They can't promise her safety, Gabriel's sister, Anna, had said, explaining why Scholastica didn't go to school. I had chalked it up to kids being mean because she was different, but it was much bigger than that.
And now I was responsible for getting Scholastica to safety, and I had dragged Jack, and Goma, and Bahati, into it too.
"The mobile phone reception is sporadic out here," said Jack. "I'll have to use the landline at the reception. I'll let Goma know not to expect Juma. You have anything in the room?"
I shook my head and patted my handbag.
"Okay. You stay, finish your breakfast. I'll go check us out."
When he returned, I was talking to Ken and Judy. The mist was lifting, and guests were slowly drifting into the dining room.
"If you want to see the crater, we need to get moving," said Jack.
"Listen to the man. He knows what he's talking about." Ken poured tea for himself and Judy. "We had a late start yesterday, and it was filled with cars."
"Here." Judy handed me a business card. "If you're ever in our corner of the world, and still 'not together.'" She made hand gestures around not together.
"Thank you." I laughed. "Enjoy the rest of your visit."
We said goodbye and headed for the crater. Jack stopped at the gate to look after the permits and paperwork.
As we took the winding road that descended into the caldera, the clouds that covered the rim gave way to a sweeping, surreal landscape. The haziness dissipated and the world came into sharp focus again. The first animals I spotted were . . .
"Cows?" I turned to Jack in surprise.
Against the soft, pastel grasslands, a red cumulus of dust marked a line of cattle, inching down the steep, narrow track to the crater floor. A scrawny figure was guiding his herd into the mouth of the lion's domain.
"The Maasai," he explained. "They are free to roam the Ngorongoro Conservation Area, but they cannot live in the crater, so they bring their cattle to graze here. They have to enter and exit daily."
"But what happens if he's attacked? Or one of his cows?"
"Cattle are the Maasai's greatest wealth. A Maasai man will do anything to sustain or defend his livestock. He is trained for it from the time he's a little boy. When he passes the ultimate test of bravery, he earns his warrior name. Killing a lion used to be the final rite of passage to becoming a warrior, but things have changed. There are government rules and regulations to be followed now. Still, that there-" Jack motioned to the lone man, marching to the clang of cowbells, spear in hand "-is the ultimate warrior."
"Is this what Bahati would be doing if he lived here? Is Bahati his warrior name?" I asked as we left the man behind.
"Bahati is his nickname. He never received his warrior name."
"What happened? He told me his family disowned him, but he didn't say why."
"That is something you should ask him." Jack switched gears as we reached the floor of the caldera.
Patches of forest edged around steep cliffs, providing a soaring backdrop to the sea of grass, dappled with herds of grazing buffaloes. Sharp-eyed vultures scanned the morning from above. A skittish warthog ran across the plain, tail upright, the tuft of bristles at its end waving like a little black flag. Ostriches surveyed us with bright eyes, their bald heads bobbing up and down. The view was flat and clear for miles and miles.
I took a deep breath. So much earth. So much sky. Vast and infinite. It was humbling and awe-inspiring, like the roof had been lifted and I could see the dawning of the world.
It's beautiful, Mo, I thought. I wish I'd come when you'd asked me to. While you were still here.
"There." Jack turned the car off and pointed to something behind us in the knee-high, golden grass.
There was an almost imperceptible shift in the blades. Then they parted and a pride of lions ambled out, tails swishing as they walked down the road towards us. I watched them approach in the rear-view mirror, and held my breath as they prowled by us with long, powerful strides. There were ten lions, including two males with thick, black manes. Their massive, padded paws made no sound as they passed the car. One of the cubs broke away, but his mother went after him. She picked him up by the scruff of his neck and didn't let him down even after they'd caught up with the rest of the pride. He swayed back and forth, dangling out of her mouth, mewling apologies.
"Not a very regal send-off for a prince." I laughed as the lions retreated into the bush again.
"That was me and Goma when I was little," said Jack, starting the car. "I was always chasing something, and she was always pulling me back."
"What happened to your parents?"
"My father loved to fly. My parents were on their way home when his two-seater crashed. I was seven. Goma locked herself up in her room for a week. When she came out, she was just as fierce as she's always been. Although, sometimes I think it was more for me. She didn't have the luxury to fall apart. Like I did with Lily."
She didn't blame herself for what happened to her son, like you're doing with Lily, I thought, but held my tongue. "Your grandfather wasn't around?"
"He died before I was born, but I feel like I knew him. Probably because of all the stories Goma told me about him. I used to think she was making them up, but I still meet people who talk about him. He was larger than life. An extraordinary man."
We passed herds of wildebeest and zebra. Jack explained that zebras grazed on the harder parts of the vegetation, while the wildebeest preferred the softer parts, so they were perfectly paired. Roaming the plains together heightened awareness of predators, and the zebra's stripes confused the big cats.
"Where we see black and white, the lion sees only the patterned stripes because it's pretty much color blind. If a zebra is standing still in the wavy lines of the grass around it, a lion may completely overlook it."
I'd always been attracted to men who had brains to back up their brawn. Jack fit the bill perfectly, but I was only half-listening to his words. It was his voice that held me entranced. He didn't speak much, but here in the vast, unobstructed space, he seemed to be opening up to me. And his voice was delicious. It set my skin vibrating like a tuning fork-the perfect pitch, the perfect timbre, making the tiny hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I wanted him to go on and on.
He might have sensed the shift in the air because he trailed off and looked at me. Directly at me. And it wasn't with the softness of his earlier morning gaze. It was different. Heart-poundingly different.
There's an unspoken rule about how long you can stare like that at another person. No one says it, but we all know it. There is the quick glance we give to strangers, the acknowledgment we exchange with people we know, the private joke, the silent acceptance, the lover's gaze, the parent's concern. Our eyes are always different, always speaking. They meet and look away, a thousand nuances expressed without words. And then there's this. Whatever was passing between Jack and me in the middle of that ancient caldera. Perhaps it was because we didn't know exactly where we fit-two people bound by a sunny, tragic afternoon, retreating from the edge of attraction-lives that were oceans apart, breaths that lingered in the space between us.
A jeep blaring loud music rattled past us, leaving a film of fine dust on the windshield. Jack drew away and started the car.
"They're beginning to come in. We should head to the lake before it gets too crowded. There's a salt lake, not too far up ahead, in the center of the crater."
I let my breath out and nodded. Something was always crackling between us, waiting to catch fire. It wasn't something either of us wanted, and so we resorted to distance and distraction.
I stared out of the window, at herds of Cape buffalo, so tame that they didn't budge as we drove past.
"They are one of the Big Five," said Jack.
"The Big Five?"
"Lions, leopards, elephants, rhinos, and Cape buffalo. They're called the Big Five. It's a term that originated with big game hunters. It has nothing to do with their size, but because they were the fiercest and most dangerous animals to hunt. Now no safari here is complete without spotting all five."
"I've seen two so far. The lion and the buffalo." I missed Mo in that instant-so much that it suddenly hurt to breathe. I'd been so wrapped up in my goals, I'd let the important things slip. I had my cottage, but I would never have the memory of going on a safari with Mo.
"I'm sure we'll see elephants, closer to the forest, but leopards tend to be shy, and rhinos have dwindled from all the poaching," said Jack. "Rhino horns are in high demand, mostly due to the myth about their medicinal value. Truth is, you might as well chew on your own nails for all the difference it makes."
"Rhino horns. Albino body parts. You ever wonder who starts these myths and how they gain their power?"
"We all want magic, Rodel. We want to wake up rich. Or healthy. Or beautiful. We want to make the person we love stay with us, live with us, die with us. We want that house, that job, that promotion. And so we create the myths, we live them, and we believe them. Until something better comes along, something that suits us better. Truth is that you and I are creating a myth ourselves. With Scholastica and the other children. We think if we get them to Wanza, we'll save them. And, yes, they'll be safer, but it's still a lie. Because it will just keep them cut off from the rest of the world. Eventually, they'll have to leave, and the world will still be the world. They might be better equipped to handle it, not quite as vulnerable, but they will still be targets."