Doc, as usual, doled out the delicacies, splitting the kidneys between us while Esa heaped Stanci’s plate with tenderloin. He then reached for the heart. Stanci held up her plate, smiling at him.
“Do you want some of this?” Doc asked, eyebrows wrinkling his pink forehead in surprise.
“Please.”
“You never liked the sweetbreads before,” Doc said.
“I want to try them. That’s the heart, right? I’d like to try some before I leave Africa.” She seemed sober enough now. The firelight twinkled in her bright green eyes.
Doc forked a slice of Impala heart onto her plate. She settled back with a smile and picked up her fork and knife. She cut a piece and put it in her mouth, testing it, rolling it around her teeth before chewing. She smiled. “It’s good,” she said as she set to the meat and devoured it lustily.
Doc looked at me for a moment, then tucked in, knife sawing and fork clicking, while servants filled and refilled our goblets and the pile of hot smoking meat gradually diminished. Eventually, Doc sat back, tugging at his belt with a sigh. I had already finished, and he joined me in watching Stanci scrub her plate with a hunk of bread. She popped this into her mouth, then looked round the table for more while she chewed. She frowned when she saw there was nothing else to eat.
“Still hungry?” Doc asked her.
“No, I’m finished,” she answered with some disappointment. Doc nodded and the native servants quickly cleared the table. They brought Doc’s whiskey, two tumblers, and a box of cigars. Esa stood by with a flaming brand from the fire to light us up. Doc poured the first round, mixing the whiskey with water from a canteen. Then Stanci pushed her glass across the table to him and he filled hers as well, although I noticed he mixed hers with more water and less whiskey. I chose a cigar and lit it from Esa’s stick. He then lit Doc’s cigar. Stanci leaned back in her chair, wrapped in her monkey skin cloak, and watched us smoke.
“This is lovely,” she said. “Why is that you never truly appreciate a place until you are about to leave it?”
“One of the mysteries of life,” Doc sighed.
“We’ve had a wonderful time, Doc,” I said.
Stanci smiled prettily. “The night’s still young,” she said.
Doc yawned, stretching like a bear. “I hated to take you so far away from camp to get your buff, but there weren’t any around here worth shooting,” he said.
“It was fine. We got to see some of the country,” I said.
“And kill a native,” Stanci added with eyes twinkling in the firelight.
Doc frowned at me. “Still, the trip’s used up your last day here. Tomorrow you start for the coast. The lorry from Nairobi will be here in the afternoon.”
“We had a good time, didn’t we Stanci?” I asked.
“We most certainly did,” she answered, beaming happily over the rim of her scotch. “Africa is a marvelous place. I find that I have no desire to leave. I could live here forever, just like this, out in the bush under the stars with the lions and the hyenas and everything. So long as there is plenty of Hugh’s excellent scotch and Esa is doing the cooking. Is that why you stayed here, Hugh?”
“It was more the poor quality of the ivory hunting back in Blighty,” Doc answered. “But this place does get into your blood.”
“We didn’t see any snakes,” I said.
“Wrong time of year,” Doc answered with a nod.
“It isn’t at all like in the books. I half-expected to find that lions lived exclusively on hunters and their hapless wives, and that every elephant you came across had it in for white people. But the only real danger seems to be walking on the road at night,” Stanci said, still smiling charmingly.
“Mrs. Jackson is one of our bright comedic stars,” I said to Doc.
“She ought to write a book,” he replied bitterly.
“Oh, I intend to,” she said. “It will be a marvelous tale of murder and intrigue. I’ll call it, 'The Sleepy Driver and the Loose Rope.' Of course, I’ll have to use a pseudonym. And it’ll have to be a man’s name. But I’ll be sure not to use your real name, Hugh.”
Doc looked at me, his face splotchy red. “There’s no need for you two to be up for the hippo hunt. It’s a messy business, no real sport. Butchery, really.”
“Oh, butchery! I’d love to see some butchery, provided it’s done properly this time,” Stanci said with a fierce smile. Her teeth gleamed unusually red in the firelight.
“But it’s late, so I’d better be going on to bed,” Doc finished.
“That’s a wonderful idea,” Stanci said. “Why don’t we all just go to bed?”
“You two can stay up and enjoy your last night in camp, if you like,” Doc said, ignoring her. He stood and tucked his shirt into his pants.
“Well, good night then,” I said, rising. We shook hands vigorously. “Thanks. We’ve had a fine time.”
“And we’ll have fine times still,” Stanci said, laughing. “See you in a little while, Hugh. Wait up for me, darling.”
“In the morning,” he replied. “See you in the morning.” Without looking at her, he walked across the open, lighted area and ducked through the flap of his tent. A few moments later, the paraffin lamp inside his tent flickered and went out.
I turned to Stanci. She had risen from her seat and stood wrapped in her monkey skins, fingering the box of cigars still sitting on the table. “What was that all about?” I asked angrily.
“Nothing,” she said. “Just a little teasing. I didn’t want to hurt his feelings by not seeming interested in all the amenities offered by the Great White Hunter.”
“What’s got into you, Constance?”
“Nothing!” she protested. “Don’t worry your pretty head about me. I’m fine.” She flipped open the cigar box and removed a cigar. She held it up to her nose and sniffed.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“I thought I might try one. Last night in Africa, you know,” she said.
“You hate cigar smoke,” I said.
“It’s different when you’re the one doing the smoking,” she said as she eased around the table and stood beside my chair. She rested one hand on my shoulder, letting the tips of her fingers brush lightly across my ear. “That’s what you always tell me, darling. Besides, I wanted to dip it in my scotch, like old Doc does. Make room.”
“Room for what?”
“So I can sit.”
I scooted my chair back from the table and she settled herself in my lap, wrapping one arm around my neck, and crossing her legs. The green monkey skin cloak fell aside, revealing her pale white thigh, bare to the hip.
“Jesus Christ, Constance!” I exclaimed, glaring around at the camp to make sure the servants weren’t watching. Thankfully, we were alone. “Haven’t you had any clothes on this entire time?”
She smiled and bit the tip of her cigar. “Is this how you do it?” she asked.
“What’s the matter with you?”
“It’s only a cigar, Theo,” she said, the smile fading momentarily from her lips. Then she brightened again. “Let me light mine from yours.”
She took my cigar and held its burning end up to her unlit one. Gently, as though she had done this many times, she drew at her cigar, her cheeks drawing inward, eyelids drooping. The flame gradually caught, white smoke escaped from her lips, and she smiled and returned my cigar as she puffed contentedly at her own.
“A cigar is a fine thing,” she said at last, holding it at arms length to examine it. “I should have tried them before now. I should have done lots of things before now.”
“Like what?” I asked.
“We’ll have to come back next season, Theo. I’d like to hunt something next time, too, not just spend my time sitting around congratulating you chaps on your bravery. It must be marvelous to be a killer. I want to kill something big and marvelously dangerous.”
“You hunted,” I said. “You shot nearly every day.”
“Francolin and guinea fowl don’t count, dear. I’m talking about big game. I want to shoot a lion. Not elephant, because that’s just butchery. But a big shaggy-maned lion would be a grand thing to kill.”
“We’ll see,” I said. “It’s late. We should go to bed so we can get an early start tomorrow. I think I’d like to go with Doc on that hippo hunt.”
“And we must be sure to hire Doc when we come back. It wouldn’t be the same without Doc around, and lean beautiful Shadow, and old Ndaro. Funny old Ndaro.” She looked down at me, her green eyes glistening in the firelight. “What did Shadow say?”
“About what?”
“Back on the road. You asked Doc, didn’t you? What did Shadow say that made them all laugh?”
“It’s not something to talk about,” I said.
“Oh come on, Theo. It’s bloody Africa. I want the full experience. Don’t hide anything from me.”
“Very well, then. You asked for this. I hope it makes you sick. Shadow said that, just before we ran her over, the woman had been doing with a hyena what your mother told you never to do with me,” I said.
“What do you mean?” Stanci asked coyly.
“You know very well what I mean,” I answered.
“You mean this?” she asked as she slid out of my lap and onto her knees. Tossing aside her cigar, she placed her hands on my thighs and spread my legs apart. “You mean that beautiful woman was doing this to a hyena?” she asked. Her fingers toyed with the buttons of my trousers.
“Yes,” I said, my voice catching. “That’s what Shadow says he saw.”
“And do you believe him?” she asked. Her fingers splayed out, sliding down the inside of my thighs and coming to rest on my knees once more.
“I saw it, too.” I answered.
“Did it excite you?” Stanci whispered.
“No!” I said.
“Did you think she was beautiful?” she asked.
“For a native, yes.”
“What do you mean ‘for a native’?” Stanci said, rising imperiously. “She was a queen! If she were here now, where I am, would you stop her?”
“I don’t know,” I answered, but the look in her green eyes drew the words out of me. I couldn’t stop myself. “No,” I said. “I wouldn’t stop her.”
Stanci laughed hugely, throwing back her head and laughing at the stars. I feared the natives would hear her and come out to look. Then, looking sharply down and smiling wantonly, she shrugged out of the monkey skin cloak and let it fall about her feet. She stood before me, naked and pale as a virgin. “And am I as beautiful as she?” she asked.
“Yes,” I answered. All thoughts of the natives vanished from my mind. I no longer cared if they watched, or if Doc watched. I wanted them to watch. I wanted them to see Stanci’s pale, elfin body in all its glory beneath the gloriously swollen African moon.
She dropped to her knees once more. “And will you stop me?” she panted.
“No,” I groaned.
*
I didn’t remember going to bed at all, but I woke with two very clear impressions. The first was that a hyena was near, for I heard the echo of its cry. The second was of Stanci stirring under the blankets of our two-man cot. I thought for a moment that the hyena had disturbed her, until she threw one arm across my back. Her bare leg slid across my legs until she was almost on top of me, with me lying face down beneath her. She nestled her chin on my shoulder and her hair fell down over my cheek. Outside, the fire had burned low, and there was a wet sharpness in the air that spoke of dawn. A couple of hyena chortled from the direction of the river, swiftly building into a chorus of madhouse giggling.
Stanci settled more of her weight onto my body, then she grabbed my wrists and pinned them above my head.
“What are you doing?” I asked wearily.
“My turn,” she growled into my ear, answering both questions.
Sighing, I tried to turn over. Despite just being awakened, the hunger I heard in her voice didn’t fail to arouse me. But she held me down, purring excitedly at my struggles. “What’s the matter, Theo?” she asked.
“Let me go so I can turn over,” I said. “We can’t do it this way.”
“Yes we can,” she whispered.
“How?”
“Just relax.” Her voice had grown husky, guttural; her breath was hot and reeked with some unnamable odor. “This is something you should experience once in your lifetime, darling, just so you can know how it feels.”
“Constance, let me up. What are you doing?” I asked.
“Relax, darling,” she whispered. “Remember what you said to me that night in Springfield? It only... hurts... once...”
And then I felt it – a probing around my buttocks, a living thing seeking, pushing, finding. I convulsed, all the muscles of my body tightening as I fought to keep it out. I heard Constance sigh, yet it was not Constance. Her fingernails dug into the flesh of my wrists, but they were not her carefully manicured nails prone to breaking – they were hard as horn, stabbing, tearing. I pressed up, and her weight was like that of a dozen men. The blood pounded in my temples, my teeth ground together. I felt the thing press harder, more insistently, until it broke through the tightness and tore into me.
Crying out in pain, I twisted beneath her and fell back in the cot, ripping it out of me. She was surprised by my maneuver, but maintained her grip on my wrists. The move had nearly wrenched my arms from their sockets. For a moment, I looked into her face, and though it bore the outward physical features of the woman I had married, this was not my Constance. This was an animal. The dim firelight outside our tent shone in through the flap, kindling fires of animal lust in her green eyes. The smile that twisted her face was one of unquenchable hunger. I didn’t know her at all.
Doubling my legs to my chest, I thrust upward, flinging her off me. She crashed among the camp tables and trunks. In an instant, she was on her feet, glaring at me, and I rolled off the other side of the cot to put it between us. She was nude save for the cloak of monkey skins. Her lithe, pale body writhed lustfully as she crouched as though to spring at me. Her small pink nipples were tight and hard as acorns, her disheveled hair clung to her damp cheek, beads of sweat stood out on her chest and belly and thighs. But the firelight threw her shadow large and menacing against the inside of the tent, exaggerating the length of her arms and claw-like fingers and the size of her head.
And then she edged more fully into the light, revealing a huge, tumescent organ protruding from the fleshy lips of her labia. Its skin was crimson splashed with black, as big as the arm of a young girl. It looked like some alien root clutched between her thighs, only it was alive, throbbing, dribbling a thin strand of clear liquid.
With a bestial scream, she launched herself across the tent. I grabbed the cot and flung it in her face. A stream of insane gibberish spewed from her lips while she tried to claw through the cot. I shoved with all my strength, forcing her back. Screaming expletives and giggling hysterically, she tumbled over a trunk, and I pinned her to the sandy ground with the cot. She howled, writhing beneath me as she tried to claw her way free.
By that time, Doc had burst through the tent flap, a 12-guage double-barreled Greener held at the ready. Seeing me fighting for my life, he shouted, “What is it? Hyena?”
“It’s my wife!” I screamed back at him, just as she slithered out from under the cot. I retreated, but not before she was on her feet and at me again, clawing at my face and biting anything that came within reach of her snapping jaws. She sank her teeth into my ear, ripping off a sizable chunk. I howled in pain, ducking away from her as she shrieked with insane delight.
Doc stood in the tent flap, staring stupidly at us as though he didn’t quite believe what he was seeing. She turned and lunged at him, and only at the last instant did he throw up a hand to protect his naked throat. Steel-trap jaws snapped shut over three of his gnarled, callused, sun burned fingers, snapping the bones like so many matchsticks. Without thinking, he clubbed her across the forehead with the barrel of his shotgun, momentarily staggering her with a blow that would have knocked a grown man sprawling on the ground. But in two heartbeats, she was back at him. He swung again, but this time she caught the barrel with the flat of her palm. With superhuman strength, she wrenched it from his hands and sent it flying into a corner of the tent.
I dove, catching her around the knees and tumbling her to the ground. Growling, she twisted round and tore my back into hamburger with her nails. Doc caught her around the neck with his arm, but too slowly to avoid her flashing teeth – she gnawed at his forearm while her claws flailed at his head, seeking eyes, ears, any vulnerable point. He maintained his hold despite the mauling, and together we lifted her between us. She writhed and bucked, throwing us, two grown men, around the tent as though we were children.
But slowly, as we held her free of the ground, her struggles lessened until finally she lay still between us. She was barely panting, while we sucked air like two mountaineers. She gazed at us languidly while her hideous alien member stood throbbing with weird life and dribbling fluid from its tip.
“Do you like it?” she purred though barely-parted lips. “I want both of you I want one of you in my cunt and the other in my ass you fuckers.”
“Constance!” It amazed me that I could still be shocked.
“Suck me, Theo. I want you so badly I want to put it in your mouth,” she giggled insanely, yet mocking me with my own words. “It’s your duty Theo other wives do it I promise to pull out before I cum honey I won’t cum in your mouth.”
“Shut up!” I screamed hysterically.
“Go on you faggot you fucking queer,” she spit. “You know you want it you’ve just never had the balls to get your knees dirty I know who you want you want that...”
Doc mercifully clapped a hand over her mouth, wincing as her teeth sank into the heel of his palm. “Clearly she’s lost her mind,” he said, stating the obvious.
“Are you a real doc, Doc?” I asked.
He nodded. “There’s some morphine in the medical kit,” he said. Turning his head, he shouted for Ndaro.
“What’s wrong with her?” I asked.
“We’ll sedate her, then we can figure out what to do.”
In a few seconds, Ndaro appeared at the door wearing only a kikoy wrapped around his hips, but he had Doc’s big gun and a five-pack of cartridges in his hands. Thankfully, Doc blocked Ndaro’s view into the tent. The rest of the camp had been roused by the screams and were gathered around outside, but not too closely, just in case whatever it was we were fighting in here broke loose.
Doc spoke to Ndaro over his shoulder. “Go and bring the medkit. Hurry. But leave the bloody gun.”
After laying the gun on the ground just inside the tent, Ndaro vanished without a sound.
“Let’s see if we can set her down and get that... thing covered up before someone sees it,” Doc said. I nodded and checked to make sure there was room on the floor. I kicked aside a corner of the cot to clear a space, and we gingerly began to lower Stanci to the ground.
“Now, Mrs. Jackson,” Doc said softly, “we’re going to put you down. You have to be good and not fight us. Will you be a good girl?”
Her only response was to release her hold on the heel of his palm long enough to shift her head and bite his thumb. As we laid her on the ground, her back arched and she began to thrust her hips in the air rhythmically, gasping and moaning. I threw a blanket over her, but there was no hiding that hideously probing member. If anything, the blanket only made it seem larger and more prominent.
“You’re going to have to hide it,” Doc said.
“How?” I asked as I stared helplessly at the thing.
“Sit on her legs, then use your hands to press it against her belly.”
“I’m not touching it!” I exclaimed.
“You had better do something, Mr. Jackson. Ndaro will be here any second, and if the blacks catch sight of that thing...”
I glanced around for something, anything to lay across her to hide it, but there was nothing within reach and I dared not release my hold on her legs. I looked up and saw Ndaro crossing in front of the campfire, a big metal box swinging from one hand. Cringing, I reached out with both hands and grabbed hold of the thing near the tip.
Her bucking suddenly grew more violent as she thrust it up through my fist. She spit out Doc’s hand and loosed a long moan of pleasure. “Theo, oh God, Theo!” she cried. “Stroke it, Theo, yes!”
“Shut her up, will you?” I said as I shoved my knees into her thighs, forcing her hips to the ground. Leaning forward, I bent her thing until it lay against her stomach. She continued to squirm and moan until Doc managed to stuff a corner of the blanket into her mouth.
Ndaro entered the tent and squatted next to my wife. He laid the big metal medkit on the ground and opened it. Doc pointed to a compartment. “Morphine,” he said. Ndaro nodded once and set to work filling a bulb syringe. He had a surprisingly delicate and professional touch with what I assumed would have been unfamiliar medical equipment. Doc’s kit was surely one of the best in all of British East Africa, rivaling the stores of some American hospitals.
“Is Msabu hurt?” Ndaro asked as he handed the syringe to Doc.
“Yes. Now go and tell Esa to boil some water and tear up a sheet for bandages,” Doc ordered. “And send Shadow to me at once.”
“What’s the water and bandages for?” I asked when Ndaro had gone.
“To give them something to do,” Doc answered abruptly. He jabbed the needle into my wife’s arm and squeezed the bulb. Within seconds, I felt the wire-cable muscles of her legs relax. Her eyes rolled back, and she sighed as a hot, wet stain seeped through the blanket beneath my hands.
“Jesus!” I cried, recoiling from her. Her member rose up cobra-like, swaying menacingly, the stain in the blanket spreading. But otherwise, she lay still, breathing deeply and contentedly.
Doc looked at me sympathetically, taking note of my condition while ignoring his own injuries. “She took a sizeable chunk of your ear, old boy,” he said.
In the madness of the moment, I had forgotten. I clapped one hand to my head and felt the blood covering the side of my face and neck, clotting in my hair.
“Let me clean that up for you,” Doc said as he shifted across her prone body and sat down next to me. “I don’t see the other half lying anywhere. She must have swallowed it.”
This realization only added to my horror. My hands began to shake so badly that I doubt I could have lit a cigarette, had I one to smoke. I didn’t, but I badly wanted one at the moment.
“What the hell is wrong with her?” I asked as he set to work on my ear. “And what is that... thing?”
“I take you to mean she has not always had... it?” Doc asked diplomatically.
“Hell, no!” I exclaimed. “You think I would...”
The old hunter shrugged as he continued examining my ear. “I could sew this up for you if your missus hadn’t broken my fingers, but you’re going to need a new hairstyle. As for your wife, I don’t know what’s wrong with her. If I were a Catholic...” His voice trailed off into thoughtful silence.
Doc had cleaned off most the blood from my ear before Shadow made his appearance. Neither of us heard his approach. We looked up to find him standing in the door of the tent, his eyes wide as he gazed at my wife’s still-engorged member rising beneath the blanket.
“Christ!” I swore, lunging across her body in a pointless attempt to hide what he had already seen.
“Don’t worry,” Doc said. “I asked him here so he could see this.” He pulled the tracker deeper into the tent. Shadow entered reluctantly, his eyes flickered over us, acknowledging and appraising our wounds in one instant.
“Have you seen anything like this before, Shadow?” Doc asked.
After a moment’s consideration he nodded. “Fisi,” he said. “Hyena woman’s magic.” Though we had been in camp for a month, these were the first English words I’d ever heard him speak.
“What the devil is hyena woman’s magic?” I demanded.
“Msabu is filled with the spirit of this woman we killed tonight,” Shadow said. “This woman we killed is not a woman, she is a spirit of Fisi, the hyena people.”
“This is ridiculous!” I said, turning to Doc. “You don’t mean to tell me you believe this... this...?”
“You do not believe?” Shadow asked. His voice held a bitter accusation. “You sit here next to Msabu who is your wife, who this night has grown a prick like a hyena and has the strength of three men, and still you do not believe what I tell you?” He looked at Doc with undisguised contempt. “This white man is a fool.” He turned to leave.
“Wait,” Doc said while glaring at me.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “In my country, we’re taught not to believe in such things. To have it thrust upon you...”
“This magic is very bad even when you have known of it all your life,” he said.
“What can we do?” I asked. “Maybe we should send for that witch doctor.”
“He would not come,” Shadow said. “This camp is surrounded by the hyena people.”
Doc surged to his feet, snatching up his Westley Richards in his good hand. “You’ve seen them?” he cried.
“They wait in the tall grass outside camp. They wait for her to come and reclaim her spirit from Msabu,” Shadow said without moving.
“Show me,” Doc ordered.
“You cannot kill them,” the tracker said fatalistically. “Your bullets cannot harm them, for these bullets have no magic, only noise and fire, which the Fisi do not fear. And their queen commands them. If she commanded it, they would not shrink from God.”
“Well, what the devil are we supposed to do? Just sit here and wait for them to come and slaughter us while...” I began, but Shadow cut me off with a hiss. He nodded toward my wife.
She had sat up while we were talking. The blanket had dropped into her lap, revealing her small, firm white breasts and hiding her huge bestial organ in folds of gray cloth. Her head hung down, chin against her white breastbone, wet curls of copper-colored hair spilling over her closed eyes. But her lips moved, speaking in a barely audible whisper.
“What the...” Doc swore quietly. “There’s enough morphine in her to down a rhino.” He knelt beside her and tilted his head to listen. A puzzled expression crossed his face. He leaned closer, almost touching her shoulder with his forehead. I tensed, waiting for her to spring on him.
“What’s she saying?” I asked.
Doc shook his head. “It doesn’t make any sense,” he said in a low voice. “It sounds like... it sounds like Fanagalo, but there isn’t a native speaker of Fanagalo within three hundred miles of here. I only know a smattering of the language.”
“Ndaro speaks this language, Bwana,” Shadow said.
Doc turned to the door of the tent and shouted into the firelit darkness. “Ndaro!” There was no answer. “Ndaro!”
“Yes, Bwana,” a frightened voice said some distance away. It sounded like it came from up in the air.
“Come here at once,” Doc said. “I need you.”
“I do not think so, Bwana,” Ndaro answered. “I do not think I can come to you.”
“And why not?”
“Because there is very large Fisi standing next to the tent.”
Read Part Three
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