The Book of Chimera

      Mbeki Naude, the police commissioner, has been working in the Town all his life long. This corpulent black man with a large mouth, a flat nose, and little close-set eyes reminded Rica of a rhino: calm and indifferent on the outside, but if it would gain speed… Dad laughed then and remembered an old saying in the years since college: A rhino has bad eyesight, but it should be not his problem but of those who didn’t manage to get out of his way. Commissioner Naude had just taken up his position when the Claytons came to his domain. That’s why he visited them often, controlling the way the young couple settled in, and he quickly became a friend of their family. He’d always come for dinner when the restless zoologists took a little vacation from the savannah, and he actively promoted their game viewings to the tourists. And Rica called him Uncle from an early age for he was older than her parents but not old enough to be called Grandpa.       So now the girl looked forward to pulling a pleading face for him, and how the commissioner wouldn’t be able to say now to his “niece”— but right before the entrance to the police station, she halted in confused feelings. Usually quiet and sleepy, melting because of heat, commissioner Naude’s domain resembled a disturbed ant hill. Amount of people here seemed to be three if not four times more than usual. People in police and ranger uniforms were running everywhere, car doors were clapping, engines were roaring, walkie-talkies were cracking, somebody was yelling and cursing and reading some lists out loud…       Rica slipped behind the door and found roughly the same bedlam inside; it was enriched by paper rustling, keyboard clicking and phones ringing. The girl slid to the commissioner’s office like a little snake, knocked at the door, and poked her head inside right away.       “Uncle Mbeki! What’s going on?”       The commissioner raised his grizzled curly head from a large geographical map and put his glasses down on his nose. Despite being definitely busy, his glance turned warm at the sight of his sworn kinsgirl, and his thick lips automatically stretched in a smile.       “Why, if it isn’t the white little girl! Come in, sit down. I won’t offer you tea: you see for yourself what turmoil we have.”       Rica slipped into the office and obediently sat down on the guest chair. Commissioner Naude sighed, put the map aside, and wagged at her a finger that looked like a sausage.       “Speak quickly, if you’re here for a reason. What do you want, little tomboy?”       Rica shrugged with some hesitation.       “Actually, I wanted you to drive me to my folks, Uncle Mbeki. But now I’m uncomfortable even to ask. What are those rangers for, why is everybody running, what is happening here?”       The spinning chair screeched under the weight of the commissioner when he leaned on its back and moved a little off the table.       “Spirits know what’s happening, Rica. We received a warning from Cape Town: a storm is coming from the sea. An all-time storm and all the forecasters nodded it off somehow. Something’s clearly not right here, but this is not our business. Our business and that of the rangers is to return all the tourists who drove off hunting and sightseeing and to warn all the locals in villages so that they’d go and take cover. We have several hours for all of that.”       Rica frowned. Nothing like that was told in the morning news… But maybe she didn’t listen enough, did she? Or just missed it, dozed away the time.       The alarmed girl did the math and gasped quietly. “What about my parents?”       “We couldn’t reach them,” said Naude with a wince. “Your daddy surely left his walkie-talkie in the car again — if not shut it down in order not to scare the beasts. And your mommy likewise, without any doubt. We must go find them, but my people are next to nothing, sent by marks. Only when somebody returns, then… And I can’t step away from my desk, sorry.”       Rica bit her lip, frantically trying to think what to do. She didn’t even grasp her cell phone: the place her parents had gone to wasn’t in range of any cell tower. Well, you could climb a tree for that, but who would climb a tree on purpose when one has a walkie-talkie? A shut-down walkie-talkie, or being forgotten in the car…       “And I can’t give you a car either, little tomboy,” the commissioner continued, answering her unasked question. “I know, you’re sharp, you wouldn’t crush, but I have all the wheels on notice, too. Not only ours and those of rangers, but every boneshaker in town at all, the very few we have. Everything is occupied.”       “What do I do then, Uncle Mbeki?” Rica asked pitifully and pulled a pleading face — not on purpose as she wanted but out of necessity. Nevertheless, it worked: Naude scowled, bent his broad eyebrows, and scratched his ear broodingly. Then his face lit up.       “Look, there is one more car. A white man came yesterday, not from locals, sorta for the safari, too. His accent is French, his name’s, too. I did feel sorry that moment that your daddy and mommy weren’t home. Well, didn’t want to disturb you either and distract you from your studies. And I haven’t any right to confiscate his boneshaker…”       “Got it!” Rica started up in her chair preparing to run. “He’s in the hotel now, isn’t he?”       “Hotel, you wish,” the commissioner chuckled, putting his glasses on again and drawing the map near. “The hotel was too crowded for him, as he said. He rented a house. The whole house. The third one on Green Street. This guy’s well-heeled. But you should know… He went on a royal spree yesterday in the local bar. He hasn’t slept it off yet, as sure as a gun.”       “Well, I see,” Rica snorted and turned around after she reached the door knob. “And what’s this Frenchman’s name?”       “LeBeau. Remy LeBeau.”

***

      This wasn’t the first year that Rica Clayton was living by herself sometimes; she knew how to treat people in need to wake up in the morning after some active imbibing. Although the morning was already late, like 11 a.m., she was well aware: if the outsider was making merry all night, without any alarm calls, even 2 p.m. would seem like dawn for him. That is why, on her way from the precinct, she dropped by a little corner store closest to Green Street.       As for the girl herself, for the first time, she tried alcohol two years ago, during one of the bushmen ceremonies: it was some juice of fermented berries. But she wasn’t very fond of liquor. Her parents went easy on it too, and going to the wild, they never touched the stuff. ‘Cause wild animals badly react to the smell of alcohol, both cigarettes alike. But the tourists that came for safari, on the other hand… Even Uncle Mbeki allowed himself to toss off a glass of some strong stuff from time to time, and then he complained about the morning head. That’s why Rica understood that if she wanted to get something from the French visitant, she had to play her best card: three frosty bottles of beer, just from the fridge. And so that they wouldn’t manage to warm up, the girl shot off running to the house.       Standing before the white porch of house No 3, she noticed that she didn’t lose her breath at all but this thought was too unnecessary at the moment to pay attention to it. She squeezed all three bottlenecks between her fingers and hammered against the door. She desperately hoped that the Frenchman’s sleep was not too tight and he hadn’t plugged his ears. Well, after all, she couldn’t kick the door and yell beneath his windows! All the more so the blinds were closed. She could have to do it, however…       But no, she didn’t: the spirits seemed to guard her. It wasn’t long until she heard some unsure rustling behind the door, and then it opened. Right after that, Rica put forward one of the bottles with an experienced gesture. The man who opened the door let out a short guttural whoop, literally ripped the bottle from the girl’s hands, and stuck to the bottleneck. Rica exhaled, quiet and relieved, and began to observe the man while he was drinking.       The stranger was quite tall: being 5’2”, Rica barely reached his shoulder. By the look of it, he could be anything from 28 to 35, and the girl seriously suspected that he would appear even younger if it was not for his seedy look. A matted head of brown hair, nice features, a straight thin nose, and some light stubble on his cheeks, chin, and even on the neck where a sharp Adam’s apple went up and down jerkily. He was wearing only jeans and a wrinkly T-shirt he obviously slept in. With satisfaction, Rica noticed his tanned skin (namely tanned, not dark), his lean athletic constitution, and long fingers with calloused finger cushions. This was not one of those pampered rich boys grimacing at every little thing that displeased them. This man had to help her.       The outsider caught the last drops with a smart move of his tongue, threw the emptied bottle into the garbage can near the porch, and stared at Rica with imploring eyes. She nodded sympathetically and gave him the second bottle. He pulled at it more slowly and not so greedily now. He drank one-third of it, rubbed his eyes (they turned out to be black), and looked at the girl clearer and with meaning in his gaze. Then he cleared his throat and greeted her, “Bonjour, ma belle sainte mademoiselle!”       Rica smiled involuntarily: bonjours were bonjours but nobody had called her a beautiful saint mademoiselle yet. However, that was clearly for a reason. The hungover man reeked with such a stale odor…       The girl got her thoughts together and answered him in French, too, “Good morning to you, too. Are you monsieur Remy LeBeau? My name is Rica, I came on business and have a third bottle with me.”       The Frenchman shook his shaggy head emotionally. “So young and so bright… Welcome to my humble residence. I’ll take a shower, turn myself again, and we’ll talk.”       He stepped aside courteously and made a graceful gesture with his hand letting Rica through the door. She didn’t even notice when and how the third bottle disappeared from her fingers.       Rica entered the house and stayed at the entrance for a while so that her eyes could get accustomed to the half-light that was reigning here. LeBeau closed the door behind her and passed by. His movements were a little uncertain yet. While disappearing in the bathroom, he had just the time to cry out, “The living room is right ahead, I’ll be right there!” And Rica heard the noise of the water straight off.       The girl grinned and shook her head, and then entered the living room and looked around. The room was in a proper mess: scattered things, dirty dishes, empty bottles. From the look of it, that merry fellow hadn’t confined himself only to the bar and moved his carousal to the place where he was easily able to fall dawn and to black out. It was strange though that the girl didn’t see some bras hanging in the most unexpected places and some sleepy displeased girls in night rails coming to the noise. Rica wouldn’t be surprised for monsieur LeBeau was quite handsome, in a real man way, and charming as hell despite the hangover. But it seemed that nobody was in this house except the two of them.       Carefully, Rica sat down on the edge of the chair. Despite the mess, the room didn’t impress her as some living space. Well, exactly: if the Frenchman came to town only yesterday and began his spree right away, it was unlikely that he had settled his stuff completely. It was acknowledged by the large brown suitcase, clearly not empty, boldly sticking out from under the sofa.       LeBeau entered the room. He was wearing a light cotton bathrobe and wiping his hair with a towel. He hadn’t shaved yet. The memorable third bottle stuck out of his pocket. Suddenly, Rica felt such a strong smell of shampoo, deodorant, and toothpaste instead of alcohol-laden breath. But then she winked, and the feeling was gone. Perhaps, that was just a feeling, really…       “Well then, mademoiselle,” the Frenchman said cheerfully while approaching the chair. “First, while we’re speaking my native language, I suggest to thee me. For such a formal address from such a young person makes me feel like an old man. And second, let’s make a proper acquaintance. My name is Remy Etienne LeBeau or just Remy. At your service.” And he offered his hand.       “Federica Clayton,” Rica nodded and reached to accept his handshake, but Remy tapped her hand with a swift move, turned it around, and put it to his lips. Such a surprise made the girl blush, and the man grinned: the delivered impression pleased him.       “Well, Federica Clayton, what business brings you to me? You saved if not my life then at least my sanity and health, and because of that I agree to hear you out — at the very minimum.”       Rica shook off her embarrassment with an effort (manners, big deal!) and told him of her trouble in short and disconnected sometimes. Remy listened carefully while resting his elbow on the dresser and sipping his beer. Whereby the look on his face was subtly changing. When it came down to the storm, his lips became hard and pressed together. As Rica mentioned her being a daughter of zoologists and that her parents observed lions, his black eyes flashed with interest.       “And I think that renting your car for an hour or two is worth saving your splitting head,” Rica finished and stared at her new acquaintance with eager anticipation. He chuckled thoughtfully, put the bottle aside, and paced up and down the room.       “Well, for starters, I’m never gonna give my car to anybody just like that. And so, I’m going with you in any case. But on one condition: you’ll help me, too.”       Remy tousled his damp hair and smiled with slight embarrassment. Rica gave him a questioning look.       “You see, Rica, I came here for a reason.”       “I know,” the girl nodded, “Uncle— well, commissioner Naude told me you came for safari.”       “Not quite,” the Frenchman snorted. He looked into the pizza box and took a dried-up pizza slice out of it. He gave a victorious salute with it. “D’you wanna?”       “No, thanks, I had my breakfast,” said Rica. “What about not quite?”       “I came here looking for a friend,” Remy sighed. He sat down in the chair and sank his teeth into pizza like mad. Rica noticed automatically that he didn’t speak with his mouth full: first, he chewed and swallowed, and by that, he made long pauses in his speech. “But just after having settled in, I decided to go to the bar— You have some good whiskey over there— Sweet company— Well, we’ve been here before.”       “And who’s your friend and what’s he doing here?” Rica asked politely to fill the chewing pause.       “My friend…” Remy grinned and wiped his hand with a paper towel knocking around nearby. “Well, let’s say, he flees his duties from time to time. Into the wild. You’re evil, he says, I’m gonna leave you, he says, to meditate amongst all creatures great and small. And we catch him periodically. Now in Africa, now in Brazil, now somewhere else. But he became too depressed this time: usually, a couple of weeks are enough for him, but now he’s been absent for two months already. And he has responsibilities, by the way. He’s a teacher, just so you know. Of biology, on top of everything else.”       “Well, let’s suppose so, but what do I have to do with it?” Rica smiled at the image that appeared in her mind: a sightly teacher wearing glasses and a palm skirt and with a consumer basket on his head. She didn’t even know what a consumer basket was. But she liked the word she heard once and pictured a wicker basket stuffed with every tasty food there was.       “Why, you do well know these parts,” Remy shrugged. “And you can deal with animals if I’m not mistaken. You see, my friend gets slightly… wild out in the open. As for me, I’d be able to persuade him, but anyone else in your shoes is going to get a fright, begin to scream, do something beyond recall… But you, being a smart and experienced girl, are going to stand aside calmly while I’m going to humble him and daunt him. But first, we’ll warn your parents. And after that — look out for my friend, right away. The storm would take him by surprise, too, and he hasn’t got any communication tools. As for phones, normally he either throws them away or leaves anywhere as if he’d forgotten about them. We should save him, don’t you think?”       “I do,” Rica nodded surely and rose from her seat. “So, let’s go then? Time is short.”       “Let me put something on, I can’t go wearing my bathrobe,” Remy laughed. “And you do understand that no one should drive in my condition. How’s your driving, Federica Clayton?”       Rica broke into a broad smile.