Echoes From a Distant Land by Frank Coates Page B

was another characteristic that attracted the older man to him.
    Ketterman rose but Sam remained at the table, turning the camera around in his hands.
    As he stood above him, Ketterman lifted his hand to pat Sam on the shoulder, but withdrew it. Ketterman was afraid he could not touch that skin, that gleaming muscular shoulder, without wanting more than he could dare imagine.
    He cleared his throat and said, ‘Come on, young man. You have your dinner to attend and so do I. Tomorrow you will see how to make use of a camera to capture a wild animal on film.’

CHAPTER 6
    As Bill Hungerford led his safari through the Loita Hills, to the Trans Mara and finally on to the Serengeti Plains, Sam’s knowledge of the technical requirements of photography grew until Ira was able to delegate much of the routine work to him, leaving him free to concentrate on the creative side of his growing collection of wildlife scenes. Ira could relax and enjoy his hobby, but in other ways, every day was a struggle.
    Ira tried to avoid Sam as much as possible, thereby reducing the relentless temptation of his presence, but it wasn’t practical. He should never have chosen the young African as his assistant.
    Having Sam nearby was a blessing and a curse. The blessing was the feast Sam’s body gave to his eye; the curse was the effort it required to keep from casually brushing against him while passing in the close confines of the tent, or letting his hand linger on the burnished brown skin of Sam’s shoulder after giving him a congratulatory pat for a task well done.
    If the attraction had been merely physical, if it were only Sam’s firm body and wide smile — a smile that made everyone within his orbit want to share whatever joy had prompted it — then Ira might have been able to put the emotion aside as mere lust. If it had been only his gentleness and kindness, then Ira might have simply been appreciative, but Sam had the characteristic so highly valuable in men of any race — intelligence.
    Ira felt that beauty was a waste if the body was essentially an empty shell. It was intelligence that added the lustre to beauty; it was the stimulant to conversation. It was an enquiring mind, not mere good looks, that brought personalities into alignment.
    He had managed to avoid temptation for the last two months on safari, and now there were only a couple of weeks remaining before he could retreat from Sam’s influence.
    As Hungerford found more and more exciting scenes for his cameras to capture, Ira’s ambitions climbed to new heights. His collection of wildlife pictures had the potential to become a successful commercial venture, but now he wondered about entering the nascent movie business on his return to New York or to even go west to where some of the movie companies had set up operations in a little place called Hollywood.
    The footage he’d captured to date was interesting and technically competent, but if it were to become a movie, Ira knew he needed a dramatic finale.
    He explained his ideas to Hungerford, who at first would not consider it. Ira persisted and the white hunter eventually conceded, although with the condition that he could not be held responsible if a man chose to engage wild animals in such a manner holding naught but a camera for his protection.
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    Ali was in one of his notorious moods. During the morning march he stormed up and down the line of porters, verbally lashing them for indolence.
    Sam was no longer required to act as a pagazi , his work now confined to driving the wagon carrying Ira’s equipment. So when they stopped to rest at the height of the day, he went looking for his friend Kitunga, whom he had not seen for a day or so.
    He found him among a group of porters watching Ali continue his harassment of a handful of men who Kitunga said had earlier displeased the head man. Ali had them carrying the heavy water canisters from one of the wagons to be refilled at