| |
 
April 27, 1911. Noon
There’s something different in the air. It’s something I can’t quite put my finger on. I can taste it. There is something different about Africa, something small, almost indescribable. My gut tells me it’s dangerous. I can’t say anything more than this. It was a normal afternoon, with the sun hanging pregnant in the sky, casting its rays over the savanna as it always does. I was hunting an elephant, a grand beast with a leathery hide and heartbreaking eyes. It had strong, ivory tusks. I was getting ready to pull the trigger, to claim his tusks as a prize. Then, at that precise moment that Africa changed, my riffle refused to shoot. It must be the air. Africa is growing hotter by the day.
No. It’s more than the heat and the air. I fear it will never be that simple. Something has changed. I fear that it’ll be the end of me. There is no way to verify or dispel this fear. For now, I will merely consign it to heat-induced delirium. However, I fear that it is something more.
Being the lone American in British-colonized Africa certainly had its perks. Jayce Grant found that, among these distinct advantages, the most puzzling was the distinct interest the Brits seemed to have invested in him. When he had first moved to Africa, several years ago, following his uncle on a lucrative contract involving one crop or another, Jayce had expected to be scorned and mocked. It was a pleasant surprise that the British who inhabited Africa did not cast a sour eye on his American accent. In fact, some (mainly the young women who fanned themselves with delicate, lace things) found it endearing. Jayce soon fell in love with the climate of Africa. Something about the rough and flat landscape captured his attention. Once his uncle’s business venture was mercilessly driven into the ground, due to the lack of rain and available funds, Jayce made the decision to stay in Africa while his uncle returned back to America, head bowed in shame. Of course, there was the incentive of a young girl who’s dry legs seemed to itch for Jayce. That, however, did not last long. Like the passing of spring in New England, the girl’s attention wavered and she returned to England to be wedded. However, by that time, Jayce had found himself enthralled by the landscape of Africa. Every dip, valley, and shard of grass within Africa seemed to sing to him. Jayce felt a connection to the land. It was an intrinsic bond, something that he had never felt in his native America.
Thus, Jayce entered into the lucrative business of ivory trading. He also spent some of his free time hosting safaris. As he spent much time wandering about the savannas, a byproduct of his curiosity, Jayce had become familiar with the animals and their habits. Overall, Jayce had spent five years in Africa. If he had to chose, Jayce would gladly say that those five years were the best of his life. Not only was he being challenged by the British girls, but the money earned from elephant hunting provided him with a pretty stable life. Elephant hunting also provided a certain Brady Weston with cushioned pockets. Naturally, it followed that Jayce had spent his early morning conversing with Brady Weston. The two sat at the gentlemen’s club, Brady dressed in an expensive cotton shirt, vest, and pants. His jacket lay draped over the back of his chair. It was a typical African morning: hot. Jayce was dressed in his usual attire, kakhi safari pants and a khaki jacket layered over a dark olive shirt. With a sherry in hand, Brady was doing what he did best: bragging. “Willa and I are to be married in a few days,” he said causally, taking a sip of his sherry. The manner that Brady produced a photograph of his fiance seemed breezy and nonchalant, but Jayce could tell that the man was proud of his claim. Willa Bradshaw was a beautiful woman, from what Jayce could gather from the photograph. She looked a little too stiff for his liking, with her tight laced corset and forced smile.
Jayce payed little attention to Brady’s occasional ramblings. The rich Brit didn’t speak much, he simply swirled the dark amber liquid in his glass and cast the occasional glance at Jayce. The book of poetry set before Jayce’s eyes bothered Brady. Mr. Weston enjoyed being the center of attention, and he duly thought that he deserved to be so. “An interesting book?” Brady asked politley, trying to find some way to focus Jayce’s attention on himself. Whatever the content, Brady doubted that any work of literature could be intriguing as himself. After all, art was a representation of life. It was a way to perfect an imperfect world. Brady didn’t see the need for art, asides from aesthetics, decoration, and status. He was, after all, the pinnacle of perfection. A silly volume of poetry was an unnecessary distraction. If Jayce had been a woman, Brady would have probably gone mad with rage. “I do believe that I should give some parting gift to the widow Bradshaw,” Brady mused, waiting for Jayce to respond.
“Why not ivory?” Jayce asked, coming to the logical conclusion. He had worked with Brady long enough to understand the man’s patterns of thinking. Brady would leave a comment lingering in the air as a prompt. He knew the answer he wanted to here, but he allowed others to supply it for him. Being that he and Jayce worked in the ivory trade together, it was only natural that Brady would want to gift the widowed Mrs. Bradshaw with ivory. It was an exotic gift that the aging woman could return to England with. Such an unique trinket would be perfect for impressing dinner guests. “What a grand idea, Mr. Grant. Do we have any elephant tusks lying about?” “I don’t think so. I think we shipped our latest batch up to England a week ago.” Brady pursed his lips. The wedding was in several days and he was anxious to get Mrs. Bradshaw back to England. Truth be told, the overbearing mother irritated him. Her presence could be likened to a fly buzzing near his ear, she was always hovering and flitting about, trying to shape her daughter into a respectable young woman. Brady knew that her cause was hopeless. Only a husband could shape a girl into a proper woman.
After his dreary brunch with Brady (Jayce had never been a big fan of the man), Jayce began wandering about the savanna. He wasn’t in the mood to hunt elephants or to do anything productive. During the past two weeks he had been filled with a sense of restless urgency. It was as if something was gnawing inside the hollows of his chest. At first Jayce feared that he had been infected by some disease or parasite. That wasn’t the case. It was simply an unexplainable feeling, call it a foreboding if you will, that seemed to hover at the base of Jayce’s head. He felt lethargic and forgetful, as if there was something he needed to accomplish. The trouble was that Jayce didn’t know what he was supposed to accomplish or even what was rousing these troublesome thoughts. All that Jayce knew was that Africa somehow felt different. It was an indescribable sensation. If he tried to articulate it, Jayce would have been thought at as mad. He knew he wasn’t mad. Jayce just had a connection to Africa.
With his satchel strapped across his chest, Jayce was prepared to wander the savanna. His hunting rifle was also strapped across his broad chest for easy access. It was better not to tempt fate. A hungry lioness is a lot easier to ward off with a handy weapon. Taking a sip from his canteen, Jayce adjusted the brim of his hat. Over the past five years, his skin had darkened from prolonged exposure to the sun. Jayce just wandered across the savanna. Some might say that it was foolish to simply explore the savanna on foot. A horse would be an easier, and safer, medium of travel. Besides, the usual British settler would point out and mouth, with big eyes, the savanna’s so big. However, Jayce had familiarized himself with the surrounding area. He recognized the water hole and the trees that marked the path. The land was as comfortable to him as the back of his own hand. In fact, Jayce knew the savanna better than he knew his own hands. His eyes seemed to be trained on the horizon, not his body parts. Wandering about, Jayce allowed his mind to wander and relaxed. He enjoyed being alone with his own thoughts. A savanna freed from white skinned settlers did wonders for Jayce. It wasn’t as if he disliked socializing. Jayce could smile charmingly and mingle effortlessly. However, the sense of excitement and mystery that was laced through the African savanna was too much of a lure to ignore.
Apparently Jayce wasn’t the only one who was drawn in by danger and excitement. As he neared the Kikuyu village, he spotted a young woman pressed against a tree. Seven meters away crouched a female lioness. The girl was pretty from what Jayce could observe, her dress was of an expensive cut and her auburn hair curled quite nicely. Her face was turned to the side, blocking her features from Jayce’s view. Despite her beauty, the girl was obviously foolish. Who wanders into the savanna without a rifle or at least a chaperone. Even Jayce, as brave and confident as he was, always knew to keep his rifle near him at all times. Holding his weapon in his hand, he aimed it at the lioness. He didn’t intend to kill the animal, but precautions should always be taken. “Don’t move,” Jayce said slowly, trying not the startle the girl or the lioness. “If you do, she’ll assume that you’re something to eat.” Jayce inched closer, his gun still fixed on the lioness. He doubted that he would have to shoot the creature, if the girl maintained her calm, that was. “She already have breakfast,” Jayce stated a matter-of-factly as the lioness inched towards the girl. “Don’t move.” The lioness began moving closer and closer to the girl. Jayce could see her discomfort. Soon, the lioness was about a meter away from the girl. The big cat sniffed the air, cast a stony gaze at the girl, and sauntered off.
|
 |
