Mrs. Pollifax on Safari by Dorothy Gilman Read Free Book Online Page B

days, but apparently the closure was only a formal one if spies streamed back and forth. She remembered that the phrase “freedom fighters” had been mentioned, too, in one of those pocket histories.
    “Freedom fighters,” she shouted at Homer’s profile. “Who are they?”
    “Liberation leaders,” he called back at her. “Refugees. They escape to Zambia with a price on their heads, or prison sentences. They stay, they train, they go back. Quietly, you understand?”
    “Yes,” said Mrs. Pollifax, nodding. “I just didn’t realize it was still—uh—continuing.”
    He nodded vigorously. “But the leaders begin to talk now. South Africa grows very worried, she fears a race war in Africa and pushes Rhodesia to talk, loosen up. We have a saying:
‘Ukupangile nsofu kano uli ne fumo.
Before you can talk of killing an elephant you must first be equipped with a spear.’ ” He grinned and slowed the minibus. “And speaking of elephants, there is your first elephant, everyone. You wish pictures?”
    Exclamations rose from the rear, but Mrs. Pollifax could only gasp and stare. Her first elephant stood scarcely fifteen feet away, grazing contentedly on the leaves at the top of a tree, his huge gray frame bleached by dust, his flaplike ears cocked as if he knew very well they were there. Slowly he turned his ponderous head and looked at the minibus with beady interested eyes. Mrs. Pollifaxwas certain that he stared directly at her. She gave him a delighted, grateful smile before she lifted her camera and snapped his picture.
    They drove on, reaching another road barrier, this one manned by an amiable young park guard. After slowing down to allow a family of baboons to cross the road, Mrs. Pollifax glimpsed the thatched tops of buildings ahead. They entered a clearing, passed a gas pump, a cluster of rondevaals with thatched roofs, and coasted to a stop near a sloping riverbank.
    “Is this Chunga camp?” called Mrs. Lovecraft.
    Homer shook his head. “This is noncatering section, for weekend campers only. We wait now for the boat. There should be a boat,” he said, frowning, and climbed out and stared across the river at what looked to be an island.
    Mrs. Pollifax opened the door beside her and jumped down to stretch her legs. The others stirred too, and climbed out, smiling at each other a little uncertainly. Mrs. Lovecraft strolled over to join Homer, and after a moment Mr. McIntosh and Mr. Kleiber followed her. The sun had disappeared behind a cloud, draining all color from the landscape, and Mrs. Pollifax felt suddenly very small under the huge silvery sky as she waited for a mysterious boat that showed no signs of appearing on that vast flat expanse of silky gray water.
    “There,” said Homer suddenly, pointing. “The boat.”
    A small speck had appeared on the gray water, looking almost spectral as it rounded the point. It veered, grew larger, became an object totally unlike a boat, and then as it moved toward them, one man at the stern, she began to hear the sound of its motor and she realized itwas a pontoon boat, nearly flat and propelled by an outboard motor.
    “Good, let’s help with all this luggage,” Dr. Henry said, and walked around to the back of the bus and began handing suitcases to Chanda. There was a whispered discussion between them and then he said, “No, no, you give it to her.” Holding up Mrs. Pollifax’s gay umbrella he said, “Chanda tells me this is yours?”
    “Yes, but how on earth did he know?” she asked in surprise.
    Dr. Henry laughed. “I couldn’t possibly tell you, but he always knows these things. He says he looked inside of you and saw colors to match.
Mukolamfula
was the word which, if the little Bemba I’ve learned is right, means rainbow.”
    “I’m very touched,” she said, smiling at Chanda.
    The boy handed her the umbrella, grinned, ducked his head shyly and went back for another suitcase. Behind her the boat had just landed, the slant of its bow