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“Where have you been Falana?” he said as he approached upwind, “Shaha wants you to come home, she needs you.”
“She does? How can she?”
“Yes, she does, and…” he paused, unsure of what best to say, “…so do I Falana.” He dropped his head, adding quietly, “Please.”
“If Shaha really, really needs me then I’ll have to go to her, but as for you Nengwalamwe… dream on! There’s no way you and I will ever get together. No way! Ever.”
She looked away and went back to staring, waiting for something to come from the rock. Nengwalamwe knew that she was serious, that she really didn’t think there was any hope that they could ever be friends, let alone mates. He growled at her, but she didn’t even look round. He turned and walked away. A modest distance away he stopped to lick his pride, and his off-hind thigh.
Falana’s strange preoccupation stirred him into thinking what might be happening to his rock. He thought again of the cave with its blocked entrance and imagined the rocks melting and flowing away under his paws to let him enter.
That afternoon was cooler than usual. The sky filled with a thick blanket of billowing grey clouds that rushed across the plains. He followed them, empty pawed, back to the ridge and Shaha. She was sleeping when he arrived, so, as he had done for much of the past few days he slept by her side. When she woke, she pressed him to try again to urge Falana to come home. He began to feel that he was slowly becoming no more than a hunter and messenger for Shaha. When he told her so, she smiled and repeated her request.
The next day came early, soon after midnight. Shaha lay sleeping in the darkness while Nengwalamwe tossed, turned, curled up, uncurled, got up, turned round, stretched and lay down again. He could not get comfortable enough to sleep, so he got up one last time and padded out of the cover of the Silent Rocks.
As he walked, he thought he heard sounds of another animal close by, possibly watching or even following him. It sounded slightly clumsy, more like the footfall of a primate than the pawfall of a feline. He couldn’t understand why anyone would want to follow him. He slipped into a patch of undergrowth for a moment; he emerged and stumbled into Mtundu.
“Mtundu! What are you doing here at this time of night?” He asked in surprise, “Look, I think something might be following me. Just keep your mouth shut and come on. We’re going to see Falana.”
The baboon shrugged and tilted his head. He reached out, picked off something from Nengwalamwe’s nose, and ate it.
“Do you think Mtundu,” Nengwalamwe asked as he rose and set off, “that it could have something to do with those dogs?”
***
“No Nengwalamwe. NO!”
That was that, Nengwalamwe could get Falana to say no more. Though she didn’t say anything, she made it clear that she didn’t want to say anything more in the presence of Mtundu.
Shaha patiently listened to Nengwalamwe’s story, and even to Mtundu’s version of events. He seemed quite at ease with Shaha; gone was the fidgeting nervousness with which he had met Falana. He clearly knew of Shaha, and possibly thought she was well past being a threat to a nimble baboon. When Shaha suggested, no, told Nengwalamwe that he would be going to Falana again the following day he almost told her to go herself. She was now moving around quite well and with little pain or discomfort. She still limped noticeably, but she was managing more than just a hobble. She would be able to spring in a few more days if she kept on recovering as she had so far.
Nengwalamwe’s thoughts turned back to his rock. He felt he was neglecting important things. He had not been home for some five days, and a lot can happen in five days of a lion’s life. When Mtundu had gone he told Shaha of his concerns. In reply, she told him that once Falana was home she would have no need of Nengwalamwe and that he would be free to go wherever he pleased. She told him that he was always free to do whatever he pleased, that he was not her prisoner and that he owed her nothing.
“I stay here because I want to Shaha, but I need to go home too - I need to be there. I had wanted to go there with someone, but I guess it’s not going to happen.”
Shaha reached up with her injured foreleg and placed her paw on his shoulder, she held it there for a moment before the aching forced her to let it slide down his warm fur. “I know how you need to go back. If I were younger, I’d go with you. Go to Falana again and make her see she’s wanted and needed too.”
Nengwalamwe knew that Shaha would be better off with her own daughter. If that daughter didn’t want him then there seemed little point in hanging around any longer. The rains were coming, and with them the moment would come when the young lion would have to decide where his future lay. That time was coming closer with every cloud that gathered over the savannah.
***
“Whatever the question is, the answer is ‘No!’ so don’t even bother asking.”
“But Falana!”
“I told you never to ‘but’ me cubbie. Now get out of here!”
“Shaha needs you.”
“We’ll see about that! Now go!”
Dejected, disillusioned and disappointed, Nengwalamwe turned from Falana and walked away. He roamed over the plain with no idea where he was going or why. Everything was confused in his mind: the dogs, Falana, Shaha and even Mtundu. There was no one he could rely on, no one he could really trust, no one he could pour out his heart to, no one. It all came from the place; it all flowed up from the ground, into the rock and into their souls. Maybe it would flow into his too if he stayed much longer. He decided he should go back to Shaha one more time, if nothing else than to say goodbye.
He walked slowly back to Silent Rocks along the top of the ridge. As he got close, but still out of sight, he stopped for a moment of private peace. As he licked his foreleg, he heard voices. Two voices, Shaha’s and… Falana’s: the two were together; the two were home.
“I’d have died without him. Nengwalamwe’s a good lion Falana, he’s got a lot of heart, and he’s hunted for me without a word. Few lions would ever do that for you; my father wouldn’t have, and nor would yours. Give him a chance, he deserves it, and you’ve got to admit his mane’s… cuddly.”
“But mother, he’s so young!”
“Don’t you ‘but’ me cubbie!”
Nengwalamwe slowly brought his head up from his leg and stood still, listening.
“I’m sorry mother. I am…”
“I know, and what’s wrong with young? I know he’ll be good with cubs. Which reminds me, what are we going to do about something to eat?”
His faith restored and his time with Shaha over, he turned and walked back down the ridge. His job was done. He had seen a little of what lay below the ears of the hippopotamus.
Once well away from Silent Rocks he turned into the late day sun and headed for home.
Nengwalamwe was calm, walking steadily; his shoulders rising rhythmically. His job was done. What job was that? Re-uniting mother and daughter? Was that all he was here to do? Was that really all these weeks had been about? Was that why Yali had come to him again and again? What about Mtundu? What about Falana. He saw her walking in the distance, her every muscle inviting him, her every movement seducing him. Yet she walked alone, always keeping out of reach yet close enough to fill Nengwalamwe with her intoxicating smell. What about the rock? What about the cave? What about the dogs? What? Who? Why? Questions, questions; all unanswerable. His pawfall became uneasy. His felt his pads more than usual, and through them felt every ridge in the ground. The grasses felt harder and dryer. Above the scurrying clouds threw their shadow over everything. Even the rock fell under the deepening shadows’ dance.
As sunset neared he wandered, nowhere felt right, nowhere seemed welcoming, nowhere, even the rock felt like home. In the lion’s mind invisible barriers sprang up all around. No matter what he thought, no matter which way he turned, there was something blocking his path. He needed to move, to be free to roam. He decided to patrol, to look for signs of encroachment through his borders. He turned north, heading once again toward the distant highlands. To the lands of his first pawfall.
Everything around him sounded close but subdued. Calls passed him by; hooves rattled and rushed. Above the air filled and heaved with insects. The evening closed in.
Now the sun dipped below the horizon. The clouds changing from dank grey to golden orange, touched with whites and red. Through the hum of the insects a new sound reached him. He couldn’t make it out at first from amidst the hubbub of evening. It appeared to come from over some low rises to on his offside. He decided it could be an intruder. He turned toward it, climbing the nearest rise.
At the top he paused and waited for it to come again on the heavy air. He turned his ears, scanning the distant uplands. There… there it was again. Difficult to hear: indistinct and distant. No, no, it wasn’t distant, it was closer. Muffled, almost hushed. It came from a thicket just a minute or two’s walk away
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