Mackenzie Ford - The Clouds Beneath the Sun

Shortly after that, Aldwai started to move back toward the Land Rover, and then Christopher and Daniel appeared, both with ropes over their shoulders, pulling the dead lion behind them. The ropes were tied around the animal’s hind legs, his head churning up the ground as it was dragged across the soil-sand of the plain.

As they came closer, Natalie was surprised at how large the lion was. She had never been this near to one before.

Aldwai fired his gun and two of the hyenas, which were following Christopher and Daniel, scattered again.

“Can you let down the back of the Land Rover?” Christopher shouted.

She got out and went round to the rear of the vehicle, pulling out the bolts that kept the back flap in place. She let it down.

When the two men reached the Land Rover, Daniel climbed up and hauled the lion’s hind legs on board.

“Give me a hand here,” breathed Christopher, holding one of the animal’s forelegs.

Natalie took the other one. The animal’s fur certainly was mangy but it was surprising how warm the lion still was. There was a big black-red patch where it had been shot in the neck.

With Daniel pulling, and Christopher and Natalie lifting, the lion was hauled onto the back of the Land Rover. They could fit it in only by bending its spine. They shoved and pushed and pulled, till it fitted the space. Clouds of flies were already buzzing round the bloody patch where it had been shot. It was still stiflingly hot.

One more time Aldwai had to fire at the hyenas to keep them away.

How ugly hyenas were, thought Natalie, not for the first time. How different from the magnificence of lions—lions other than the poor creature they had manhandled into the Land Rover.

Christopher and Daniel slid back the bolts of the flap at the rear end of the vehicle and stood for a moment, resting after their exertions.

Daniel went to the backseat compartment of the Land Rover and took from it a bottle of water which he handed round. They were all sweating copiously.

Christopher, looking intently at Natalie, said, “I’d say we’ve earned our showers today—eh?” He smiled.

Following his gaze, she looked down, at her own shirt front. The khaki was stained dark with sweat all over and clung to her breasts. So tightly slight bulges were prominent where the wet cotton hugged the outline of her nipples.

“You’ve got tick typhus.”

“What?” Natalie, lying on her back in bed in her tent, was sweating but feeling a chill all at the same time. She looked up at Jonas with alarm.

“Don’t worry,” he said, somewhere between a growl and a chuckle. “It’s not typhus like the nineteenth-century, industrial Charles Dickens variety. It’s tick typhus, more like a cross between a very bad dose of flu and chicken pox.”

“No! Isn’t that bad enough? How did I get it?”

Jonas rummaged in the bag he had brought with him. “I should imagine it was handling that emaciated lion you brought back to camp the other day. It’s been confirmed that it had biting sickness. Christopher’s gone down with it, too.”

“Oh dear. What happens now?”

“Tick typhus usually lasts twelve to fifteen days. The rash on the palms of your hands is the telltale sign. It might spread to your arms and legs, even the soles of your feet, which is where Christopher is most affected right now. You’ll feel some muscle pain and probably more than one headache.” He lifted a small brown glass bottle from his bag. “Aureomycin, an antibiotic, take it twice a day, beginning right now, and be sure to finish the course—remember what happened to Mgina’s little brother.”

She nodded. “The trial is only—what?—nineteen days away.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll be fine by then, trust me. But no digging in that time. Have lots of rest—you’ll feel tired anyway—and keep out of the sun, try not to sweat, that makes the rash worse. I’ll tell Mgina to bring you water for a shower three times a day instead of the usual once. Shower when you have a fever, not when you feel a chill. Showers keep your skin clean and cool.”

He handed her two tablets. “Take these. No alcohol, by the way. You won’t feel like doing much for the first few days and don’t push yourself. Sleep as much as you can. Your body will recover more quickly in that way, and you’ll scratch yourself less.”

“Is Daniel suffering from this too?”

“No. Being African, he may have acquired some immunity. Or he may just have been lucky. We don’t know. Now, I’ll come back before dinner to see how you are. I’m just off to give Christopher his antibiotics.”

Jonas went out.

Natalie had woken up the day before with a fever and a rash on the palms of her hands. She had fought off the fever for half a day but then felt too ill to continue and collapsed in bed. Jonas had been away with Jack that day, warning the nearby tribes about the biting flies that had, in effect, killed the lion Natalie had spotted. The tribes were to be on the lookout for early signs of disease among their animals. She had been asleep when they returned and they hadn’t wakened her.

This morning the rash on Natalie’s hands had been much worse and she was shivering with a chill. Jonas had immediately known what was wrong.

Natalie had never been so ill before and the thought of lying in bed for days on end bored her. At the same time, she had to admit, she couldn’t go out into the sunshine with her rash, nor could she quite face writing papers for Eleanor and Nature .

She settled down, lying on her back, looking up at the roof of the tent, her hands lying on the edge of the bed where they could catch what breeze was going.

There would be no late-night visits from Jack, not in the full sense anyway, while she was laid low.

How could she think about sex while she was ill? she wondered. With ease, it seemed.

How she had changed—and was that natural? Had she become a freak or had she been a freak to start with and simply matured into a normal woman? Would she ever know?

Somehow she dropped off to sleep but was awakened by noises in the back tent which adjoined hers. Someone had brought water for her shower.

She got up and went through.

Mgina was there.

“Hello.”

“I am sorry you are not well, Miss Natalie. Dr. Jefferson says you must not shower if you feel chill.”

“No, no, don’t worry, Mgina, I’m feeling sweaty.” Natalie stepped out of her damp pajamas and stood under the shower. The water—tepid rather than hot—was very cooling as it began to evaporate on her skin. She soaped herself carefully and let the water remove the suds. The palms of her hands still itched—worse, they were still sore—but holding the soap seemed to help.

“And how are you, Mgina? How is married life? How is Endole and where is he?”

“He is looking after the cattle, Miss Natalie. With the biting sickness, all the cattle are being held close by the village.”

Natalie nodded, patting herself dry with the towel.

“And are you happy, being wife number three?”

Mgina passed across a new towel. “This is softer, Miss Natalie, better for your rash.”

As Natalie took it, she added, “I am pregnant, Miss Natalie.”

“Oh, but that’s wonderful! A new life to replace Odnate and so soon. Is your mother pleased?”

Mgina nodded.

“As soon as I’ve got rid of this rash, Mgina, we must celebrate. Let me think what to do.”

“Will you be well for the trial, Miss Natalie?”

Natalie frowned. What was Mgina saying? Why was she so interested? It was unlike her to ask questions. Was she—was she the leak in the camp, the link to Marongo, and even to Richard Sutton Senior? Natalie remembered now that Mgina had been in her tent late one night, when they had all been listening to jazz, when the British minister was visiting—she couldn’t remember his name. Mgina had brought fresh flowers but… they hadn’t really been needed. Had she been snooping, using the flowers as cover? Natalie had never challenged her, the episode had slipped her mind. Mgina had known Natalie and Jack were flying to Lamu at Christmas, she had volunteered to help them pack the plane. Natalie didn’t want to think about it.