“Well, I like it anyway,” Mary said. “And after all we didn’t come out here to bring order into Africa.”
“No. We came out to take some pictures and write some captions for them and then to have fun and learn what we could.”
“But we certainly got mixed up in it.”
“I know. But are you having fun?”
“I’ve never been happier.”
Ngui had stopped and was pointing at the right-hand side of the road. “Simba.”
There was the big track, too big to believe.
The left hind foot clearly showed the old scar. He had crossed the road quietly more or less at the time Mary had shot the buck. He had gone on into the broken bush country.
“Him,” Ngui said. There was no doubt of it at all. With luck we could have met him on the road. But he would have been careful and let us pass. He was a very intelligent and unhurried lion. The sun was almost down and with the clouds there would be no light to shoot in another five minutes.
“Now things aren’t so complicated,” Mary said very happily.
“Go to camp for the motor car,” I told Ngui. “We’ll go back to wait with Charo with the meat.”
That night when we had gone to our own beds but were not yet asleep we heard the lion roar. He was north of the camp and the roar came low and mounting in heaviness and then ended in a sigh.
“I’m coming in with you,” Mary said.
We lay close together in the dark under the mosquito bar, my arm around her, and listened to him roar again.
“There’s no mistaking when it’s him,” Mary said. “I’m glad we’re in bed together when we hear him.”
He was moving to the north and west, grunting deeply and then roaring.
“Is he calling up the lionesses or is he angry? What is he really doing?”
“I don’t know, honey. I think he’s angry because it’s wet.”
“But he roared too when it was dry and we tracked him in the bush.”
“I was just joking, honey. I only hear him roar. I can see him when he sets himself and tomorrow you’ll see where he tears the ground up.”
“He’s too great to joke about.”
“I have to joke about him if I’m going to back you up. You wouldn’t want me to start worrying about him would you?”
“Listen to him,” Mary said.
We lay together and listened to him. You cannot describe a wild lion’s roar. You can only say that you listened and the lion roared. It is not at all like the noise the lion makes at the start of Metro Goldwyn Mayer pictures. When you hear it you first feel it in your scrotum and it runs all the way up through your body.
“He makes me feel hollow inside,” Mary said. “He really is the king of the night.”
We listened and he roared again still moving to the northwest. This time the roar ended with a cough.
“Just hope he kills,” I said to her. “Don’t think about him too much and sleep well.”
“I have to think about him and I want to think about him. He’s my lion and I love him and respect him and I have to kill him. He means more to me than anything except you and our people. You know what he means.”
“Too bloody well,” I said. “But you ought to sleep, honey. Maybe he is roaring to keep you awake.”
“Well then let him keep me awake,” Mary said. “If I’m going to kill him he has a right to keep me awake. I love everything he does and everything about him.”
“But you ought to sleep a little bit, honey. He wouldn’t like you not to sleep.”
“He doesn’t care about me at all. I care about him and that’s why I kill him. You ought to understand.”
“I understand. But you ought to sleep good now, my kitten. Because tomorrow in the morning it starts.”
“I’ll sleep. But I want to hear him speak once more.”
She was very sleepy and I thought that this girl who had lived all her life never wishing to kill anything until she had fallen in with bad characters in the war had been hunting lions too long on a perfectly straight basis, which, without a professional to back her up, was not a sound trade or occupation and could be very bad for one and obviously was being that at this moment. Then the lion roared again and coughed three times. The coughs came from the earth where he was direct into the tent.
“I’ll go to sleep now,” Miss Mary said. “I hope he didn’t cough because he had to. Can he catch cold?”
“I don’t know, honey. Will you sleep well and good now?”
“I’m asleep already. But you must wake me long before first light no matter how asleep I am. Do you promise?”
“I promise.” Then she was asleep and I lay far against the wall of the tent and felt her sleeping softly and when my left arm began to ache I took it from under her head and felt her to be comfortable and then I occupied a small part of the big cot and then listened to the lion. He was silent until about three o’clock when he killed. After that the hyenas all started to speak and the lion fed and from time to time spoke gruffly. There was no talk from the lionesses. One I knew was about to have cubs and would have nothing to do with him and the other was her girlfriend. I thought it was still too wet to find him when it was light. But there was always a chance.