Private Lies (27 page)

"It's the pride, dammit," Eliot shouted.
"He's stumbled into the pride."

They rushed into the van and slammed the doors shut. The
screeching of the big cats continued.

"The winch," Meade screamed above the din.
"Help me."

"What do you suppose he means?" Eliot said
suddenly, surprisingly calm.

It seemed pretty clear to Ken.

"For the love of God," Meade screamed, his voice
desperate and pleading. "The winch."

"He wants us to activate the winch," Ken said,
understanding the logic of the plea. The winch would pull the van out of the
muddy track and bring it close to the tree to give Meade a chance to escape, if
he wasn't yet torn to shreds by the lionesses who hovered just below him,
snarling their anger at his intrusion.

"What good would that do?" Eliot asked.

Ken eased the portal cover up and stood, peering into the
thicket. From that vantage he could see a partial view of Meade, who had
apparently managed to ascend to one of the limbs of the tree. The lionesses
were still kicking up a racket.

"The winch," Meade pleaded.

Eliot eased himself into the driver's seat and studied the
dashboard.

"I've never done this," he said.

Ken observed Carol's face beside him. She seemed too
petrified to speak. He turned to Maggie, who also appeared fear-stricken and
immobilized.

"I need help," Meade screamed. "Can't you
hear me?"

"We hear you," Ken yelled, cupping his hands and
shouting above the roar of the lionesses. The lion cubs, he noted, had
disappeared into the thicket.

"Winch. Use the winch."

His entreaty was pitiful, agonizing.

Ken ducked down and, grabbing at Eliot's shoulder, pushed
him aside and leaned into the driver's area. He surveyed the instruments on the
dashboard. One of them clearly said "Winch."

"No sweat," Ken said, cutting a glance of
disapproval at Eliot.

"Their bellies are full," Elliot said. "They
won't attack him for a while, if he makes no move toward the cubs. Could sober
him up."

"The man is obviously in trouble," Ken said.

"Serves him right," Eliot muttered.

"The winch," Meade screamed out. "Start the
winch, for crying out loud. Start the winch."

Ken pulled at the lever marked "Winch" and the
van shuddered and wheezed as the cable stretched taut. The van rose with effort
from its muddy trap as the cable started to wind around its mounting.

Slowly the van angled out of the track and was pulled
toward the thicket. As it drew closer, Ken could see Meade standing on a limb
of the tree, one arm wrapped around the trunk, the other holding a long branch,
obviously a weapon to ward off the lionesses. Below him three lionesses scowled
and roared. Beside them was the carcass of a wildebeest and a number of cubs chomping
on it.

Meade was sweating profusely, but the redness in his
complexion had evaporated. He was pale and drawn. His shirt was ripped and
there were scratches on his arm. Beyond that he seemed intact.

The winch brought the van closer to the tree, then its
front wheels jammed against a big rock and refused to go farther. Ken stopped
the winch, then started it up again. It huffed and creaked, but the rock held
the wheels fast, a good ten feet from the tree. This meant that Meade would
have to drop down from the tree and run a hazardous gauntlet of unhappy
lionesses to get to the safety of the van.

"Now what?" Ken said.

Three mature lionesses stood at the base of the tree
watching Meade, who observed the van's predicament with discouragement.

"The cable has to be removed from the tree to free the
van," Eliot said. "Then we've got to back up and pull up around the
other side just under Meade."

"That's obvious," Ken agreed.

"Are you prepared to get out and try it?" Eliot
asked. He turned toward the two women behind him. "Anyone game for that
fool's errand?" His tone was strangely sardonic.

As Ken contemplated the dilemma, Meade reached down with
the branch he had been using to ward off the lionesses and tried to undo the
clamp that held the cable to the tree. It was obvious that this method was of
little avail.

Finally Meade shouted down to them.

"Under the bench of the rear seat. There's an
ax."

"A what?" Ken called back.

Meade repeated what he had said and Ken called to the
women, who had been sitting on the bench, to climb to the rear. They obeyed
instantly.

Ken lifted the bench, saw the ax, and quickly removed it,
holding it so that Meade could get a better view of it. He saw it and nodded.

"Now chop the cable," he shouted.

"Is he crazy?" Eliot said. "Nobody in their
right mind is going out there."

"I wouldn't, Ken," Maggie said. He turned and
looked at Carol, who shook her head.

"Then what are we supposed to do?" Ken asked.

"Not that," Eliot said.

"What, then?"

"Wait, I suppose," Eliot murmured.

"I'd listen to Eliot, Ken," Maggie said.
"It's too much of a risk."

"You've got to help me, people, please," Meade
shouted. "This bloody limb can't hold me forever."

"One false move and they'll tear you to pieces,
Kramer," Eliot said. Did Ken detect satisfaction in Eliot's tone?

"What is it with you, Eliot?" Ken shouted. At the
same time, he considered the danger. Eliot could be right. He stood up and
opened the portal above him. The three lionesses looked at him with what he was
certain was sinister intent.

Slowly, Ken extended himself through the portal, drawing
out the ax by the handle.

"Just give it a quick chop," Meade said
frantically.

"What about them?" Ken asked, looking at the
three lionesses.

"Move slowly. Nothing sudden."

"I'm not sure," Ken said. He would have to climb
onto the hood of the vehicle, brace himself, then swing, an act that seemed
certain to disturb the animals. As if to confirm this assessment, they growled
angrily.

"Ken, stop this," Maggie shouted. "Throw him
the ax. Let him swing it from where he is."

Meade's eyes blazed with contempt.

"No way to brace myself," he said.

"I really wouldn't, Ken," Eliot said, almost
casually.

"Listen to Eliot, Ken," Maggie said.

"Please," Meade pleaded, his arm hugging the
trunk. Ken could see the fissure at the joint where the limb met the trunk.
"One step further out and this bloody limb will break."

"Jesus," Ken said, looking back into the van.
"He's right. He can't."

"I'd suggest we just wait them out," Eliot said.
"They'll take off by nightfall as soon as they get hungry."

"Bloody hell, they will. I'm for supper," Meade
shouted, "And this branch won't hold me that long."

"Looks okay to me," Eliot mumbled.

Ken contemplated the distance. If he removed the ax fully
from the van and leveraged himself carefully, he might start his swing as he
stepped out onto the hood.

"Ken..." Maggie cried, then stopped as he lifted
himself out of the portal and sat on its rim, watching the lionesses.

"They get it into their heads that you're up to
something, they'll be at you as fast as you can blink," Eliot said. His
clinical calm was baffling.

"This man is in mortal danger," Ken said.

"It's your life, Ken."

"Listen to him," Maggie shouted. "Stop
this."

At that moment Meade stirred and Ken heard the branch
creak.

"A couple of hard bloody chops at it. That's all it
needs," Meade said. His shirt was soaked with perspiration. Ken hesitated,
took a deep breath, then lifted one foot over the windshield onto the hood. The
three animals watched him, feral eyes alert.

"It's all right," Meade said. "Take it slow.
No sudden moves."

Ken started moving along the hood on his knees, dragging
the ax. His heart pounded in his chest and perspiration ran out of him like
water.

"Damned fool," he heard Eliot mumble behind him.

He felt himself committed, moving deliberately now, trying
to gauge his point of maximum leverage. He hefted the ax and started to rise.

"Christ, not you too, Carol," Eliot hissed. Ken
turned to see Carol rising in the portal. She reached out.

"Stay back," Ken warned. But she kept moving, her
hand gripping his belt. Then suddenly he understood the logic of her act. She
was bracing him, her legs anchored to the portal.

Ken straightened now, not looking at the three lionesses no
more than a few feet from him. Gripping the ax handle firmly, he swung and came
down hard on the cable. The lionesses stood up on all fours and glared at him.
But the cable hadn't been cut through. He swung again and again, feeling
Carol's bracing pressure, knowing he could not have been able to do this
without her help.

"One more, mate. Just one more," Meade cried.

Ken felt all his strength going into the final blow, which
very nearly toppled him. But it was enough to break the last strands of the
cable. He let go of the ax and quickly clambered back into the van, falling
back onto Carol and slapping shut the portal cover. Just in time. One of the
lionesses had jumped onto the hood and stood there glaring at the occupants
inside the van.

Eliot, who had moved back into the driver's seat, backed up
the van, then skirted the rock and headed to a spot directly under the branch
of the tree on which Meade stood.

Carol climbed over into the backseat beside Maggie to make
room for Meade if he was able to get back into the van. He would come through
the center portal.

Interpreting the movement of the van as an attack attempt,
all three lionesses moved in on it, mounting the hood and snarling through the
windshield.

With the heel of his hand, Ken banged the horn and the
three predators, momentarily stunned by the sound, jumped off the hood. Then
Ken opened the portal. Meade's hand was outstretched and he had lowered his
body from its precarious perch on the tree's limb. Ken reached out and grabbed
Meade's waiting hand.

"Jump," Ken ordered. Meade who had put the branch
he had used as a weapon in the crook of the tree, reached for it with his free
hand, threw it at the three lionesses, and jumped down into the open portal.
Ken quickly pulled him fully into the van and closed the hatch while Eliot
backed the van out of the thicket.

Meade stank of sweat and booze as he lay lengthwise along
the middle bench, breathing heavily. He closed his eyes. "I sure as hell
could use a quaff," he said.

Eliot reached beside him with his left hand and held up the
bottle, which was about half full.

"Bloody good," Meade said, reaching for it.

Suddenly, Eliot pulled hard on the wheel with his right
hand, causing the van to swerve and the bottle to slip from Meade's hand to the
floor of the van, where it broke.

"Sorry, Meade," Eliot said. "Not used to driving
this baby."

Meade opened bloodshot eyes, looked at him, and smiled
malevolently.

"Well, we did see the lions," Ken said, hoping
this try at humor might take the heaviness out of the situation. It didn't.

MAGGIE STOOD IN the shower stall toweling her skin dry. She
was certain that one bucket of water hadn't done the job and was tempted to
call out for another. She didn't. Nor was she satisfied that the toweling was
truly drying her. Clamminess clung to her skin. Like a shroud, she thought, the
idea of death surfacing in her mind. Whose death? Hadn't she shown true wifely
concern about the danger to Ken in climbing out on the hood of the van? What
more could she have done to dissuade him? Her response troubled her deeply. Had
it been truly sincere? She began to shiver and goose bumps erupted like a
moonscape on her skin.

And yet no willful act on her part could deny the illicit
thrill of elation that shot through her when Ken climbed up on that hood and
exposed himself to that terrible danger. But when she saw Carol lift herself
out of the portal, her heart seemed to jump into her throat. There it was. The
answer.

Only then did she realize that this was actually the second
time that she had conspired to abet the unthinkable, that her previous collusion
with Eliot in leaving them in the bush was also inspired by this desire to
create a final solution to their problem, an ending.

How awful. How sinister. How arrogantly selfish. She tried
to disregard the reflection, but it persisted. She remembered that there had
been a moment during the crisis in the van when her eyes had met Eliot's and
she saw in them the mirror of her own ugly unthinkable wish.

Neither she nor Eliot, aside from lip service, had made any
move to assist in helping to rescue Meade. Each knew, she was certain, that
their inaction was willful and deliberate, that the single issue that dominated
their thoughts was their freedom, their future together.

Still, she could not wipe away the idea. She was not, after
all, a hateful person. She could not hate Ken. This offered her a glimmer of
rationalization. After all, how could she hate the father of her children? When
she compared him with Eliot, of course, he became a pallid, ineffective figure,
but hardly an object of such dark thoughts. He had been a good husband and
father.

But when it came to Carol she was less forgiving. It was
Carol, after all, who stood in her way. It was she who was at the heart of
Maggie's secret wish. By her desperate act to assist Ken, she had deliberately
exposed herself to danger, had deliberately created the possibility in Maggie's
mind of this final solution to the dilemma. It was only natural for such dark
thoughts to surface in her mind. Wasn't it? Maggie tried desperately to press
this convoluted logic on herself.

Even now, as she made a massive internal effort to rub away
the awfulness of her and Eliot's inaction, she could understand the power of
the wish and how it could give rise to such thoughts. Hadn't she tried other
rationalizations while she sat there in the van? After all, humans had invaded
the lions' turf, their pride. The creatures had an absolute right to eliminate
the intruders. They were trespassing. But Maggie knew that her rooting was
highly selective. What she wished for was the elimination of Carol, Ken, and
Meade. They were the true intruders, the enemy.

Yet, for a brief moment, Carol's action had also struck a
hopeful, less lethal, note. It had, indeed, crossed her mind that perhaps Carol
had acted out of love for Ken. Hadn't Maggie been equally as spontaneous when
she tried to rescue Eliot from the mad elephant? Except that she had publicly
and indiscreetly expressed her love for Eliot, thereby putting herself and her
lover at Meade's mercy. Carol, on the other hand, had not been vocal at all. Which
led Maggie to the conclusion that Carol had probably acted out of simple
humanity, as Ken had, to save a human life.

Sadly, it was becoming increasingly obvious that nothing
was working out as she and Eliot had planned. The original idea, the wish itself,
certainly the process of persuasion, had become frustrated by events. She was
running out of hope. All doors seemed to be closing at once on their dream of a
life together.

So here she was, like Lady Macbeth, trying to rub away the
sludge of ugly memory, acting out the only defense she could think of, knowing
that it was transparently futile. What she needed was a more direct act of
expiation, a confrontation with the truth.

But all this dread and self-disgust did open a tiny window
of vindication in her mind. She was simply exhausted by all the lies, internal
and external, the role playing, the dissimulation, the fear of discovery, the
tension of danger. Enough, she told herself. Enough.

Finally, her skin rubbed to irritation, Maggie was assailed
by this compelling need to be cleansed from the inside, wrung dry of cant and
hypocrisy. Surely, there was goodness, honesty, sincerity, and honor left
inside her. Wasn't there? She could no longer bear the claustrophobic smallness
of the tented shower stall and she slid between the flaps back into the tent.

Ken was lying on his cot, hands behind his head, staring up
at the tent ceiling. Through a silver of mesh she could see the men preparing
the evening meal. She started to dress, searching her mind for a beginning, a
way to start the journey to catharsis and atonement.

"That was very brave of you, Ken," she said.
Throughout the trip back to camp, they had remained silent, each one, Maggie
supposed, evaluating the experience according to his or her own interpretation.
She hadn't had a chance to discuss it with Eliot, although they had continued
to exchange conspiratorial glances.

"Not really," he reflected. "Impulsive or
foolhardy might describe it better."

"No," Maggie insisted. "Brave is absolutely
correct." She sucked in a deep breath. "I should have been the one to
assist you."

She watched his face. His eyes blinked, but he did not turn
to face her.

"I guess Carol just got there first."

"It wasn't cowardice," Maggie said cautiously.
Expiation demanded truth, she knew. Truth within reason, she told herself. Was
there such a thing? "I..." She hesitated, summoning courage. She had
lived with this man for nearly two decades. Whatever happened, their life
together was over and she was obligated to tell him that, at least that.
"I've been analyzing why I didn't."

"It doesn't matter," Ken mumbled. It was then
that he turned to face her. "Forget it. It's no big deal."

"No," she said. "It's important to me."

"Well, not to me. In situations like that, some
people, I suppose, react faster than others."

He sat up abruptly, obviously trying to divert her remarks.

"Maybe," she began, feeling her heartbeat
flutter. "But I've come to a different conclusion."

"Leave it alone, Maggie," Ken said, obviously
uncomfortable.

"I don't think I cared enough." There, she
thought. It's said.

She waited for herself to feel better for it. Not that it
was a full-scale confession. But partially clean was better than completely
dirty.

Ken's eyes narrowed, as if he were having trouble focusing
on her. Was he thinking, For Meade? No. She was certain that the arrow had
found its mark.

"Now, there's an act of courage," Ken said. She
had expected his reaction to be more crestfallen and it confused her.

"Surely, I owe you that much," she whispered. A lump
had formed in her throat.

"Are you telling me that you wanted me"—he
paused—"done in?" He chuckled. "Lionized?"

"Of course not," she replied, not responding to
his misplaced wisecrack, hoping that he might not have noted the hesitation in
her voice.

"What is it, then?" Ken asked. He seemed to be
looking at her suspiciously.

"What I'm trying to convey," she said, struggling
to find the right words, "is that I'm seeing a different perspective on
our lives out here. You and I." It was awful, trying to find the right
balance. "No." She shook her head. "I didn't want you done in. I
just didn't seem to care enough to want to prevent it."

"Jesus." He stood up. "It must have been
really important to get that out." He turned away and looked toward the
mess tent. "All right. With that said, can we now go and get some
dinner?"

"It doesn't bother you?"

"I'm not sure I know what you're saying."

Was he being deliberately obtuse? she wondered. Had he
really received her message?

"It means..." Maggie began. She was discovering
that telling the partial truth was even harder than telling the whole lie.
Nevertheless, she forced herself to press forward. It must be said, she
decided. "It means that I want us to separate."

Ken cocked his head and studied her. Closely observed like
this, she felt uncomfortable, naked. She wanted to scream out the full truth. I
love another man. She wanted to shout it out at the top of her lungs.

"That's a bit of a bolt from the blue."

"It was necessary for me to tell you that, Ken."
She sucked in a deep breath. "I'm sorry."

"And this has just come upon you today?"

"No. I've been thinking about it for some time."

He looked at her for a long moment, then shook his head and
shrugged.

"Somehow it doesn't seem like the appropriate moment
to discuss this."

He seemed remarkably calm and cerebral. In a perverse way,
she would have been more comfortable with emotion, perhaps tears, although she
had never seen him cry.

"I know. But it's been nagging at me and I needed to
say it. Maybe what happened today was a catalyst." She spoke slowly,
nodding with emphasis. Yes, she was beginning to feel better. That burden had
been lifted.

"You don't think we should put this on hold, until we
get back home?"

She felt another burst of guilt.

"There's never a good time for this. Maybe our getting
used to the idea might make it better later, when the children are confronted,
although they're certainly old enough to accept it. And I know you'll be
fair."

"You seem to have thought things out rather
carefully," Ken said, looking at her archly.

She detected an element of sarcasm in his remark. Did he
suspect Eliot? Had she gone too far? It suddenly troubled her also that he did
not ask for more specific reasons. It was important now to bring this matter to
a close. She had gone as far as she could go.

"I'm glad that you're taking this so well," she
said.

He reached over to where his bush jacket hung and began to
put it on.

"I assume that we're to keep this little matter top
secret until we get home," he said, pulling up the zipper of the jacket.

She pondered the idea for a moment. She would tell Eliot,
of course. He would be delighted. Wouldn't he? At least one of them would be
free. That was something anyway. She had shown him her true love, her total
commitment to him, body and soul. Then another thought superimposed itself,
making her hesitate. She had done this on her own, without consulting him.
Perhaps he would be furious, reasoning that she might have triggered Ken's
suspicions about their affair. Had she? Oh, God, she thought, have I botched
things up?

"No need for the others to get worked up about
it," Ken continued.

"That seems like the best course," Maggie agreed,
her mind groping for a way to allay any suspicions she might have raised in
Ken's mind. "Yes. I think you're right. Carol and Eliot would be very
upset with us if we told them. They might think that they were somehow to
blame."

"Maybe so," Ken said after some thought.
"Anyway, there's no need to spoil the trip for them."

His remark relieved her considerably.

"The four of us could still be friends, of
course," Maggie said, conjuring up the possibility. She had not yet
reckoned with that complicated matter. It was enough that she had taken the
first step to attain her own freedom.

"I guess we'll just have to accept things as they
come," Ken said, as if he were directing the thought generally, to both of
them.

"That's what I thought."

"May I ask a question?" Ken asked. He had taken
the flashlight from a hook next to his cot.

"Of course."

Unburdened, she felt magnanimous. She had mustered courage,
spoken truth, secured her freedom.

"Is there someone else?"

She felt his eyes boring in on her. Despite its not having
occurred to her that he would ask, it was a perfectly logical question,
actually a clichéd question in these circumstances. She swallowed and felt a
quivering in her chest. There was, indeed, an answer waiting to be voiced.
Could she dare it?

But the nagging practicality of her midwestern background
held her back. Perhaps she had acted too hastily. Ken's remarks had made one
thing seem obvious, that the hoped-for relationship between Ken and Carol was
as remote as ever.

She speculated suddenly on what effect her admission of
infidelity would have on Ken. Surely, despite his essential fairness, he might
use it as a case for custody of the children or some other legal or emotional
form of vengeance.

Indeed, a new Pandora's box blew open. She supposed there
would be another inside that, and another. And so on.

Without a negation of that damned prenuptial agreement, she
might have to face the possibility of a future as Eliot's clandestine mistress,
a distasteful prospect, especially for a single woman with two teenage
children. She shivered at the thought, telescoping in her mind long lonely
stretches without the comforting presence of her lover.

Still another possibility opened in her mind. More boxes
within boxes. Eliot, fearing the consequences of economic deprivation, might
opt for scuttling his new emotional epiphany in favor of the more tranquil
intellectual life, continue his bloodless marriage with Carol, and dedicate
himself wholly to his causes.

That would mean an end to their relationship. She would be
devastated, of course. But her only choice would be to start over again,
somehow keep going.