One evening, after a ride in a truck driven by a talkative driver, the little boy sleeps soundly against his grandfather's shoulder. How does he manage to sleep in all this infernal noise? The men find it amusing, more touched than they care to admit... Rocked, only half asleep, the boy remembers how, in the morning, his grandfather was welcomed with open arms. The whole village clapped their hands and swayed in unison to welcome the guest. A line of smiling women swayed their hips, some gracefully, others more heavily, and waved their shoulders, touching the white child as they passed, the beautiful, clean-cut child, dressed like a little prince, singing a languid chant in their high-pitched, sometimes shrill voices.
The men, further away, danced in a more jerky manner, punctuating the dancers' phrases with loud onomatopoeia.
This whole joyful troupe left a corridor leading to a few serene old men, strangely dressed but very handsome. They leaned on carved canes, indifferent to the brown dust raised by the commotion. Their eyes, yellowed by old age and tobacco, their faces furrowed with wrinkles, their stooped stature and their half-smiles full of kindness were more reassuring than disturbing to the little boy.
One figure towered over his ancestors, and a calm strength emanated from his demeanor. Surprised, the little visitor saw his formidable grandfather behaving differently than usual. He stopped five steps away from the group of elders, raised his hand to his helmet in a military salute, and waited without a word. The hubbub that followed the singing had turned into murmurs as the visitors approached, giving way to a silence barely disturbed by the cries of children. This impressive man was not a mere local potentate, but belonged to a royal line ruling over the entire ethnic group. The elders nodded knowingly, the chief smiled and addressed the representative of the colonial order. As an experienced bushman, the Major was familiar with a custom often ignored by newcomers: it is the chief who speaks first, no one else.
After the formal response to the chief's words of welcome, they strolled past the newly built huts. The boy noticed two elephant tusks decorating the largest of the huts. “You see, that's the solitary one I shot,” purred his mentor, “I left them as a souvenir...”
There was a trace of regret in his voice!
We visited the huts that had replaced those that had been destroyed, congratulated the grateful families, then everyone went to the central square and sat on woven straw mats, except for the elders and the distinguished visitor, who were given low stools, blackened by use.
The chief's youngest son was introduced to the military man's grandson, who was nestled between his calves, clad in high white socks. The two children were equally intimidated, which made all the spectators smile.
After a few words in the breeze scented with the smell of grilled meat and guavas, the Commander uttered a few customary platitudes about the quality of the welcome. He received a chief's staff (kept by his family for almost fifty years) and a multicolored cloth for his wife. The return to the truck was accompanied by farewell gestures from the assembled tribe, and a few urchins ran alongside and then behind the vehicle, shouting jokes that made the driver and the two soldiers standing in the back of the truck behind the cab laugh.
The sleeper woke up, thrown forward. The truck, at a standstill, was panting and vibrating. Held back by both the driver's right arm and his grandfather's left hand, he swayed on the edge of the seat, gasping for breath and opening his eyes wide. In the light of the headlights, a big cat blinked and curled its lips. He hears the Major swear under his breath and whisper, “Damn it! Give me the rifle, I can't miss that one!” He slips carefully through the open door, kneels near a wheel, cocks the rifle, and aims at the growling beast. The child points at the animal and lets out a surprised, questioning sound. “Shh!” says the driver, “Leopard!”
His grandfather is a hunter with a well-established reputation. That's why he was called in to eliminate the mad elephant. He feels he has time to aim at the beast's skull to choose a point of impact that will leave the carcass as intact as possible. He fires, and the shot startles his grandson. The beast leaps to one side and disappears into the night. Stunned and confused, the shooter slowly turns his head toward the driver, whose jaw drops in amazement. Another curse, this time thunderous in the darkness: “Goddamn it! I hit one of the protective covers on the scope!”
In fact, on this type of military weapon, the sight is protected from impact by two metal V-shaped tabs. And if, in the heat of the moment, you take one of these tabs to hit a target just three meters away, you're bound to miss by another three meters! The soldiers dare not protest in the face of their boss's terrible temper. He returns to the cabin grumbling and threatens his men with terrible reprisals if they dare to report this humiliating failure. Needless to say, the story spread throughout the province.
The Major missed a motionless leopard, dazzled by the vehicle's headlights, barely three meters away from him! There was open laughter in the huts, sardonic smiles on the paths as people came and went, warm throats from lightly dressed ladies during bridge games, snickers from senior colleagues, conversations among civil servants, gossip among shopkeepers, comments from agents representing various metropolitan companies while drinking alcohol in bars—a simple whisper reaches Grandmother's attentive ears. She thinks she knows.
She summons the driver from that fateful day, questions him, and appeals to his conscience when he shows little cooperation for fear of provoking his commander's anger. The pieces of the puzzle fall into place: she waits sternly for her husband, who has pretended to forget the story in the meantime. Mom pulls her son into the garden during the altercation so he won't hear his grandparents arguing. But the queen mother is furious, and snippets of angry phrases reach the innocent ears of the toddler. He is intrigued and wriggles his neck to see what is going on: usually, it is his grandfather who yells at others! "What if that animal had attacked you... Or the little one?" Or the soldiers, but she forgot to shout that! Was the Major's impassive conscience troubled by these reproaches? That evening, before bedtime, he held his grandson to his chest longer than usual, making him cough in the smoke from his pipe.