That afternoon, a sudden shower arrived while we were out collecting pine cones and dried flower petals to make potpourri. The sun was still out and we got soaked searching the sky for a rainbow. I could never bear to get caught in the rain back in the city. The traffic alone was enough bother, never mind getting my hair wet or ruining a good pair of suede shoes.
Outside the lines and phallic blocks of the city though, an older, fluid and more imposing order reigned. At night, the landscape was bathed in moonbeams and starlight and not a hint of light pollution. It was quietest before dawn, which broke with birdsong and the blooming of wild flowers and not the thrum of commuters matching to the tune of capitalism. The lobed leaves of mallow weeds wilted under the sun’s glare at high noon and regained their firmness in the evening, when the fireflies began their light shows. Mother nature had her rhythm and I was starting to resonate with it.
We had two hours until we set off for the nighttime game drive. While Nazir made fried rice and potato pea curry, I sat at the dining table flipping through an Atlas of lost cities I had found amongst his books.
“I think I’m starting to get the appeal,” I said.
“It’s drawing you in, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, I could get used to this.”
After an early dinner, we fed the cats and left for the hotel. We passed a termite hill just over the grassy perimeter of Nazir’s compound as it birthed a flurry of swarmers and watched them take flight for the first time. Swarmers usually leave the nest to mate and start colonies in new locations. It can take up to four years for a colony to mature and release a swarm, so it was momentous that we’d even had the chance to witness it. Had I been any good at reading omens I would’ve recognized this as one. The universe was not being subtle. The skiff of transition beckoned, but I was still in the reeds.
Nazir, on the other hand, had no trouble taking his cues from the forces that governed the tides and the seasons. By the time we arrived at the hotel, the evening chill had rolled in. We waited outside while the Norwegians finished their dinner and filed into the cars one by one.
“Are you cold?” Nazir asked, rubbing my shoulders. I shook my head. He slid his palm down my right arm and interlocked his fingers with mine. Then he drew me to himself, and with his left arm tucked my locks to the side. Ever so softly he planted a kiss at the base of my ear.
“There’s a life here, if you want it,” he said.
I could see it, but I couldn’t trust it. Nothing had ever come that easy for me and I couldn’t help but feel like I was being offered a block of cheese on a mousetrap. Before I could find something appropriate to say, the last of the Norwegians staggered out with a new friend he’d made at the hotel over a smoke. He was the loose wheel the family had tagged along, and I had since learned that his name was Bjørn.
He introduced his friend, a white, blonde man who appeared to be in his thirties, as Ryan.
“He’s doing his postgraduate degree in Plant Biology, is that right?” He turned to Ryan who nodded with a beer in his hand, one of a few that evening it seemed.
“And he’s conducting research for his thesis on fig trees or oak trees or something like that —”
“Gum trees,” Ryan corrected.
“Oh wow. That’s impressive,” I said. “It must be important if you’ve come all this way.”
“Eer… I did get a grant from the Department of Forestry in my country so it could be somewhat important,” he shrugged.
“Humble brag,” I teased.
“Well, no. The work isn’t important because of the grant. What I meant to say is… uhm… I’m sorry. I’m just terrible at explaining my work. I had the same problem during the presentation to the committee that gave me the grant,” he said in a boyish, self-deprecating way. “Essentially I’m studying gum trees because they’re an important source of food for koalas and tree kangaroos. Koalas feed primarily on eucalyptus leaves but due to climate change, the summers are hotter every year and I don’t know if you’ve heard the news lately but we’ve had some pretty massive forest fires down in Oz.”
“We have. It’s been devastating to watch,” I said. “Whole ecosystems destroyed.”
“Exactly. So the eucalyptus trees are not able to bounce back from the fires as well as before. And without a secure source of food, koalas and tree kangaroos become even more vulnerable.”
“Oh, so that’s what your thesis is about,” I put it together.
“In so many words, yes.”
“And…?”
“And, well, we were wondering if he can join us, just for tonight,” Bjørn stepped in. “He’s been stuck in this hotel for weeks alone. Is not good for a young man. He can come, yes? Yes? Maybe you even make new friend, talk about the sloths and whatnot.”
It would cost me nothing to let Ryan tag along, and he was affable so I said why not? Bjørn had obviously had a few and it would help to have someone other than me drawing his attention. I noticed that Naz’s face had lost some colour, though. He had retreated, somewhat, and I realised that this would not be the clandestine date we thought it would be. He remained sullen all night and I found myself struggling to play the cheerful hostess while he was like this.
Was he being passive-aggressive? Is this how I was to find out that he was mortal after all? I had never been on a more agonising drive.
“What? What is it?” I asked as soon as we were alone. The thought that he might take issue with the nature of my work — the time away from home, the variety of people I met and socialised with — was enough to put me on edge.
“Nothing.”
“It’s not nothing.”
“I think you should sleep at your hotel tonight,” he said.
“Where is this coming from?”
“Don’t make a big deal out of it.”
“Out of what? Did I do something?”
“No.”
“That’s it? No explanation? You’re just cutting me off?” Heat crept up the back of my neck just as my stomach roiled — the all too familiar beginnings of a panic attack. I’d known that I was putting myself in a vulnerable position. That I was fragile and likely to shatter if anything got in the way of this newfound happiness, if Nazir lost interest or turned out to be fickle. It truly felt like it would be fatal, but it was too good to pass up.
I could not, would not expose my panic attacks to him then, so I calmed myself long enough to say a strained goodbye.
“Alright then. You can drop my clothes off at Elyon house, and my toiletry bag. I’ll be there till eleven.”
He nodded. My itinerary had me on a mid-morning drive to Mt. Kenya National Park that day. The route we’d charted had us then head to Mt. Kilimanjaro through Amboseli National Park so my guests could hit their goal of visiting two of Africa’s highest mountains. I wouldn’t have imagined they’d have any more interest in mountains — there were plenty in Norway — but they assured me that every mountain held its own charm.
“Tell me how the bird bath works out,” I said. “Or not. I don’t know.”
“Drive safe,” he said, walking away. I wondered how he would get home, but remembered that he was on his home turf and would probably hitch a ride with the night shift staff.
I arrived at Elyon House too wired to sit still, so I paced in my room instead. I brushed my feet over the coarse carpet and the cold, tiled floor. My chest felt like a gaping crater that no amount of deep breathing could fill. I was hyperventilating. I slid the window open and tried to get a handle on my breathing, pressing the tips of my fingers and counting like I did when Mark talked me through it. But it turned out that it was his voice, rather than the steps, that I found soothing. I woke up on the floor after what felt like hours, although it had likely only been a few minutes after I passed out. Cold and alone, I located the bottled water on the nightstand, poured myself a glass and cried myself to sleep.
