Somewhere East of Eden by Michael McKeown

Author:Michael McKeown
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Troubador Publishing Ltd
Published: 2017-01-30T05:00:00+00:00

WHERE FOXES SAY GOODNIGHT

Rest, nature, books and music……Such is my idea of happiness.

– Leo Tolstoy

“I’d like you to have a look at these,” said Simon Burrows with undisguised enthusiasm. He reached across the desk to his in-tray in which a young, female genet cat lay curled up asleep and carefully extracted a green manila folder from beneath her. The genet eyed him reproachfully, stretched herself sinuously and moved across to the out-tray where she promptly went back to sleep again.

“She’s called Justine,” Simon volunteered. “I was reading the Alexandria Quartet when one of the night staff found her by the workshop with one of her front legs badly lacerated from a snare.” Burrows was in his late thirties, tall, slim and with permanently tousled brown hair at odds with his impeccably ironed olive-green bush shirts and biscuit coloured chinos.

“Neurotic and unpredictable as well as beautiful,” I reminded him. “If she follows the script, you’re going to have your hands full.”

“Think so?” He paused for a moment as though wondering whether to take me seriously or not. I had the impression that the last thing he wanted in his seamlessly run camp was an unstable, neurosis-ridden cat.

I was with Burrows in the office of his small, eco-friendly tented camp, spread out under a grove of acacia tortillas in Tsavo East National Park. He was, I knew, a keen amateur photographer and I looked dutifully and then with growing attention at the dozen or so A4 size black and white photos of assorted animals and birds he had handed me. I was no expert on the subject but in terms of lighting, composition and a palpable feel for his subjects, they were exceptional and I congratulated him.

“Only they are not mine.” He shook his head ruefully. “These were taken by a wildlife photographer based in Nairobi. Name of Hans Bekker. He is staying here for a couple of nights and I suggested that you two should meet.”

As if on cue there was a knock on the door and a stocky, powerfully built man with closely cropped hair and an immediately engaging smile entered. Simon effected the introductions, then sat back and smiled benignly like a broker who had just negotiated a favourable deal between two of his most valued clients.

“Hans photographs wildlife and you, Michael, write about it, so you should both have plenty to talk about.” He leaned forward and stroked Justine who acknowledged him with a flick of her long black and white banded tail. “We’ll meet for dinner later and you can tell me. In the meantime, if there’s anything I can do…….” But Hans had already produced his camera.

“A picture of you and your genet, please.” And he began to click away happily.

A mauve twilight was merging imperceptibly to dusk and the resident colony of weaver birds were noisily taking up their positions for the night as we made our way to the open-ended bar in the lodge’s riotously flowering garden. Hans ordered – a Tusker beer for me and a whisky and water for himself.

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