Mackenzie Ford - The Clouds Beneath the Sun

“Leopards don’t normally attack humans, do they?” she said, wiping her mouth.

“It’s rare, but it happens sometimes.” Daniel took off his hat and wiped his forehead. “If they have young nearby, they are much more dangerous—and look.” He pointed to the left of the leopard.

With difficulty, Natalie could make out two smaller animals, not cubs exactly but not fully grown leopards either.

“They were born this spring,” Daniel said. “They’ve learned to climb but not yet to kill.”

They stood for a while, just looking at the animals. It seemed a very peaceful scene.

Then Natalie whispered, “Daniel, did you just save my life?”

He smiled. “You are a good scientist, Miss Natalie. You have excavator’s eyes. You have beautiful eyes. But you need to learn to read the bush, you need to look more into the distance, understand how predators behave, how they camouflage themselves, how they hide, to understand where danger gathers. Aldwai might not always be there to protect you and it is not good to have to kill animals because we humans are careless.” He smiled. “Don’t go near sausage trees without first looking for leopards.”

Natalie looked towards the tree where she’d left her water bottle. Now that she knew it harbored a leopard, she could see the creature quite clearly. But she hadn’t spotted it before.

Daniel was right. She hadn’t developed that side of her senses at all, and she must try harder. Her life might depend on it.

She handed him back his water bottle. “Don’t say any more. You did just save my life. How can I repay you?”

He smiled, shook his head, then grew serious. “The trial is not good. Not good for Ndekei, or his family, or for Dr. Deacon. Or for you.”

Natalie felt a weight suddenly descend back on her shoulders. “Oh, Daniel, not you too! Didn’t you have a Christian upbringing? Don’t you think murder is wrong? If life isn’t valuable, what is—and why did you do what you just did?”

“Law is about justice and order, Miss Natalie. Whether it is tribal law or Western law. In this case justice has been done, already, and there is no threat to order.” He replaced the water bottle in his pocket.

“Justice? How can you say that?” She didn’t want this argument, with Daniel, in the full heat of the day, in the airless gorge. But she couldn’t let it go. “I accept that what Richard and Russell did was wrong—very wrong. You know I feel that. It was terrible . But can it be just, can it be right, that one of them had to be killed because of it? I asked you—are you not a Christian?”

Daniel was hot too. A fresh broad band of sweat beads stood out across his forehead. “I went to a missionary school, yes.” He shook his head. “I never believed those stories. What would people in Palestine know about life here? How could they tell us how to live with leopards? Or tell us which plants in the forest are dangerous and which are medicines? How can they teach us to understand the rains? Such gods are useless. Gods must help you in your suffering, help you live a better life and give you hope for tomorrow.”

He took a pair of spectacles from his pocket. “I like to read. The missionary schools were good for that, and for learning arithmetic. But that a man died, and came back to life after three days … I do not believe that. I do not think anyone believes that, though they pretend to … because belief keeps away fear.”

Natalie went to say something but he pressed on. “White people think their religion is more sophisticated, more advanced—better—than African ideas.” He shook his head. “No. Why does the same God have to work for everyone? Why can’t African gods work in Africa, European gods in Europe—?”

“Christianity works all over the world, Daniel.”

“But not for you. I’ve heard you say so.”

She nodded. It was true.

“Why do Christian laws work for you, then? People have different laws all over the world, in all the countries that call themselves Christian.”

“Yes, but murder is a crime everywhere.”

Daniel turned, keeping a wary eye on the leopard. Then he turned back. “To be a murderer you have to have the motive. If you kill in self-defense, even in Europe, even in Cambridge, it is not murder. That’s what Ndekei’s actions were—a form of self-defense. Self-defense for the tribe.”

“But …” Natalie faltered. She had been planning to say that no such concept—of self-defense for the tribe—existed in European law, but she could see the rest of the argument, how agreement between herself and Daniel was impossible. And she was getting hotter and hotter, upsetting herself.

She shook her head, inspected her watch, and then looked at the sun, now nearly overhead. “Oh, Daniel,” she breathed, laying her hand on his arm. “You saved my life and all I do is argue. I’m sorry. Let’s go back for lunch.”

The minute they arrived back in camp, Natalie could see that Eleanor had company. She was sitting outside her tent with a tall, gray-haired man wearing horn-rimmed spectacles. Natalie didn’t interrupt them but made straight for her own tent, where Mgina soon brought her the buckets of hot water she could shower with.

As Natalie soaped her hands, and ran the warm water over her neck—which was comfortingly cooling as it evaporated—she reflected that nothing more had been said about Jack’s idea for a press conference to publicize their findings and to force the authorities to confront the dilemma being faced in the gorge. Since the conversation outside his tent before the wildebeest stampede, Natalie had asked Jack twice if there had been any developments. He had replied that his mother was still making up her mind and that it would be unwise to press her. Natalie could believe that but it didn’t help her own predicament, her own peace of mind, and time was passing.

On the night when he’d first told Natalie about his idea for a press conference, when he had kissed her hands, Jack had said he would be back and he had been as good as his word. He didn’t visit her every night, but every three or four nights, nights when they finished dinner early, when the conversation didn’t linger, and for one reason or another no music was played. And he stayed for one cigarette only. That allowed her her privacy and at the same time they learned more about each other, his early life in the gorge, her time at Cambridge, his siblings, her father, Jock Deacon’s showmanship, her Ph.D., his Ph.D. Each night as he left, he kissed her hand. But nothing more; he didn’t crowd her.

Christopher had stopped coming and had stopped asking her on game drives. She was friendly whenever they sat together at table, or dug near each other in the gorge, but he was more reserved now than he had been earlier on. There were moments of unease but, overall, Natalie was happy enough.

She cleaned her teeth and brushed her hair. Their discoveries in the gorge, and Jack’s attentions, meant that she was thinking about her father less, and Dominic too. There were always the nights to get through, of course, but, somehow, she managed that.

She walked over to the refectory tent. The others were all there, including the tall stranger, who sat on Eleanor’s right. A place had been left for her on his right.

He stood up as she entered the tent.

“Natalie,” said Eleanor, “Natalie Nelson, this is Henry Radcliffe.”

They shook hands and sat down.

Deep runnels ran down the flesh on his face. The stubble on his chin was prominent, and the Adam’s apple at his throat. His hands were large. He wore a check shirt and corduroy trousers, which must have been very hot. He reminded Natalie of her father.

“Henry,” said Eleanor, “is African field officer for the Bell-Ryder Foundation, the foundation that supports this dig.”