Reconstruction:Green Hills of Africa
Green Hills of Africa starts with the narrator and a group of natives hunting. The narrator shows a clear
for one of the natives:“It is finished,” he said.
I put my hand to my mouth and motioned him down.
“It is finished,” he said again and spread his arms wide. I had never liked him and I liked him less now. ❞The truck belongs to a non-native (like the narrator) called Kandisky. They end up meeting on the road. They find a common interest in literature, but Kandisky has trouble
the narrator’s interest in both literature and hunting, to which the narrator replies he just “likes it:”“He is no good.”
“You believe it?”
“All I know is that I cannot read him.”
“He is no good at all. I see we have things in common. What are you doing here?”
“Shooting.”
“Not ivory, I hope.”
“No. For kudu.”
“Why should any man shoot a kudu? You, an intelligent man, a poet, to shoot kudu. […] Why do you do it?”
“I like to do it.” ❞Kandisky suggests the narrator should, instead of hunting,
an interest in the natives, citing the “big dance festivals.” As Kandisky turns to the narrator’s wife, the narrator, showing more interest in talking hunting, talks to Pop, a fellow hunter, about the hunting prospects. It is made mention of his friendly rivalry with Karl:“We are,” my wife assured him.
“They are really interesting. Listen…” Kandisky said, and he spoke on to her.
“The hell of it is,” I said to Pop, “When I’m in the hills I’m sure the bastards are down there on the salt. The cows are in the hills but I don’t believe the bulls are with them now. Then you get there in the evening and there are the tracks. They have been on the lousy salt. I think they come any time.”
“Probably they do.”
“I’m sure we get different bulls there. They probably only come to the salt every couple of days. Some are certainly spooked because Karl shot that one. If he’d only killed it clean instead of following it through the whole damn country-side. Christ, if he’d only kill any damn thing clean. Other new ones will come in. All we have to do is to wait them out, though. Of course they can’t all know about it. But he’s spooked this country to hell.”
“He gets so very excited,” Pop said. “But he’s a good lad. He made a beautiful shot on that leopard, you know. You don’t want them killed any cleaner than that. Let it quiet down again.”
“Sure. I don’t mean anything when I curse him.”
[…]
“So,” Kandisky was saying to my wife. “That is what you should see. The big ngomas. The big native dance festivals. The real ones.” ❞Then, resuming his discussion with Kandisky, he mentions his passion for both hunting and writing:
“And what do you want?”
“To write as well as I can and learn as I go along. At the same time I have my life which I enjoy and which is a damned good life.”
“Hunting kudu?”
“Yes. Hunting kudu and many other things.” […]
“You really like to do this, what you do now, this silliness of kudu?”
“Just as much as I like to be in the Prado.”
“One is better than the other?”
“One is as necessary as the other. […]”
“This is getting awfully serious,” my wife said.
“It’s a damned serious subject.”
“You see, he is really serious about something,” Kandisky said. “I knew he must be serious on
something besides kudu.” ❞They part ways with Kandisky insisting on him
interests other than hunting:Later, the narrator’s relationship with a native called M’Cola shows how relationships with the natives
on the hunting:This
on hunting also affects the relationship between him and Karl, with Karl’s bigger trophies affecting his morale:“I don’t know. We didn’t count. Five or six, I guess.”
“Five, I think,” said Dan.
Poor Karl, faced by these three sad-faced congratulators, was beginning to feel his pleasure in the rhino drained away from him.
“We got one too,” said P.O.M.
“That’s fine,” said Karl. “Is he bigger than this one?”
“Hell, no. He’s a lousy runt.”
“I’m sorry,” Karl said. He meant it, simply and truly.
“What the hell have you got to be sorry about with a rhino like that? God-damn it, he’s a beauty. Let me get the camera and take some pictures of him.” ❞After several days of being unable to find a kudu, 2 natives, which the narrator seems to
at first, offer their help:“We’re not beaten,” said Pop. “Drink another one of those.”
We had lunch, a very good lunch, and it was just over when Kati came and said there was someone to see Pop. We could see their shadows on the tent fly, then they came around to the front of the tent. It was the old man of the first day, the old farmer, but now he was got up as a hunter and carried a long bow and a sealed quiver of arrows.
He looked older, more disreputable and tireder than ever and his get-up was obviously a disguise. With him was the skinny, dirty, Wanderobo with the slit and curled-up ears who stood on one leg and scratched the back of his knee with his toes. His head was on one side and he had a narrow, foolish and depraved-looking face.
The old man was talking earnestly to Pop, looking him in the eye and speaking slowly, without gestures.
[…]
“He says,” Pop began, “They have found a country where there are kudu and sable. He has been there three days. They know where there is a big kudu bull and he has a man watching him now.”
“Do you believe it?” I could feel the liquor and the fatigue drain out of me and the excitement come in. ❞The new country proves to be “the loveliest that [the narrator] had seen in Africa:”
This leads to a friendly gesture toward the Wanderobo native whom he initially
:Not only is the country beautiful, but also the natives who live there:
The beautiful country and natives
with the event of kudu being finally killed, leading to the narrator learning a dance of celebration even with the now befriended Wanderobo, thus implicitly the interest in the natives that Kandisky prescribed in lieu of hunting:I slapped the Roman on the back and we went through the thumb-pulling again; me pulling his thumb too. I embraced the Wanderobo-Masai and he, after a thumb-pulling of great intensity and feeling, slapped his chest and said very proudly, “Wanderobo-Masai wonderful guide.”
“Wanderobo-Masai wonderful Masai,” I said. ❞As the hunt goes on, the narrator notes that in hunting they form a
group, independently of origin, skin or language:The narrator manages to hit a bull, but not killing it, making him feel
for the uncleanly shot animal:On their way back to the main camp, the narrator even feels
for Garrick, whom he hurt from exasperation:Once when we were stuck and I was shovelling and he was stooping over in a frenzy of advice and command-giving, I brought the handle of the shovel, with manifest un-intention, up hard into his belly, and he sat down backwards. I never looked towards him, and M’Cola, Kamau, and I could not look at each other for fear we would laugh.
“I am hurt,” he said in astonishment, getting to his feet.
“Never get near a man shovelling,” I said in English. “Damned dangerous.”
“I am hurt” said Garrick holding his belly.
“Rub it,” I told him and rubbe mine to show him how. We all got in the car again and I began to feel sorry for the poor, bloody, useless, theatrical bastard, so I told M’Cola I would drink a bottle of beer. He got one out from under the loads in back, we were going through the deer-park-looking country now, opened it, and I drank it slowly. I looked around and saw Garrick was all right now, letting his mouth run freely again. ❞While he reflects on the way back, the narrator notes how he “likes the natives” who are therefore made a
group with no mention of Garrick or any other native. He also notes how he can pictures:Back to camp, his satisfaction at having killed kudu sinks as he learns of Karl’s latest prowess:
“I’m so damned glad,” he said. “They’re marvellous.”
M’Cola had the horns down by now and he and Kamau were holding them so they could all see them in the light of the fire.
“What did you get?” I asked Karl.
“Just another one of those. What do you call them? Tendalla.”
“Swell,” I said. I knew I had one no one could beat and I hoped he had a good one too. “How big was he?”
“Oh, fifty-seven,” Karl said.
“Let’s see him,” I said, cold in the pit of my stomach.
“He’s over there,” Pop said, and we went over. They were the biggest, widest, darkest, longest-curling, heaviest, most unbelievable pair of kudu horns in the world. Suddenly, poisoned with envy, I did not want to see mine again; never, never. ❞But the bitterness is short-lived as the narrator sees the trophies
:But I was bitter and I was bitter all night long. In the morning, though, it was gone. It was all gone and I have never had it again.
Pop and I were up and looking at the heads before breakfast. It was a grey, overcast morning and cold. The rains were coming.
“They’re three marvellous kudu,” he said.
“They look all right with the big one this morning,” I said. They did, too, strangely enough. I had accepted the big one now and was happy to see him and that Karl hard him. When you put them side by side they looked all right. They really did. They all were big. ❞The
-ness and the narrator’s for the natives with the climax of the hunting (for both him and Karl) on which the morale . They hunting with the advised by Kandisky (most notably with the narrator learning a celebratory native dance after a successful hunt). The between writing and hunting, that Kandisky couldn’t understand, is then completed as the narrator remarks to his wife that he would J.P. (aka Pop) and write about him and therefore hunting:“You know,” P.O.M. said. “I can’t remember it. I can’t remember Mr J.P.’s face. And he’s beautiful. I think about him and think about him and I can’t see him. It’s terrible. He isn’t the way he looks in a photograph. In a little while I won’t be able to remember him at all. Already I can’t see him.”
“You must remember him,” Karl said to her.
“I can remember,” I said. “I’ll write you a piece sometime and put him in.” ❞