Morning rays lit up the middle of the VIP rondavel where Janine stretched her arms over her head. Against the white of the bed sheets, the bruise on her shoulder looked as if it had turned gangrenous-green.
An acute throbbing sensation in her arm forced open her eyes, and depth perception juggled with her vision; she was staring up at the undulations in the cotton mesh, caused by a dusty Lowveld breeze that whistled as it squeezed itself through the gap under the front door. It felt to Janine like she was trapped under a wave; she held her breath, and exhaled through her nose in order not to take in any ‘water’.

When there weren’t any bubbles rising to the surface of the dream-pool, her immediate surroundings started to take shape. Then there was the unpleasant sensation of ‘mouth like inside of parrot cage’, as Tommy used to say when she wanted a drink of water during Sunday school, which triggered a scrambled memory of Mark’s words the previous afternoon: ‘coffee rehydration table sachets now want one?’

Even though she couldn’t remember having had anything to drink, Janine spotted an empty rehydration sachet, a used glass, and half-a-jug of water on the coffee table. She placed her hands on the mattress, and pushed herself forward over the bed, flinching as the pain in her shoulder spread like a disastrous oil spill. She got to her feet but had to grab hold of the wrought iron bed frame at the foot end of the bed to regain balance; the room was spinning like a merry-go-round from hell.

An anxious feeling crept over her skin as Janine caught a glimpse of Amy’s legs sticking out from under the silk sheets next to her. The sight of those little feet soon turned anxiousness into guilt so bitter it cramped up Janine’s stomach; from a mother’s point of view, she found it impossible to make peace with the fact that such a common psychological need as thirst had taken precedence over her own daughter’s safety: How did this happen? How could I have forgotten—even if it had been only a few seconds— about the single most important person in my life? Janine touched the bruise on her shoulder. Here Amy was lying next to me all this time and all I could think about was my parrot-caged mouth.

Janine’s hands started sweating and the bed frame felt cold to the touch. Guilt and confusion had quenched her thirst, and she sat back onto the mattress, tucking in her fringe behind her ears. She was about to lie back down and give Amy a good-morning hug when she sensed movement in the corner of the room. She straightened her back, turned her head, and squinted.

The outline of a corner sofa came into view, and then there was a thud on the Oregon pine flooring. It wasn’t the first time a Lowveld gust had blown open a front door, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last, but it was definitely the first time a park attendant was spotted on all fours in a VIP rondavel, crawling like a wounded animal towards the sunlight that streamed in and lit up the room like a theatrical stage.

Upon reaching the front door, the stranger stumbled to his feet, and paused. Stories of wounded wildebeest that flee towards water holes or riverbanks and backtrack in the mud in order to confuse their hunters flashed through Janine’s mind—not that she was a hunter of any kind, but the man seemed to have vanished from sight.
Janine pulled her knees up to her chest. She had on one of Mark’s sleeveless shirts, which she pulled over her bare legs. The room spun twice as she had a quick look around.

‘She’s up, ser! Madam-Docter! The white woman is awake!’ The park attendant was standing at the door with his back to Janine and Amy, dabbing at his forehead with a leopard-printed handkerchief. ‘Madam-Docter! The white wom—’ His voice faded along with his shadow, which, to Janine, seemed to stretch out behind him like the brush stroke of an artist who, while painting the stranger’s silhouette, got the fright of his life and smeared the canvas.