They were so low that it seemed the bull might grab a wingtip with his reaching trunk, and Craig could clearly make out the wet exudation from the glands behind his eyes. He found himself gripping the sides of his seat.
At last Sally-Anne left him, levelled her wings and climbed away. Craig slumped with relief.
"Cold feet, Mr. Mellow? Or should that be singular, foot?" "Bitch," Craig thought. "That was a low hit." But she was talking to Peter Fungabera over her shoulder.
"Dead, that animal is worth ten thousand dollars, tops.
Alive, he's worth ten times that, and he'll sire a hundred bulls to replace him."
"Sally-Anne is convinced that there is a large-scale poaching ring at work in this country. She has shown me some remarkable photographs and I must say, I am beginning to share her concern."
"We have to find them and smash them, General," she insisted.
"Find them for me, Sally-Anne, and I will smash them.
You already have my word." Listening to them talking, Craig felt again an oldfashioned emotion that he had been aware of the very first time he had seen these two together. There was no missing the accord between them, and Fungabera was a dashingly handsome fellow. Now he darted a glance over his shoulder, and found the general watching him closely and speculatively, a look he covered instantly with a smile.
"How do you feel about the issue, Mr. Mellow?" he said, and suddenly Craig was telling him about his plans for Zambezi Waters on the Chizarira. He told them about the black rhinoceros and the protected wilderness areas surrounding it, and he told them how accessible it was to Victoria Falls, and now Sally-Anne was listening as intently as the general. When he finished, they were both silent for a while, and then the general said, "Now, Mr. Mellow, you are making good sense. That is the kind of planning that this country desperately needs, and its profit potential will be understood by even the most backward and unsophisticated of my people."
"Wouldn't Craig be easier, General?"
"Thank you, Craig my friends call me Peter." Half an hour later Craig saw a galvanized iron roof flash in the sunlight dead ahead, and Sally-Anne said, "Tuti Mission Station," and began letting down for a landing.
She banked steeply over the church and Craig saw tiny figures around the cluster of huts waving up at them.
The strip was short and narrow and rough, and the wind was across, but Sally-Anne crabbed in and kicked her straight at the moment before touch-down, then held the port wing down with a twist of the wheel. She was really very good indeed, CraigWiealized.
There was a saq-coloured army Land-Rover waiting under a huge manila tree off to one side of the strip, and three troopers saluted Peter Fungabera with a stamping of boots that raised dust and a slapping of rifle-butts. Then while Craig helped Sally-Anne tie down the aircraft, they loaded the meagre baggage into the Land' Rover
As the Land-Rover drew level with the mission schoolhouse beside the church, Sally-Anne asked, "Do you think they have a girls" room here?" and Peter tapped the driver on the shoulder with his swagger-stick and the vehicle stopped.
Goggle-eyed black children crowded the veranda and the school-mistress came out to greet Sally-Anne as she climbed the steps, and gave her a little curtsey of welcome.
The teacher was about the same age as Sally' Anne with long slim legs under her simple cotton skirt. Her dress was surgically clean and crisply ironed, and her white gym shoes were spotless. Her skin was glossy as velvet, and she had the typical moon face, shining teeth and gazelle eyes of the Nguni maiden, but there was a grace in her carriage, an alert and intelligent expression and a sculpturing of her features that was truly beautiful.
She and Sally-Anne talked for a few moments and then she led the white girl through the door.
"I think you and I should understand each other, Craig." Peter watched the two girls disappear. "I have seen you looking at Sally Anne and me. Let me just say, I admire Sally-Anne's accomplishments, her intelligence and her initiative however, unlike many of my peers, miscegenation has no attraction for me whatsoever. I find most European women mannish and overbearing, and white flesh insipid. If you will pardon my plain speaking."
"I am relieved to hear it, Peter, "Craig smiled.
"On the other hand, the little schoolteacher there strikes me as you are the word master give me a word for her, please."
"Toothsome." "Good "Nubile."
"Even better," Peter chuckled. "I really must find time to read your book." And then he was serious again as he went on, "Her name is Sarah. She has four A levels and a high school teacher's diploma; she has qualifications in nursing, she is beautiful and yet modest, respectful and dutiful with traditional good manners did you see how she did not look directly at us men? that would have been forward." Peter nodded approval. "A modern woman with oldfashioned virtues. Yet her father is a witch-doctor who dresses in skins, divines by throwing the bones, and does not wash from one year to the next. Africa," he said. "My wonderful, endlessly fascinating ever-changing never changing Africa." The two young women returned from the outhouses behind the school and were chatting animatedly to each other, while Sally-Anne clicked away with her camera, capturing images of the children with their teacher who seemed not much older than they.
The two men watched them from the Land-Rover.
"You strike me as a man of action, Peter and I cannot believe you lack the bride-price?" Craig asked. "\X%at are you waiting for?" "She is Matabele, and I am Mashona. Capulet and Montague," Peter explained simply. "And that is an end of it." The children, led by Sarah, sang them a song of welcome from the veranda and then at Sally-Anne's request recited the alphabet and the multiplication tables, while she photographed their intent expressions. When she climbed back into the Land-Rover, they trilled their farewells and waved until the billowing dust hid them.