Day 5

Oh Carol.

Some chic.

I'm going to be a little blunt. My apologies to all you nice ladies out there reading this but it's the only way to describe things quickly and yet briefly so that you all understand. It is important that you understand.

If Karen was the intellectual (she was actually a history professor and always said that I was insecure with her because of it) then Carol was the extreme opposite. A brainless sex object.

Carol took me sexually where I'd never been before and where I’ve never been since. Although she talked about wanting to be an actress, she didn't fake anything in bed. It was all real, vigorous and with no holds barred.

So why is it that I never fell in love with her? They say sex is important to men don't they? Them damned shrinks, they know nothing.

Carol was a man's woman. The one word that comes to mind when I remember her is SEX. She talked about nothing else. She didn't hassle, she didn't nag or complain about anything else.

Still I felt nothing for her except lust.

I've never met another woman since who knew how to put feeling into words like carol did. Know what I mean?

I can still hear her favourite greeting musically drifting to my ears; "I've missed you honey." The way she said that "honey" was out of this world.

On the few nights when the bedroom acrobatics had to be postponed because of the way of women, she'd sadly look deeply into my eyes and say; "Sorry honey, I'm in 'Nam tonight. Damn. Damn. Damn."

She wasn't even born when America fought that war. Where had she picked it up from? But it was easy to understand the blood connection between the Vietnam war and menstruation.

That's one relationship where I was in a trance. I was rudely awakened from it one night when I dropped in unexpectedly at her digs to find another man in her bed. Never really saw what he looked like and I still wonder whether he was as tall and well built and good looking as I am.

She opened the door and I could see she was scared. The guy called from the bedroom asking who it was. Some man, having your girl open the door alone at some ungodly hour.

I quickly turned and walked away. I was just shocked. I tried very hard to feel hurt or jealous, I really did. No such emotion emerged anywhere in site. Not that I didn't like Carol. I did. And I still wonder where she is now, or rather which man’s bed she's in.

Some chic this Carol.

If there’s something that that relationship taught me, it was just how much I didn’t know about love.

I must apologize for all this talk about the women in my life, maybe I’ve overdone it. You may think that I’ve digressed from the main story, but I’m glad I talked about it, apart from clearing my own mind, it is important that you know this stuff so that you understand stuff that takes place later especially concerning my relationship with Teresa.

So now Teresa was missing from this tourist camp in the middle of nowhere in some bush in Africa. The camp manager was sure that it wasn’t some lion. I was puzzled because people don’t vanish just like that. And then there was the unexplained blood that I had found on the carpet in my room. That really scared me. But maybe I still wasn’t scared enough for the woman I loved because I was still in shock. It had all happened too fast.

“When did you last see her,” The Kenyan plain clothes police officer asked me when he arrived at the camp.

“We came from the game drive and I headed to the bar for a quick drink. She headed for our room here.”

“I understand that you are newly married and this is your honeymoon holiday?”

“That’s right officer.”

This African cop was intelligent, I told myself. Wonder where he received his training. He was respectful and looked like he was afraid to ask questions, he always seemed to hesitate. But the man knew his stuff alright, as his next question proved beyond any doubt.

“Then why are you sleeping in separate beds?”

I was too shocked to answer immediately. How did he find out? How did the staff who must have told him find out? I thought Teresa and I had taken enough precautions.

I broke into a cold sweat.

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Day 4

I had just had one of those days when everything that would have gone wrong had gone wrong. And even stuff that usually never went wrong actually went wrong that day.

The worst thing was that I was flat broke and I hadn't eaten all day.

I was a couple of days behind on my rent at the cheap hotel I called home.

That’s why I stayed out in the rain, cold and hungry and only sneaked in after 11 pm, hoping that I’d find the manager asleep. I tiptoed upstairs past his room. The TV was still on and I guessed that he must have fallen asleep in front of it.

She came out of the shadows the moment my keys turned the lock, startling me.

"Teresa..." I gulped, not able to move, not believing the message being transmitted to my brain from my eyes.

"Can I come in? We need to talk."

"Oh sure, sure but..."

"Yes. I know about the rules. No visitors after 7 pm."

This lady was full of surprises. She not only read minds, but she also knew the rules of every dump in town it seemed. I was beginning to get upset, what did this woman want from me anyway? I let her in and was about to voice my concern when she sat down near the window and made herself comfortable, like she was at the best suite of the best hotel in town.

It was a small room with torn dirty curtains next to a window that probably hadn’t been washed since Abraham Lincoln was president. The floor and the small bed in the corner of the room were mercifully clean. This dump was home, but I guess it was better than nothing or being out in the streets.

Teresa smiled. A dazzling toothy, really bright and difficult-to-describe smile. Most of all it was a warm smile that seemed to come from the depth of her heart. It lit up her eyes and had some sort of effect on me. Don’t ask me too many questions buddy.

"I know you're really surprised to see me here," she began.

"Actually surprise isn’t the word."

"I need a big favor from you."

Now what would that be, I wondered to myself? I sat down on my creaky bed to take in this late night prime time drama.

For the next 30 minutes Teresa talked without interruption. I gaped and then gaped some. I got so shocked that I got numb with the feeling.

It is difficult to describe my feelings that night. I felt pity for her and anger at the same time that such a bright life would have to end up like this. Then I felt some... oh shit. Is there no other word to use? Some feeling for her, maybe a tinge of love. And for some strange stupid reason, I suddenly wanted her to feel the same for me.

"So why did you choose me?"

"You're kind of cute..." she giggled. For the first time since I'd met Teresa, she giggled. It's a giggle that I will carry to the grave with me. A high pitched, joyful, real, girlie giggle that lit the room. Then she spoilt it all with her next words.

"Please don't be mad at me, I actually had a private investigator..." The look in my eyes must have stopped her dead in her tracks. I turned away and faced the door for a moment.

This strange woman has me investigated and then comes to me with some crazy preposition. And you have to believe me it was crazy. I mean I’ve seen so many crazy things in my life, doing drugs and all. So when I say something is crazy, it really is crazy. I should have been over the edge with anger by now.

But I wasn't. You just couldn't get mad with Teresa.

Let me stop for a moment and ask you a question for a change. Yes, you, in front of the computer screen, reading this stuff. Why are you reading this blog? For fun? To amuse yourself perhaps?

What if it was for real? What if somebody on the run for murder is making these entries? What if this is the only way they can prove their innocence or otherwise by telling the whole miserable story of how they ended up on a honey moon in Africa with a woman they barely knew? What if this was reality?

Chew on that for a while. I'll get back to it later.

"So do you accept?" Teresa asked me after a while.

I considered the options. There was really nothing to consider. I had nothing to lose and everything to gain. I had never been to Africa before. Now I would go there with the sort of woman I had never had the privilege of meeting before in my life.

All my life I’d been convinced that people who fall in love are… well, stupid. But deep inside I’d envied them and in a way I wished that I’d meet somebody. But the only women who came into my life were whining unattractive lousy.…[offending word edited out].

Take Karen for example, a pushy giggling drunk that I lived for two months with. Always with a cigarette dangling from the corner of her mouth, pretending to be a shrink who knew me inside out. I just couldn’t stand her. I probably hit her a few times, but then she’d always come charging back at me with her nails. I still have a souvenir scar from her just above my left eyebrow. There was really nothing nice about her. Even the sex was lousy; occasionally when she was in the mood she’d make the usual noises and fake it. I would always tell because she recovered too quickly when it was all over. Lousy actor too she was.

Well the only good thing about her was that she was particular about paying bills, although she’d never let you forget her generosity for one minute.

Oh yes, and then there was Carol. Carol I must tell you about. Crazy girl she was.

Day 3

So here I was at the Masai Mara and there was no sign of Teresa.

Yes. That's the name that meant love to me. The sweet name that had changed my life forever.

Never mind about the strange place where I met her again (that I talked about in Day 2). I get a little shy about this romantic stuff sometimes and it really isn't interesting. At least not to me. Any way don't despair; I'll get back to that in a minute.

I went round the camp and looked everywhere. No sign of Teresa.

I remember we went together for the game drive. And I positively remember that we came back together. So how does somebody disappear in a bush in the middle of nowhere?

The tears were now flowing freely down my cheeks. I know men don't cry and I wasn't crying, not really, it's just them tears that were running out of control flowing out and stuff.

For the first time in my lousy unromantic life, I admitted it to myself. I loved the woman. More than I had ever loved any other human being in my life.

Yeah. It was out now. Laugh for all you're worth but I've said it. I LOVE TERESA VERY VERY VERY MUCH.

Now I feared that the woman (the only woman) I had ever loved in my entire life was gone forever. I feared that I would never see her again. How would she survive out there with all those wild beasts and lions and stuff?

"We're calling in the police," the camp manager informed me.

The guy was trying too hard to console me. Like calling in the police would take away all my problems and bring Teresa back. Like a kid who is offered candy and it magically takes away all the problems. Looking at him through my tears and I felt pity for him. He would never understand in 100 years.

"But it is not to do with lions," he added in his understandable yet inadequate English. "Lions never come here and drag tourists away just like that. Never in the history."

I wondered whether he really believed what he was saying or he was just ignorant. Lions had a long history of eating human flesh. It wasn't common but it happened often enough. Don't guys watch movies like "The Ghost and the Darkness" in this place? The movie was based on the true story of what happened during the building of the Railway across East Africa in the 1800s. Man eating lions almost halted the project.

There was even the more recent story about a lion that had been killed recently by game wardens in Tanzania, a country that neighbored Kenya's Masai mara, where I was. After examining the dead lion's teeth, experts said they suspected that it had turned to hunting human flesh because of a nagging toothache. Eating softer human flesh aggravated the toothache less.

I can hear you asking the question. No I don't have a degree in one of those animal subjects. I got all the stuff from the internet - remember what I do for a living?

I debated whether to show off my knowledge to the poor camp manager and then decided against it. Better to hold back as much information as possible for when I would really need it. Didn't want to look like I was leading on the investigation.

My mind rushed back to the place where I had met Teresa rather unexpectedly. The place where my destiny had been changed. By a smile from the woman I loved.

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Day 2

The word 'bride' even unpronounced and still in my mind sounded rather strange. Had you told me just one month ago that I would be married and on my honey moon in Africa I would have laughed so loud that the dead would have woken up.

You see I'm an entrepreneur. An online ecommerce entrepreneur. I was on the verge of a major breakthrough towards making my big fortune online when I met her.

It happened strangely enough close to my office at the library in downtown LA. (that's where I usually hire a computer for an hour at a time for my netpreneur adventures).

(What do you mean asking me why I don't have a computer of my own, haven't you read all those stories about how entrepreneurs start off? They start small and grow very big and that's exactly what I was doing. Even Bill Gates sisn't start off with a computer of his own.)

She didn't seem to mind much that I was in a city drugs rehabilitation program and... well that's not really interesting stuff and neither is it relevant to this story.

It started with a warm bright smile from her. I couldn't remember the last time a nice lady smiled like that at me. It was probably somebody getting a fix in... there I go again giving stuff that's not relevant to the story.

Yes, that smile. It didn't make my knees weak or any of that stupid stuff that's supossed to happen. But it was something.

We talked briefly about the library and what we were doing there. I wanted the conversation to end as quickly as possible, she seemed to want it to continue forever. Like she got her daily fix from talking to total strangers at the public library.

Well, I finally fled.

But we met again. And again. And again.

And then she invited me for a cup of coffee. What is it about women that makes a man want to talk and open up? Or was I trying so hard to get rid of her and end this ridiculous liaison?

Probably a bit of both. I just poured out all the gory details of my life. All fourty something years of them.

She listened and I thought I saw some alarm and panic register meomentarily on that thirty something blonde head of hers.

I braced myself for the worst. After all I consoled myself, my romatic liasions had never really amounted to anything. Accidental encounters would be a better word to describe them. (More on some of them later.)

So I assumed I would never see her again. And actually I didn't see her again for a while. A few days actually. But what upset me even more was that I was a little dissapointed that I didn't. That bothered me a lot. It bothered me more than the fact that I didn't see her. What was happening to me? I figured I had gotten rid of all the halucinations in my life for good. Now what was this? Me going soft over a woman? That's crazy. That's just not me.

Then I saw her again. In the strangest of places.
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Day 1

It was going to be a good safari, the tour guide had promised in his broken English.

Then why was their blood on the carpet in my room?

I called reception and reported my findings. I had to repeat it thrice for her to understand what I was saying. The next thing I knew, the hotel manager and somebody else I had never seen before were knocking on my door like there was a fire.

"I've just discovered it, when we came back from the game drive," I told them wiping the blood I had alreay touched from my fingers with a handkerchief that was mercifully not white.

Was I bleeding anywhere, the manager asked. As if I would bleed and not know it.

And the questions went on and on. Just questions and no answers on my first trip to Africa and this beautiful lodge out in the most famous wild game sanctuary in the world, the Maasai Mara.

I still couldn't believe that I was actually here. At the beginning it had seemed like one of those exotic dreams I was going to wake up from at any minute. Now this
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warm human blood on my carpet had jolted me back to reality. I was in the African bush and somebody had just gotten injured badly and maybe had...

I tried not to think about it but I just couldn't get it out of my mind. This was blood, so there had to be either a person who required medical attention or...

a body somewhere.

"Are the lion's here maneaters," I asked, rudely interrupting their endless questions.

The room went very quiet for a second or so. The two men exchanged uncomfortable looks. For the first time I noticed the hotel managers deep scar just above his spectacled, large round eyes.

The other man's shining ebony face had broken into a sweat. He reached for a handkerchief in his navy blue jacket which was at least a size too small.

Then they both blurted out something at the same time. I didn't get it and neither did I care to because it was at that precise moment I remembered my bride.

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