Fletch, Too

“By strict enforcement of the law. A while ago, an Indian lawyer was discovered by the police to have thirteen United States dollars in his pocket. He was sentenced to seven years in prison for currency violations.”

“I’d call that strict enforcement of the law.”

“Let’s cross the river here. Walk back on the other side.”

They stripped. Carrying their clothes head high, they waded across the sluggish river. The water was armpit high on them both.

Carr said, “You can see all sorts of signs this river used to be deeper. Can’t you?”

While they were waiting on the eastern riverbank to dry off, Carr glanced at the black and blue mark on Fletch’s lower belly, but said nothing.

Carr pointed back across the river, further south. “See that baobab tree there? Tomorrow I think we’ll make a trail into the jungle past that. But we mustn’t disturb the tree. Baobab trees are sacred here. Rather than disturb them, people here build major highways around them.”

After dressing, they walked faster northward along the riverbank. They ignored the many trails into the jungle.

“Kenyans take anything having to do with the government very seriously indeed,” Carr said.

“Juma says his father is in prison for a year and a half for parking a government car outside a bar. He used to be a government driver.”

“Not long ago,” Carr said, “one of your fellow Americans had dinner in a Nairobi restaurant. Two men waited on him. At the end of dinner, the man wanted to tip them both, but he only had a one-hundred- shillingi note. I guess he thought he was making a joke. He tore the one-hundred- shillingi note in half and tried to give half to each waiter. The newspaper report I read said, ‘Shocked and embarrassed at this desecration of Kenyan money, the waiters called the police.’ The man was arrested. He spent the night in jail. He was tried the next morning, fined one thousand dollars, and escorted by the police to the airport and put aboard the next airplane leaving Kenya.”

“Some joke.”

“It’s illegal, of course,” Carr said, “but here, in the bush, girls are still circumcised. But you tear a piece of paper money in half and you get yourself written up in The Standard.”

Fletch asked, “So how would you work a currency scheme?”

Carr walked a long way before answering. “Generally it’s true,” he said slowly, “that the stricter such currency laws are, the greater are the rewards for violating them successfully.”

The camp came into sight just at full dark. The live fire at the back of the cook tent was bright.

As they were wading back across the river, Carr said, “I guess we’re crazy. Looking for a lost Roman city. But the past fascinates. Doesn’t the past fascinate you? The past, where we came from, who we were, tells us so much about who we are. Don’t you think so?”

Fletch ducked below the surface of the water to get some of the sweat out of his hair.

While they were drying on the western riverbank, Carr said, “I guess I’m just messing up the jungle.”

“Not much.”

“I’ve promised myself one thing, though.” He was looking downriver. “The instant I find anything, the slightest evidence I’m right, if I ever do, I’ll turn the whole thing over to proper scientists. If I’m right, I swear I won’t muck the site up.”

“Right,” Fletch said. “What this place needs is Dr. McCoy. You won’t catch him clipping off anybody’s toes.”

“As soon as you and Barbara are ready,” Carr said, “join us for a whiskey. Bring your own ice.”

Conversationally, Sheila said to Barbara, “You’re enjoying your honeymoon?”

“He drives me nuts.”

“Yes. There’s always that.”

They were sitting in a semicircle in camp chairs just outside the long stretch of canvas on four poles. Carr had provided each with a Scotch and soda. Bug-repellent candles were here and there around them. Over them hung a moon such as Fletch had never seen before. It was a black orb within a perfect silver circumference. The noises from the jungle were absolutely raucous. As he listened to the conversation, Fletch watched the monkeys playing about here and there in the candlelight. Under the canvas behind them, a man named Winston had set the dining table for four.

“He complains I speak nicely to him in public and nastily to him in private,” Barbara said.

“There’s a lot of that goes on in marriage,” Sheila said.

Carr said, “We’re not exactly married.”

“So I’ve decided to speak nastily to him in public, too.” Barbara giggled.

“Will you speak nicely to me in private?” Fletch asked.

“If there is ever anything to speak nicely to you about, I will say it both in public and in private.”

Juma came out of the dark carrying a camp chair. He sat down with them.

Carr asked, “Would you like a whiskey, Juma?”

“No. Thank you. I don’t like whiskey. It makes me drunk.”

“Oh. I see.”

Fletch said to Sheila, “Our honeymoon has not worked out as planned.”

“Barbara mentioned something about your planning a skiing honeymoon. In Colorado.”

“She did?” Fletch mocked surprise.

“Yes. She did mention it.”

“Our wedding was not as planned, either,” Barbara said. “It was on a bluff overlooking the Pacific Ocean. Fletch was late. The wedding got rained out. He spent the day with his mother.”

Carr shot Fletch a quick glance.

“Weddings aren’t all they’re cracked up to be,” Fletch advised Carr. “You haven’t missed much.”

“He showed up at his wedding in blue jeans, a well-used T-shirt, and torn sneakers.”

“I’d shaved. You must understand, I’d been working day and night. I have a job.”

Juma leaned close to Fletch and asked quietly, “Is Barbara your first wife?”

Fletch blinked. “Yes.”

“Oh, I see.”

“Clothes don’t make the couple,” Sheila said. “At least, not until later in life.”

Carr said, “You both look hot.”

Because of the flies, Barbara and Fletch had decided to wear long ski pants, sweaters with sleeves, and ski boots to dinner.

“I’m boiling,” Barbara said. “Are you sure you’re not having me for dinner?”

They had been surprised to find Sheila and Carr dressed only in pajamas and mosquito boots.

“Dining in pajamas is an old Kenyan custom,” Carr said. “A natural result of safarini. After spending a day in the bush, the thing you most want, after a drink, is a bath. After a bath, what’s more natural than slipping into cool, cotton pajamas? They even look more formal than our usual short-pants rig. In the bad old days, people used to go dine at each other’s houses in pajamas. They’d even go out to dine at a hotel or restaurant in pajamas.”

Close by, a lion roared.

“Good God!” Barbara said. “I’m being boiled for a lion!”

“Think of it as a tape recording, if you wish,” Carr said.

“I shall be eaten alive.”

“Whatever shall I tell your mother?” Fletch asked.

“No, no,” Carr said. “Hungry lions are quiet lions. That roar sounds like he’s had his kill, his fill, his sleep, and now he’s calling around to see where his pride is, where his friends are.” Either the lion roared more loudly, or the lion was closer. “Your average wild beast has seen man and doesn’t think much of us.”

“Even as dessert?” Barbara asked.