was all he had; tomorrow was coming as sure as the Southern Cross swirled overhead.
In Elise’s bed, Brett’s hand slipped off her thigh as she rolled away.
“What’s that sound,” Elise asked. In one fast motion, she yanked the sheet and then wrapped it around her.
“Hang on,” Brett shivered and reached for the blanket or the duvet or something. Midnight in June was cold. “Come back here.”
“I hear something,” She drifted across her bungalow, the sheet trailing behind her. Brett finally found the blanket next to the wall. After they had abandoned the roof, they crept through the dark lobby, teasing about the trophy heads and whether the puku could keep a secret.
“It’s the ellies under your balcony.” He eyeballed the floor. Where were his pants?
She opened the balcony sliding glass door.Brett pulled on his shorts, the zipper snatching at his belly. He yelped. She stood at the balcony railing, swishing the sheet like it was a formal gown.
“Come join me. Is that the baby we saw the other night?”
She knew, from the way she was posed, how she looked. He hesitated; anybody walking past would hear them talking. The old Shona saying, ’Don’t stop to look for the crocodiles half way across the river,’ buzzed in his head. He joined her and pointed to the hillside, five meters below them. “Yes, it’s Henry,” he answered. He kissed her, both because he could and to keep her from talking anymore. If it was after 1 a.m., it was likely David had gone to bed and wouldn’t catch him.
She turned in his arms, leaning her back against his chest. The trees were like black clouds against the sky. The moon was ducked behind a cloud so a hazy half light softened the hillside.
“There’s the Milky way.” He pointed overhead. “And I think that’s your Orion the hunter, isn’t it?”
“Brett?” David’s voice boomed on the path.
“Shit,” Brett whispered, burying his face in her hair. “I’m not supposed to be here.”
“Not to worry, I’ll say I was talking to my brother on my cell phone.”
It wouldn’t wash, he knew David would never believe it. Why would David have heard a cell phone caller’s voice and why would the brother be talking about the stars overhead. Damn David’s old fashioned moral code. Elise was fun but she was trouble times two.
She swirled the sheet, walked into the bungalow, dropped it and pulled on her robe. Then she marched over and opened her door. “Mr. Colton.”
Brett crouched in the balcony’s corner, hopefully invisible behind the curtains. She could have given him another second before she opened the door. If David saw him, it would be ugly, but he didn’t. In another minute, the door was shut and she was leading him back to bed. He’d try to sneak out in another hour.
VIII Bumi Hills, Saturday, morning
At eight o’clock sharp, Isaac, standing by the kitchen door with Mrs. Hilda, watched as Brett and David and Jeremy loaded the luggage and the tourists into the van and Jeremy drove off, carrying Elise and all the others to the landing strip. They waved as they did every time a group of tourists left the lodge after their week of safaris.
“Astrida called me when she got home yesterday,” Mrs. Hilda murmured in Shona.
“I hope she had a good journey,” Isaac responded.
“She did, but others did not.” Mrs. Hilda sat on the bench, her hands gripping the stone. “The cops or somebody calling themselves the Presidential Guard were questioning many travelers. Searching their things. It’s no good harassing our own people.”
“Where did Astrida say they were?” Hearing Presidential Guard spoken in English in the middle of her words was like a tear in fabric. Isaac tried to swallow but his throat felt swollen.
“Down where the Chiluba highway crosses Route 17, but they were heading to the north.” Mrs. Hilda rested her hand on his forearm. “Stay out of sight for a while.”
Isaac sat next to her and she squeezed his arm. The sound of angry voices came from the car park and rebounded off the stucco walls of the kitchen wing. Brett and David were arguing about something. Brett clutched a card and waved it, just out of Colton’s reach. Colton jabbed his finger and sounded like he was growling. Then he turned and left Brett, standing there, shaking his head.
“Heyyah Brett,” Isaac called and Brett trotted over.
“Good morning, Mrs. Hilda and how are you this lovely day?” Brett asked, sounding polite to her, but he clenched his fists. “Isaac, let’s go see the folks and get that Jeep. I know you’d like to. I suddenly have the day free.” His English words seemed clipped and jagged after the Shona. “You need to check the tires on the little Jeep. They wobble, I’m sure they do. I told David we’d check it.” Brett looked more cocky than angry now.
Isaac considered. If the Presidential Guard were moving north, then all the more reason to get to the folks before they did.
“Give my best to your parents,” Mrs. Hilda offered. “Be careful.”
“Isaac, let’s hurry up and go. Good day and thank you, Mrs. Hilda.”
She nodded and went into the kitchen.
As they hurried to the vehicle shed, Brett filled him in on the details. Seeing his Bumi Hills game guide shirt draped over Elise’s chair was enough for David to get furious and suspend him for two days. Then Brett started to say “She’s--” and he grinned and said nothing else. He showed Isaac Elise’s business card and reported she’d invited them to visit. Her office was in the BBC building in Lusaka. Taking David’s short Jeep would be good revenge.
If they hurried, Isaac hoped they could be there by lunchtime.
Brett tapped his thumbs like drumsticks to the jazz on the radio, Isaac’s Harare station. The closer they got to the farm, the quieter Isaac had become. He turned from the district road onto the paved lane. The farm’s driveway was three kilometers ahead. “Didn’t Dad say the watermelons and pawpaws won’t be ripe for another two weeks?”
“As cool as the temperature’s been, they’ll be a bit behind this year.” Isaac’s arms were wrapped around his chest. Probably the road surface jarred his bruises and his collarbone.
“With no field work to be done, we’ll get a wonderful lunch and dessert and coffee. We grab the Jeep and head back. Easy.” Brett chuckled.
Isaac nodded, but his mouth was shut, a straight line. As they turned onto the farm’s long gravel driveway, Brett eyeballed the peach trees to snatch a peach. The peacocks always hollered in the driveway, but not today. “Where are Mom’s birds?”
“Old Angus,” Isaac pointed. The old cock sprawled on the edge of the driveway, its neck bent backwards in a u-shape and its breast torn open, flies buzzing on it.
At the top of the driveway where it forked left to his mom’s house and right to the Ba-Noah’s house, Brett saw five strange cars, blue sedans blocking the driveway. Ba-Noah’s house windows were broken. Across the garden, his mom’s house stood with blinds pulled down but no sign of damage. Brett accelerated.
“Old government vehicles. See the plates?” Isaac’s hand shook as he pointed.
A bearded man in khaki camouflage crawled out of the first sedan and he flagged them down by swinging a semi-automatic rifle. Brett geared down abruptly and the Jeep bucked.
“Follow me on this,” Isaac said, yanking Brett’s game lodge hat low on his forehead. “I’d better be the boss.”
“What? Your color’s more to their liking?” People didn’t treat each other differently based on color, certainly not here in his mom’s domain. She wouldn’t have it--unless