The Trespass(82)

Dracup tensed with it. He prepared to fling himself to one side, and risked a glance at Mukannishum. The man wore a strange grin and his breathing was heavy. Wait. His hand. There’s something in his hand. Dracup caught sight of a fat, cylindrical object. Mukannishum clutched it to his chest, as if holding a token of love. By then Dracup had realized what it was. He brought his foot down hard on Mukannishum’s forearm and the fist sprang open as Mukannishum howled in pain. The object rolled off his ribcage onto the ground and came to rest against Dracup’s boot. Dracup aimed a kick as the lion launched itself into the air, saw the grenade spin off the end of his foot and spiral away towards the pit wall. At the same time he was knocked to one side by the lion’s body as it landed squarely on top of Mukannishum. Dracup was dimly aware of a high-pitched scream, but then felt himself lifted on a warm blast of air as the grenade exploded with a muffled crack against the volcanic rock of the pit wall.





Dracup sat up, dazed. He felt blood trickle down his face and wiped it away with an impatient gesture. Where was the lion? As the dust settled he saw the animal’s bulky shape beside Mukannishum. It was immobile, perhaps stunned by the blast. Or dead? Dracup hawked and spat dust from his mouth. He was desperately thirsty; the afternoon sun was slowly sucking the remaining moisture from his body. He could make no saliva. For the first time he began to doubt his survival. A strange lassitude came over him. And then, as the settling dust gradually revealed the far wall, his heart leapt with excitement. The grenade had blown open a fissure, depositing a pile of rocks and boulders around its base. It looked feasible for a climb – if he could flank the lion. He prepared to crawl.

At that moment, Mukannishum writhed and shouted. The lion lashed out with a paw and followed with a lunge to the neck. Mukannishum’s cries ceased abruptly. Dracup held his breath. The animal bared its teeth and let out an eardrum-perforating roar. Dracup began to crawl slowly, hugging the wall, in a direction that would bring him round to the fissure behind the animal’s back. He hoped that it would be too busy with Mukannishum to concern itself with him. But Dracup had another worry: the noise of the explosion would surely bring the priests back to check on their captives. He crawled on. The heat was unbearable, his tongue a dry stick of flesh against the roof of his mouth. He drifted in and out of consciousness, startling himself awake as the lion’s face filled his dreams. Once he awoke with a cry and froze in horror at the sound he had made. But the lion was busy; he heard chewing and the occasional crack of bone.





Dracup opened his eyes. The sun had set and a cool wind fanned his face. He had covered three quarters of the distance between his original position and his destination: the fissure in the wall. But now he saw that his way was guarded. The lion was crouched beside the larger rockfall, blocking his route. Beside the tree lay a pile of rags from which protruded the odd glint of white. Ragged strips of flesh hung from the mess like some careless butcher’s offcuts. Dracup felt his gorge rise. The lion was licking its paws with slow, deliberate movements of its head. Where were the priests? He was curious at their indifference. But then, the pit wall could have muffled the noise of the explosion. Dracup tried to swallow and failed. Despair clutched at him again. No one would pass this way; he was miles from the town. He thought of his hotel room with its solitary suitcase. Another missing traveller. He thought of Natasha, and then of Yvonne, sitting in the darkness of her living room, counting the hours until daybreak. He began to crawl again.

For the first few minutes the lion ignored him, but then it shook itself abruptly, stretched, yawned and began to walk across the pit towards him. Dracup tried to get up but found his legs so weak that he faltered and fell into a kneeling position as the lion approached. Like a man about to be executed. He was surprised at how little fear he felt, just a sense of the inevitable. An image of Sunil came into his mind. Never turn your back.

Dracup watched the lion as it sidled up to him. The closeness of the animal made him hold his breath. He sensed the power under the yellowish, tanned hide. He admired the poise of the beast, its black mane, the huge, regal head. The lion paraded up and down restlessly, closing the distance with each pass. Talk to me, Sunil, talk to me. He raised his right arm and motioned gently to the lion; speaking softly but firmly, he made a soothing noise in his throat, then a long, sideways motion with his hand. The animal lowered its head and growled; its paws raked the pit floor. It seemed unfazed by Dracup’s entreaties. He counted to ten and began again. Sweat ran down his face. He could hear Sunil as clearly as if he were back in the Secunderabad of the Sixties. The boy’s turban was white, contrasting with his dusky skin. He was smiling and wagging his finger. Confidence, Simon. You have to show them who’s boss, you know? You can’t show any weakness... Dracup gestured again, smoothly, both palms down. He flexed his thigh muscles and straightened up. Nice and slow, Dracup, nice and slow. For the first time the lion seemed unsure. And then very suddenly it spread itself full length before him, resting its head on its paws.