Private Lies (28 page)

Still she hesitated providing an answer to Ken's question,
continuing to turn over potential consequences in her mind. She could, as they
say, go the full nine yards. Admit the truth. Tell him of her affair with
Eliot. In away there was a commonality of interest between Ken and her. Ken
would assume that since she was involved with an allegedly wealthy man he might
be relieved of some of his future financial obligations.

Eventually that would require still another explanation.
Would she reveal the truth about Eliot's precarious financial condition, his
agreement with Carol? Questions would continue to pile upon questions. Boxes in
boxes.

Yet, despite all these considerations, the one that
dominated all others was that if she were to name Eliot, she would be betraying
her lover's confidence, her absolute commitment to him.

"I have a right to know the answer to that,
Maggie," Ken pressed. "Under the circumstances, it seems like a very
appropriate question."

Had she hesitated too long to make a credible denial? She
wondered suddenly about what lies he might have told her during their long
years together. The innocent, self-protective lies that underlay any marriage.
Someday, perhaps, they would exchange honest confidences, reveal to each other
their ugly little secrets and private deceptions. The thought triggered a
revelation.

She drew in a deep breath. She had already learned to live
with partial lies. Why not one more?

"The answer to your question is no," she said,
jutting out her chin pugnaciously, as if she were daring him to probe deeper.
He studied her, then nodded.

"I never thought otherwise," he said, but he had
turned away too quickly to confirm the statement with his eyes.

He unzipped the front flap of the tent and started to move
into the darkness. Suddenly he turned and looked at her.

"Hemingway also discovered his truth in Africa,"
he said.

He did not rezip the flap, leaving her to watch him follow
the beam of his flashlight toward the mess tent.

Had she really discovered hers? she wondered. She wasn't
quite certain.

ELIOT SAT BY the fire, watching the flames lick at the
wood. He looked toward the tents, waiting for Maggie to emerge.

"Later," she had whispered to him after dinner,
which had been tense and strained for her, but mercifully short. Thankfully,
Meade had not come out of his tent.

Of course he and Maggie had to talk. This African adventure
was taking on strange aspects.

All his life, Eliot had put his faith in his inner voice of
reason. Always he had eschewed emotion as being untrustworthy, the foe of reason.

The discovery of passion, of love, of the revitalizing
effects of this experience had, of course, enriched his life, had taught him
that emotion could actually dominate logic. Maggie, if reason was all that
dictated, would not have made a natural match for him, certainly not socially
or aesthetically. His innate snobbery would have prevented that.

But emotion, the mystery of love, had mesmerized him, made
him a literal slave to its conventions. It had awakened him from a long, deep
sleep. His body reveled in the pleasure and joy of it. He was captivated,
seduced beyond logic, and he had surrendered himself to its power and its
commitment.

It certainly had reordered his priorities, although he had
not calculated that it might require profound changes in his style of life,
changes he was not certain he was prepared to make.

He supposed that if he mustered every bit of his
concentration, he might be able to, if not eliminate it, tame it. But wouldn't
that be thwarting nature? Like caging those species that roamed these African
plains in perfect harmony.

Instead, his only course was to draw upon the superhuman
strength of his inner self, to reharness the power of reason, to create his
personal wildlife preserve. That was his new metaphor. Reason would set the
boundaries of his future life with Maggie, assure its inevitability and its
comfortable environment. Their love demanded it.

First, he would have to eliminate the dangers. Meade,
goaded by drunkenness and the knowledge that he and Maggie were being unfaithful
to their spouses, no longer felt subject to his authority. Eliot supposed it
was a natural resentment of any free spirit forced to make compromises that
betrayed that freedom. White hunters like Meade who were reduced to the level
of mere tour guides were an embittered breed to begin with. He was certain that
Meade had always resented him, as he resented all rich dilettantes who arrived
in Africa to see the wildlife.

Perhaps, too, Meade the true hunter disliked Eliot the true
thinker, a perfectly natural hostility between opposites. Mixed with alcohol,
such resentment could be lethal. And secret knowledge, such as that which Meade
believed he possessed, could easily be personalized.

As it was, the danger Meade presented to him
notwithstanding, this African experience had turned out so far to be a mistake.
Any hope that Carol and Ken might be nudged into infidelity seemed as unlikely
as ever, although, for a moment, Eliot had been encouraged by Carol's
protective act toward Ken in the pride. But then, on the way home and
thereafter through dinner, they had reverted to their usual behavior of
indifference and disinterest in each other.

Good sense dictated that he abort the safari immediately.
But another idea was emerging in his mind, a very powerful and conclusive idea.

Reason, after all, demanded honesty. He had deliberately
sat on his hands during Meade's struggle in the pride. It was a tricky moment,
demanding discipline. Ken's macho grandstanding had complicated matters
considerably, but it was Carol's act that had offered the greatest
embellishment of the idea, had set off an explosion of "what ifs" in
his mind.

The incident had been especially useful in testing the
parameters of his own remorse. He had exchanged glances with Maggie. Had he
seen wishfulness in her eyes? Or abject fear? He wasn't certain. She had,
however, taken no action to save her husband's life. Was that paralysis? Or,
like his, a deliberate act? He suspected the latter.

He was now quite certain of his own reaction. If an
accident or a natural disaster somehow intervened to take Carol's life, he
would be able to handle it. Reason would absolve him of any complicity. There
would be emotional consequences, of course, perhaps some residual guilt. But
that would fade with time. In fact, he had already gone through the process as
Carol held fast to Ken's legs.

"In retrospect," Carol told Ken at dinner,
"what I did was blind dumb stupidity."

"I'll agree with that," Ken replied. "Second
only to mine." He offered a mock salute. "But I thank you just the
same."

"The situation made the choice I suppose," Carol
went on. "Eliot had the wheel and Maggie was in the wrong position to act
quickly."

"I should have done something," Maggie said.

"All because of that idiot drunk," Eliot
interjected, pumping up into a flash of anger. He had been concerned that his
lack of action had been noted. Now he felt relieved.

"I'm surprised you let him get away with it,"
Carol said. She looked toward Ken. "I would have expected one of you to
chew him out."

"It would only have inflamed him further," Eliot
said, turning to Ken. "Don't you agree?"

"You have a point," Ken said.

"He very nearly caused a massacre," Carol said.
"I felt sure those cats would attack."

"Blind luck," Eliot said.

"No less than a miracle," Maggie pointed out.

"It would be unthinkable for us to go back out with
him again," Carol said. "The man's a menace."

"I plan to talk to him first thing in the morning.
He's in no condition to communicate. The boys had to carry him to his
tent."

"We should quit now," Carol said. "He's gone
off the deep end."

"I'm afraid I agree with her," Ken said.

"I don't disagree," Eliot said, thinking of this
other agenda that had suddenly intruded. "But he's a good man when sober.
Safari guides like Meade, what with the poaching and corrupt wildlife
management in this country, are very worried about their livelihood. I suspect
he's just overwrought."

"And out of control," Ken said. "Our lives
are his first responsibility. It's not the other way around. So we'll lose a
few days."

"Better lose days than our lives," Carol said.

Eliot looked at her, his eyes narrowing, but said nothing.
He did not want it settled. Not just yet.

They had run out of conversation after that and soon
Maggie, Carol, and Ken went off to their tents.

Eliot was not tired. In fact, as he sat alone now before
the dying campfire, he was exhilarated. This new idea was taking hold and his
mind was groping for the correct strategy, the foolproof strategy that would,
once and for all, resolve the dilemma.

He debated telling Maggie what was churning in his head,
remembering how she had reacted during the incident with the lions. Like him,
she had held back. Nor had he seen any sign of either terror or remorse in her
eyes. If the actual deed of what he was now contemplating offended her, could
she, nevertheless, cope with the idea of it?

He smiled when he heard the lion's roar, the only sound to
rise above that of the crackling fire.

"I did it, Eliot," Maggie said. She had come up
silently, a robe thrown over her nightgown. She sat down in a chair beside him.
Her voice had startled him. Then its content had communicated itself and his
stomach knotted.

"Did what?"

"I hope you won't be angry," she said, a tremor
in her voice.

He had turned toward her, noting her nervousness. Her eyes
glowed like agates from the fire's reflection.

"After today, I felt I had to," she said,
stopping suddenly as if she were out of breath. He feared for the worst.

"You told him about us?" he asked with a sense of
rising panic.

"God, no, Eliot," she said, letting out a burst
of air. "It's just that I had to stop living part of the lie. Eliot, dear
dear Eliot. Today I felt myself rejoicing at the idea of Ken's and Carol's
deaths. It wasn't the first time and it shook me up. It was, after all, close
to happening and there I was wishing it."

He knew, of course, what she meant.

"You mustn't flagellate yourself over it," he
said cautiously. "It wouldn't have been your fault."

"But I was wishing it, you see."

"Under the circumstances, it would seem like a natural
reaction."

"You thought it, too?"

He nodded, knowing there was more to be said. But her
reaction seemed to indicate a validation of her own suspicion.

"I wish I felt more remorse about it," she said.
"But I don't."

"People murder people in their thoughts all the
time," he said. "As for remorse." He shrugged. "We can't be
remorseful just for thinking things."

"But suppose something had happened, something had
gone wrong?"

"It was out of our hands," Eliot said.

"Except that if we wanted to we could have done
something. Like Carol."

"Pure reflex," he told her. "She had access.
She was available and she was athletic. Nothing more. It would be dangerous to
read more than that into her action."

"I understand that part. It's just that I needed to
cleanse myself, to tell him at least part of the truth."

"What did you tell him?" Eliot asked harshly.

"I..." She started to speak, then stopped. He
looked toward the tents where the others slept. "I told him I wanted my
freedom."

He felt her studying him, waiting for his response. Was
there harm in it? he wondered.

Maggie looked around her. Her voice became a whisper.
"My darling. There was no point to it being otherwise. I detest these lies
and subterfuges. Besides, it's you I love. It can't continue like this."

"And what was his reaction?" Eliot asked.

"Acceptance. He didn't protest. He didn't argue. I
think he must have sensed my feelings." She paused to reflect for a
moment, then continued. "He asked me if there was another man." She
paused. "I told him no. Also, we both agreed to keep it from you and
Carol. I couldn't, of course. I couldn't bear keeping secrets from you,
Eliot."

"We're going to resolve this," Eliot said.
"One way or another."

"But how?"

It was clear to him now that he could never tell her of his
plan. She was too caring, too sensitive, too, prone to guilt and fear. He
understood that in her. It was, he supposed, part of why he loved her.

"You've talked to her?" Maggie asked expectantly.

"I intend to," he said.

"It's the best way, my darling," Maggie said,
showing her elation. "I feel so relieved." She grew silent and stared
into the fire. "I'm so glad you made that decision." She paused,
reflected for a time, then asked, "Will you talk to her before we leave?
Or when we get home?"

"As soon as possible."

"Good. We should resolve it before we get home."

"Exactly my sentiments, Maggie."

"What do you think she'll do?" she asked
abruptly, adding quickly, "You might be quite surprised at her
generosity."

"I'm not sure," he whispered. Not that he would dare
risk such a conversation with Carol. He realized suddenly that his plan already
had been put into play.

"Either way, Eliot. It won't matter. You'll see. The
important thing is that we'll be together, together always. Between us we'll be
able to earn enough to have the kind of life you want. My business ... I'll
work. Oh, God, Eliot, I promise you..." A sob escaped her. He turned
toward her, saw tears roll onto her cheeks. She sniffled and smiled at him.
"It's happiness," she whispered.

The fire had died down completely, shedding little light.
But at that distance they were able to exchange glances for a long moment, then
she kneeled before him and rested her head on his lap. Except for the normal
sounds of the African night, nothing stirred. Perhaps because of what he had
told her, she no longer saw a risk in it. He did not protest.

Just how long they stayed like that he could not guess, but
the night's stillness was a rhapsody of their mutual contentment. She looked up
at him and smiled, then mimed: "I love you."

He was prevented by responding in kind by a sudden whiff of
a wretched effluvia. It filled the warm night air and, looking past her, he saw
the beast, a spotted hyena, breathing in short gasps, each exhale a stream of
the foulest stink.

Following his glance, Maggie turned slowly but did not
rise. They remained motionless, rooted to where they were, she kneeling on the
ground, he sitting in his chair.

He could see the hyena's face, the heavy jaw, the alert
greedy dark saucers of eyes, and the misshapen nonsymmetrical body. Ugly
bastard, he told himself, staring it down, his eyes boring into the hyena's.
For a long moment, there was a standoff between them.

Then, as quickly and silently as he came, the animal melted
away. Eliot stood up and lifted Maggie, who was shivering.

"It's all right now," he whispered.

She waited until she stopped shivering to speak.

"What do you suppose it means?" she asked,
speaking directly into his ear.

The question surprised him.

"Nothing," he said, and for a brief moment he
felt the tension of uncertainty.