December, and there’d been no rain here. Next to the track, cattle stumbled over the earth, their rib cages hollow.
By midafternoon, they’d reached Nata, two hundred kilometers west of Francistown, where they stopped to meet up with Ian Henry, the specialist in San rock paintings. They inquired after him, but no one in the village seemed to know where he’d gone. A national measles and vitamin A campaign was under way beneath a shade tree; schoolchildren in faded gold uniforms with brown collars were being dragged there for vaccinations.
“Where the hell is he?” asked Arthur Haddock.
“He probably got tired of waiting,” Alice said. “We’re half a day late.”
Ian Henry did appear a couple of hours later, saying he’d needed to talk to a man who lived farther up the Nata River. Alice remembered then that she’d met this fellow the previous year, after he’d written a proposal for a permit to work in the Tsodilo Hills. Her first impression of him had been of someone disorganized and borderline cavalier. To that was added the word combative, after he and Arthur Haddock got into a discussion after dinner over San trance dances.
“Pagan rituals,” said Haddock.
“Pagan is a pretty loaded word,” said Ian. “Not that far from ‘nigger.’ And where do you get your information?”
“I saw a film before leaving the States.”
“Ah, a film. A very dependable and rigorous source. Did you ever talk to a San healer?”
“It’s obvious what’s going on.”
“Obvious? How?”
“I’ve seen that same sort of mumbo jumbo in the States.”
“This is not mumbo jumbo. Healers risk their lives to cure others. When they enter a trance, they’re often in excruciating pain—and they believe they may not return to the world. They do it for each other, and for their community. When was the last time you had that sort of courage?”
“I’m going to bed.”
“Your mind is as closed as a cuckoo clock.”
“You’ve had too much to drink.”
“In vino veritas.”
“You’re the kind of fellow who needs the last word, aren’t you.” Ian Henry was silent, and Haddock disappeared into his tent.
Alice smiled. “Are you?”
“I could have gone on to tell him that I’d once had the honor to enter the kind of trance I was talking about. But I didn’t.”
“Very restrained of you.”
All three vehicles stopped midmorning by the side of the road, and Will said he’d like to take a detour to the Makgadikgadi Game Reserve to check out what was there. Haddock asked if that was part of the agenda.
“No, it’s not necessary to visit the Makgadikgadi,” answered Will, “but I thought we were here to learn things we didn’t already know.”
“Ngamiland is where we’re supposed to be going,” said Haddock. He turned and headed toward a Land Rover, but one of his shoes slipped on the sand. His arms windmilled, and he went down on one knee, as though praying. Alice wanted to laugh, but then she felt sorry for him. Who would wear shoes like that in the desert?
“Why don’t we just split up?” said Alice’s boss. “Anyone who wants to take in the Makgadikgadi can. The rest can go straight to Maun. We’ll meet there.” There was a small stampede toward the two vehicles not carrying Arthur Haddock. Sam got stuck with him in the truck, and the rest crammed into the Land Rovers.
As they wallowed up the sandy track in the Land Rover, Will said, “Between Nata and Gweta is mostly mopane forest, but off the main road … well, if you’ve never seen it, you’re in for one of the most fascinating sights on Earth. These salt pans were at one time part of an ancient inland lake. There are remnants of stone age civilizations on outcroppings. If there’s rain, water forms at the point where the river joins the Sowa Pan. It’s a nesting place for flamingos migrating from Namibia. I’ve seen literally thousands of birds there.”
The main road crossed a narrow finger of the northernmost edge of the Ntwetwe Pan. They turned south at Gweta. On either side lay alternating dry grasslands and mopane trees, opening out occasionally onto plains dotted with palms. Thirty kilometers later, Ntwetwe Pan appeared. Looking south was an eerie expanse of white salt and white sky and searing sun.
“Astronauts apparently can make out the outlines of the old lake from outer space,” Will said. “From close up, you’ll see where the shore was. You have to be careful crossing. This time of year, the surface looks completely dry, but the water can be just a couple