"I'm having one."
"We'll have one together.
Molo, letti dui whiskey-soda!"
she called.
"You'd better put on your
mosquito boots," he told her.
"I'll wait till I bathe . . ."
While it grew dark they drank
and just before it was dark and
there was no longer enough
light to shoot, a hyena crossed
the open on his way around the
hill.
"That bastard crosses there
every night," the man said.
"Every night for two weeks."
"He's the one makes the noise
at night. I don't mind it. They're
a filthy animal though."
Drinking together, with no pain
now except the discomfort of
lying in the one position, the
boys lighting a fire, its shadow
jumping on the tents, he could
feel the return of acquiescence
in this life of pleasant
surrender. She was very good
to him. He had been cruel and
unjust in the afternoon. She
was a fine woman, marvellous
really. And just then it
occurred to him that he was
going to die.
It came with a rush; not as a
rush of water nor of wind; but
of a sudden, evil-smelling
emptiness and the odd thing
was that the hyena slipped
lightly along the edge of it.
"What is it, Harry?" she asked
him.
"Nothing," he said. "You had
better move over to the other
side. To windward."
"Did Molo change the
dressing?"
"Yes. I'm just using the boric
now."
"How do you feel?"
"A little wobbly."
"I'm going in to bathe," she
said. "I'll be right out. I'll eat
with you and then we'll put the
cot in."
JOY FEELINGS | DECEMBER ISSUE
264