JOHN AND ROSE
Chapter Twenty
Angola
July 9, 1927
"Look at them!" Rose pointed,
tugging on John’s arm, as the wagon they were riding in stopped some distance
from a watering hole—far enough away for safety, and to avoid scaring the
wildlife, but close enough for them to see the animals gathered there to drink.
John looked where Rose was pointing, watching
as several elephants moved slowly through the thickets of brush and trees, easy
to see because of their size. Rose was watching with a rapt expression on her
face as a mother elephant herded her calf along, standing between the young
animal and the lions almost hidden by the dry grass some distance away.
In spite of the fact that it was winter, the
Angolan climate was still warm and humid, and the wildlife thrived on the
sprawling savannas. In the week that they had been on safari, they had seen
more wildlife than they had ever seen in their far more developed home country.
America had its share of wildlife, too, but much of it had been hunted to
depletion in the past century, and what was left was sparse, and rarely seen
around the cities that they had called home.
In contrast, Africa, part of the Old World,
was still much wilder than the New World that they came from. The land and its
people had resisted large-scale conquest for thousands of years; even the
European colonizers had made less impact than they had hoped. In spite of
conquesting armies, big game hunters, tribal wars, and the far-reaching impact
of human activity, it was still largely a wild and untamed land.
They climbed down from the wagon with the
other tourists, flanked by their armed tour guides, whose job was to guide them
safely on their trip and protect them from dangerous animals and hostile
humans. Thus far, they had met no trouble, but they could never be too careful,
especially in an unfamiliar land.
Several shadows passed overhead—vultures who
had spotted carrion. Rose watched them, amazed that creatures who were so
ungainly on the ground could fly with such ease. John noticed her watching.
"Looks like something died," he
commented, gesturing to the birds.
"They keep this land clean, I
think," Rose responded, still watching them. Very few carcasses rotted on
the savanna; the scavengers and predators quickly cleaned up whatever died,
leaving the landscape clear.
"You’d like to fly, wouldn’t you?"
John asked, putting an arm around Rose.
"What?" Rose looked at him,
wondering at the seemingly irrelevant question. Then, she realized that he was
still watching the birds circle overhead. "Yes, I would. To get into an
airplane and fly up there with the birds—and above them—would be
wonderful."
"I met a man in Chicago once who ran a
small flight school. Perhaps, if I could find him again, you could take flying
lessons."
"What made you think of that?"
"The way you were watching those birds,
like you wanted to take off and join them."
Rose gave him an ironic look. "I don’t
really want to eat carrion. Exotic foods are fine, but carrion…I’d have to be
pretty damned hungry to go for that."
"Not eat with them, no, but fly with
them—I can just picture you in an airplane, circling around."
"You know what? So can I. Find me that
flight instructor, and I’ll take you flying."
John smiled, then turned to the rest of the
group as one of the guides gestured to them. "Come on. We’re going closer
to the waterhole."
They had seen dozens of different species of
wildlife on their trip, a few familiar from zoos and circuses, many others
unfamiliar. They were both familiar with lions, zebras, and elephants, of
course—Rose had even ridden an elephant for one of her moving pictures—but many
of the other animals were entirely unfamiliar, the sorts of creatures that they
had never even seen in books.
The first time she had seen a hyena, Rose had
been puzzled at the ungainly-looking creature, wondering how it managed to
survive, until one of the guides had explained to her that the animal was
perfectly suited to its niche as a carrion eater, with powerful jaws and a
build that allowed it to burrow deep inside its food.
Other creatures, such as the oryx and kudu,
had borne a vague resemblance to other creatures they had seen, but the unusual
names marked them as belonging to this land. And the sights of some creatures,
while somewhat familiar from visits to the zoo, had left them gaping—such as
the towering giraffes and wallowing hippopotamuses. There had even been some
animals bold enough to come into their camps—such as a curious monkey who had
gone through the food when no one was looking, and, upon being discovered, had
escaped with an apple and a shiny fork clutched in one fist.
They had been roughing it, and had been
surrounded by people the whole time, but the Calverts had still enjoyed the
trip, and were even reluctant to return to Luanda the next day, though the city
was also appealing.
On their first day in Angola, after spending
some time alone in their hotel room, John and Rose had gone to explore the
surrounding parts of Luanda, exchanging their American money for the local
currency—just because one person took dollars didn’t mean others would. Rose in
particular had been fascinated by her surroundings, sampling native cuisine and
looking into shops with delight. She had been fascinated with the way many of
the native women dressed, observing their outfits and then discovering which
shops sold this clothing and jewelry, so that she could buy some for herself
before they left. Local artwork had also caught her eye, and she had darted
from place to place, unable to take it all in quickly enough. John had laughed,
watching her—with her long red curls hanging down her back and her face lit
with excitement, she had looked more like a young girl than a grown woman of
thirty-two.
There had been some surprises, as well. Rose
hadn’t expected anyone to recognize her so far from America, so she had been
amazed when two young girls had recognized her. John had noticed them pointing
at her and whispering ‘Rose Dawson’, and had brought them to Rose’s attention.
One of the girls had approached her with a pencil and a tattered scrap of
paper, saying some words that Rose didn’t understand, but her meaning had been
clear enough. Rose had given her an autograph, much to the girl’s delight,
still marveling that people would recognize her so far from home. She knew that
she was famous, but she hadn’t thought that her moving pictures would be shown
there.
Rose walked beside John, arm in arm as they
quietly approached the waterhole. She had enjoyed this trip, and was sorry that
they had to leave so soon, but they needed to return home. They had been gone
for almost a month, and they couldn’t expect Ruth and Elizabeth to stay with
the kids indefinitely. It was time to go home. She had taken dozens of
pictures, and had had many more taken of her, and of John—and she hoped they
might return one day, perhaps bringing the kids. Nadia, she knew, would love
the quiet beauty of the savanna, and all of them would enjoy the bustling,
exotic city of Luanda.
But for the moment, she wouldn’t worry about
those things. She would enjoy her last day of the safari. Letting go of John’s
arm, she pulled out her camera and focused it toward the waterhole.