Chapter 7
Lusaka, November 9
Gideon loved returning to his little single room digs in Lusaka. They tuck behind the big garage across from Claudia’s cottage. Waiting for her, he sat updating his journal on the comfortable cushions of the couch in her abode, situated in one of the old leafy suburbs of the city.
Looking up from his laptop he wondered, as always, how she had beautifully upgraded the old building, creating an oasis surrounded by tall red brick walls high enough to hide the scruffiness outside, thereby giving it an anonymity screened from the attention of passersby. Inside, the high walls afforded the place a courtyard like atmosphere. The cottages brick work is fresher than that of the wall and the servant’s quarters behind it, hinting at a common vintage with that of the big racious Jacarandas whose shade and expansive spread ameliorates the squareness of the structures they shade.
“The thing I most missed about London after coming back here, Claudia had said, “was its little tucked away courtyards. So I made my own, with an African essence.”
Instead of English ivy it is bougainvillea which she has trained along the top of the walls, draping each in flowery hues of red, white, pink, and purple profusion. The creeper’s thorny prickles provide a further obstacle to anyone attempting to clamber over.
It was by lucky word of mouth that he had stumbled on this place and become Claudia’s tenant. With two grown sons and an ex-husband in the UK, she no longer had dependents. Her relatively undemanding lifestyle meant she didn’t need servants. This freed up the small servant apartment which were Gideon’s formal digs.
From the moment they met, her hybrid mixture of culture and self, appeal to his own kaleidoscopic background
Yesterday, when he arrived back from the bush she had been away. He had wasted no time. He contacted an acquaintance who had served with the current head of the Wildlife Authority when they were young rangers. The contact said he would see about setting up an audience when Gideon next visited.
This was better than he had hoped. He could possibly reach higher up the chain of authority than had he used Ernest’s help. Not to mention, so far less expensive.
Now, settled back on the couch his usual thrill of anticipation at Claudia’s impending appearance was ruffled by the few lines of text on his phone. He had sporadically glanced at them for the last two days.
As he stared out at the courtyard through the open double doors. To one side was an assegai tripod holding up a floor lamp. Opposite was a large soapstone sculpture of an old African man clad in a loincloth. The figure and face had a vague resemblance to that of the Crocodile man. Looking at the sculptures stony stare, he rhetorically muttered, “So, old man! What should I do? Answer or ignore.”
Heck, hadn’t she knocked him around enough to figure it out himself.
He rested his feet on the coffee table, and leaning back with his arms stretched out along the back of the couch he closed his eyes to block the sculpture’s disapproving glare.
For the first time in his life, it was this place, this courtyard, this room, this Claudia who had begun to give him a sense of home.
Dammit! Why was he allowing a simple text to scrape an old scab off a wound.
He would be stupid to blow on old embers and risk it all.
he reread the new message. ‘Happy birthday – Sophia.’
He placed his phone on the table and the note from his pocket next to it. If the one was a twist in the progress of his job, the other was a buckle of his heart from a long time ago. Today with age, he would probably pass her unrecognized in the street. Yet, he could recall the lilt of her voice as clearly as the crooning of the doves outside. Like that old Africa, she had once been part of his dreams of a future. The timing of her re-emergence seemed as ordained as it was unsettling. Maybe he was mistaken to discredit the bewitching supernatural. How had she remembered that it was his birthday.
The back door opened, startling him from his reverie. Claudia’s figure, clad in an austere monotone business suit was silhouetted in the brightness of the outside sunshine.
So lost in thought. he hadn’t heard her car entering the garage, or her walking across the paving to the back door. Holding a leather briefcase in one hand and a grocery bag in the other, and with a wide smile on her happy face, she called out to him. “Hi, I’m home.” following’ up with a blown kiss.
He wasn’t accustomed to seeing her so businesslike. Usually she dressed in relaxed comfortable, eye catchingly colorful attire. It was a reason she returned to Africa. Exuberant clothing isn’t discouraged in the workplace. Why not? Color is good for the soul, she said.
She was always full of smiles, laughing at something. If her predilection for color had a part in this, he was all for it. It added to her attractiveness, her warmth glowing in the calabash of her body, ochre ebony, tempting, tantalizing
“Wow! You look so businesslike!”
Setting her leather briefcase and keys down on the table, and the grocery bag on the floor, she gave Gideon a hug.
“I’ve come straight from the airport. Occasionally I need to dress this way,” she said wryly. “It’s easier to say No.”
What she did for her boss Mohammed she never overtly explained. But she seemed to be needed whenever an important meeting was scheduled.
Like a pet dog, Gideon sometimes sniffed out enough to know what business was being served, snippets of phone conversations, rare expressions of frustration. He wondered if it was for his protection that she withheld information. Outside her courtyard, she preferred to keep him at a distance. No shows of public intimacy. Not even hand holding.
But so far, so good.
“Would you like a cup of tea?”
Without waiting for a reply, she poured him a cup.
He took it, and a biscuit from the plate she presented. “Where were you this time?” he asked.
“I was up in Mufilira, meeting a few crude types from across the Congo border. She interrupted the flow, “Hang on, I’m going to get out of this straight jacket.” She disappeared into her bedroom.
Emerging wearing a loose t-shirt and a light floral skirt she sat next to him on the couch. Twisting sideways, and leaning back, she laid her head on his lap. “It was a tough day! I need a little pampering.”
He stroked her forehead and brushed his hand over the curls of her thick black hair. “Where, and why do you have to say No”
“Oh, it’s nothing much,” she replied. “Sometimes there are men who still live in the last century with their manners.”
She rolled over with her eyes closed and asked, “Can you give me a massage?”
Obligingly he ran his big workman hands over her back, pressing up onto her shoulders.
“Do you have to deal with uncouth sorts often?” he asked.
“Unfortunately yes,” she sighed. “The rule of law on the Coongo side of the border is a lot more lax, and the sort of business those that I deal with is not for the fait of heart. But generally I have back up, and wearing a very formal business suit sends a signal”
She sighed. “Actually, all men need to be reminded of the rules occasionally. Even you.” She looked up at him pointedly. “You should know this better than anyone! Wandering hands are seldom far behind wandering eyes”
“Hey! You haven’t too much to complain about,” he said grudgingly. “Look how much fun my wanderings have brought to you.” He gave her shoulders extra-long drawn-out strokes.
“Back then you were lucky! I was in a good mood to let you get as far as you did,” she said. “I should have worn a police uniform. You would have behaved yourself.”
Gideon kept moving his hands lower down her back. “Success comes to those who seek it,” he said.
Claudia opened her eyes. “At least my backup is good to work with. We have a lot of interesting meetings.”
“Who is that?”
“He’s related to Mohammed somehow. I think by marriage. Originally from East Africa somewhere.
Gideon took a sip of his tea, then went on massaging.
“That feels so good.” She half opened her eyes as he kneaded her shoulders.
“I have something to show you.” He picked up the note from the table. “Look at this.” He handed it to her.
She turned it over to study its crumpled brown paper before reading it and giving it back. “So? Who wrote it?”
“I don’t know. It was found on some slashed cement sacks at the building site of a new lodge in the park.”
He went on massaging, as she purred with pleasure. She moved to lay across his lap. “My back needs some more attention.”
Gideon untucked her t-shirt, lifting it above the clasp of her bra. nclipping it, he let its straps drop, baring her back. With his other hand, he lifted the hem of her skirt, exposing the back of her thighs. With long rhythmic hand strokes, , his hands kneaded up along her spine, then drifted back down over the roundness of her rump, and the back of her thighs. He followed the cadence of his rubbing with the drift of his eyes, admiring the bell-shaped breadth of her hips and the soft smoothness of her legs.
“So, what is your plan?” Her voice was muffled by the cushions of the couch.
“I don’t really have a plan.” He hesitated. “I’m goingout on a limb by doing something about this. My status lets me be involved with policing of the park, but only as far as training goes. My salary isn’t paid by the government”
He let his hands reach down the back of her calves.
“I’m trying to get a meeting with a high official in ZAWA to see if he can authorize more game scouts.”
“Is the note tied to the old man at the crocodile attack. The one you texted me about?”
“I don’t know,” he said.
Sitting up Claudia leaned against him.
“Bright told me that there have been issues for some time.”
He felt her rest her head on his shoulder.
“I don’t want to get wrapped up in some witchcraft bullshit, but if it is connected to poaching, I feel I need to be involved. I want to instill a sense of urgency and aggression in the response of the guys I’m training. To react to any incident, like we did fighting in Angola. Take the initiative.”
A peevishness entered his voice. “As you know dealing with this superstition stuff is bad enough, but compounding it some locals deep down don’t accept me or want me here.”
He described Kings behavior.
Claudia looked at him. “Wasn’t your platoon sargeant in Angola from here somewhere?”
Gideon frowned, surprised. “Yes. What about him?”
“Do you still have contact with him? She paused.”Why don’t you see if he is around. Maybe he can help figure it out if witchcraft is mixed in.”
“That’s a long shot.” Gideon replied dismissively.
“Give it a whirl.” She said. “What have you got to lose? I bet the locals would tell him stuff they would never tell you.”
With his arm over her shoulder, the tips of his fingers drifted across the fullness of her breast.
“It has been years since we last had contact.”
“So what,” she said dismissively. “Wasn’t he raised on a mission out on the Angola border? See if you can speak to someone out there. Maybe they will know where to find him. “
She stood, kicking off her shoes. “By the way, it’s’ your birthday, isn’t it?”
Seeing his curious expression, she continued. “I have a present for you.”
“Oh, You remember,” He said in surprise. “What kind of present?”
“You have started unwrapping it.
She reached for his hand and led him across the room.
