Disposition of Remains Page 17

  Sally clapped her hands like a silly monkey at Edison’s effort, while Clifford frowned at missing his Kodak moment.

  When it was time to say goodnight, Edison, accompanied by his rifle, escorted each couple, Carol, and Clifford one at a time to our tented cabins. He asked us not to leave the cabin until sunup because predatory animals hunt at night. That was all he needed to say to me.

  Once inside, Wilbur and I were faced with the awkward decision of who was to sleep where. There were two bedrooms, but the bathroom and shower area had no door. Even though Wilbur and I had already had our share of intimate bathroom rendezvous, I’d never really gotten used to the idea. Evan and I never reached that sort of comfort zone in our relationship.

  “I’ll give you some time in the bathroom,” Wilbur said graciously as he strolled into the back room.

  I quickly used the bathroom and brushed my teeth, knowing full well that he could hear everything since there were no doors on the bedrooms either. It was an awkward moment in which I wished I could relieve myself silently. After I finished, I grabbed the book Clifford had loaned to me, and climbed between the sheets in the front bedroom.

  I waited with nervous anticipation while Wilbur wrapped up his turn in the bathroom. He emerged wearing nothing but sweatpants, then stood over me for a moment as though deciding what to do. I desperately wanted to tell him “just get in,” but I knew it wouldn’t be fair. Ultimately, I had nothing to offer him but a brief dalliance with my tumor-ridden flesh. He had to be the instigator; it had to be his idea. Wilbur finally made a decision. He bent over and gave me a soft kiss on the mouth.

  “Goodnight,” he whispered and retreated into his half of the cabin.

  I wanted to argue, or at least react in a different way than I did. Instead, I covered up my disappointment by attempting to read The Leopard Hunts in Darkness, but all I could think about was Wilbur. Not Wilbur Smith, the author of the novel lying unread in my lap, but Wilbur Gresham, in all his beauty, lying in the other room. Then, abruptly, the lights went out.

  “The generator shuts off at ten o’clock,” Wilbur called from the other room.

  “Oh, okay…Wilbur?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I just wanted to thank you for getting me here.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  I forced my eyes shut and after what seemed like an eternity, I fell asleep. Then, the bugs came.

  CHAPTER 24

  Out of the dead still of the night came the startling sound of drumming directly outside our tented cabin. I sprang out of bed and tumbled clumsily to the floor.

  “What in the hell is that?”

  “African wake-up call,” Wilbur shouted as he arose and wandered from his room to mine. “We see more animals in the early morning before it gets too hot,” he said through a stretch and a yawn.

  “How on earth are we supposed to see them? It’s pitched black outside!”

  Wilbur laughed as he helped me up from the hardwood floor.

  “Go take a shower. After breakfast, it’ll be light enough to see.”

  With one eye open, I staggered to the shower and followed Wilbur’s directive, completely unmindful of the fact that I was only wearing a tank top and my “smalls,” the African term for underwear.

  When I finished showering, I wrapped up in a towel and allowed Wilbur his turn in the bathroom. So concerned with covering my nudity, I ducked behind the wall of the bedroom to quickly dress. Then I instinctively poked my head around the corner, forgetting it would be his turn to disrobe.

  “I really like that the staff eats at the table with us,” I offered, trying to avoid eye contact as he climbed into the shower. “Eliminates that whole ‘us and them’ mentality.”

  “That’s the whole idea,” he half gurgled as the water ran over his head, causing me to forget myself and peer in his direction. It took me an extra-long moment to tear my eyes away from his naked, lathered body. But still, our easy, constant flow of conversation continued all the way through hair drying, shaving, dressing, and tooth brushing. I loved how we shared the comfort level of an old married couple with the sexual tension of a new one, yet we weren’t a couple at all.

  At breakfast, Wilbur and I completely ignored our sleepy co-travelers, still engulfed in our own conversation. I was so grateful for Wilbur’s company, especially considering my alternate choices for companionship. Spending time with Wilbur gave me a sort of impending-doom amnesia. His very presence was so intoxicating.

  “African massage!” Edison called out as we bumped along the dusty road. I was once again the mediator between Carol and Clifford, squashed between them in the back of the off-road vehicle. For several hours we had been following some lion tracks that Edison had spotted. The sun was out in full force, and we had crossed the paths of many impalas, baboons, warthogs, and various birds while we searched for the African king. Clifford grumbled continuously about how he had spent his savings to see all of the “Big Five”—a term coined by hunters that includes the rhino, elephant, buffalo, the elusive leopard, and finally, the great Panthera leo, otherwise known as the lion. I guessed the notion that Clifford had been inspired to come to Africa because of Wilbur Smith’s novels was out the window.

  Carol griped about Clifford’s grumbling, all while asking an endless number of annoying and idiotic questions. The answers of which would have to be repeated by Edison several times due either to her stupidity or the fact the she was auditorily-challenged, despite her protests otherwise.

  We were about to turn around and return to the camp for lunch, thereby abandoning our quest, when Clifford called from the back of the jeep, “I see somethin’ tan over thar’ in the bushes!”

  Edison halted the vehicle and pulled out a pair of compact binoculars as he informed us, “We cannot drive off-road in Chobe unless we are sure there are big cats. It disturbs the environment.”

  I thought it odd that it was all right to disturb the environment, only if there were also a big cat to disturb. And yet I couldn’t quite get on the side of Sally and John who contended that we should just move on and leave the microcosm that was out of our view unbothered. What were we there for, if not to gander upon Simba and Mufasa’s relatives if they were really there for us to see? Luckily, everyone one else was on my side of the bandwagon.

  “I’m sure…it’s a lion,” Clifford said, but his voice was wavering, leaving me quite sure that he was not sure. He just wanted so much to believe, as did I, though a small part of me wanted him to be wrong, because the insolent cowboy didn’t deserve to be right.

  Edison carefully scanned the area, fixated on Clifford’s spot with his binoculars for a moment, then mumbled something to Wilbur, who was sitting shotgun. Wilbur gave an inconspicuous nod of approval.

  Without another word, off the road we went, mowing over several small shrubs, much to Sally and John’s environmentalist dismay, attempting to find the “something tan” that Clifford had seen. They cringed as we crackled over fallen braches and kicked up the otherwise peaceful dirt. I hated myself for going along with the obnoxious American mentality that we should just do whatever we want wherever we are. But my self-loathing was greatly outweighed by my contempt for Clifford and Carol, making me feel strangely better.

  Carol began again with her barrage of questions.

  “Are you sure it wasn’t a paper bag? Or maybe a rock? Or even a—”

  “NO! I’m sure,” Clifford barked back, not even attempting to conceal his disdain for her. Yet, even with his exasperation, his line of sight never moved from the spot of the alleged predator.

  “Right there! Back up a little. I see an ear,” he announced more confidently, while pointing and attempting to stand up in the truck.

  Edison complied, and as we rolled slowly backward, I saw that there was not only one lion, but four of them, lazing under a tree in the tall grass. I felt briefly irritated with Clifford as he gloated in his correctness, because I knew it was only a lucky guess. But I quickly forgot about both him
and Carol as Edison shifted back into drive and we slowly approached the enormous felines.

  When we arrived at what Edison considered to be a “safe” distance—literally within several feet of them—the lions glanced in our direction, but remained otherwise indifferent to our presence. Carol began to make motions as if she were trying to exit the vehicle. I gently grabbed her by the belt of her jeans and sat her back down. She turned to me with a disgruntled glare and a huff. I felt a twinge of regret that I hadn’t just let her turn herself into a lion snack.

  In a hushed voice, Edison instructed that we remain perfectly still, then began to impart information about the lions. He explained that they were all female—two adults and two cubs. Despite their youth, the cubs were enormous; one swipe from their massive clawed paws and Carol’s plastic surgery would have been history.

  The rulers of the African plain resembled oversized, cuddly stuffed animals. They appeared perfectly content as they lay sprawled under the baobob tree, sunbathing in the streaks of light that filtered through its branches. They didn’t have a care in the world. Lions don’t skirt off like other animals at sight of intruders; they stay and fight. I envied them. Their lives were constantly in potential danger, and yet that fact was clearly not at the forefront of their minds, as my mortality was usually at the forefront of mine.

  We watched for a while, anxiously waiting for the lions to do something—anything. They did not. Other than the occasional blink, the lions remained still, conserving their energy for nocturnal hunting. We all sat mesmerized, sure that they would stretch or roll over at any moment.

  Unfortunately, my bladder was losing its capacity due to my tumor and I couldn’t wait any longer. There was no way to discreetly inform Edison of my discomfort, as I was in the most remote seat of the vehicle. To my embarrassment, I was forced to pass along the message relay-style in a whisper. I wasn’t a fan of soiling myself in front of Wilbur. Even though I was the youngest in the crowd, it depressed me that I was the most in need of an adult diaper.

  When we returned to the camp, I ran past the staff that was awaiting our arrival with glasses of champagne in hand.

  “To the lions!” I could hear the staff toast from my seat in the bathroom.

  When I rejoined the group, everyone was celebrating our success. David and Mary took it upon themselves to anoint Clifford “The Lion King.” It infuriated me and I refused to call him that; Clifford, with his self-centeredness and obnoxious jokes, didn’t remotely measure up to my animated guru.

  We spent the next two days alternating between eating, sleeping, and driving in search of new game. When our last night at Chobe arrived, we celebrated with a traditional African feast. Up to that point, our food had been very much Americanized. I could tell how much the locals enjoyed explaining to us that African women eat only after their men, and that they present their husbands’ meals while on their knees. Mary and Sally were quick to follow tradition, running to fill plates, then practically crawling over to their husbands’ feet to present them with their dinner while Edison, Raashida, and the other staff laughed at the spectacle.

  I had already started to concoct reasons why I couldn’t participate: bad knee and the like.

  “You don’t have to,” Wilbur whispered to me, which I sincerely appreciated since I had no intention of following suit.

  The experience was so reminiscent of Evan and his expectations. If he were there, he would have sat so glibly, waiting for me to cower down worshipfully in front of him in this new and glorious way. I simply should have refused; I was past needing reasons or excuses. I was dying for God’s sake!

  Still, all eyes were on me, expecting me to comply with local tradition. Having a terminal illness would have been the perfect alibi, but I didn’t want to drop that bomb for such a trivial reason. I sat there, motionless and silent instead of boldly declining. When it became awkwardly clear that I had no intention of getting down on all fours, Carol decided to fill the void. She prepared a plate, glanced fleetingly at Clifford, then veered off in Wilbur’s direction, beaming.

  “Oh, no. Oh, no, no,” Wilbur muttered in a low voice.

  Suddenly, all my newfound independence and resolve disappeared as fast as a prom dress in the backseat of a car. I couldn’t let it go down like that. I jumped up and ran over to the buffet area. Realizing there wasn’t time, I instead snatched a plate of food out of Raashida’s hands and practically mowed over Carol to get to Wilbur first. I fell to my knees in front of him and handed him his food, which he quickly set aside. Wilbur wasn’t having any of it either. He stood up and grabbed my hand to help me to my feet. Our eyes locked once again, but this time I ignored the spectators and kissed him. Everyone clapped and cheered, except the upstaged Carol and the still-unnourished Clifford.

  Carol took her plate and sat down, but not before giving Clifford a good sneer. Raashida, with her immense pregnant belly, voluntarily served Clifford a plate on her knees, which pleased him tremendously. At this point, I knew I wouldn’t be learning something new from everyone I met on my journey, except perhaps, how not to behave.

  Further following African custom, we were asked to eat our food with our hands. Silverware was nowhere to be found. We were given mieliepap, a firm porridge made from maize meal and potjiekos, a traditional vegetable-and-meat stew. I decided I could embrace this tradition. It was so against how I had lived in the sterile American way. The easier thing to pick up with my hands was the white-rice-looking mieliepap. From the corner of my eye, I noticed Clifford furrow his face into a frown at the sight of Wilbur and I feeding it to each other as if it were wedding cake.

  At the close of our festivities, we were once again led back to our tented cabin, guarded by an armed escort. We commenced our usual nighttime routine, after which I crawled into my lonely bed and again attempted to read. Wilbur appeared next to my bed, and gazed down at me.

  “Do you think I could just lay here with you?” he asked, his dark, wavy hair cascading across his face.

  I had been dying a small death every night that he hadn’t asked me, and had silently hoped that he would just climb in and hold on tight. Wilbur looked as tense as I felt as he awaited my answer. I could feel the butterflies going to town in my stomach, but I couldn’t find the words to articulate my feelings. Instead, I simply smiled and pulled back the covers.

  Wilbur slid into the bed beside me and we lay facing one another. Tenderly, he pushed a lock of my hair from my terrified face.

  “You know so much about me; I want to know all about you,” I managed to whisper.

  And, finally, the floodgates opened.

  He proceeded to tell me how he had grown up on a farm in Ash Fork, Arizona, population: 573. While he treasured his upbringing, he knew that small town life wasn’t for him, so he enrolled in business school via full scholarship—at Yale, no less. After having received his MBA, he was recruited to a large company in Connecticut where he worked until he got the travel bug. With the money he managed to save, he was able to start investing in properties for his travel company. He also bought a house close to his parents, so he could still see them on a regular basis. Wilbur had entirely conventional values aside from his wanderlust and refusal to settle down.

  We talked for hours, and when he finally paused, I could tell from his expression exactly what he was thinking. The same thing came rushing back to my mind. The proverbial elephant had returned to the room. His intoxicating aura had caused me to forget about it for a while, but it had obviously reentered his awareness: This chick’s gonna die.

  I was grateful that it hadn’t come up before. I think Wilbur was afraid to broach the subject for fear that I would find a way to flee again, lions or not. But it couldn’t be avoided forever.

  “It’s all right,” I said, nodding. “Go ahead and ask me.”

  “Are you feeling alright? Because you actually look really good. I’m mean, not that you didn’t before. And, you know, I just keep thinking that maybe your doctors are wrong. Or maybe
you’re getting better? It happens, right?” Wilbur rambled all in one breath, like beautiful word vomit.

  I had been wondering the same thing. But, I could still feel the mass; it wasn’t like it was shrinking. Just the opposite, if anything. And I still got the sharp pains in my abdomen when I stood up too fast, but I’d learned to mask them. The nausea was still present, and then there was the occasional taste of battery acid in my mouth. However, I had gained back some of the weight that I had initially lost. I no longer resembled the emaciated wretch my mother had become. That had to be a good sign. And at that moment, I felt incredible.

  “Maybe it’s mind over body, like Misty said. I was so miserable before, that my body reacted by turning on itself. And now that my life is so much better, my body’s better. Maybe if I start eating healthier and exercising—hey! Can we go for a run? Running sounds great! Not now, of course, since it’s dark and everything.”

  Wilbur’s enthusiastic rambling had clearly rubbed off on me.

  “The problem with running around here is that things chase you, and will most likely catch you.”

  “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

  We laughed in unison. Our collective positive energy made me feel so uplifted and hopeful. Maybe I was deluding myself, but I needed that positive energy so much. I was just starting to truly live. Suddenly, I knew what I had to do: I had to detox my body and my mind. I had to be a better person—a good person. There had to be some higher power that would allow me to go on living if I changed the way I was doing so.

  Being a good person in the religious sense could not include having an extramarital affair. I was convinced of that. Wilbur and I had yet to cross that line, and I knew I had to keep it that way. I turned away from Wilbur, and he did nothing but snuggle up behind me. He gently squeezed his way into all the nooks of my body. I hadn’t been held like that except on a handful of occasions with Michael, and that had been nearly twenty years prior. It was a very sensual feeling, having his body totally molded onto mine. It was all I could do to resist temptation. As he fell asleep, breathing softly, his hand fell onto my abdomen, onto the monster that was keeping us from delving head first into a love affair.