Issue link: http://www.e-digitaleditions.com/i/801177
"You best have a look," he said to his friend. He watched Mwansa disappear into the hut and then turned to the east, to where they had followed a buffalo herd 500 strong. He saw fame and glory fading into a distant heat mirage. Nobody would ever find out about the woman he left to be slaughtered. Nobody would ever find out if he left the baby girl for when the lion returned. And the lion would return—he was sure of that. A day ago he thought he could live with such a decision. That any other choice would ruin his career before it started. Now, staring into the future, he knew it did not matter. He could win awards, have books written about him, demand top-dollar from the most enviable clients, and it would all be a lie. It would be a lie because he, Mwansa, Mkulu, and a handful of hard men knew what he had failed to do. Mwansa returned a moment later. He had wrapped the baby in the impala-hide blanket and had her cradled in his arms. "My first wife has been without child for many years. We will take her and raise her as our daughter. It is what the gods want." Mwansa felt certain the gods had told the lion to leave the baby and, at that moment, he did not care what Raif thought of his beliefs. Raif did not point out the contradictions. There would be no investigation. There would be no justice. There would be one less orphan girl waiting for parents who would never return, and there would be no woman subjected to mental tests in a strange city that could be more vicious than any lion. Raif would never convince himself this justified his actions. He did not speak. He just nodded to his friend and together they took Mwansa's new daughter back to the unfinished camp. Though the two friends had no success finding the man-eater in the weeks to come, there was never another attack. Mwansa never questioned why. Raif never understood. n Despite the frigid morning air, sweat soaked Raif's short, black hair. It was not the lion that made him nervous. He had faced charging beasts before. His intensive training always took over during those moments. This was different. He knew the baby would be gone. He knew it, but he had to see anyway. They moved slowly, taking a step every few seconds. Both of them stared at the splatters of blood, the massive paw prints, the dead weight pulled beside them. Mwansa noticed immediately that one set of tracks entered and one left. The lion had been alone, and it had not come back a second time during the night. They paused to listen. Below the background birdcalls, below the soft breeze, below the tsetse flies, they heard nothing. Flies hovered around the entrance and bounced at the edge of the stained ground. It smelled of death—they both knew the scent well. Raif instructed Mwansa to wait outside. He did not know what to expect when he peeked in. Glancing down, he noticed a splash of blood, still wet in the center, but drying on the edges. An urge to vomit swelled in his chest. Then he saw it. The baby lay naked on a small impala hide just inside the entry. One word popped into Raif's mind—sacrifice. The child had been placed there as a gift. She turned to stare at Raif, her eyes wide but calm, her tiny arms and legs moving without coordination. The lion's tracks told Raif where it stepped into the hut. He could see where it stopped to sniff at the baby. Then it walked around the child, found her mother sitting in the shadows and pulled her away. He could see where the woman had scooted closer to the wall, but there was no sign that she struggled when the lion attacked. Raif glanced down at the baby—she was making soft cooing sounds—before he ducked back into the sunlight. 32 • S P O R T I N G C L A S S I C S by john troy – courtesy skyhorse publishing