Dr. Rees, I presume, said Caruthers looking through the binoculars, He’s late.  Must be the storm.  Wiping the sweat from my eyes, I stared into the shimmering distance from the shade of the acacia, Let’s hope it breaks soon, relieve us of the heat.  Indeed, Caruthers agreed, Stifling.  He waved at the boys spread across the hillside, Daktari Rees.  They waved back, they would be there till dusk.  We were catching tsetse flies, to find the rates of sleeping sickness in the area.  Against all trends, an epidemic of Trypanosoma brucei rhodesiense had developed in the last few months, and Tom Rees was going to provide inoculations of pentamidine to some Maasai exhibiting early symptoms.

Against the billowing thunderclouds, the tiny speck grew larger.  Then I heard the engine.  The little plane wobbled in the updrafts, beginning its descent.  Below us, Maasai congregated near the trees.  The Cessna circled, turning into the wind, before landing on the dirt strip.  The pilot taxied towards the village, coming to a halt.  The Maasai ran towards the plane, surrounding the two men as they climbed down the ladder.  That’s Tom, said Caruthers, You can spot him a mile off with that shock of fair hair.  Come on, let’s say hello.  We wandered down the hill.  He won’t be away till tomorrow afternoon at the earliest, that’s for sure, Caruthers continued, If it really rains could be a good deal more, haven’t seen him for nearly a year, absolute wonders what he and those other fellows have done for the region.  I nodded, McIndoe did miracles too for a Dakota pilot I knew, caught in a burning plane, you know.  Caruthers raised an eyebrow, That fellow Edwards you mentioned, isn’t he acting now?  I nodded, Jimmy Edwards, yes, incredible, one would never know.  Arnhem, Caruthers muttered, Seems so long ago.  We rolled the blue net of tsetse, and I placed it in the basket, Give us some idea at least, when we get the results from Nairobi.  Blighters, Caruthers said, Never seems to be anything we can do.

Caruthers extracted a pack of Turkish cigarettes from his bush jacket, lighting one, It may be apocryphal, but Tom once mentioned how he got the idea for this whole lark.  He knew this chap George Sayer, a Classics don, a remarkable man actually, really at the top of his game.  He was acquainted with people like C.S. Lewis and Tolkien.  He was British, his father had been a district commissioner in Nyasaland, but his mother was American.  Then he inherited some money, and he decided on a complete change.  Oh, he kept his hand in with translation work and the occasional lecture, and he published a couple of text books, but he was free to roam.  He loved Africa and he knew how to fly, Tiger Moths mainly, and he had a Cessna he chartered.  He’d flown Lysanders for SOE, so he was damn good.  He was with three people when the Cessna ran into trouble, he was forced to land in a remote part of Katanga during a rebellion.  They were captured by a Luba strongman, and things didn’t look too good, the chief couldn’t make up his mind whether to kill them or ransom them.  But the chief’s youngest son fell sick.  Of course the natives had overheard Sayer being addressed as doctor.  They put two and two together, and the next thing he knew, Sayer had a gun to his head, the chief’s son before him, and if he didn’t cure the lad it was curtains for all of them.  Well, Sayer calculated the boy was suffering because he’d eaten too many grapes.  He made a great show, prancing about muttering Latin incantations, making signs above the groaning body, and he forced the patient to drink rancid coffee.  The lad proceeded to vomit the grapes, sleeping for several hours, and he awoke completely cured.  Well that was that, Sayer had big power, and the tribe were so terrified of him that, based on his demands, he and his colleagues were escorted to safety and handed over to the Belgians.  Caruthers lit my cigarette.  Good Lord, I said, exhaling smoke.  Quite a tale, Caruthers agreed.  What’s Sayer doing now?  I asked.  Not sure old chap, not sure, Caruthers replied, I’m sure Tom knows.  By the way, I don’t like the look of that storm, it’s on its merry way towards us.  Let’s call it a day, and we’ll have some Glenlivet, a case arrived last week, I’ll bet Tom will be keen for a dram.  He waved his arms yelling, Kiswane m’badele, umpala indebana, inswana Daktari Rees.  The nearest boys waved back.  They rolled the nets, yelling at the others, and they began to descend the hill.  In the distance the sky was turning ink black, the wind rising, and I was glad we were near the village.