you,’ Joe said. ‘In Charly’s tent –’
‘And do you remember now why you went to Charly’s tent?’
The inspector’s voice blurred. Joe couldn’t draw breath, histongue thickening. He swallowed hard, tried to fight it off, looked away, helpless.
Ella saw Joe snapping back into himself, and the barely masked frustration flare on the inspector’s face. Her own throat suddenly rasped with thirst; a persistent drumming filled her head.
By her watch it was only forty minutes since they’d left the camp. She pulled her hat lower against the intensifying glare. The rays of the climbing sun had just tipped across the eastern rim of Chomlaya, and second by second, light poured down the crags above them like an advancing tide carrying despair with it. They had climbed because Joe remembered this climb. But it was a false hope. It wasn’t telling them where Charly or Matt or Anna or Silowa were; the distant moan of the helicopters sent an unrelenting reminder. Now and then they rose into view, making steep banking turns as if something new was happening. But it wasn’t.
‘So, we will visit this path of Silowa’s: Tomis and I,’ Sergeant Kaonga announced briskly, and the two of them moved off.
At his voice, Joe gave a start and turned to follow. Swiftly the inspector intervened, ‘No, no, I think we will sit, Joe. You too, Ella. We will drink some more, and tired Murothiwill have a rest.’
Tomis and the sergeant were nearing the rim of the ravine. Ella saw them stop, and turn, and survey the vast slabs of rock rising sheer from the path. Then both men stepped closer and pulled bushes and creepers aside. Sergeant Kaonga bent double. He appeared to melt into the rocks, Tomis too, and suddenly their voices could be heard, floating from somewhere beyond view.
Joe, observing it all intently, seemed
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