Mackenzie Ford - The Clouds Beneath the Sun

Jack, Natalie, Eleanor, and Arnold were standing around Jack’s plane while he poured fuel into the tanks in the wings from the fortified spare cans he and Natalie had filled in Karatu. A group of about a dozen children sat on the ground next to the airstrip, their parents standing a little way off.

“Natalie,” said Jack. “If you don’t mind, I’d like you to sit in the back of the plane. If last year is anything to go by, some of the children get excited when we are in the air, and they fidget like mad, and don’t always keep their seat belts fastened. Make sure they do, will you? Now the short rains have started, there’s more cloud around and the air is less stable. If the children don’t have their seat belts on and we hit some holes in the air, they could get hurt.” He smiled at her. “Also, one or two get frightened once we have taken off, and they may need their hands held.”

“Okay,” he said, laying the petrol can back on the ground and screwing the lid back on the wing where the fuel pipe was. He clapped his hands. “Who wants to go first?”

All the children raised their arms.

Jack laughed. “Let’s do it village by village. Who comes from Tukana?” Four children raised their hands and he lifted one boy off his feet and carried him to the plane. Natalie did the same with a young girl. She got in behind the girl and sat next to her. Jack filled the plane with two more children and then climbed into the cockpit himself. He started his preflight checks.

Arnold was busy sketching the scene, and handing round his drawings to the parents.

Jack started the Comanche’s engines and taxied to the end of the airstrip.

“Is everyone strapped in?” he shouted.

“Yes,” Natalie answered for the children.

“Tukana, here we come!”

The plane lurched forward and gathered speed as it raced down the strip.

“Wave!” shouted Jack and the children in the plane waved to their parents as the Comanche lifted from the ground.

Jack and Natalie made three circuits in all, each lasting about thirty minutes, as they climbed in the sky, banked, and headed for one or another village, which they overflew at a low level. Each time they took in a stretch of the Sand River, where Jack knew they would see hippos, and where elephants were lurking in the vegetation. He kept up a running commentary all the time, pointing out aspects of the landscape that the children might otherwise miss.

One girl, Teza, was frightened by the noise of the plane and climbed on to Natalie’s lap, closing her eyes. But everyone else seemed to love their time in the air, and when Jack landed for the last time, two of the children went up to him, held him by the hand, and led him to a log they had found while he had been flying. They made him sit on the log and then they all stood in front of him, and began to sing.

Natalie stood under the wing of the plane, in the shade, watching and listening. Eleanor and Arnold had gone back to camp by now, but the children’s parents were still there.

The song didn’t last long and when it was over the children and their parents began to drift away.

Jack came over to Natalie.

“What was the song about?” she asked.

“Oh, it was a well-known ballad in this part of the Serengeti, about a mythical land where the only inhabitants are children, and all the wild animals are infants too, so there are no fights, no wars, no predators, everyone gets on. It was a nice way to say thank you, don’t you think?”

She nodded. “Have you ever had an accident in your plane?”

“Apart from the other day, do you mean, when Christopher tangled with those birds? No, I haven’t. I blew a tire on takeoff once and had to land very carefully, as slowly as possible, so the tireless wheel didn’t generate any sparks, to set the fuel vapor alight. Nothing worse than that. Why?”

She shrugged. “I think I’m getting the flying bug, so I should explore the risks.”

“Birds can be a problem, if you fly into a flock of them, or tiredness, and incomplete maintenance—you need to know your mechanics and have faith in them. Here in Kihara we have special risks too.”

“Oh? What’s that?”

He nodded towards the airstrip.

She followed his gaze.

The cheetahs were back.

“Good news and not-so-good news, everyone.” Eleanor sat back, her dinner half finished. Outside, the rain sluiced down, hammering on the roof of the refectory tent, rattling on the bonnets of the Land Rovers, hissing on the blackened logs of the campfire, precipitating smoke and steam and an acrid smell of burnt, wet whistling thorn. Eleanor had to raise her voice to make herself heard.

“Christopher has found us a venue for the press conference, a lecture theater at the Royal College, which he says is earmarked to become a university after independence. So it’s a suitably forward-looking institution which is not segregated in any way, shape, or form. And it has all the facilities we need to get over our message—film screens, slide projectors, a proper microphone system. It’s conveniently located and we can afford it.”

“What’s the bad news?”

“Poor Christopher.” Eleanor smiled, but sadly. “With all this rain, there was a flash flood near Ngiro. The road from Nairobi has been cut—washed away. It will be days before it is repaired and so he can’t get back. I’ve told him to sit it out in Nairobi, to hold tight there over Christmas. He can wait in town till the press conference and spend the time making sure everything runs like clockwork. And he can make early contact with the visiting journalists.”

“I could fly up and fetch him,” said Jack. “And take him back afterwards, so he can drive back the Land Rover.”

Eleanor shook her head. “Don’t worry, Jack. I’ve given him three flying lessons as a Christmas present. At Nairobi International Airport, in the private part. He’ll be fine, he’s got plenty to do.”

She looked round the table. “Now, originally we were going to break for the holidays after lunch tomorrow, it being Christmas Eve. In view of the weather, however, we may as well call it a day now, and start digging again after the break, and after the press conference. Maxwell Sandys is coming in a plane for me tomorrow morning, and we are flying up to Lake Victoria for forty-eight hours. I know Daniel’s going home to see his wife and family, in Nyanza. I’ve told the cooking staff they don’t need to come in after breakfast tomorrow. Has anyone else made any plans?”

Arnold leaned forward. “Jonas and I are going to the hot springs at Kubwa for a couple of days. Make ourselves even more beautiful.” He grinned.

“Natalie? Jack?”

Natalie was suddenly at a loss. With all the concentration necessary to prepare for the press conference, she hadn’t taken on board that the camp would be quite so deserted over Christmas. She didn’t know what to say.

“Don’t worry about me or Natalie, Mother. I’m going snorkeling on the reef off Lamu. Natalie’s coming with me.”

“You sit there. You can look right out to sea. India is just over the horizon.” Jack held the chair for Natalie.

“Thank you. Have you ever been to India?”

He shook his head as he sat down. “I’m an Africa man. Doesn’t it show?”

“Whenever I’ve been around, you’ve kept your tail well hidden.”

The restaurant was very small, a veranda of about eight tables, of which only two others were occupied. It was lit by hurricane lamps and candles. The sea itself was the width of the beach away, inky black, collapsing on to the sand in soft slurps.

Natalie fingered the menu, a short card.