A Spear of Summer Grass - By Deanna Raybourn Page 0,67

saying such a thing.”

“You mean they’re still together?”

He shrugged. “She is very lovely. My father drinks moratina and forgets why he hates her. Then he drinks more and remembers again. They fight very much, and my father has sold his cattle to buy moratina.”

“What is moratina?”

“Honey beer. It makes him forget how to be a good man and he raises his stick to his younger children. Most of them are out of his house now. The girls have married, bad marriages, because they had few cattle to take to their husbands. And the younger boys get up to much mischief and are often beaten by the morani for their disrespect. He has not taught them to speak with dignity and to be useful. He has taught them only to despise others and so they are despised. Only Moses is free of him.”

“How?”

“One day when our father was drinking much moratina, I stood over him as he lifted his stick to Moses. I told him for every blow he struck my brother, I would strike one upon him. I am taller than my father,” he said with a small, sad smile. “My father was frightened of me and he shoved Moses into my arms and said he would be as my son now and I would have the care of him. I took him to my mother’s father, my babu. He is a very good man, Bibi. He opened his home to the child of his daughter’s husband’s other wife, and this is not often done.”

“Your babu is generous.”

Gideon’s brow furrowed. “Yes, but he grows old, Bibi. And when he dies, his cattle will be given to his sons and daughters, as they must be. There are no cattle for Moses. This is why I am happy Moses has work. He will be a man with cattle because of you.”

We walked on then and he pointed out the tracks of the tiny mice that lived on the plains and the soft swirl left by a passing snake. He gave me the leaf of the leleshwa and crushed it into my palm so the sage-smell of it would fill my nose. He lifted a tiny bone from the dust and explained that it came from the spine of a porcupine, and he taught me to hold myself very still to watch the antics of a small black bird that leaped and swayed.

“The white settlers call this a widowbird, but it is not a lady bird. It is the male. For most of the year he is grey and plain, but once a year his feathers change and he looks as you see him now.”

It seemed impossible that this bird could ever be plain. His plumage was glossy black and the feathers of his tail swept into a long train that he carried behind him with kingly dignity. As we watched, he capered and danced, all the while singing an elaborate song and flapping his wings for emphasis.

“That is his dance to bring a lady bird so they can marry,” he told me.

I peered into the bushes. “I do not see another bird.”

“Then he dances for you, Bibi,” he said with his broad, gap-toothed smile. “You are welcome in Africa. Africa wants you here.”

And as we walked through the warm sunlight of that afternoon, I believed it.

13

We reached Nyama at teatime, and I was surprised to see Kit happily devouring sandwiches.

“Delilah!” he called through a mouthful of crumbs. He rose and pressed a kiss to my cheek. Ryder shot us both a cool look then moved to sit next to our hostess. Jude was on his other side, sipping slowly at a cup of tea.

“Afternoon, Tusker,” Ryder said, helping himself to a plate. “Hope you don’t mind, but we’re after a lion. I need to collect my gear and I could use a few of your boys as bearers.”

She waved him to a chair. “Anytime. You know that.” She turned to me. “So, Miss Drummond. Your first lion hunt. I hope you won’t turn soft when the time comes to shoot. They’re beautiful monsters, lions, but monsters they are and don’t mistake it. They’ll just as soon tear you to pieces as look at you.”

I thought of the broken bits of flesh that had been carried into my garden on a blanket and pushed the sandwiches aside. Jude poured me a strong cup of tea and handed it over. “There’s whisky if you need a stiffener,” she said. Her voice was cool, but