reading

Other books by Themistocles Jacks:

Henry — How a Honey Badger Became Hero to a Nation

Henry — Long Range Reconnaissance Honey Badger

Henry — A Honey Badger and the Illusions of Peacetime

By Themistocles Jacks

Print ISBN: 978-1-09832-273-1

eBook ISBN: 978-1-09832-274-8

For K, who witnessed many of the events described herein
and remembers them all.

“Lastly, even the ultimate outcome of war is not always to be regarded as final. The defeated state often considers the outcome merely as a transitory evil, for which a remedy may still be found in political conditions at some later date.”
Carl von Clausewitz

Chapter 1

Henry’s domestic life was not going well. The affection Alice had once lavished on him had all been transferred to their baby, and their burrow was no longer a happy home. Things came to a head one afternoon when Alice told Henry she had decided on a name for the baby, which according to honey badger tradition, was Alice’s prerogative.

Henry was incredulous. “Lattimer? Lattimer? What kind of stupid name is that for a honey badger? Everyone will make fun of him! Where did you come up with such a stupid name?”

“That was my grandfather’s name,” Alice hissed. “And nobody, I mean nobody, dared to make fun of him.”

“Oh,” said Henry, “that is useful information.”

Henry slept that night in the crotch of a tree, not in their burrow. The next day, things got worse. Little Lattimer taunted Henry and even bit him on the ear, which as everyone knows, is not a wise thing to do to a strong, male honey badger, even if you are his bratty kid. When Henry growled back at him, Lattimer ran behind his mother and whimpered. Alice bit Henry on the other ear.

There was no winning this one, so Henry did what male honey badgers have always done in such situations of irreconcilable differences. He turned his butt to the burrow and his nose to the wind, and walked away.

Chapter 2

The sign over The Little Dress Shop in the town of Nyati read:

The Little Dress Shop
Dresses, Skirts, Vests & Thokus
Miriam Toleka Hartman, Proprietress

Miriam had always been stand-offish toward men. Only a few knew she had good reasons. But those who knew her couldn’t miss that Miriam’s attitude toward men had changed dramatically. Her aloofness had melted and she seemed almost joyous almost all the time. And those who knew her well knew it was solely the result of her unlikely and impossibly proper romance with Chief Inspector Cecil Richardson.

Verity Olabumba knew Miriam very well. She walked the short distance from her Snip & Sip beauty parlor to Miriam’s dress shop. The little bell tinkled when she opened the door.

“Come in, mma. I’ll be with you in a minute.”

Verity sat down on a wooden chair and picked up a copy of the local newspaper. The masthead proclaimed, The Nyati Mostly Weekly Newspaper – All the news we get around to printing. She was halfway through an article describing a new pump that was being installed at the town’s wastewater treatment plant when Miriam stood up from her work and smiled at her.

“I’m almost finished the dresses you ordered for the trip to Scotland. They were fun to make. I got to work with wool, a much more practical fabric for the cool, wet, Scottish weather.”

Verity shuddered. “I’ve never been to a cold, rainy country. The thought of it makes me shiver.”

Miriam said, “You’ll be fine. You just have to dress for it.”

“Was it cold where you lived in America?”

Miriam laughed. “In winter, it was so cold the cars had little plugs coming out the front. You had to plug them in at night to keep the oil from turning solid. I remember the thermometer reading 30° below zero! And the wind! It would howl and drift the snow as high as your head!”

“How could anyone live there?” Verity said.

“The first winter I lived there I wondered the same thing. Remember, I was born in Kenya. I was orphaned and the Hartmans adopted me and took me from a warm climate to Nebraska when I was 13. They were doctors and I needed a lot of medical care for the first year. But they loved me and gave me the first home that I knew was mine. We lived in a little house on the prairie, and I was warm and happy. Summers could be very hot, but spring and fall were just beautiful.”

Verity said, “Have you ever been to Scotland?”

“No, but I’m looking forward to it. Cecil has been there and says I will find it interesting.”

Verity nodded. “Sheila told me that even though their marriage here was legal and valid, she and Mac wanted to have a church wedding for their families. Mac asked Solomon to be his best man and offered to pay for our trip. Solomon, of course, said he’d be honored and refused to let Mac pay for us.”

Miriam said, “Cecil offered to pay for me. Separate rooms, of course. I thanked him, but insisted on paying my own way. I’m afraid I’ll have to keep sewing until I’m an old woman.”

Verity laughed. “And I’ll have to keep cutting hair until I’m a very old woman.”

Miriam took a dress from a rack and handed it to Verity. “Try this on and see how you like it.”

“It’s so heavy!”

Miriam said, “Yes, and you’ll be glad of that when you get to Scotland.”

It was fine wool, beautifully tailored and fit Verity perfectly.

“I’ve never had a dress like this. What do you think.”

Miriam looked at her and said, “You look beautiful. Like a Scottish Highland noble woman.”

Verity laughed. “Right.” Then she looked at her reflection in the mirror.

“Well, maybe a minor noblewoman. It does make me look a little thinner.”

Miriam said, “It looks stunning on you. I’ll have them finished tomorrow and bring them when I come for my hair appointment.

Chapter 3

Chief Inspector Cecil Richardson had spent the better part of two weeks in Maatlamotse. His investigation into corruption and treason at the highest levels in the police department resulted in the suicide of Police Commissioner Higgins-Smith and numerous arrests. Cecil had a great deal of paperwork to attend to in the capital and he hated every minute of it. He was stuck in a dreary hotel across from the courthouse. He would much rather have been working back at the little police station in Nyati, sleeping in his own house and seeing Miriam every day. One night, he wrote a long letter to her.

*****

At least Cecil had a house. Commanding General David Botshelo’s house had been blown up by an assassin hired by corrupt elements high up in the army. The general had planned to live on base at the Visiting Officer Quarters, but his friend and neighbor, Dr. Stephen Omalo, convinced him that living at work was bad for his health. General Botshelo had a cardiac arrhythmia that would need treatment, and all work and no play could make David a dead boy. The doctor’s house had plenty of room since his divorce, and he was happy to have company. David accepted the offer.

“David, I sent your latest ECG to Dr. Wanntom in the United States. It is his opinion that you have what’s called a right ventricular outflow tract tachycardia.”

“That sounds like I should be dead already.”

Steven Omalo laughed, “You’re lucky. It’s not uncommon and something that a good electrophysiologist can fix. And Dr. Wanntom is a very, very good EP.”

David said, “What are the risks? And how long will I be out of service?”

“That’s the good news,” said Stephen. “There’s risk anytime you have anesthesia and surgery, but in this case the risk is minimal. Tom Wanntom told me that if everything goes as expected, you should plan to stay in the hospital overnight, mainly for observation, and be released the next day.”

“And after that?”

“He said no lifting anything that would make you strain for four days. After that, no restrictions.”

“That’s it?” said David. “It sounds too good to be true.”

Stephen smiled. “They can do incredible things now. He said he’d be happy to see you if you want to travel all the way to Tennessee.”

David said, “If he’s that good, why not? I’d rather do it where there aren’t any Maatlamotse vultures speculating about when I’m going to die. What should I do next?”

“Choose a date and make reservations,” Stephen said. “He’s booked six to eight weeks out.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem. I haven’t had a vacation in almost five years. I’ve got a lot of time coming. I’ll be going to Scotland for Mac and Sheila’s wedding, so I’ll see if I can go from there to see Dr. Wanntom. And as long as I’m over there, why not spend a month and see America?”

Dr. Omalo smiled. “A month off would do you a world of good.”

*****

Marea Thembekile needed to find a new home, too. Her flat in Maatlamotse had been ripped apart by corrupt police and ransacked by looters. She found a home on a remote shamba owned by an old woman. To say that Elspeth Christiaan was tough would be an understatement. She lived alone, and relied on her keen intelligence, knowledge of the bush, and the old Mauser rifle she inherited from her father. She used that rifle to put food on the table and to protect herself from predators of both the four-legged and two-legged variety. During the war, she used it to shoot the man who killed her husband, and three more enemy raiders besides. But she did get lonely sometimes, and was delighted to take in a boarder. Marea Thembekile was a widow in her early sixties, a reporter of the old school, highly intelligent, honest and religious, and therefore unemployable in the new media. Her son had been killed in the war in a mortar attack. In lieu of rent, Marea helped her with chores and drove her into Nyati when she needed to go.

Chapter 4

Legendary hunter, soldier, scout and naturalist Paddy Finn, founder and owner of Malinda Safaris had answered all the questions government officials in Maatlamotse had put to him about the mauling deaths of 28 year old Silicon Valley tech billionaire Camden Yarrow and his young girlfriend. The two snuck out of safari camp before dawn one morning to make a vanity video of the girl, Sparkle Brightly, a 24 year old self-described actress, activist, social media influencer, poet, visionary, post-existential astral spirit, and performance artist. It was quite the video, live-streamed around the globe. She walked naked across the plain, expounding on her spiritual centeredness. Then she saw the lioness. She described how she felt summoned by the lioness to join her in spirit. The lioness had a more physical joining in mind. Breakfast.

Paddy and his camp chef, Cookie, found the bodies with the old lioness feasting on them. They shot the lioness. Nobody cared about the deaths of the young couple. They were just people. But the killing of the lioness sparked what the media called “peaceful protests.” Estimates of the damage caused by rampaging peaceful protestors in Europe and the United States topped 15 billion dollars.

Paddy received several thousand death threats, and in the US, on the recommendation of the non-partisan, non-profit Legal Justice League of the South, Paddy was placed on the Terrorist Watch List. A campaign began at the United Nations to bring Paddy to trial before the International Court in the Hague for crimes against humanity. There was some initial dissent that shooting a lion that had killed two people and was in the process of eating them did not quite reach the threshold of crimes against humanity, but an ad campaign by Hollywood celebrities quickly convinced people that “Lions are human, too.”

In support, a dozen aspiring movie actresses climbed naked into the lion enclosures at the Los Angeles Zoo. Afterwards, newspapers in major cities placed the blame for their deaths squarely on Paddy Finn. One US congressman from California declared that Paddy Finn was the most dangerous man on earth and urged the president to “nuke that animal back to the stone age.” His remark caused outrage, and he later apologized to the world’s animal community for the comparison.

The Ethical Planet Toy Company rushed their Snookums the Murdered Lioness doll to market and released the companion animated movie and children’s books. They were smashing successes.

Within two weeks, three quarters of Paddy’s upcoming safaris had been cancelled.

Chapter 5

Solomon Olabumba put down his hammer and walked to the water bucket. Mac MacPherson joined him.

“Mac, do you ever get the feeling we can’t work as hard as we did twenty years ago?”

The big man laughed. “Nae, I think we can work just as hard. We just don’t get as much done.”

Solomon laughed. “That’s the truth, I’m afraid. But things are shaping up.”

“Aye, but they’d shape up even faster if we had a backhoe.”

“We should be finished the chapel in a week or so.”

“Aye. Your wife and mine insisted it should be the first thing we rebuild.”

Solomon said, “I think they’re still as frightened of that little nun as I was.”

“Solomon, was she as intimidating as they say?”

“I was just a lost little boy when she took me in. She was tiny, but she had a real command presence. She scared me at first, but Etobi School was the first real home I had. As I got older, I realized that I wasn’t so much afraid of her as afraid of not living up to what she thought of me. David went to the school years before I did, and he said the same thing.”

Mac said, “Cecil knew her well, and so did Elspeth. They loved her.”

Solomon nodded. “She was fearless. And the kindest person I ever met. But it wasn’t the mushy treacle that passes for kindness today. She had a way of making you believe you could do more than you thought you could. And she would keep after you until you did. She taught Loku to read when he was a grown man with children. More than that, she gave him the confidence that he was smart and capable of reading any book in the world.”

“Aye,” said Mac. “And Loku went on to read most of them. I wish I had known her. I’m glad we tracked down and killed the bastards that murdered her and the kids.”

A cloud passed over Solomon’s face as he remembered coming on the scene of slaughter. Of the little Irish nun shot to pieces while fighting the bandits with a fire extinguisher. Of the bodies of the children. Of the bodies of GQ’s son and Loku Somotese’s grandchildren. Of the body of his own son, Isaac.

Solomon was a born killer and wrestled with the beast kept chained in his soul. Mac knew the look well and remained silent. He never avoided the subject. Solomon wouldn’t like that. It happened. It was over, but it was never over.

Finally, Solomon spoke. “Yes, we did. And I think it’s fitting that we finish the chapel first. Sister would be pleased by that.”

He slapped the giant’s back and grinned. “And she’d tell us we’d never finish if we didn’t stop talking and get back to work. Especially since we’re all leaving for Scotland!”

Mac laughed and picked up a load of lumber that would make a yoke of oxen stagger. Solomon reflected on what Verity had said of Mac during the war. “He’s the perfect balance for you. He’s a good man, strong where it counts, and he’ll never let you down.” Solomon knew it was really his wife Verity who was his perfect balance, but she was right about Mac’s character.

Chapter 6

Henry was getting sloppy. He dwelled on getting kicked out of the burrow he dug and fortified, and it fueled his fury. He saw a termite mound and he attacked it, reducing it to dust. He attacked bushes, trees and anything else he came across. And he let his guard down. He didn’t see the leopard until it was too late to escape into the thick brush.

The leopard was cautious, and like all cats, preferred stealth, treachery and easy prey. He was young and strong and aggressive, but remembered his father’s warning about honey badgers. “Yes, you’ll kill them, but they are crazy mean and will fight to the death. You’ll pay a high price, and they don’t even taste good.”

Still, the leopard considered the honey badger a challenge. If he could attack from behind and kill it quickly, it would raise his street cred. He crept up in that sneaky, creepy way of all felines.

Suddenly, Henry caught a sound, or a scent, or a shadow. He spun to face the leopard. The big cat froze, debating what to do.

Henry had no doubts about what to do. Fight. Hard. Rip, tear, bite and shred everything he could before the leopard killed him.

Chapter 7

Miriam locked the door of The Little Dress Shop and walked to her house. It wasn’t far. Distance-wise it was no more than a few blocks, but Nyati is a haphazardly arranged town and doesn’t have blocks. Houses and shops had just sprouted up wherever people decided to build them. It might have been inefficient, but it gave the little town a certain funky charm.

Miriam checked the mailbox on her tiny porch and was very happy to find an envelope addressed in a familiar, almost calligraphic hand. She resisted the urge to open it and went inside. She washed her hands and made herself a cup of tea. That done, she sat down at her little kitchen table, carefully opened the letter and began to read. As she did, her face got redder and redder.

My Dear Miriam,

I’m afraid that many would consider me cowardly for putting this in a letter rather than saying it directly to you. Perhaps it is cowardly, but I believe it is better for you to have time to read this letter and think about its contents. I did not want you to feel pressure to respond immediately.

The letter went on at length, and Miriam read it three times. Hands shaking, she opened a bottle of wine she had been saving to share with Cecil and poured herself a glass. She took a long sip, then another, then got out a box of stationery, sat down and began writing a reply.

An hour, six crumpled sheets of paper and a glass of wine later, Miriam gave up. She picked up her phone and pecked out a text: three words, six exclamation points. She was about to send it, then paused. Better think about this, she thought. She went outside and walked the quarter mile to Cecil’s house on a rise on the north end of town. She stood there for several minutes. Then, she said a little prayer, held her breath and pushed Send.

Chapter 8

The cold eyes of the leopard stared at Henry. The honey badger snarled. The cat backed up, but kept staring. Then, Henry stood on his hind legs and flexed his muscles like a body builder. The leopard saw the tattoo on the honey badger’s belly.

The leopard blinked and backed up. He said, “Henry?”

Knowing how duplicitous cats are, Henry did not lower his guard.

“How do you know my name?”

The leopard stared at him. “Your tattoo. My father told me about it. He told me he had a friend who was a honey badger and I should never attack him.”

Henry looked to see if the leopard had curled his tail as he spoke. He knew that just as people creatures cross their fingers, leopards curl their tails when they are lying, which they often do. The leopard’s tail was flat.

“What was your father’s name?”

“Chui,” the big cat said. “It was Chui.”

Henry relaxed a little.

“Your father was my friend. I stayed with him when he died.”

“How did he die? I knew he was getting old, but I never found out what happened to him.”

“He was getting too slow run down impala, so he took to killing stock. One night the farmer saw him and shot him. He made it back to his tree, but died during the night.”

The leopard licked his fur thoughtfully. “Well, at least he died doing what he loved. I just wish I got to see him once more.”

Henry said, “Well, that might be possible. Before he died, your father asked me if I could talk to my people creature friends and have him stuffed and put next to his father in the Great Hall of Cats in the museum in Maatlamotse.”

The leopard sat back on his haunches. “You mean I could get to see him?”

“I can’t promise it,” Henry said. “People creatures can be fussy sometimes, but I will ask.”

The leopard seemed lost in thought. Finally, he said, “Henry, my father said you were a good friend to him. I would be honored if you would be my friend, too.”

Henry was touched by this because he knew, as everyone knows, that leopards, like all cats, are egotistical, aloof, self-centered, treacherous, shallow and utterly untrustworthy.

“If you promise, on the memory of your father, to be my friend and never to attack me, my family or my people creature friends, I will agree.”

The leopard said, “I promise.”

Henry checked the cat’s tail. It was flat. Not a curl in it.

Chapter 9

Verity Olabumba’s last appointment of the day was Nola Debembe, and she was one of her most difficult clients. Many times over the years, Verity had explained that there are different kinds of hair, and hers simply wouldn’t do what she wanted it to. There was no way on earth Verity could make it look like the picture in the magazine Nola had brought.

“Well!” huffed Nola, “A good hairdresser could coax my hair to look like that. Perhaps I’ll just have to find one. I know they have plenty in Maatlamotse. Evidently, such skill has not made its way up here.”

Nola Debembe stomped out of the shop, still muttering about the lack of talent in Nyati. Verity sighed. It was not the first time Nola had stormed out of her shop vowing never to return. Verity hoped she wouldn’t. But she always did, her hair looking like the fur of a mangy jackal. The expensive Maatlamotse hairdressers were willing to try the impossible, and Nola always came back in tears, begging Verity to fix it.

Verity locked up Snip & Sip and walked home. Solomon was out at the Etobi School working with Mac and wouldn’t be back until the weekend. She thought briefly of calling Miriam and asking her to join her for dinner, but instead she went home, brewed a cup of tea and finished the little bit of leftover impala curry she had made for Solomon two nights earlier. Then, she opened the map of Scotland and located their destinations: Edinburgh, Glasgow, Inverness, Mull, and the place where Mac and Sheila would take their vows again, this time in a church on a tiny island that had been home to a Christian abbey for 1,400 years. Iona.

Chapter 10

Miriam walked back to her little house and read Cecil’s letter yet again.

My Dear Miriam,

I’m afraid that many would consider me cowardly for putting this in a letter rather than saying it directly to you. Perhaps it is cowardly, but I believe it is better for you to have time to read this letter and think about its contents. I did not want you to feel pressure to respond immediately.

Nevertheless, my time in this dreadful hotel has made me realize that sooner or later, I shall have to broach a sensitive subject with you. It has been almost a year since you and I went to the opera on the night of the Bloody Spear business. I still dwell on that and remember how lovely you looked and how happy I was to be in your company.

After that, I spent hours each day thinking about you. And each time we were together, I became more enamored of you. You have made my life immeasurably better in countless ways. Over time, I developed the habit each night before retiring of looking out my window toward town and fixing my gaze on your roof. Each morning, upon arising, I look again. It gives me great pleasure to think of you making your coffee and breakfast and getting ready for the day.

But looking at your roof is not enough. It is you I want look at. I want you to be the last thing I see at night and the first thing I see in the morning. It is you I want to spend my life with. As you know, I am indeed an old fuddy-duddy, so the only way this is possible is through the sacrament of marriage.

I realize that you have had trauma and tragedy inflicted on you by men. And I know that we are both well beyond youthful impulse. We are set in our ways and accustomed to living in our solitude. I have no experience in matters of marriage, but I feel drawn to it. I do not wish to place undo pressure on you — especially if it would jeopardize our relationship. And I will always love you, no matter how you reply. But if you think it is proper and worthwhile to discuss the possibility of marriage, I will be the happiest man on God’s green earth.

Love,

Cecil

Miriam closed her eyes and cried. They were filled with tears to start. Then, she poured herself a half glass of wine, took a sip, and laughed. And cried. And laughed some more. And she remembered the verse from C.S. Lewis that Sister Mary Kathleen had recited so often:

Make your choice, adventurous stranger;
Strike the bell and bide the danger,
Or wonder ‘till it drives you mad
What would have happened if you had.

Chapter 11

Chief Inspector Cecil Richardson took a long, hot shower to wash away the tension and grit of a day at the courthouse doing work he hated. He had been instrumental in uncovering treason and corruption at the highest levels in the police department and in the army, but he had to be careful about his testimony. This was partly because the military and the police were strictly separated in both function and chain of command. Commanding General David Botshelo was in charge of the military side of the issue. More sensitive was Cecil’s membership in Ghost Force, and the role Ghost Force played in the events. Ghost Force was formed during the war more than eight years earlier as a unit that could circumvent normal channels, move fast, strike the enemy hard and disappear. It had been spectacularly effective. After the war, Ghost Force remained dormant, but watchful, and had moved swiftly to neutralize terrorist operations. Its effectiveness depended on secrecy and independence. But Cecil knew, as did other GF members David Botshelo, Solomon Olabumba, Mac MacPherson, Loku Somotese and Paddy Finn, that such a force could easily go rogue and become little more than a pirate band, no better than the terrorists they fought.

Cecil dried himself with the threadbare hotel towel, pulled on a thoku and opened the plastic bag that contained his supper: a piece of cheese and a cold bottle of beer. He opened the beer, took a long draught and wished he had bought another. He nibbled on the cheese, and picked up his phone. He saw there were text messages and emails. He put on his glasses. Immediately, he saw the text from Miriam and opened it. He read it, and read it again. Three words, six exclamation points.

Yes! Yes!! Yes!!!

Suddenly, nothing else mattered.

Chapter 12

Deke Craddock was three weeks into the month-long safari he had taken with Paddy Finn every year for 30 years. “Sorry, pard,” the old Texan said. “I’ll call my lawyer and see if he can find out why you were denied a visa. He knows people who know people.”

Paddy Finn poked the dying embers of the campfire with a stick. “Thanks, Deke, but we both know why. It’s that stupid lioness again. And now I’m considered an international terrorist. What are people thinking? The lioness killed my clients and was eating them. What the hell was I supposed to do?”

“Paddy, in order to put you on a terrorist list and deny you a visa, they have to have some sort of evidence that you committed terrorism. Which you didn’t. But somebody gave somebody something that they claimed was evidence. I want to find out exactly who gave what to whom, and why. And I’d like to extend my safari for another month or two. Got any openings?”

Paddy smiled. “Thanks, Deke, but you don’t have to do that. I’ve had a lot of good years and put away a penny or two. The staff will get paid and we’ll get through this.”

Deke pushed his Resistol cowboy hat back on his head. “This ain’t charity, pard. I’d like to do some more hunting, and I’d like to bring my wife Suzanne over. She’s never been to Africa, and I think it’s time she comes over.”

Paddy said, “Well, everything’s open. You can have whatever you want. Just don’t go wandering around naked at dawn looking to become one with a lioness.”

Deke shook his head. “Paddy, you know darn well I haven’t done that in years.”

Chapter 13

As everyone knows, Miriam Toleka Hartman was the model of probity. She enjoyed a glass of wine, and on special occasions, perhaps two. But she had never been asked to consider marriage before. True, she realized, Cecil hadn’t actually proposed, but she knew Cecil, and knew that a proposal would shortly be forthcoming.

After her second glass, she put on a CD Cecil had given her early in their relationship — Beethoven’s Sixth Symphony. She turned the volume up a bit higher than usual and poured a little more wine in her glass. She danced around her little house and sipped the wine until it made her dizzy. Then she lay down on her bed and fell into a deep sleep. She dreamed of the parents who adopted her, nursed her back to health, and gave her their name and the first happy home she ever had. In her dream, she saw them sitting at the kitchen table in their house in Broken Spoke, Nebraska. They looked up at her and smiled.

*****

Cecil had been too excited to sleep much. He’d drift off, then wake up, then drift off, then wake up again. At 4 AM, he got out of bed, washed, shaved and dressed. He had a deposition to give at the courthouse at 1 PM. He looked at his watch and did some quick calculations. He’d have the time to do it.

He grabbed his pack and carbine and took the stairs down to the parking lot. A few minutes later he was heading north on the Molani Road. As he passed the Leaving Maatlamotse sign, he checked his watch again. He was right on schedule.

*****

It was half past six when Cecil reached Nyati. The Busy Buffalo Bakery was open and he stopped to get some breakfast pastries to bring to Miriam’s. He was low on caffeine and ordered a cup of coffee. It was hot and dark brown, but the similarity to coffee ended there. He paid the bill and left the coffee.

“Rra, you didn’t drink your coffee!” the girl behind the counter said.

Cecil smiled. “I’m sorry, mma, but it really isn’t very good.”

“It’s as good as coffee can get. I don’t know how anyone can drink coffee. It’s all awful. Civilized people drink tea.”

Cecil thought of Miriam’s coffee. He nodded to the girl and left.

Cecil knew that Miriam usually arose at six o’clock. He’d give her an hour and arrive at her house at seven. It would also ensure that the street would have enough people on it to notice that he arrived in the morning and had not spent the night there. Cecil was old-fashioned, and such things were important to him. He would surprise her with the pastries, and after a cup of her fresh ground coffee to fortify him, he would pop the question.

At exactly 7:00:00, Cecil pulled up in front of her little house. Miriam heard the tires on the gravel and looked at the clock on her bedside table. She leapt out of bed and peeked out the window. Oh, no! she thought. I’m a mess!.

She found her phone and called Cecil. He answered just as he reached her door.

“My dear, sweet inspector, forgive me. I overslept and just got up. Please give me ten minutes.”

“My dear lady, take all the time you need. I shall wait patiently.”

Eight minutes later, Miriam opened the door, not wanting to think about how she looked. Cecil thought she looked beautiful.

“Oh, dear Cecil, please forgive my appearance. After I read your letter a dozen times, I put on Beethoven, stayed up too late and had a little too much wine. I just woke up when I heard your tires on the gravel.”

Cecil laughed. “My dear, you look beautiful to me. I brought some treats for us for breakfast. You wouldn’t be making coffee would you?”

Miriam said, “I need coffee this morning. Probably several cups.”

She poured beans into her grinder and turned the machine on. It seemed much louder than usual. She put a paper filter into the Chemex and spooned coffee into it. Then, she slowly poured boiled water over the grounds. The aroma was intoxicating. She took two mugs from the cupboard, and when the coffee was ready, filled them. She placed one in front of Cecil and sat down at the small table across from him. They drank their coffee in silence for a few minutes. When the caffeine had worked its magic, Cecil cleared his throat.

“My dear Miriam. I wish to begin every day for the rest of my life drinking coffee across the table from you.”

Her hands began to tremble.

He slid off his chair and got down on one knee.

“Miriam, I love you. Will you marry me?”

Her mouth was dry. She said, “First, I must know, have you ever been married?”

“No.”

She nodded. “Do you have any children?”

“No.”

“If I say yes, I want a church wedding.”

“So do I.”

She smiled. It was the loveliest smile he had ever seen. “Then, yes, I will marry you.”

As Cecil stood up, his hip, badly wounded in the war, shot a bolt of pain through his body. He gasped and grasped Miriam’s knee to steady himself. He withdrew it quickly.

“I apologize, my dear. It was an involuntary reaction to the pain. I did not mean to be so forward.”

Miriam burst out laughing. She took his hand and put it back on her knee.

“Oh, my dear, sweet, impossibly proper inspector! You have just proposed to me and I have accepted. I believe that God and all the saints in heaven would say it is perfectly acceptable that you place your hand on my knee to keep from falling over!”

They kissed. It was a long kiss.

As he drove back to Maatlamotse, Cecil never once gave a thought to his deposition.

Chapter 14

It had been a gamble, but Henry spent the night in a tree with the leopard. The sun was up, the leopard was sleeping, and Henry was still alive. Henry slipped out of the tree and went hunting for breakfast. Four lizards and a snake later, he returned. The leopard yawned and looked down at the honey badger.

“Good morning!” said Henry cheerfully.

The leopard blinked and licked his fur, ignoring Henry. Many honey badgers would have taken that as an act of disrespect. Henry didn’t. He knew that all cats are snotty, conceited snobs. He busied himself about the base of the tree until the leopard deigned to answer him.

“Good morning, Henry.”

“Good morning, uh…uh… You never told me your name.”

The leopard looked down his nose at Henry. “You never asked me.”

Henry said, “I didn’t want to pry.”

The leopard licked his fur for a full minute, then said, “My name is Chui.”

Henry clapped his paws. “Chui! You were named after your father.”

Chui shook his head. “No, leopards do not engage in such vain practices as naming offspring after themselves. That’s for lesser creatures, such as warthogs and people creatures. I was named after my grandfather.”

Henry said, “Your grandfather’s name was Chui?”

“Yes.”

Henry scratched his head. “So, you were named after your grandfather Chui, not your father Chui. How can anyone tell the difference?”

The leopard shook his head at such a foolish question. “Who cares? All that matters is that I know it.”

The leopard put his head down on the branch, closed his eyes and fell asleep.

Chapter 15

Sunset.

Miriam Toleka Hartman finished the two dresses she had promised Verity for the Scotland trip and decided she needed to sew a special one in a lighter fabric. She would get up early to make it.

*****

Henry decided not to press his luck with Chui, son of Chui. Cats were treacherous. Instead, he headed east toward Solomon and Verity’s house and spent the night in a hastily dug burrow an hour west of Nyati.

*****

Back at the hotel in the capital, Cecil Richardson took a shower, made a supper of take-out curry and two beers, and fell into a deep sleep. He had an appointment at the ministry at 8AM, after which he would leave Maatlamotse and head home.

*****

Verity Olabumba spent a frustrating evening trying to find flights from Maatlamotse to Scotland that didn’t cost a raja’s ransom and require a dozen connections.

Chapter 16

Morning.

Cecil left his hotel at 7:15. He hoped it would be the last night he spent in the capital for a long time. He drove to the ministry and was pleased to find a vendor’s cart in front of the building selling breakfast bread, tea and coffee. A bright hand-painted sign identified it as Bibi’s Bistro.

“Dumela, Inspector,” a woman in a bright purple dress called to him. “It is a beautiful morning, but I think you need some breakfast to make it even more beautiful!”

Cecil laughed. “You’ve convinced me, Bibi. I’ll take the breakfast bread with batanga berries and a large cup of coffee.”

“Rra, that is the best choice. I bake the bread and grind the coffee every morning.”

She gave him his breakfast. Cecil paid and took a sip of the coffee. Then another. He said, “Mma, this is very good coffee. It’s hard to find good coffee here.”

She laughed heartily. “No, rra, it is easy. Just come to Bibi’s Bistro. I am here every morning but Sunday. Right now I have only this cart, but someday I will open the best bistro in Maatlamotse!”

Cecil took a bite of breakfast bread. It was fresh, firm and delicious.

“Bibi, I have no doubt you will. And please save me another cup of coffee and another piece of the batanga berry bread. I have a short meeting in the ministry and I should be back in half an hour.”

She clapped her hands and laughed. “I will be happy to do that, rra. I can see you are a man of refined tastes.”

Cecil walked into the ministry. He signed a dozen forms and papers, and picked up the shiny, new badge that proclaimed he was no longer “Inspector Richardson,” but “Chief Inspector Richardson.” Practically, his promotion meant very little, and Cecil was more interested in his second coffee, batanga berry bread, and getting back to Nyati and Miriam.

Chapter 17

Cookie was up early in the safari camp kitchen. Today, he would make pancakes. Rra Deke loved pancakes. The serving girls, Knock-knock and Who’s-there, watched him make them. They loved the smell as much as the taste. Cookie spoke to them in the clicking language of the Forest People and then switched to English.

“Uncle Deke is going to stay for another month or two. His wife is coming here, too. Many clients have cancelled, but we will have a happy camp with him.”

The girls clapped their hands. Knock-knock said, “That will make Bwana Paddy happy, too. He has not been happy since the naked girl and the strange man were eaten by the lioness.”

“Yes,” said Who’s-there. “They say people in America call him a murderer because he shot the lioness. You shot it, too. Do they call you a murderer?”

Cookie sighed. “No. They only say Bwana Paddy is.”

Who’s-there said, “What they want you and Bwana Paddy to do? Are they crazy in America?”

lioness.”

Cookie nodded. “Yes, but Uncle Deke is from Texas America. He says it is different there. Texas America people would shoot the lioness.”

Who’s-there said, “If I had to live in America, I would live in Texas America.”

Cookie and Knock-knock nodded in agreement.