It was close to noon on Thanksgiving Day, 2004, in Chete concession. Temps had been well over 100 degrees every day and after chasing elephants up and down hills for several white-hot miles every morning and afternoon, I was beat.

I dumped my fat fanny in the shade of a denuded tree along the bank of a tributary of Lake Kariba (much closer to the river than my P.H. had recommended) and pulled out a copy of The Journey Of Crazy Horse by J.M. Marshall III and began to read. Brent was looking at elephant tracks, nearby.

After fifteen minutes or so, my eyelids began to weigh 40 or so pounds and I began to slip into a very pleasant, head-bobbing, semi-stupor of half sleep, half awake... I was in Africa, what the hell else mattered.

"My" tree was located about five meters from the river bank, that boundry being pretty vertical, about 5 feet in height, almost like a wall. When my eyes were open, I could see up and down the water for several miles. Geese were dunking and diving, tiger fish were tearing up the surface and occasionally a hippo would give a locomotive blast down stream. As the Negro spiritual goes.. "I was just (hanging) around heaven all day".

As I began to drift in to a r.e.m. state, an uneasiness began to slowly creep into my fading consciousness... Didn't I see some crocks in the river earlier... Sleep began to overrule the concern... I head-bobbed a couple of times more in sun-warmed bliss.. and tried to forget about frapping toothy reptiles...

My eyes fluttered and I re-adjusted my shoulders to get more comfortable resting up against the rough bark of the tree.

Only semi-aware of any-damn-thing, except that I was pretty well "chilled out", yet way back in the end zone of my mind, I thought, or imagined, that something (or things) was (and were) now protuding above the bank only a good spit in front of me....

I fought to open my eyes, but sleep was stronger. I could feel my breath slow and succombed to the pleasure of Hypnos.

"Ernest... Ernest!", Brent called and I spastically awoke. "Come look at this!" he hollered.

Brent had found the intact afterbirth of a successful delivery of a baby elephant. It was so fresh that not even a bird had picked at the protein rich, bloody roll of placenta... Brent had given up on the track he had earlier followed when I took a break and on the way back had just happended upon the birthsite, only 25 or so yards behind where I had chosen to crap out.

In awe, we orally mused about the discovery.. I, not moving from "my" tree, but leaning around and gazing at the six-foot-long, bloody afterbirth and mumbled comments... not nearly awake.

I caught a flick of motion in front of me. Reality becoming suddenly important, I shit a brick and screamed, "Son-of-a-biscuit-eater!" scaring the pee out of the assistant tracker who dozed against the the bark of "my" tree, albeit west-facing while I was on the opposite side... those little objects protruding above the bank right in front of me... THEY MOVED!

Now fully awake, I jumped to my feet, to see four protrusions wiggling above the crest of the bank... Damn, they were the first six inches of crocks' snouts!

I kept shouting something that only had the vowel "u" in it and moved down the river bank, and from a safe distance looked back along the edge to figure out what the heck I was seeing...

Four big-ass crocks were vertical against the bank, almost standing on their tails... stiff as a 12 year-old in math class watching Ms. Watson jiggling her butt while writing out weekend homework on the blackboard... all of the bloody buggers trying to get up the bank to where I formerly slumbered...

Just another day in Africa.

Hmmmm. Judge, from your story I still can't figure out what makes better croc bait. Elephant afterbirth or a slow moving tender white boy.

Tim

By the way, I think "Shumba" must mean "slow moving white boy" in Shona!

Judge,

Thanks for the trip to the river's edge.

Hog Killer

Good story Judge, thanks.
Marshall's story about Crazy Horse was good too. Hey, we share some tastes in recreational reading. I read the book then listened to the author read the unabridged version on CD while driving around South Dakota. But you can have the recreational dog breeding business for yourself and Ray's amusement.

Yes, it doesn't take long for those reptillian eyes to find you. There is an eternity to sleep later on...

JudgeG:

I hope you save that story for publication...

Sounds like you need someone to watch your backside on these trips..

Always a pleasure to read about your adventures!

JJS

Judge, That was a great short story. You definitely have a way with the pen.

Regards,

Mark