Rudd opens the door wider, and waits. At last Tonderai speaks.

“I think this is serious,” he says.

“Really?” Rudd, tries to lift the word, to make it light and listening, but his efforts achieve nothing more than a silent nod, so he carries on. “Think about it, Tonderai. A cyclone has never reached here before, and … well, look at today … it’s beautiful. We’re here. We’re on the ground. We know the conditions. The guys who wrote this, they’re in some office somewhere, looking at screens all day. What do they know? And what have they ever got right about Zim before?”

“But I am worried. The weather changes too much. And our Chief has concerns.”

“The Chief?” Rudd sighs, his impatience mounting. “Okay, I respect the Chief. I do. We all do. He’s a good farmer, and he knows everything about everyone, but how is he going to know about this? I don’t think he’s even got a computer.”

“He has a radio,” says Tonderai, voice low. “His children have computers, and he has friends who work in Mutare, in the government office. He travels widely around the area. People come to see him. Important people.”

“Okay, but can he, can you, remember any huge storms here, like that report says might happen?”

Tonderai shakes his head slowly.

“And you’re what – sixty? My father’s in his fifties. He’s never mentioned a cyclone … well not one that did any real damage.”

“No. But maybe the Chief remembers. He is an old man.”

Rudd pauses. He looks at Tonderai, still as a rock, and wonders whether he is worried, or just testing him.

 “What does Innocence think?” he asks.

Tonderai shrugs, his shoulders saying that he knows, but doesn’t want to say. Rudd realises then, that he must persuade Tonderai urgently that there is no need for alarm or to alarm others, for if he does not Innocence will spread panic like peanut butter, sticking it everywhere.

“Tonderai,” he says, his tone less offhand, “it’s just you, me and Innocence who’ve seen this report?”

“And the Chief.”

“Not the other staff?”

“No. We waited. We want to know what you know.”

“Right. I heard nothing in Harare. Now, until we hear anything else, something from the government perhaps, we need to keep going. We can’t cancel this wedding, and we have a visitor from London. We must give them a good time. If you hear more, please talk to me first. Tell Innocence I shall tell him if we need to do anything.”

Tonderai nods, his agreement is slow and careful.

“Right. We need the money to pay the wages. So let’s go. If Ipsos comes, we make a plan.“

Rudd holds Tonderai’s gaze. Neither man moves. They hear laughter, and the thud of a car door closing. Then Tonderai turns.

“Okay,” he says, as he walks out into the sunlight.

Rudd, with a deep feeling of unease, shuts the office, and follows him out to meet the new arrivals.

Copyright Georgie Knaggs & The Phraser 2023

“Yes. Our London visitor is happy. Have you read the report?”

Rudd raises his eyes. The look on Tonderai’s face warns him not to be dismissive. He clears his throat, and turns back to the computer.

“I’ve read it, and I’m looking. Can’t see anything else yet. No warnings that we need to evacuate.” He scrolls downwards, flicking past headlines, then pauses, frowning. “Here’s something from the Manica Post.”

He reads in silence for a few seconds.

“What does it say?” Tonderai asks.

“Can’t make much sense of it, but at least it’s reporting from this area.”

Rudd starts to read aloud from the text in front of him, skipping sections and emphasising those he is able to understand.

“Manicaland on high alert over Cyclone Ipsos … moving south-westwards … it is expected to start moistening the country’s atmosphere … beginning with the eastern highlands … path and speed can change drastically … we are likely to see some heavy flows … people need to be on the lookout … we will advise the nation through the relevant stakeholders …”

He looks up at Tonderai, who is shaking his head slowly, but saying nothing.

“Doesn’t make much sense. So … presume it’s no worse than usual? Do you have any other forecasts?” Rudd asks.

“No.”

Rudd scans down through several more websites, but can find nothing else that mentions Zimbabwe.

 “Okay,” he says, and switches off the computer. “You know what? Not much we can do. No warnings have been sent to us directly. From what I can see, it’s not clear where this cyclone is going to end up exactly, although it looks like bad news for Beira. You don’t have family in Beira do you?”

“No.”

“Well, that’s lucky. Does not look great for them, but I think we’ll be fine here. So, let’s just wait. Keep our ears open.”

He stands up, and looks directly at his assistant manager.

“Tonderai, thanks for the report. I can’t see any reason to be worried. I think we’ll be fine.”

He pulls his shoulders back, and waits for Tonderai to speak, but he doesn’t say anything, so Rudd, uncomfortable in the silence, steps out from behind the desk.

“Look Tonderai, only report I can see that mentions us is the one you found, and even then we’re only on a map right at the end. So, seems to me there’s no worries. Well, not about the storm at least. Plenty else though, like giving these guys a great wedding, and taking good care of Simi.”

Avoiding the silence in Tonderai’s eyes, he picks up the papers and walks back behind the desk to put them away in the top drawer. Then he walks purposefully around again to the door and pulls it wide. Bright sunlight falls between them and with it comes the sound of car tyres rolling over gravel. The first of the guests have arrived.

Copyright Georgie Knaggs & The Phraser 2023

Rudd opens the office door. He has only a few minutes to check through emails.

On the table in the far corner of the room the old computer screen gleams dull black. A white envelope is propped up against it. He picks it up, and sees the word URGENT written in Tonderai’s carefully blocked handwriting. He tears the envelope open, and flicks through the pages inside, reading them fast. Then he begins again, more slowly this time.

“Cyclone Ipsos … heading straight towards Beira.”

Beira? Does Tonderai have family there?

Rudd hasn’t been at the lodge long – a little over a year. It’s his first job in management, and he knows that he’s only survived thanks to the support of Tonderai, his most experienced, and respected member of staff.

If you go Tonderai, I don’t know what I’m going to do. This wedding is a big deal. It’s the only big one we’ve got.

The lodge needs funds desperately. Rudd begins to sweat. He struggles to concentrate on the papers, his mind throwing curses at the country, at the lack of fuel, at the lack of cash, at the lack of everything. And at the cyclone. Or rather at the people who predicted it. He tries to calm down. To focus.

Right. Tonderai. Let’s think about this. Okay. No. Of course. He’s not from Mozambique. He’s been here forever. They told me that when I started. His mother used to work here. Father killed in the war I think. Brother in Mutare. So what then?

Rudd turns back to the papers.

What’s the worry with this cyclone? Mozambique gets them all the time.

It’s on the back of the last page, on his third flip through, that he sees the grainy map, predicting the path of Ipsos. Marked in red ballpoint, at the tip of the cyclone’s reach, is the lodge. He goes back to the start, and reads again, more slowly this time.

“… Global Disaster Alert and Coordination System … Beira … unprecedented flooding … edge of cyclone reaching Zimbabwe …” … okay, but not here … surely? We never get them here. Might reach Mutare, but not us. No. No way. They never do. Never will.

He rubs a hand around his neck.

Maybe it’s the timings bothering Tonderai. Right over the wedding. Aagh … I’m not bothered. These guys are just doing they’re job.

He slaps the papers down on the far corner of the desk, and sits down. As he leans over to switch on the computer, there is a knock on the door and Tonderai comes into the room. He looks worried.

 “Our London visitor happy?” Rudd asks, his tone light, and his focus back on the screen.

Copyright Georgie Knaggs & The Phraser 2023