Betty had sent the first two chapters of her current book project, PANSY, by email to her editor in New York. This book followed the plight  of her distant chimpanzee relative in Gombe Stream Park who suffered much deprivation in life and had overcome such to a large extent.  Betty lit a cigarette in the name of artistic satisfaction.  She had been writing all day and realized that sunset was near.   She got up, stretched and headed for the beach.  She would ask Tarzan to join her for a beer.  She had bought a case of the local brand he liked.  She walked to the edge of the lake.  Boats were approaching the shore at the end of their day’s work.  A splash sounded in front of her. 

“Hi there,” she said to a huge crocodile just before he lunged at her, grabbing her shoulder and upper arm in his gaping jaws. 

“Oh, God, please no……oooh,” she screamed as the croc pulled her into the water and headed for depths where he could drown his prey. 

She remembered little after that, only the pain of the jaws and teeth and being intermittently pulled under water as she kicked and thrashed trying to make the huge animal release her. She saw the blood all about her and lost consciousness.  She remembered before she fainted, the loud growls and roars of a lion added to human shouts of alarm. 

            She came to, only briefly, to see Tarzan’s face hovering over hers.  She was lying on the sand shivering uncontrollaby.

“Betty, the airlift is coming for you very soon,” he told her, as he placed a blanket more closely around her. “Just hold on.  Try to talk to me and don’t lose consciousness”

“Thank you,” she said weakly before sinking into a netherworld where she heard voices but everything else was shades of muted grays.  Her vision dimmed. 

            Shane Simba ran down the halls of the Exotic Animal Clinic, his guards attempting to keep up with his accelerated pace.  He was responding to an emergency call I had made to him while he was on a trip to Kitale.  Tarzan had called the office at the State House and told me of Betty’s situation.  I had quickly called Shane who had instructed me to commandeer a government plane to fly to the beach front on Lake Tanzania.  I had gone on the plane, accompanied by Drs. Frank Tigeres and Sylly Cougar Lyon.  I knew the exact location on the beach, having been there before.  It was a ambulance helicopter that could quickly get Betty and take her to the Masai Mara for treatment. 

            Shane had put an immediate end to his trip returning as quickly as possible to the Mara. Now, running to the huge steel doors, he met doctors, Frank and Ted Tigeres, coming out of the Intensive Care Unit in the clinic. 

“Betty has suffered a catastrophic loss of blood.  The crocodile bit through an artery, almost severing her shoulder.  She is unconscious and under sedation for the pain of shock.  The next forty eight hours will tell the story,” Frank told him.  “We patched up those shoulder and arm wounds as best we could.  It was touch and go all the way, Shane.  You can take a look at her if you like.”

Shane walked to the cubicle where Betty lay surrounded by whirring machines and IV’s in every conceivable vein.  He stood there quietly trying to absorb the horror of her condition. 

Betty in intensive care in the Exotic Animal Clinic...

“Fifi,” he whispered gently. “Please be alright.  Fight this terrible thing.....you are so strong, so much more than I ever was, Betty.”

She lay as still as death.  The machines clicked and whirred, continuing their mournful litany.

“I love you, Fifi.”

             “The lion that sells her fish is the one that saved her life,” I told Shane.  I was in his office, having been the one beside the doctors to go in the rescue plane.  “He ran to her house and used her phone, calling the State House number he found on her computer desk.  The native fisherman told us that he struggled with the crocodile and killed it in the most dreadful combat.  That’s when it released Betty.  He brought her to shore and helped keep some of the shock at bay by bringing blankets from her house and one he had in his boat.”

My voice wavered in the telling; I was so horrified and emotional at the terrible thing that had befallen my close friend of many years.  I saw that tears rolled down Shane’s face as well.  Sloane Simba was in the office too, having helped me immensely in pulling the rescue team together in quick order.  We were all shocked to our very loafers.   

“I need to speak with him, Maury.  Do you know anything about him other than his name -Tarzan?  Do you know where he lives?”

“No, I know nothing other than that he is a fish vendor and works on Lake Tanganyika.  He keeps his dhow, like the other fishermen, pulled near her house when he shores for the night,” I answered truthfully. 

             That night on the beach close to Betty’s house, Tarzan drank much beer.  He knew that people, desperate for money and food, might try to loot her upscale chalet.  He sat all night realizing that the one thing that would keep them away was the presence of a lion – especially the one that had killed the attacking crocodile with his teeth and powerful claws.  He lay back on a blanket, under the star filled sky.  He wept a bit for the extraordinary female that had come into his life and brightened it perceptively with her quick mind and open hearted warmth.  She seemed so vulnerable at the same time.  He said a prayer for Betty to whatever primitive gods listen to lions. 

             Betty clung to life in the ICU while visitors came and went, thronging the waiting room just outside.  Betty was still the official First Lady of Kenya, despite her departure and Johanna’s living in the mansion.  She also had many real friends of long standing in the Mara.  A distraught Hippi Potomus visited with her even more distraught husband, Croc Crocodile. 

“Croc is so grieved that one of his kind attacked Betty in Tanzania,” she told me. 

    Flowers were delivered in profusion and not being allowed in ICU were distributed to other patients throughout the clinic in Betty’s name.  Gloria Chimpo Baboon along with their brother, Chico Chimpo, sat vigil with Bertram coming and going.  Wilda Wildebeest sat long hours as well.  Shane came throughout the day, standing at his wife’s bedside looking down on her still, pale form. 

            A seaplane piloted by Ashley Lyon with Shane Simba and a Masai guard as its only passengers, landed on the lake’s surface and waited for Tarzan’s boat to come into shore after the day’s fishing.  When Shane spotted a lion at the helm of a fishing dhow heading for shore, he exited the plane and stood on the beach to await Tarzan.  The lion fisherman pulled his boat on the beach.  Shane walked toward him. 

Tarzan lands his boat.....

“I came to tell you that Betty is still alive.  She’s in critical condition.  I know that you saved her life and called my office.  I just wanted to tell you that you are free to return to Kenya if you want to visit with her or just plain live there again.  I am sure you must have pride members still there.  I will remove any blot on your name.  Your court records will be null and void at my orders.  I appreciate your courage and quick thinking,” said Shane. 

The two male lions stood facing each other, one the essence of  urbane chic that was indicative of wealthy animals in Kenya today.  The other, dressed shabbily, had rejected all that the new age in Kenya offered animals.  One was at the pinnacle, the other on the lower rungs.  The only commonality between them was the fact of their being lions.  Other than that, they were totally disconnected. 

“She gonna be okay?” asked Tarzan.

“I don’t really know,” answered Shane.  “Her prognosis is very guarded.”

“You need to send someone to keep her house free of looters.  These humans here are starving and desperate.  They’re honest and decent folks but hunger drives them.   I’ve been staying on the beach at night until someone is sent,” suggested Tarzan. 

“Can you stay in her house until I can find someone?  I would be most grateful if you would, Tarzan.  You can make yourself at home.  I know Betty would want that.”

Tarzan stood looking at the beautifully groomed lion president with suspicious eyes. He looked to the foot of the seaplane where the Masai warrior stood in readiness should someone threaten his charge.  Tarzan realized that Shane must have had to swallow a great deal of pride to come here at all.  He had to respect that.

“Yeah, I can do that.  But I’ve got my own life so please send someone else as soon as you can.”

“Thank you,” answered Shane. “I will not forget this or the fact of your saving Betty’s life.”

“Tell her to get well soon,” requested Tarzan. 

He made his way back to his boat and began to wrap his catch in newspaper.  He briefly glanced toward Betty’s empty house wishing that he could sell her today’s grouper, missing her friendly wave from the deck as he shored his boat.  Shane returned to the plane which Ashley pulled into the water. Jumping inside, Ashley started the engine.  The propellers began to turn ever faster, as Ashley glided across the smooth lake surface and took off into the pink tinged clouds created by the Technicolor sunset. 

             Shane couldn’t deal with the insistent and tremulous Johanna under these conditions so he holed up at his bush house after work.  He would sit in the the dim lamp light of his study, staring out at the darkened landscape.  He drank a great deal of Scotch, chain smoked  and mentally sorted through his history with Betty, reliving every moment of their tumultuous relationship.  At times he would weep, other memories found him laughing out loud.  The bond he shared with her was profound and immutable.  Three sons together, years of bonding within and out of marriage, held its undeniable truths. 

    He hadn’t told Solly and the twins of their mother’s appalling experience.  They were too young and the circumstances were too gruesome.  He had asked the nannies to keep them from seeing the television news, not that they did much of that anyway.  Shane had asked Solly’s teachers to shield him from classmates who might know of his mother’s severe injuries and speak of them.  Staci stayed some nights at the bush house with him, offering what comfort she could. 

                         Betty, swimming in and out of consciousness, couldn’t make out the face that hovered above her bed. 

“Tarzan,” she whimpered weakly. 

“It’s Frank, Betty.  You have been badly injured but you are going to pull through this.  You will be just fine,” assured the tiger doctor. 

She winced when she tried to move her arm.  There were eighty seven stitches between her almost severed shoulder and arm.  Frank signaled the nurse who inserted a syringe of morphine in one of the IV’s.  She sank bank into a deep sleep. 

             Shane dispatched Betty’s aunt who worked in his office to Betty’s chalet in Tanzania.  She was to stay there until further notice.  She had recently come from the Gombe district and was ready for a visit to her family.  Full supplies and pay were flown there weekly.

             Arlon Lyon got emergency leave from his university in England and came to the Mara to be there if his mother needed him.  Even Sam Simba was horrified at what had happened to his ex-wife and visited the waiting room often with their two sons, Joshua and Jason, gleaning news of Betty’s condition.   Ashley flew whatever was needed to Betty’s aunt and waited for word of his ex-wife and dear friend.  At times, his was the lone figure that was allowed to stand at her bedside.  Montecore, her first husband, flew from Las Vegas upon hearing.  He was a regular visitor.

            Shane sent the pregnant Johanna to his home in Mombasa for a stay.  Her houseboy and loyal servant came to join her and tend her needs.  Shane returned to the mansion where he could be with his sons, Solly, Tarek and Jalil who were still in the dark about their mother. 

            Betty remained in and out of consciousness, waiting to be tested to determine what damage the terrific blood loss had wrought on her body and mind.  She hovered between life and death, with occasional moans of ‘Tarzan’ or ‘Shane’ coming from her pale lips.

            One late night, Shane had his driver take him to the clinic.  Frank, Ted and Sylly, after exhausing themselves 24/7 on Betty's behalf had left her in the charge of a slight baboon resident while they got some much needed sleep.  The baboon seeing the President flanked by his Masai guards, was a nervous wreck.   Shane quizzed him as to Betty's current condition. 

"Is she any better tonight?" asked Shane. "Has she got temperature still?" 

"Yes Sir," declared the baboon doctor.  "But I must say I have never seen worse wounds.  The only ones that could be compared to what that crocodile did to her are some I've seen where the victims had been attacked by lions.  Now those are bloody awful.......those buggers can tear a victim to pieces even worse than a croc."

Suddenly the resident realized who and what he was speaking with.  His expression became one of intense embarrasment.

"Sorry, S-Sir, didn't mean to get carried away," he stammered. 

"No problem," assured Shane, giving him a hearty pat that almost floored him.  "I'm going in to see her."

"Y-yes Sir."