Predators I Have Known - Alan Dean Foster [70]
I was unaware of how much time had passed until Patrick leaned toward me to murmur, “Enough?” I checked my watch and was surprised at the lateness of the hour. We had been watching the feeding lions from morning until well into midday. “What else would you like to see?”
I considered, then asked a question I often pose when traveling in the company of local people. “Where’s your favorite place, Patrick? Not the lodge’s—yours.”
“Ah.” His smile grew wide. “It’s a bit of a drive from here. We may get back late, and no vehicles are supposed to be out in the park after dark.”
I shrugged. “Blame me. Tell them the irritating American insisted, and you didn’t want to be impolite.”
He nodded, grinning, put the jeep in gear, and we continued westward upriver.
Coming upon the solitary lioness was an accident. Patrick had not been looking for her. Lolling on her stomach a few yards from the dirt track, head held high and paws stretched out in front of her, she was as elegant as a sphinx and nearly as motionless. She was lying on an open sandy patch with dense forest behind her and us and the river not far off to our left. For the first time since we had left the lodge, I was acutely conscious of the openness of the jeep, far more so than I had been among the elephants. Apprehensively, I searched the immediate surroundings, but to all intents and purposes she appeared to be alone.
Surprising me, Patrick cut the engine. This left me even more nervous, since engines take time to start. Relaxing in his seat, he put one foot up on the dash and leaned back. As far as I knew, there was no gun in the vehicle. Full-grown and magnificently muscled, the lioness barely acknowledged our presence. She was perhaps twenty feet away. The wonder and sheer magnificence of her proximity notwithstanding, I shamelessly found myself wishing that she had been taking her ease on the other side of the jeep—Patrick’s side. That way, if she turned suddenly irritable, or hungry . . .
I glanced back at my guide. He looked completely at ease. He knows these animals, I reminded myself. He lives among them, observes them daily, is knowledgeable about their habits, familiar with their moods, cognizant of their eccentricities. If he’s not worried, can I be less? I did note that, relaxed as he was, Patrick did not once take his eyes off the lioness. Unperturbed he might have been, but neither was he about to drift off to sleep.
I was very proud of myself for not saying anything. Perhaps he was waiting to see how I might react. If it was a test of some kind, I hope I passed. No doubt I’m overdramatizing the situation. Probably he just wanted me to have an experience I would remember.
On that account, he more than accomplished his goal.
“Is she sick?” On this occasion I felt no compunction about whispering. Once again, Patrick did not whisper, but he did keep his voice down for a change.
“I don’t think so. Sometimes they just like to be by themselves, I think.”
We watched her a while longer. I could have stayed there until night descended. She was so close, I could smell her. But while he was too polite to say so, I remembered Patrick’s admonition that all vehicles had to be back at the lodge by sundown. I said nothing, just nodded that it was OK for us to go. He nodded back and reached for the ignition. As he did so, the lioness yawned.
I had seen lions yawn before and have seen them yawn since, but never so emphatically or at such close quarters. Eyes squeezed shut, she held her mouth open