Lion Eyes

In the heart of Texas stands an exclusive hunting club called The Gable, a two-story lodge of gigantic proportions. Made of cedar, it sprawls out over ten thousand square feet. Its front doors open onto a cobblestone deck the length of an average tree and an open-roofed cedar deck above it. This astonishing entrance is supported by six cedar logs going from ground to roof, each cut from a single tree. Everything about this lodge screams extravagant wealth: huge windows, log pillars, fountains with statues of elk, deer, and bears standing tall and majestic, manicured shrubs, wildflower beds, native grasses, and cobblestone sidewalks.

The inside is filled with lavish cabin-style furniture, professionally decorated on a level that makes a Bass Pro shop look like an overrated flea market. The theme of The Gable is obvious to anyone who walks in with eyes. Mounted heads of hunted animals fill the walls: deer, bear, elk, moose, antelope, and many other kinds, including stuffed ducks and smaller game.

A massive fireplace dominates the main hall, climbing up the west wall. This stone behemoth is the focal point of the entire lodge. Surrounding its mantle are several couches and overstuffed chairs where two guys sit discussing different hunts.

“What are you talking about?” Warren laughed. “Hunt a lion? In America? You’re crazy.”

“I’m just saying. You can’t go any higher than that, and the brochure says they have one,” Jack said.

“Let me see that. ”Warren snatched the brochure out of Jack’s hand, opened the tri-folded paper, and glanced over square pics of deer, antelope, zebra, and buffalo – then he saw what he was looking for. “Huh, they do. I would have never guessed you could hunt lions in America.” He gave back the brochure. “But I bet it costs more than the company wants to spend.”

“None of these hunts are cheap, Warren. Besides, they want us to build our hunting skills, so we come back as stronger corporate hunters – right?”

“That’s the idea.”

“I bet they would be ecstatic to hear one of their vice presidents bagged a lion.”

“Or they fire me for being extravagant with company money.”

“Yeah, there’s that, but hey, Frank will be here tomorrow, you should ask.”

“You ask. You’re more excited about it than me,” Warren said with a good-humor smile.

“Oh, no, my friend. You’re the great deer hunter. I’ve never even shot a gun. I’m still looking for the bunny slopes.” Jack handed back the brochure, "These docile beasts scare me."

Warren looked over the brochure again. He stared into the lion’s eyes, imagining what they would look like in real life. “I guess there’s no harm in asking. It would be a unique hunt.” Warren paused as he realized he was sold a policy he never asked for. “Man, you’re a good salesman. Are you happy with yourself?”

“As a matter of fact, I am. You’re going to love it! Way more than deer!”

Will I? The lion’s eyes looked back at him from the brochure. I’m not sure. He recalled his last hunt, a 16-point buck, and how he felt after the kill. A mixture of joy and sorrow. He could hardly believe he bagged a 16-pointer; his excitement was barely containable. On the other hand, a majestic creature died by his hands. He felt the weight of that, and it brought him down. His only consolation was his hunt was a fair one. He refused the deer stand and tracked down the mighty buck on foot, giving him a fair chance to get away. Will I give the lion the same chance?

* * * *

The next day, the vice presidents of Dallas Houston Consulting Group and the president, Frank Abaforce, stayed locked up in one of the lodge’s conference rooms. The theme was learning to think like a hunter regarding acquisitions. The motivational speaker dressed as a safari hunter with a hat and gear.

Warren approached Frank in the middle of a fifteen-minute break.

“Warren? Our Oklahoma City branch? Right?” Frank said.

“Yes sir, you got it,” Warren said.

“Good to see you,” Frank shook Warren’s hand. “Is there something I can do for you?”

“Well, maybe.” Warren cleared his throat. “I noticed the brochure said they have a lion, and I was wondering if I could choose it?

“You want to hunt a lion? Are you crazy?”

“I’ve been a hunter all my life and would love the challenge.” Warren kept putting his hands in his pockets, then out and back in again.

Frank appraised Warren with one experienced glance, the same glance he’s given to hundreds of corporate opponents. “Son, you’re crazy, but I admire that. I think we need a little more crazy. If you really want a lion, then go get it.”

“It’s the most expensive package.”

“Man, I love this guy,” Frank said to no one in particular. “You didn’t give the price until you made the sale.” He slapped Warren’s back and laughed. “I’ll sign off on it personally.”

Warren shook Frank’s hand again. “Thank you, sir.”

“Let me just ask one question before you do,” Frank got serious. “Should an acquisition company hunt an acquisition company?”

“Sir?”

Frank raised his eyebrows, “Should a hunter hunt a hunter?”

“I don’t know how to answer that, sir.”

“Well, after you get your lion, find me and let me know.”

“I will, sir.” Warren walked back to his seat, confused. As the meeting resumed, he kept returning to Frank’s question, Should a hunter hunt a hunter? Should I?

* * * *

Warren and his hunting guide, Arno, drove an off-road jeep on a dirt road heading for the lion’s field. It was a gray day, with no sun and no rain. The dust billowed behind the jeep as they drove, coating the field grass and trees with a layer of reddish grime.

“How far do we have?” Warren asked.

“Not far. Five minutes,” Arno answered with a thick South African accent.

The jeep bounced along, slowing for potholes and uneven terrain, then speeding back up. It went back and forth like this for over fifteen minutes. Warren tried making small talk, but Arno would only have one or two-word replies that led nowhere, so he tried a different approach.

“What can you tell me about hunting lions?” Warren asked.

“Don’t.”

Warren was getting used to his broken English and thick accent, but this took him back. “Aren’t you a hunting guide?”

“Yes.”

“Then, shouldn’t you guide me?”

“I will,” Arno never took his eyes off the dirt road. “When there.”

Warren laughed, “Sounds good, buddy.”

The jeep came to a stop beside a large tree. They got out, and Warren looked around, his heart pounding in excitement. They unpacked their gear, a high-powered rifle for Warren, and a tranquilizer gun for Arno.

“Why the tranquilizer?”

“Get fired if I kill lion. But won’t go without protection.”

“That makes sense.” Warren surveyed the area. He looked up and saw a tree stand installed in the large tree.

“I don’t do stands,” Warren said.

“You should,” Arno looked Warren in the eyes. “Not safe.”

“I understand it has some risk, but isn’t this lion old and on his last leg?”

“Yes, he’s old. But listen,” Arno said. “This lion hunts. We release deer in here and he kills them. This lion from same country as me, South Africa. His spirit is African, not old zoo lion. He’s very dangerous. Knows what hunters think. Hunter knows Hunter.”

“Are you saying this lion will hunt me?”

“Not up there.” Arno pointed to the stand.

“That’s not how I hunt.”

“Then I wait up there. You alone.”

Warren’s adrenaline was racing. The thought of tracking and killing a lion was something he never dreamed would happen, and yet here he was. If he wanted, he could begin right now. Do I dare hunt a hunter? His doubt doubled over in his mind. He knew this wouldn’t be like chasing a deer. If he made a mistake, he could find himself hunted. But the conviction to hunt fair persisted.

“I’ll venture out a little, but I’ll stay close. You can cover me with that tranquilizer.”

“You boss,” Arno climbed into the stand.

Warren kept Arno in sight as he studied the ground. Tracks were everywhere, both deer and lion. However, one set overlaid them, a lion’s going towards a clump of trees on the edge of a small lake. This set was clearly the freshest. Most likely made today. Warren checked to see that his rifle was loaded and the safety off. He turned back to Arno, giving him a thumbs up, then pointed towards the lake. Arno acknowledged.

Being very careful to avoid dried sticks and leaves, he silently followed the fresh tracks until he reached the threshold of the clump of trees where they disappeared.

Where did they go? Warren thought. He looked around, moving very slowly, his eyes scanning the ground. The wild grass was thicker in this area, but it was spaced far enough that the lion would inevitably step onto the dirt, leaving a track. Unless he intentionally moved from tuft of grass to tuft of grass, ensuring he didn’t leave tracks. But that would be impossible. No lion would know to do that.

Warren widened his search, taking him into the clump of trees. Warren realized Arno could not cover him here, which made him step back out of the trees. That’s enough. How many guys could say they tracked a lion this far? He started walking back to the stand when he heard a low, deep, echoing growl from the trees. He quickly turned with his rifle raised and pointed it in several directions, trying to find the growl. The lion roared and slowly peeked around a tree trunk, not enough for a clear shot. Every hair on Warren’s body stood. Fear like he had never experienced threatened to shatter him. He could hardly stand. The lion stared at him. He was trying to recall if eye contact was a sign of strength or if it angered lions. He wanted to look away, but he stared back. For a moment, both eyes locked in on each other. Warren froze. His mind raced to his many deer kills; one fallen deer after another came unbidden, ending with his 16-point buck. He had no control over his thoughts. They were being forced from him. The flow of deer hunts stopped, and thoughts not belonging to him invaded his mind. He saw a zebra fall while he was biting into its neck. He killed countless antelope with his teeth and numerous deer. He saw through the eyes of the lion. Both hunters stood, neither daring to move. Mutual respect grew.

The lion took a step back into the woods without breaking eye contact. Warren stepped back to the stand, keeping his rifle trained on the lion. Both continued to take steps back until neither could see each other. Warren finally reached the jeep parked under the tree stand, never lowering his gun. He began to shake just a little at first, then his whole body shook violently. Arno had come down from the stand and was standing next to him.

“You okay?” Arno asked, putting his hand on Warren’s shoulder. “Come. Inside jeep.” Warren gave no answer, nor did he move. Arno put his gun down and carefully grabbed Warren’s rifle with both hands, gently prying it away. “Let me have.” Warren let go of the gun, and tears flowed down, not in a cry, but more like a release. Arno helped him into the jeep and loaded their gear.

On the drive back, Warren kept going over the scenes of lion hunts in his mind. He wondered if his extreme fear made him a little crazy and if he imagined the whole episode. He figured that had to be it. It was the fear. This helped him come back to himself. He looked around and realized they were heading back to the lodge. He looked over at Arno and saw concern on his face.

“You were right. I should have used the stand,” Warren said.

“No. I wrong,” Arno smiled. “You stare down lion. Only hunter with African spirit do that.”

“Maybe. Or maybe stupid hunters can also do that.”

They drove the rest of the way in silence. Warren was still grappling with what happened. He knows what he saw in his mind, but how was it possible? He remembered what Arno had said, “Hunter knows hunter.” Now he understood what that meant. He knows the lion, and the lion knows him.

* * * *

The next morning, Warren found Frank sitting near the mammoth fireplace in the lobby. He sat across from Frank without saying a word. Frank looked at him, knowingly.

“Do you have an answer for me?” Frank asked.

“I do, but first, may I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

Warren sat up, “Do you know my answer?”

Frank studied Warren with his experienced glance. “I do. I can see it in your eyes,” Frank smiled. “You’ve looked into the eyes of the lion – the eyes of the hunter. We both know the answer.”

They stared at each other for a time. Communicating with each other in a way only possible between hunters. Unbidden thoughts flowed through both minds and unknown thoughts as well. They knew the answer. They shook hands and parted. Knowing they would never allow themselves to get on the wrong side of each other.