Gorillas in the Mist (19 page)

The whole problem of cattle in the park came to a head late in 1973 when Dian was summoned to the Ruhengeri office of a new prefect of police, appointed after a coup d’état had turned Rwanda into a military dictatorship.

I was scared shitless, as it was about the cows and I was determined to go to jail first before paying for killing them. As it turned out, the new prefect was wonderful, spoke perfect English (he’s ex-ambassador to America, Kenya, Paris, and Belgium), and shrugged the whole thing off. I used my chief porter, Gwehandagoza, as a witness, so he in turn has told all of the people that the prefect is on our side. On only two occasions since then have stray cattle shown up, but we don’t think it wise to kill them anymore. I’ve had enough.

A
nother of the handful of students destined to leave a lasting imprint arrived at Karisoke in the summer of 1973. She was Kelly Stewart, daughter of actor James Stewart. Although raised in Hollywood, she was the antithesis of the bubble-headed “valley girl.” With her wire-rimmed glasses and schoolmarmish hairstyles, the young Stanford student was Central Casting’s stereotype of what a bookish female zoologist ought to be like. But her mordant wit and sparkling intelligence were atypical. These qualities, together with the fact that she soon proved her mettle in the daily routine of collecting gorilla data while coping with foul weather, spider bites, nettle rashes, and dysentery, endeared her to Dian.

This was the first time another woman had been in camp on a more-or-less permanent basis; and despite the twenty-year difference in their ages, she and Dian quickly became close, sharing confidences and sometimes getting together in the evenings for a drink.

Kelly wrote amusing doggerel about her encounters with the study groups. Asked by Dian for a report on the sexual behavior of the gorillas she was observing, Kelly submitted one in verse form:

“Wow, she is so clever!” Dian commented admiringly after reading the report. She was so delighted that she rewarded Kelly with a Raggedy Ann gorilla doll.

By autumn Dian’s admiration had begun to cool somewhat, even as Sandy Harcourt’s mounted. For a time Kelly tried to maintain a balanced relationship between the three of them, but without much success.

Kelly up to my cabin at 8:30 to “return” Cindy-her kindness is killing. The fact is, she is just plain nosy about where I am and what I’m doing. Sandy’s cabin lights went off early, and hers much earlier, but then come on again, and her curtains firmly drawn. Whom do they think they’re kidding?

As the months slipped by, Dian tended to be more and more irritated, not to say jealous, as Kelly and Sandy became
increasingly enamored of each other. It was not that Dian had any passionate feelings for Harcourt, but she did have a proprietary interest in him and resented having to compete with a “fat, pimply young girl who ought to stick to the job she came up here to do.”

Doubtless it was fortunate for all concerned that Dian had to leave Karisoke in late October to undertake a lecture tour that would take her and the newly completed National Geographic film about the gorillas right across the United States. Following that, she would spend a further, and final, four months at Cambridge.

This time there was no tender parting between her and Sandy. “No tears, no kiss, he was just plain sulky.” Part of his disaffection may have been due to the fact that he was temporarily losing both women in his life, since Kelly would also be departing for Cambridge to begin her own doctoral program under Robert Hinde.

During the California part of her speaking tour, Dian met Kelly’s parents and some of their famous friends, including Alfred Hitchcock.

Wow, what a house the Stewarts have. Quite a jump for Kelly from this to Karisoke. Her parents couldn’t do enough for me and I really liked them both. Told them, without a lie, that Kelly was one of the best students I’ve ever had. Hitchcock wanted to know how scary gorillas are. I think he wants to make a chiller/thriller about them. I told him they were about as dangerous as pet lambs, and he simply grunted and went off to talk to someone else.

The Stewarts’ warm welcome helped ease the antipathy Dian had been feeling toward their daughter. By the time Kelly reached England, Dian was happy to see Kelly again and to hear the latest news from Karisoke. Although the friendship had lost some of its intimacy, the two women enjoyed one another’s company, often dining or going to the cinema together. Occasionally they rubbed each other the wrong way.

“I’m sorry my relationship with Sandy seems to stand between us,” Kelly ventured one evening as they were leaving a movie house in Cambridge.

Dian was glad of the darkness. “How does it stand between us? I don’t follow you.”

“Well, I know you’re annoyed at us—but I really like the guy.”

“My only concern is that the work gets done properly,” Dian cut her off.

“You don’t care for him, do you?” Kelly persisted. “Why don’t you drop the subject. Sandy is young enough to be my son.”

Despite such moments of irascibility, Dian did everything she could to help Kelly get financial backing so that she could return to Karisoke.

It was early May of 1974 before Dian flew back to Africa. Although she was essentially finished with Cambridge, she felt no great sense of relief, nor was she full of anticipation at the prospect of going home. As she stared out the aircraft window at the blank face of the clouds below, she felt apprehensive. During the long stay in England her health—especially that of her lungs—had deteriorated. She had always been careless of her body and unwilling to accept its limitations—or the limitations of increasing age. Now she was entertaining doubts about her physical ability to continue on her chosen path.

There was also Sandy Harcourt to be considered. From the tone of the letters he had written to her during her six-month absence, it was apparent that he had begun to see himself as cock of the walk at Karisoke—and to regard Kelly Stewart as the lady who ought to share it with him. Dian foresaw—and dreaded—an exhausting conflict.

She postponed the inevitable by staying in Nairobi for a week. But this time the city was no great source of solace. Shopping and some socializing at the American embassy could not obliterate the memory of Louis Leakey, who had died from a second
heart attack late in 1972. She vividly remembered the intensity of his love for her and the comfort and compassion he had offered. Perhaps she wished she had accepted all of that, as she had accepted the ruby ring that had been his last gift to her.

The day came when she could postpone her return to camp no longer.

I flew into Kigali Saturday, and on Sunday, May 5, hired a car to take me to Ruhengeri, where I checked into the hotel. Very frightened about climbing the mountain so decided not to go today. I drank a little, wrote a little about the Harcourt problem to Joan and Alan Root, then went for a walk and saw some Africans I knew, who stopped to gossip. That felt better, so went back to the hotel and had a sleep.

When I came down for dinner, there was Kelly waiting. She’d come down the mountain to have a “chat” before I climbed. Kind of pouring oil on sort of thing. “Are you still my friend?” she asked me after dinner. I said I’d have to wait and see. “I’ve never felt so tender toward a boy as I do toward Sandy,” she told me. “Well, then have fun,” I said, “but I guess you’re doing that.” “Oh, no,” she denied. “If you think we’ve gone to bed together, you’re wrong. He’s afraid to.”

That did it. The oil she was pouring caught on fire, and I was out of there and upstairs to my room before she could get her mouth shut.

I climbed next day with Gwehandagoza and a crowd of porters to carry all the stuff I’d brought back, mostly for the men, from England and the States. Took me nearly three hours and I was beat. Cindy and Kima were very happy to see me and so were the men, but no sign of Sandy. He’d been living in my house and it was a bloody mess. Couch was filthy, everything was filthy. Old shoes, sweaty clothes. Furniture missing. I was furious.

Later he came back from the gorillas
and walked right
by my house
. Two hours later he came up. “Thanks so much for taking care of my things,” I told him. “Well,” he said, “you haven’t been very nice to me.” And then had the nerve to say I could come down to “their” cabin for dinner. It took all my courage to go down. I told them, “I’m about as welcome here now as the plague.” Kelly’s face simply turned white and I had to leave. Kima bit me when I tried to get her in the house.

There was no communication between the warring camps through the next week, then Sandy—probably at Kelly’s insistence—sent Dian an olive branch.

He acknowledged that the previous year, there had been an “unnecessary misunderstanding” about his relations with a female census worker, but he insisted that if Dian thought something similar was happening between him and Kelly Stewart, she was wrong. He apologized for any “misunderstanding” and signed the note, “Love, Me.”

Dian dismissed this overture as a “silly note” that did not deserve a reply, but she too realized that the impasse could not continue and on May 15 went down to Harcourt’s cabin to try and restore some degree of amicability. Sandy was not cooperative.

He got mad, clenched his fists, gritted his jaws over very small things. I came back to my cabin
MAD
and remain
MAD.
My lungs are hurting like hell.

Kelly, who had been trying desperately to restore peace, now began to break down. She sent a note to Dian “full of bloody fucking mad, etc.” A day later she followed it with an abject apology. This did the trick. Dian was glad of the chance to end hostilities and that night visited Kelly and Sandy, each in their separate cabins, then had them up to hers for a nightcap.

A period of uneasy truce followed at Karisoke with each of the warring parties hunkered down in defensive positions, holding on to ground gained, firing no shots. Having reestablished working relationships, Dian began working flat out on her thesis.

Harcourt seemed content for the moment to revert to a
subordinate role, although he had piled up such an impressive number of hours in the field that he was fast becoming the world’s second authority on mountain gorillas.

At the end of May Dian began feeling very ill and was convinced pneumonia was about to strike again. The prospect worried her as it never had before.
For the first time ever I don’t think I have enough resistance left to recover
.

Two days after making that gloomy prediction, she fell into a drainage ditch while avoiding a buffalo that charged through camp. She heard a bone in her ankle snap and felt a sickening jolt of pain. By the time she struggled back to her cabin, the agony had become unbearable. During the next few days she treated herself with Darvon capsules and her most powerful sleeping pills; but she remained alert to what was going on.

Both Kelly and Sandy stayed in Kelly’s house last night…. She is two days behind with her field notes. Am bloody fed up with this place. I know now I’ve broke a bone…. It is getting very puffy and black and all swollen-pain decreased unless I crunch the bones or ligaments the wrong way.

By the time Kelly showed up with her delayed reports, Dian was in a savage mood. “You can screw away as long as you like,” she barked at Kelly, “but remember, the paperwork has got to be done first!”

Kelly wept and ran.

Two days later Dian was bitten on the knee by one of the venomous spiders that lurked in the underbrush around the clearing.

It’s a big bite and a bad one, which screws up my other leg. Guess this isn’t my week, to say the least. Got a note from Sandy trying to make up. He offered to help me out to see Group 4, which is quite close to camp. We went, and I had a great visit with Digit, who seemed to know I was sick and kept looking me right in the eyes. It was really great-a good smell too. I was happy though hurting. Home late, and really wasted, but Sandy was fine all afternoon.

Contact with the gorillas proved the best medicine, and although Dian’s ankle continued to be very painful and the spider bite infection spread, her spirits revived enough for her to appreciate life around her.

One of the most memorable bushbuck incidents around camp brought to my mind Jody’s words from
The Yearling:
“Pa, I done seen me something today!” As usual upon awakening, I looked out of the cabin windows and observed a sight more credible to a Walt Disney movie than to real life. All the hens, led by Walter, were tiptoeing awkwardly toward a young male bushbuck. The chickens’ heads bobbed like yo-yos from their stringy necks. The curious antelope minced toward them with a metronomically twitching tail and quivering nose. Each chicken then made a beak-to-nose contact with the bush buck as both species satisfied their undisguised interest in each other. Just about this time Cindy innocently came trotting up the path and froze, one foreleg suspended in the air, as she gazed at the weird spectacle before her. Her presence was too much for the young buck, who bounded off with a bark, his white flag-tail held high.
*