As he spoke the bull hippo charged at them through the shallows, breaking the water into white foam with his elephantine bounds, blaring his hoarse menacing laughter, his jaws gaping, clashing the long curved yellow ivories whose razor edges could scythe the thick fibrous papyrus stems, or crush in the frail sides of a mukoro, or cut a swimming man into two pieces with equal ease.
p The mukoro drove forward under the long powerful thrusts of the two oarsmen, but the hippopotamus gained on them rapidly and Blaine sprang to his feet, balancing in the unstable craft. He lifted the rifle to his shoulder and fired so rapidly that the reports blended together, and Centaine flinched at the whiplash of gunfire over her head and looked back, expecting to see the bullets strike on the great fleshy grey head and blood spurt from between those glassy pink-shot little eyes. But Blaine had aimed inches over the beast's forehead. The bristly ears twitched and fluttered like sunbirds wings to the shock of passing shot, and the bull broke his charge and came up short, just his head showing above the surface, blinking rapidly with comical astonishment.
The mukoro pulled swiftly away, and the bull submerged in a huge swirl of green water as if to cover his embarrassment at his own ineffectual performance.
Are you all right, Centaine? Blaine lowered the rifle.
That was a little frosty. She tried to keep her voice level with only partial success.
Not as bad as it seemed, sound and fury, not too much of the deadly intent. He smiled at her.
I'm glad you didn't kill him. Not much point in turning the old boy into four tons of rotting carrion and making twenty widows of his fat wives. Is that why he chased us, protecting his females? 'Probably, but you can never tell with wild animals. Perhaps one of his cows is calving, or he has unpleasant memories of human hunters, or perhaps he just felt plain bolshy today., His coolness in crisis had impressed her almost as much as his humanity in sparing the threatening beast.
Only school-girls worship their heroes, she reminded herself firmly as the canoe sped onwards, and then found herself studying the breadth of Blaine's shoulders and the way he held his head upon them. His dark hair was cut short down the back of his neck, and his neck was strong but not bulled, pleasingly proportioned and smooth, only his ears were too large, and the tips were pink where the sunlight seemed to shine through them. She felt an almost irresistible urge to lean forward and kiss the soft skin just behind where they jutted out, but she controlled herself with a giggle.
He turned and demanded with a smile, What's so funny? A girl always feels weak and giggly after Prince Charming saves her from a fire-breathing dragon. ,mythical creatures, dragons. Don't scoff, she chided him. Anything is possible here, D even dragons and princes. This is never-never land. Santa Claus and the good fairy are waiting just around the next bend. ,you are just a little bit crazy, do you know that? Yes, I know that, she nodded. And I think I should warn you, it's both contagious and infectious. Your warning comes too late. He shook his head sadly.
I think I've caught it already., Good, she said, and giving in to her whim, she leaned forward and kissed that soft spot behind his ear.
He shivered theatrically. Now look what you've done. He turned again and showed her the gooseflesh standing in little pimples on his forearms. You must promise never to do that again. It's too dangerous. Like you, I never make promises. She saw the quick shadow of regret and guilt in his eyes and cursed herself for alluding to his lack of commitment to her and thereby spoiling the mood.
Oh, Blaine, look at those birds. Surely they aren't real are they? It proves me right, this is never-never land. She tried to retrieve the mood.
They were drifting past a high sheer bank of red clay bright as a blood orange that was perforated by thousands of perfectly round apertures, and a living swirling cloud of marvellously coloured birds hung over the bank, darting in and out of the myriad entrances to their nesting burrows.
Carmine bee-eaters, Blaine told her, sharing her wonder at the glory of the flashing darts of flaming pink and turquoise blue, with their long delicately streaming tail feathers and pointed wing-tips sharp as stilettos. They are so unearthly, I am beginning to believe you, he said. Perhaps we passsed through the mirror. we have indeed pas They spoke little after that, but somehow their silences seemed to bring them even closer. They only touched once
more when Centaine laid her hand, palm open, along the
side of his neck, and for a moment he covered her hand with his own, a gentle fleeting exchange.
Then Blaine spoke briefly to the leading oarsman.
What is it, Blaine? she asked.
I told him to find a good place to camp for the night., Isn't it still very early? She glanced at the sun.
Yes. He turned and smiled at her, almost sheepishly. But then I'm trying for the record trip between Cuangar and Runtu. The record? Slowest journey ever. Blaine chose one of the large islands.
The white sandbar folded upon itself to form a secret lagoon, clear and green and screened by tall waving papyrus. While the two paddlers piled driftwood for the fire and cut papyrus fronds to thatch night shelters for them, Blaine picked up his rifle.
Where are you going? Centaine asked.
See if I can get a buck for dinner. Oh, Blaine, please don't kill anything, not today. Not this special day. Aren't you tired of bully beef? Please, she insisted and he set his rifle aside with a smile and a rueful shake of his head and went to make sure than the huts were ready and the mosquito nets rigged over each separate bed. Satisfied, Blaine dismissed the paddlers and they climbed into the mukoro.
Where are they off to? Centaine demanded as they poled out into the current.
I told them to camp on the mainland, Blaine answered, and they each looked away, suddenly awkward and shy and intensely aware of their isolation as they stared after the departing canoe.
Centaine turned and walked back to the camp. She knelt beside her saddle bags, which were her only luggage, and without looking up told him, I haven't bathed since last night. I'm going to swim in the lagoon. She had a bar of yellow soap in her hand.
Do you have a last message for the folks back home? What do you mean? This is the Okavango river, Centaine. The crocodiles here gobble little girls as hors d'oeuvres. You could stand guard with the rifle Delighted to oblige. I, and with your eyes closed! Rather defeats the object, doesn't it? He scouted the edge of the lagoon and found
