Read Online Mrs. Pollifax on Safari by Dorothy Gilman - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Dorothy Gilman
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spying as well. After all, it was taxpayers’ money that was paying for her safari, she thought virtuously, and as a taxpayer herself she abhorred waste.
Besides, she added, dropping all pretense at justification, it would be such fun to surprise Carstairs and catch Aristotle.
CHAPTER
6
In the morning the safari officially began with the game-viewing excursion up the river before leaving for Kafwala camp. Mrs. Pollifax came to breakfast early and still a little sleepy, for it was barely seven and she’d not slept with any continuity. The walls of her cabin had rustled all night—she was convinced that some small animal lived in them—and at one point she had awakened to a loud animal cry, followed by a soft whistle and the pounding of feet. After this another fruit had dropped from the tree outside her cabin, and the reeds had begun to whisper again … At breakfast Julian told her that animals roamed freely through the camp at night, that a hippo had been heard and that pukus, who liked the safety of the camp at night, made soft whistling sounds. It was just as well she’d not known, she reflected, or shemight never have dared fall asleep again.
“I want you to meet Crispin now,” Julian said as they rose from the breakfast table. “I will be staying at camp to make final arrangements for our trip at noon, and Crispin will take you game-viewing. He’s assistant safari manager and he’ll be with us for the entire safari.”
Crispin was not in uniform, and looked surprisingly like an eager schoolboy in his flowered shirt, dark trousers and sneakers. He had a long slender face and bright, interested eyes. He actually looked excited about taking them out game-viewing, and Mrs. Pollifax found this rather endearing.
John Steeves said, “Crispin’s even more English than Julian. What are your Zambian names?”
“Mine?” Julian laughed. “You want it all at once? Milimo Simoko Chikwanda.”
Steeves grinned. “I’ll call you Julian. And Crispin’s?”
“Wamufu Chinyanta Muchona.”
Steeves nodded. “Definitely Julian and Crispin.”
“I think so,” Julian said in amusement
There was a charming picnic air about the excursion up the river. The sun was soft and golden, the river full of morning sounds, and they traveled on a splendid breakfast of bacon and eggs, sausage, toast and coffee. Mr. Kleiber, sitting next to Mrs. Pollifax, went so far as to confide that he would like to see a crocodile. Across the aisle Amy Lovecraft had blossomed out with a professional-looking camera loaded with all kinds of attachments that she tried to explain to John Steeves. The Reeds sat together in front, both looking sleepy; Tom Henry and Chanda stood in the stern of the boat andMcIntosh by himself in the bow; he too bristled with cameras and light meters.
Abruptly Crispin called out to the boy at the wheel, gestured, and the launch headed across to the opposite bank, at which point Mrs. Pollifax lifted her camera and took a picture of the river ahead, managing to capture several profiles at the same time. She had already taken a snapshot of everyone climbing into the boat and no one seemed to have minded except Cyrus Reed, who had glanced at her reproachfully, as if he’d not expected this of her.
“Hippo,” said Crispin in a low voice, and pointed.
Every head turned to the left, the launch slowed and they coasted toward a cleft in the tangle of roots and trees that lined the riverbank. Slowly they drew abreast of a dark, secret-looking inlet of water that flowed into the river, and as they reached this narrow tributary Mrs. Pollifax looked deep into its shadows and saw enormous shapes moving through the trees, and suddenly heard a thunderous roar as the first hippo plunged into the stream. Patches of sunlight glinted across monstrous black heads as the hippos floated and bobbed out into the river. She counted five, six, seven hippos and gave up counting at eleven. They kept coming, whole families snorting and
Besides, she added, dropping all pretense at justification, it would be such fun to surprise Carstairs and catch Aristotle.
CHAPTER
6
In the morning the safari officially began with the game-viewing excursion up the river before leaving for Kafwala camp. Mrs. Pollifax came to breakfast early and still a little sleepy, for it was barely seven and she’d not slept with any continuity. The walls of her cabin had rustled all night—she was convinced that some small animal lived in them—and at one point she had awakened to a loud animal cry, followed by a soft whistle and the pounding of feet. After this another fruit had dropped from the tree outside her cabin, and the reeds had begun to whisper again … At breakfast Julian told her that animals roamed freely through the camp at night, that a hippo had been heard and that pukus, who liked the safety of the camp at night, made soft whistling sounds. It was just as well she’d not known, she reflected, or shemight never have dared fall asleep again.
“I want you to meet Crispin now,” Julian said as they rose from the breakfast table. “I will be staying at camp to make final arrangements for our trip at noon, and Crispin will take you game-viewing. He’s assistant safari manager and he’ll be with us for the entire safari.”
Crispin was not in uniform, and looked surprisingly like an eager schoolboy in his flowered shirt, dark trousers and sneakers. He had a long slender face and bright, interested eyes. He actually looked excited about taking them out game-viewing, and Mrs. Pollifax found this rather endearing.
John Steeves said, “Crispin’s even more English than Julian. What are your Zambian names?”
“Mine?” Julian laughed. “You want it all at once? Milimo Simoko Chikwanda.”
Steeves grinned. “I’ll call you Julian. And Crispin’s?”
“Wamufu Chinyanta Muchona.”
Steeves nodded. “Definitely Julian and Crispin.”
“I think so,” Julian said in amusement
There was a charming picnic air about the excursion up the river. The sun was soft and golden, the river full of morning sounds, and they traveled on a splendid breakfast of bacon and eggs, sausage, toast and coffee. Mr. Kleiber, sitting next to Mrs. Pollifax, went so far as to confide that he would like to see a crocodile. Across the aisle Amy Lovecraft had blossomed out with a professional-looking camera loaded with all kinds of attachments that she tried to explain to John Steeves. The Reeds sat together in front, both looking sleepy; Tom Henry and Chanda stood in the stern of the boat andMcIntosh by himself in the bow; he too bristled with cameras and light meters.
Abruptly Crispin called out to the boy at the wheel, gestured, and the launch headed across to the opposite bank, at which point Mrs. Pollifax lifted her camera and took a picture of the river ahead, managing to capture several profiles at the same time. She had already taken a snapshot of everyone climbing into the boat and no one seemed to have minded except Cyrus Reed, who had glanced at her reproachfully, as if he’d not expected this of her.
“Hippo,” said Crispin in a low voice, and pointed.
Every head turned to the left, the launch slowed and they coasted toward a cleft in the tangle of roots and trees that lined the riverbank. Slowly they drew abreast of a dark, secret-looking inlet of water that flowed into the river, and as they reached this narrow tributary Mrs. Pollifax looked deep into its shadows and saw enormous shapes moving through the trees, and suddenly heard a thunderous roar as the first hippo plunged into the stream. Patches of sunlight glinted across monstrous black heads as the hippos floated and bobbed out into the river. She counted five, six, seven hippos and gave up counting at eleven. They kept coming, whole families snorting and
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