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Authors: Tamara Cape
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breakdown. “I saw nothing – did you?”
“I’m writing it down,” Kerry said. “Describing our breakdown in the bundu.”
Later the heat forced her out of the car. She joined him in the patch of shade under the tree.
“October – they call it the suicide month,” Chad said tersely, wiping the perspiration from his brow. “Heat builds before the summer rains break. Right now it must be around the hundred mark. Feel the humidity: clouds are forming – rain’s not far off.”
Kerry had a sudden thought. “Can ’t we build a fire? Make smoke.”
“You don ’t start fires in national parks.”
“Not even on the sand of the river bed?”
“It only takes a spark and the grazing in half the park is destroyed.”
***
Chad Lindsay was a worried man. They were immobilized on a disused road at the hottest time of the year. They needed help – fast. The heat was making them drowsy. If Kerry fell asleep, he would scribble a note and head out for the road, lions or no lions.
Meanwhile, he had much to think about. Once the car was towed to Main Camp, what then? This was not motortown, Johannesburg. Where do you find spares, get repairs done in this wilderness? He watched a Bateleur eagle riding the wind high above. Step at a time, he told himself. First get to Camp, see what the mechanic advises. No point in worrying about it now.
Three hours had passed since the breakdown. Kerry had returned to the car and fallen asleep, a victim of nervous exhaustion and the heat.
He walked past the car and out across the concrete spanning the dry river bed. The sand was pockmarked with the tracks of many animals. A mound of sand appeared to have been left by a man digging with a spade. He knew it had been made by an elephant searching for water. Ordinarily, he would have taken pleasure in investigating the spoor in the river bed, but he kept on walking up the sun-baked track. He wore a pair of veldskoen light boots. Their tough leather protected his feet and ankles from the needle-sharp thorns – useful too should he find himself in danger and have to run or climb a tree.
The wind ruffled his clothing and the air suddenly felt cooler. His plan was to reach the road and get help before Kerry knew he was gone. His veldskoen covered the ground silently but he worried about the lions and kept his head up, watching the ground ahead.
The sound of distant thunder caused him to look back. The sky to the west was full of angry clouds, and the shadow of rain fell from their base. Momentarily, the blue-grey core of the thickest cloud was lit by a jagged flash of lightning. The count until the rumble of thunder reached his ears was ten.
On the riverbank below, the white car stood out, looking alien amid the yellows and browns of dry-season Africa. To continue on to the road with the storm almost upon them – leaving Kerry alone and worried – seemed the height of irresponsibility. Even if he pressed on to the main road, would any cars be travelling through the storm? Most visitors, wary of the lightning, would have scurried back to camp.
Chad turned and trudged back down the hill, his plan abandoned.
SIX
The storm hit with a blinding fury. Gale force winds were followed by thick sheets of rain which hammered loudly on the car’s bodywork. Visibility dropped to near zero. Lightning flashed and the accompanying thunder claps rolled.
Kerry poured warm beer into paper cups.
“Dinner will be chunks of corned beef and biscuits,” she announced cheerfully, having to shout to make herself heard. “How long is this likely to last?”
“An hour or two.”
Chad was distracted. The storm had fired his imagination. He had never painted weather like this. Here was strength and mystery, a terrible beauty – the long-awaited life force rolling unstoppably over a threatened land. He was glad he had abandoned his trek to the road. There would have been no shelter from a storm of this magnitude.
By the time natural
“I’m writing it down,” Kerry said. “Describing our breakdown in the bundu.”
Later the heat forced her out of the car. She joined him in the patch of shade under the tree.
“October – they call it the suicide month,” Chad said tersely, wiping the perspiration from his brow. “Heat builds before the summer rains break. Right now it must be around the hundred mark. Feel the humidity: clouds are forming – rain’s not far off.”
Kerry had a sudden thought. “Can ’t we build a fire? Make smoke.”
“You don ’t start fires in national parks.”
“Not even on the sand of the river bed?”
“It only takes a spark and the grazing in half the park is destroyed.”
***
Chad Lindsay was a worried man. They were immobilized on a disused road at the hottest time of the year. They needed help – fast. The heat was making them drowsy. If Kerry fell asleep, he would scribble a note and head out for the road, lions or no lions.
Meanwhile, he had much to think about. Once the car was towed to Main Camp, what then? This was not motortown, Johannesburg. Where do you find spares, get repairs done in this wilderness? He watched a Bateleur eagle riding the wind high above. Step at a time, he told himself. First get to Camp, see what the mechanic advises. No point in worrying about it now.
Three hours had passed since the breakdown. Kerry had returned to the car and fallen asleep, a victim of nervous exhaustion and the heat.
He walked past the car and out across the concrete spanning the dry river bed. The sand was pockmarked with the tracks of many animals. A mound of sand appeared to have been left by a man digging with a spade. He knew it had been made by an elephant searching for water. Ordinarily, he would have taken pleasure in investigating the spoor in the river bed, but he kept on walking up the sun-baked track. He wore a pair of veldskoen light boots. Their tough leather protected his feet and ankles from the needle-sharp thorns – useful too should he find himself in danger and have to run or climb a tree.
The wind ruffled his clothing and the air suddenly felt cooler. His plan was to reach the road and get help before Kerry knew he was gone. His veldskoen covered the ground silently but he worried about the lions and kept his head up, watching the ground ahead.
The sound of distant thunder caused him to look back. The sky to the west was full of angry clouds, and the shadow of rain fell from their base. Momentarily, the blue-grey core of the thickest cloud was lit by a jagged flash of lightning. The count until the rumble of thunder reached his ears was ten.
On the riverbank below, the white car stood out, looking alien amid the yellows and browns of dry-season Africa. To continue on to the road with the storm almost upon them – leaving Kerry alone and worried – seemed the height of irresponsibility. Even if he pressed on to the main road, would any cars be travelling through the storm? Most visitors, wary of the lightning, would have scurried back to camp.
Chad turned and trudged back down the hill, his plan abandoned.
SIX
The storm hit with a blinding fury. Gale force winds were followed by thick sheets of rain which hammered loudly on the car’s bodywork. Visibility dropped to near zero. Lightning flashed and the accompanying thunder claps rolled.
Kerry poured warm beer into paper cups.
“Dinner will be chunks of corned beef and biscuits,” she announced cheerfully, having to shout to make herself heard. “How long is this likely to last?”
“An hour or two.”
Chad was distracted. The storm had fired his imagination. He had never painted weather like this. Here was strength and mystery, a terrible beauty – the long-awaited life force rolling unstoppably over a threatened land. He was glad he had abandoned his trek to the road. There would have been no shelter from a storm of this magnitude.
By the time natural
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