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elephant was more than he could bear.
    Tusker moved toward the food, and the guide backed us away from him calmly, reverentially as he ate, as though we were like the mythological creatures of the African bush who walked on backward feet to fool those that might bring harm to the jungle. He backed us across the road and into the brush, retreating slowly, carefully, almost reluctantly, until the form of the elephant became part of the trees and the trees became shadows and the shadows became whispers beyond the horizon.

Chapter 6
    IT IS A HEARTBREAKING SKY THAT FALLS OVER AFRICA when there is death in the air.
    Before I knew of Tusker, I had enjoyed watching the sun nestle itself into crimson clouds for the night, turning the sky rose pink and pale peach before slipping away. Now I sat outside the hut and stared at the sky, at the red streaks streaming across, and could think only of blood.
    We had tipped our guide well, and he promised to return soon with our dinner, but I had no appetite. Diamond finished both our portions of sadza and greens and roasted squash.
    â€œHow can you eat, knowing what’s going to happen to that elephant?” I asked her.
    She looked surprised that I would even ask. “What does the color of maize have to do with the song of the bulbul?”
    I still don’t know what she meant.
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    Tusker didn’t come back to camp the next day, and I wasn’t sure if I was relieved or worried. I had come to think of him as my elephant and felt very proprietary toward him. I worried if he was eating, if he was frightened, if he was spending his day happily pulling trees out of the ground or making mischief by flipping cars. I was so enamored of his great frame and wise eyes and congenial face, of his splendid majesty, that I would have laid my life down for him.
    â€œWhat do you think he’s doing right now?” I asked Diamond several times throughout the day while she tried to get Charlotte on the phone. “Do you think he’s okay?”
    She rolled her eyes at me. “Neelie,” she said with an exasperated sigh. “He’s been coming to this park for more than forty years. He’s been finding food, water, whatever he needs. I think he’s fine.”
    I flashed her a dark look. “For now,” I said.
    She was waiting for a phone call from Charlotte, hoping her friend could offer either advice or manpower or horses. Charlotte’s safari business was based in Chizarira, about a day’s journey from where we were. If there was a chance she and her husband were able to help us, I was sure we’d have to move Tusker nearer to them. I paced our hut nervously, thinking any moment I would hear a fatal shot ring out and my elephant would be dead, but Diamond was stretched out on the floor to nap, with the phone next to her ear to wake her when it rang.
    â€œBut will they be able to help us?” I asked her again. “Do they have Rovers? Do they know anyone with a plane?”
    â€œFirst of all,” Diamond replied testily, “the Zim government listens in on all phone calls, so I can’t get the information I want, and secondly, I need a nap.” She jumped up to push me out the door. “I’ll tell you everything as soon as I find out,” she said. “Take a hike.”
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    I did.
    I followed the path along Lake Kariba in the opposite direction from the day before, tracing the shoreline toward the other half of the encampment. It was unbearably hot and unbearably dry, and I wished the lake could rise up, breach the atmosphere, dissolve into it, and ease the searing heat. I eyed the water longingly, wondering if its placid blue would be cooling or unpleasantly warm, but I wasn’t foolish enough to put even a toe in. Several houseboats floated by. Their occupants, mostly wealthy tourists, were taking dips in the lake inside swimming cages that protected them from the profusion of crocodiles that shared the water.