Chapter
38
The
boom joined with a whishz, the unstable wheel jerking the heavy
safari car to the right and into a deep ditch. Doug banged his head
on the steering wheel, sending a line of his own blood flowing down
to drip from the end of his nose. Flicking the key with an unsteady
finger, he killed the racing engine and pivoted to Laura.
“I’m
all right,” Laura said. “But you’re not.”
Doug
looked in the rearview mirror. The cut was short but deep, and he
wiped his forehead with a sleeve. Quickly searching for the first-aid
kit, but finding only toilet paper, Doug stuck a wad on his forehead
and eased out to inspect. The right front tire was flat, but he did
have two spares. After circling the odd-angled car a number of times,
Doug realized he would not be able to drive the car forward because
it was high-centered, the ground and transmission jammed tight
together.
“Laura,
I can get us back on the road, but can’t say how long. You should
take the waterbag and go sit under those trees over there.”
“I
can help.”
The
afternoon air was stifling hot and saturated with humidity.
Doug
said, “I don’t need any help.”
And
Laura didn’t need any more encouragement to get out of the sun. She
grabbed the waterbag and hurried to the shade trees. She frumped down
into a cooler place and tried to brush the road dust from her skin
and clothing, but it clung to her, mixing with her grime to form a
veneer similar to lead-based paint on cheap plywood.
Remembering
what she could from a tourist brochure at the airport, Laura’s
memory provided her with a means to pass the time. The famous
missionary David Livingstone brought this part of Africa to the
attention of England. A British businessman named Cecil Rhodes, a man
who controlled the world’s diamonds and gold, created his own
country, naming it Northern Rhodesia. Independence came on October
24, 1964, and the name changed to Zambia. Not able to recall any
more, Laura decided to try a nap, but despite the shade, the heat was
unbearable, and her attempt to sleep failed when a large dark fly
worried her face. She tried to force the pest away with a burst of
exhaled air from the corner of her mouth but only managed to puff her
hair.
Doug found both spare tires, which required moving everything in the
car, and the hydraulic jack. He began to sweat heavily as a late
afternoon hangover arrived, souring his already foul
never-one-liking-an-argument mood. A small man with a goat on a rope
walked up the road and stopped to watch. Doug did not break from his
labors, pushing to get back on the road, but he knew to be polite.
Doug’s
hand slipped, opening a gash on two knuckles. “Good afternoon,”
he said as he licked the blood from the back of his finger.
“Good
afternoon,” the Zambian man with the goat said. He stared at the
white man, with toilet paper on his forehead and bleeding knuckles,
trying to change a flat tire on a car wedged into a roadside ditch.
“How
are you?” Doug asked.
“I
am fine. How are you?”
“I
am fine, thank you.” Doug paused. “Do you know if this road leads
south?”
“Yes.”
Doug
tried a smile as he dug with the small camp shovel to create a flat
surface on the engine side of the flat tire. On this surface, he
placed one of the spares, and then placed two boards from the rear
floor of the safari car on top of the spare. Now he was ready with
the jack. He took his time knowing the car could tip, and if it did,
it would kill him.
A
large audience gathered. In addition to the man with the goat were
four children with one soccer ball, a woman with a baby, and two
full-grown men. Doug greeted each in the Zambian fashion as he, or
she, arrived.
Standing
to the side and keeping his fingers crossed, Doug eased the flat tire
off the lugs and, slow as you pretty please, slid a good tire on. The
new tire just cleared the boards and spare platform, which gave Doug
another idea as he tightened the lugs. Instead of placing the flat
back in the car, he placed it in front of the right front, ahead of
the wheel. Using the boards to gain elevation, he should be able to
drive forward and then straddle the ditch. Downhill in about fifty
yards, in the direction where Percy’s car had disappeared hours
ago, there appeared to be a place where he might be able to get all
four tires back on the road.
Doug
eased behind the steering wheel and wiped his forehead with his
forearm. The toilet paper, which he had forgotten, slipped away,
causing his head to bleed again. The car started without complaint.
After
a glance at his audience, who were all frozen in rapt attention, Doug
said, “Here we go.”
Doug
shifted the car into first and edged forward. The car lurched off the
jack onto the flat spare tire, nothing slipped, everything held.
He
jumped out, positioning the first spare with the boards on a line to
the far high side of the ditch, and tossed the jack in the back then
stuck more toilet paper on his forehead. He got in and eased the
heavy car forward. The undercarriage complained, but the car made it
up to straddle the ditch. Doug retrieved both spares and his boards,
while the crowd remained spellbound. Taking his time on the soft
roadside, working the car ahead, the fifty yards slowly gave ground
until he was back on the road. The crowd followed and gathered as
Doug circled the rental car looking for any damage.
The
man with the goat stepped forward. He tapped Doug on the arm. “Next
time you will find it easier to change a spare tire if you keep your
car on the road.”
Doug
smiled at the man and said, “Thank you, I will.”
Doug
waved to Laura. When she came up, he noted how frazzled she looked.
“Are
we ready?” Laura asked, her head bobbing back and forth on her neck
while she spoke.
“Get
in,” Doug said.
“No,
don’t ask. I feel much better. I even attempted a quick nap, but
really couldn’t, because a large, dark fly kept trying to crawl
under my eyelid.”
Doug
grunted a reply as they took their seats. After a wave to the crowd,
the open safari car sped down the road, and the swirling air rapidly
dried Doug’s sweat-soaked shirt and skin. Parched, the driver found
and drained a water bottle.
Laura
had more and said, “While you were playing with the car, I sat in
the shade and do you know what I saw…a big black beetle rolling a
big brown ball of poop across impossible rocky ground under this
sweltering sun.”
Doug
grunted.
“You
should let me look at your head. I’m an EMT.”
“So
am I.”
“Doug.”
Silence.
“Doug?”
Nothing.
“Douglas
Daniel Thompson. It took a long time to get here so I could be with
you. I’m speaking to you.”
Doug
cocked an eye to Laura, but not an ear.
“I
want to go home as soon as possible, and I want you to go with me.”
“This
is my big chance,” he said.
“Well,
this is our big chance. You have your tenure. We have our home, and I
have my career. Now, out of nowhere, you decide to do field research
in Africa. I’ve never heard you speak about Africa. This is about
Tom, isn’t it? You’re still jealous of him and his research and
his success.”
“Tommy
was a long time ago.” Doug could not tell from a glance if Laura
was about to cry or clobber him. “The chance to do field research
came up, and I had to decide or lose the chance,” he said in an
exhausted-angry yet even voice. “I will only be gone for six
months. I keep my position, and we keep the house. Your career has
never been in jeopardy.” He tried to wipe some of the sweat-crusted
dust from his face, only to succeed in starting the forehead blood
flow again.
“What
am I supposed to do for six months?”
“I
can’t turn back now, and you know it. What about your job? Your
career? Who’s taking care of the house and your—”
Laura
interrupted before he could finish. “Doug, I read your emails. I
don’t believe you when you say it will be six months. I want you to
come home with me.”
“It is only six months, I promise.”
“How
do I know?”
“Zambia
controls all the wildlife research within her borders, and my permit
is for six months. There is no chance of extension. No one has ever
studied sitatunga in the wild and mine would be the ground-breaking
work.”
“I
heard your permit was in trouble.”
He
shot a sharp glance at her then sighed. “Where did you see Tommy?”
Laura
hesitated. “We met after you left. We had coffee. I won’t lie to
you, he wants me back.”
“You
never told me why you two split.”
“That
has nothing to do with this.”
“I
disagree.”
Laura
paused, the earth, sky and trees jarred by, and the engine growled,
pushing them farther south. She tasted bitterness on her tongue. “Tom
was never going to be home, and I realized he would never change. He
left me waiting. Now you have changed, and I am scared you are never
coming home. I am afraid of being alone.”
Today, my friend Gabe is learning about literature and creative writing while my rugby comrade Bill is poised to begin writing a novel. So, I've posted this chapter from Dominion as a hopefully helpful example of metaphor. An element that is sometimes important in literature but often miss used and misunderstood. I like it and many agree because without metaphor "Moby Dick" would be a thin story about men on a boat.
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