THE OBVIOUS CHOICE.
The lightning flashed, and struck a large Camel Thorn tree next to them with thunder that sounded like a mini atom bomb, and kept on walking across the sky with steps of flashing light. Ken and Diane crouched deeper under the thin raincoat to escape the torrential rain and wind. There was just enough space to keep out the worst of the storm. The guesting wind whipped sand and leaves through the bottom gap. They had to keep a wary eye out for the small creatures of the Kalahari seeking shelter from the rain.
“I’ll say this,” Ken muttered to her, “It does’nt rain much in the Kalahari, but when it does it makes a good job of it”. Ken put his arm around her and gave her a squeeze. “I know you don’t like the thunder, but take hope in the fact that as vicious as the storms are, they only last a short while, and then we will be able to get back to camp and dry out. We won’t be able to break camp and go back home right away because the river will be coming down and un-crossable, In any case everything will be a soggy sandy mess.
She was glad he was there to comfort her. Electric storms, especially in the open bush seemed to be magnified in strength and magnitude. It felt as if this one was aiming every thunder flash right at the tree they were hiding under. It seemed to plunder your senses until you were begging for mercy on your knees before the ruthless god of the sky. She loved the bush just as Ken did, with all its sounds and smells. It was very much like the wild acacia trees growing there – lovely to look at and giving life to many insects and animals, but with lots of sharp points. You had to watch out for the thorns that could so easily punish you for any carelessness. It was nice to get away from the crowded city and be alone with Ken. He was a real friend, and had been her friend since their childhood. He had been told that he had to look after her by their parents. He had fought many a fight for her, and had wiped many a tear off her cheeks. The boy friends she had, had known that Ken was always somewhere around to protect her, and they did not take many chances with her.
The storm lasted about ten minutes, and when it ended they could at last move on to their camp under another large Camel Thorn tree. Damp smells arose from the warm Kalahari sand, carrying mysterious odors of buried roots and animals. Rain brought new life to the dry sand.
Luckily they had pitched their one-man tent on arrival. This was Diane's home in the bush and when they went searching for cave paintings they stored all their equipment in it, out of sight of the curious creatures of the bush, and the rain. They had been examining a cave in the rocky outcrop on a low ridge of hills Ken had heard of from one of his farmer friends. There were lovely Bushman paintings on the walls of the cave, which were still in good condition which were worth photographing. The storm had ambushed them, while they were trekking towards the cave and had put a stop to their adventure. The rain made the rocks on the way to the cave too slippery for safety. He knew these cave paintings were Diane’s passion. She had researched the Bushmen, until now she was quite an authority on the subject, and had already published some of the more remarkable paintings in a short book. Diane was a slender, beautiful woman of twenty four years, with long dark black hair and sparkling blue eyes. Her lips said 'kiss me' with an always ready smile on them. Her legs were long and well formed and just went on forever. She gave the impression of female frailty, which made men want to take care of her, but she was stronger than she looked and was definitely not a drag on Ken in their excursions into the bush. Under her beautiful exterior she had a well educated brain with a degree in anthropology to prove it. She was a companion par excellence and a true friend to Ken. Her dress in the bush was similar to Ken's. Strong thick khaki shirt and longs with good hiking boots and a wide brimmed leather hat. The clothes were comfortable more than stylish, torn in some places with spots that no washing could remove. They protected her against thorns and insect bites. They could take the beating they got when she and Ken slid around in the caves and tunneled through a stand of ‘Wait-a-Bit’ thorn bush with its curved scimitar-like thorns. They also helped for the unexpected snake bites, absorbing most of the force of the strike.
Ken gave the impression of potential power, like a coiled spring. He had a strong tanned face with short black hair and piercing yellow brown eyes. His chest was wide, with muscled arms and legs that did not originate in a gym, but from hard treks and climbing. He was bush tough and built for endurance. He thrived on the challenges the bush threw at him, and had scars to show for some of them.
When they reached camp they dried out around a roaring wood fire, and fortified their spirits with a glass of good wine. A bottle of good wine was worth the extra weight of the bottle and was one of the essential stores they carried with them on their trips. As Ken remarked, “For medicinal purposes only”. It was a beautiful night with air free of dust after the rains The sparks from the wood fire floated up to join the stars which looked near enough to touch. The night sounds of the bush completed the picture. The cricket chorus was almost deafening, and enhanced the jackal’s sharp yelping cry in the distance as he challenged the presence of their fire. Ken looked at Diane and said, “You’re my best friend, and you know me better than anyone else. You know my good and bad points. You’ve known them since we were kids, so think of my good points and help me with this problem”.
“What problem Ken? You know I will help you if I can”. He hesitated, and then said,
“I think its time I got married”, and putting on his best small puppy expression added,
“Will you help me find a wife?”