Страница 61 из 90
The only excuse for violence is to protect that which belongs to you. He
banked steeply away and lined up for his approach to the landing-strip
at Jabulani.
Conrad Berg called again to sample the Old Buck gin, and to tell David
that his application to have Jabulani declared a private nature reserve
had been approved by the Board and that the necessary documentation
would soon be ready for signature. Do you want me to pull the fence out
now. 'No, David answered grimly. Let it stand. I don't want Akkers
frightened off. Ja, Conrad agreed heavily. We have got to get him. He
called Zulu to him and examined the scar that was ridged and shaped like
forked lightning across the pup's belly. The bastard, 'he muttered, and
then glanced guiltily at Debra.
Sorry, Mrs. Morgan. I I couldn't agree more, Mr. Berg, she said softly,
and Zulu watched her lips attentively when she spoke, his head cocked to
one side.
Like all young things, he had healed cleanly and quickly.
The morula grove that ran thickly along the base of
the hills about the String of Pearls came -into flower.
The holes were straight and sturdy, each crowned with a fully rounded,
many-branched head of dense foliage, and the red flowers made a royal
show.
Almost daily David and Debra would wander together through the groves,
down the rude track to the pools, and Zulu regained his strength on
these leisurely strolls which always culminated in a swim and a lusty
shaking off of water droplets, usually on to the nearest bystander.
Then the green plum-shaped fruits that covered the female marulas
thickly began to turn yellow as they ripened, and their yeasty smell was
heavy on the warm evening breeze.
The herd came up from the Sabi, forsaking the lush reed beds for the
promise of the morula harvest. They were led by two old bulls, who for
forty years had made the a
there were fifteen breeding cows with calves ru
adolescents.
They moved up slowly from the south, feeding spread out, sailing like
ghostly grey galleons through the open bush, overloaded bellies
rumbling. Occasionally a tall tree would catch the attention of one of
the bulls and he would place his forehead upon the thick trunk and,
swaying rhythmically as he built up momentum, he would strain suddenly
and bring it crackling and crashing down. A few mouthfuls of the tender
tip leaves would satisfy him, or he might strip the bark and stuff it
Untidily into his mouth before moving on northwards.
When they reached Conrad Berg's fence the two bulls moved forward and
examined it, standing shoulder to shoulder as though in consultation,
fa
pinch of sand in their trunks to throw over their own backs against the
worrisome attention of the stinging flies.
In forty years they had travelled, and knew exactly all the boundaries
of their reserve. As they stood there contemplating the game fence, it
was as though they were fully aware that its destruction would be a
criminal act, and injurious to their reputations and good standing.
Conrad Berg was deadly serious when he discussed his elephants sense of
right and wrong with David. He spoke of them like schoolboys who had to
be placed on good behaviour, and disciplined when they transgressed.
The Discipline might take the form of driving, darting with drugs, or
formal execution with a heavy rifle. This ultimate punishment was
reserved for the incorrigibles who raided cultivated crops, chased
motor-cars or otherwise endangered human life.
Sorely tempted, the two old bulls left the fence and ambled back to the
breeding herd that waited patiently for their decision amongst the thorn
trees. For three days the herd drifted back and forth along the fence,
feeding and resting and waiting, then suddenly the wind turned westerly
and it came to them laden with the thick, cloyingly sweet smell of the
morula berries.
David parked the Land-Rover on the firebreak road and laughed with
delight.
So much for Co
perhaps merely for the mischievous delight of destruction, no adult
elephant would accept the breach made by another.
Each of them had selected his own fence pole, hard wood uprights
embedded in concrete, and had effortlessly snapped it off level with the
ground. Over a length of a mile the fence was flattened, and the wire
mesh lay across the firebreak.
Each elephant had used his broken pole like a tightrope, to avoid
treading on the sharp points of the barbed wire. Then once across the
fence they had streamed in a tight bunch down to the pools to spend a
night in feasting, an elephantine gorge on the yellow berries, which
ended at dawn when they had bunched up into close order and dashed back
across the ruined fence into the safety of the Park, perhaps pursued by
guilt and remorse and hoping that Conrad Berg would lay the blame on
some other herd.
However, the downed fence provided ready access for many others who had
long hankered after the sweet untouched grazing and deep water holes.
Ugly little blue wildebeest with monstrous heads, absurdly warlike manes
and curved horns in imitation of the mighty buffalo. Clowns of the
bush, they capered with glee and chased each other in circles. Their
companions the zebra were more dignified, ignoring their antics, and
trotted in businesslike fashion down to the pools. Their rumps were
striped and glossy and plump, their heads up and ears pricked.
Conrad Berg met David at the remains of his fence, climbing out of his
own truck and picking his way carefully over the wire. Sam, the African
ranger, followed him.
Conrad shook his head as he surveyed the destruction, chuckling
ruefully.
It's old Mahommed and his pal One-Eye, I'd know that spoor anywhere.
They just couldn't help themselves, the bastards - He glanced quickly at
Debra in the Land-Rover.
That's perfectly all right, Mr. Berg, she forestalled his apology.
Sam had been casting back and forth along the soft break road and now he
came to where they stood.
Hello, Sam, David greeted him. It had taken a lot of persuasion to get
Sam to accept that this terribly disfigured face belonged to the young
nkosi David who he had taught to track, and shoot and rob a wild beehive
without destroying the bees.
Sam saluted David with a flourish. He took his uniform very seriously
and conducted himself like a guardsman now. It was difficult to tell
his age, for he had the broad smooth moonface of the Nguni, the
aristocratic warrior tribes of Africa, but there was a frosting of
purest white on the close-curled hair of his temples under the slouch
hat, and David knew he had worked at Jabulani for forty years before
leaving. The man must be approaching sixty years of age.
Quickly he made his report to Conrad, describing the animals and the
numbers which had crossed into Jabulani.
There is also a herd of buffalo, forty-three of them, Sam spoke in
simple Zulu that David could still follow. They are the ones who drank
before Ripape Dam near Hlangulene. That will bring Akkers ru
sirloin of a young buffalo makes the finest biltong there is, Conrad
observed dryly.
How long will it be before he knows the fence is down? David asked, and