Jackal's Dance Read Online Free PDF Page B

like gambolling puppies around him. Animals trusted him instinctively and Troy loved them in return.
    Children too, with their uncluttered perception of adults, adored him. He was innately well-mannered around the elderly and one of those rare young people who actually valued what the older generation had to say. Incurably romantic, even if his attention span to any one woman seemed indecently short, they certainly got their money’s worth while he was focused.
    Troy was also, to the surprise of lecturers and tutors alike, of above average intelligence – when he cared to concentrate. During his first year at university they were so surprised by the quality of set assignments that some suspected others had written them for him. That quickly proved to be untrue. He was one of those lucky individuals capable of hearing or reading something once and committing it to memory. As a result, he was able to produce work of a very high standard with little apparent effort.
    He stretched and yawned. Troy would have loved another few hours’ sleep. Instead, he did three dozen effortless sit-ups and forced himself to rise and face the new day.
    Lighting a cigarette, he pulled a pair of green shorts over his skimpy black bikini underpants, then donned old well-worn takkies, and a white singlet style T-shirt. Over this, but only because heneeded pocket space, a faded bush shirt which he left unbuttoned. That was it. No hat, no sunscreen. His Mediterranean complexion simply absorbed the sun’s rays, remaining the same tanned shade the year round. Thick hair, which settled perfectly into place just by running his fingers through it, protected his head. He did a quick mental check that he hadn’t forgotten anything. They were hoping to ear-tag a family of jackals today. It was Troy’s responsibility to make sure they had enough tranquilliser and tags. He grabbed his bush bag, checked to make sure everything was there, drank the by now lukewarm coffee and scrambled from the tent.
    Josie Leah’s period started during the night. Cramps had woken her and she’d rummaged around in the dark trying to locate a tampon. Almost compulsive in her need to keep clean at this time of the month, the thought of going through a full day without a shower was abhorrent, although she knew it would have to be done. Water, as Josie only found out after she signed on for the trip, had to be brought with them. A brief wash was all she had to look forward to and that was not until late in the afternoon. A strip wash only. Josie was always a heavy bleeder for the first two days.
    Sipping coffee, she worried about the logistics of what to do with used tampons in the bush. Totally dedicated to all things environmental, even the thought of burying them was not an option.They might be dug up by a jackal or hyena. The professor had a thing about plastic bags and they were banned from camp. Although Josie kept a few basic medical supplies in her toilet bag, she could hardly go into the bush with it. The others would know what she was up to. Admitting to having her period was as alien as walking a tightrope across Victoria Falls. She simply couldn’t.
    Josie came from an extremely wealthy Jewish family who owned a string of jewellery shops around South Africa. Her mother, always busy, had largely entrusted the upbringing of her only female offspring to a black nanny. Quiet and confidential mother–daughter conversations rarely took place. Josie found out about the workings of a woman’s body from friends. And, because a lot of giggling and a few old wives’ tales invariably accompanied these whispered discussions, Josie grew up believing a woman’s menstruation time to be something distasteful that nice people didn’t talk about. She always felt slightly dirty when her period arrived, as though visited by something undeserved and quite unsavoury.
    From the age of fourteen, Josie had known there was a definite kink in her