Binstead's Safari by Rachel Ingalls

play.”
    “Well, Millie, if you’re leaving tomorrow, I can’t let you waste your time on this. Come on down the road. You tell me what you want, and I’ll show you the best bargains. Or are you just browsing?”
    “Oh, a little of both.”
    They began to walk slowly down the street. Millie felt elated but vaguely dazed, enraptured by the progressive rhythm of warmth and shade. The sound of his voice came to her hardly as part of the exterior world, but as though inspired within herself, like the beat of a second heart. The man was hypnotizing her. She had been aware of the same thing the day before, right through the window. He had a romantic look to him too, but what really captured and magnetized her attention was the fact that he seemed to be obsessed about her. She wasn’t shy or flustered. It was strange. It was like what she had said to Pippa Foster about there being something in the air.
    “How long have you been here?” she asked him.
    “Oh, for years. I’m a professional hunter. Like Ian.”
    “But you’re American?”
    “Canadian. I was American a long time ago, then they split up and we moved.”
    They walked down an alley, turned left and came out into a courtyard. All around, like boxes set between the spokes of a wheel, were small shops. The windows were open, but screens were down to protect the interiors from insects. Up above, all the awnings joined. Only at the very centre of the yard the sunlight fell in a splash.
    “Look,” he said. He took her arm. It was as though they were face to face again, although in fact walking side by side. She could tell where every part of him was, she could see him even though her eyelids were partly lowered.
    They went into three or four shops. Everyone knew him. Millie bought five wooden animals, two scarves and two shell and bead ornaments, like belts but without buckles. The owners hadn’t wanted her to pay, because she was with him; she had to insist.
    They came outside again and turned into a wide street.They hadn’t gone far before they were in a crowded marketplace. The first shops had been Indian, these were African and there were groups of children playing on the ground and in and out of the piles of goods. There was also a lot of noise, unlike the well-behaved hush of the places they had left.
    A gang of children surrounded them and jounced up and down, singing at them. Lewis laughed. He said, “I shouldn’t have brought you through here. I forgot. I’m the man who gives them candy. Wait a minute.”
    He looked to his right, guided her to a stall, and began to talk to the owner, who flashed out a smile and reached down behind some bolts of cloth for a box at the back. The children kept on singing. They started to dash forward to touch Millie’s skirt. Lewis shook his head and growled something at them. They squealed with laughter and then began to chant even harder.
    “Is it a game?” she asked.
    “They’re just being silly.”
    He turned around from the booth, his hands full of a big collection of coloured sweets wrapped up in cellophane. They didn’t look like the kind of thing she would have expected to find being sold from an open stall; they were like red and yellow, green, blue and orange jewels in their clear coverings. He shouted out, and tossed them all high up into the air. The children fought to get as many as they could.
    “Come on,” he said. The two of them ran back the way they had come and walked quickly until they found a quieter street.
    He told her, “That’s the trouble with small towns. Everybody knows you.”
    “What were they singing?”
    “About you. They were saying, ‘O Bwana Simba, what a beautiful bride you have.’ They thought you were my girl.”
    Millie smiled. “That’s nice.”
    “That’s very nice,” he said. “Well—where can we go? What do you think? We could go anywhere. Do anything. I have a whole week off. Come out to lunch with me?”
    “I think my husband’s expecting me