A Plume of Dust

by Wynne May

  ‘Okay.’ He smacked his lips and grinned at her. ‘Let’s move, baby.’

  Michelle passed him her glass and watched him as he packed it away giving careful attention to the container holding the ice. ‘We’ll need this. I don’t want it to melt. Nothing worse than a warm drink.’

  His smile was beginning to get on her nerves. ‘I’m surprised you haven’t a portable fridge and bar in here,’ she said somewhat cuttingly.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he told her, ‘that will come in the very near future.’ He jumped down on to the dusty track and slammed the doors, then came round to the driver’s side and got in. Before he started the engine he gave her a lazy grin. ‘Minnie Moaner,’ he said, ‘you surprise me. I thought you had more go in you than this.’

  They reached the security base and after showing their identity papers got back into the Land-Rover and drove on.

  Michelle tried concentrating on the scenery - boulders galore, a cave, a waterfall emptying itself over more boulders. Her eyes strayed to Glen’s hands on the vibrating wheel. Fairly tanned hands with tawny hairs on the fingers, just beneath the knuckles. His wrists were surprisingly thick, which came as a surprise, for he was slightly under medium height and not thick-set, by any means. She found herself comparing his hands to Lyle Cunningham’s, which were strong and tanned.

  Suddenly Glen braked. ‘Look,’ he said, ‘a bearded vulture. See that?’

  Michelle followed the flight of the great bird with her eyes. ‘It has a terrific wing-span,’ said Glen. Lyle Cunningham, she thought, would have known exactly how wide.

  ‘That, I think, calls for another drink.’ Glen got out and stood in the sun, stretching. ‘It’s not every day you see a bearded vulture,’ he called out, grinning.

  To some people this could have been a whole lot of fun, Michelle found herself thinking. To Glen’s type of girl and to people like Marie - the girl who had gone up on the day she had driven up the Pass with Lyle - Marie, goading Lyle on and on, for kicks. To a person of sane reasoning, however, it was proving to be nothing short of a nightmare, and she only had herself to blame.

  ‘Come on,’ Glen was calling, ‘get out into the sun and stretch those lovely legs and look about you. That’s what we’re here for, isn’t it?

  There’s no time limit.’

  Michelle shrugged helplessly and opened the heavy door and jumped out. There was a raging, raw wind blowing and she shivered, pulling her jersey down over her slacks. Her hair was blowing about her face, strands of it sticking to her lips.

  Glen poured more drinks and she watched him moodily. Mockingly serene, he watched her back. High up, the mountains jutted arrogantly in the clouds, alone and free. It seemed madness that she should be here, with possible death lurking at every hairpin bend, and she was provoked by a sudden anger to say, ‘I’ve taken enough. I wish you’d stop drinking, Glen. I’m nervous enough as it is.’ She sighed with the uselessness of it all. ‘It’s a good thing you don’t drive your guests up here. At least you had sense enough to employ a couple of drivers.’

  Glen looked pensive and sad, an affectation with him. Slowly he shook his head. ‘I can’t understand you, Michelle, honestly I can’t.’

  His voice was gently accusing. ‘You’re letting me down. I feel utterly relaxed. Why can’t you be? To get away from it all - wonderful! The rat race forgotten for a little while.’

  ‘The only rat race is the one you’ve started yourself,’ she told him with considerable heat.

  The peaks of the mountains were becoming obscure as clouds were trailed across them. Down where they were, however, there were little explosions of sunlight on Glen’s lenses.

  ‘Look,’ he sounded impatient with her now, ‘I happen to like it that way, but I also like to get away from it once in a while. I mean, who doesn’t? So relax, will you?’

  Michelle pulled the collar of the jacket she had slipped on over her jersey around her chin. ‘It’s freezing,’ she shuddered. ‘This wind is freezing. The weather is changing all the time.’

  ‘Well, let it change.’ Glen stopped speaking as a group of blanketed men on horses which seemed a size too small for them came around a bend, on their way down the Pass. Perhaps they were ponies, Michelle thought, watching the colourful scene, black-skinned and blanketed to cope with the cold the men on their sturdy little animals passed beneath a mass of rock that overhung the road and which looked as though it might thunder down at any moment.

  Glen packed the glasses into the hamper and they got back into the Land-Rover. This was going to be the hardest part now, Michelle remembered, with a feeling of fright.

  Was Glen going to manage it?

  The wheels spun as he fought for control. Down in the valley were several carcasses of fallen vehicles - vehicles that had not made the grade through, no doubt, carelessness on the part of the drivers.

  Eventually, however, they reached the top. They crossed the border into Lesotho and then drove the short way to the mountain chalet.

  The blanketed man with the peg-leg had greeted them as he held out a straw hat which Michelle bought, although it was far too small to wear. At the chalet the cross St. Bernards wagged their tails and the freezing wind ruffled their coats.

  As Michelle climbed down from the Land-Rover she realized that her legs were ready to cave in.

  ‘There you are, we made it. How do you feel?’ Glen asked, grinning.

  ‘Frankly, that my days are numbered, after that ordeal. This is positively the last time I come up the Pass.’ Her eyes took in the fact that there were no other vehicles parked outside the chalet and she knew despair as the hope that she might have been able to cadge a lift back down the Pass faded. The return trip would have to be made with Glen Hayes, and her eyes were troubled as she stood looking down at the wriggling snake which was the Pass, twisting and fading from sight.

  ‘I’ll take the hamper to the kitchen,’ Glen was saying cheerfully. For a moment Michelle watched him moodily, then, with her shoulders hunched, she followed him inside and went through to the big main room where she stood looking out of the big windows -

  remembering…

  When Glen came into the room she did not move. ‘There’s time for a couple of drinks before lunch,’ she heard him say, and because she knew that words wouldn’t stop him from having them, she turned and followed him through to the small bar and this time she joined him in having a drink, feeling an almost urgent need of something to warm and settle her clamouring nerves.

  ‘Good for you,’ Glen laughed softly and appreciatively, ‘I knew you’d thaw out.’

  ‘There’s going to be a storm,’ she said, ‘you know that, of course?’ She kept her voice carefully expressionless so that she would not irritate him.

  Through the window to one side of the bottle-laden shelves they could see the wind tearing at the plateau.

  Glen swore. ‘Forget the storm. Relax.’

  ‘I can’t,’ Michelle said.

  ‘Try to. Just try to.’ He took a swallow of his drink. ‘You know, it takes peak physical fitness to drive up here,’ he said.

  Yes, she thought rebelliously, and you haven’t got it.

  ‘One false move and a driver could foul the attempt and ruin a Land-Rover.’

  ‘And kill his passengers into the bargain,’ she replied, and saw from his face that he did not like the remark.

  ‘The last thing I want to do is to kill my passenger or passengers.

  Talk sense!’

  ‘I am talking sense. Drinking and driving do not go together. I’m only trying to be practical, Glen.’ She tried to smile in an attempt to get through to him.

  Outside, the wind rumbled and howled around the chalet. Michelle glanced at the barman. ‘No visitors today?’ she asked.

  ‘No, not today.’ She could see he remembered her. ‘No blanket for you today?’

  Shaking back her damp hair, she laughed. ‘No, not today, thank you, although I might have to buy one yet.’ She shivered. ‘The weather
is changing all the time.’

  ‘You can’t stop it,’ he laughed throatily. ‘You’ll feel better after nice hot dinner. You didn’t eat chicken a la Lesotho yet?’

  ‘No.’ She was immediately interested, while Glen looked on, amused.

  ‘Tell me.’ Out of the corner of her eye she saw Glen get up and go behind the counter where he helped himself to another drink. He put the money down on the counter with a defiant little slap.

  ‘We cook in traditional iron pot - that give a good flavour. That is right, flavour?’ the barman asked.

  ‘Yes, that’s quite right.’

  ‘With this you drink our beer - but with special taste, to suit the Western palate.’

  ‘I’d like to try that,’ said Michelle. There was a whisper of fear in her voice, for she was not giving her full attention to the man behind the counter. Instead, she was thinking about Glen. Glen, she realized, was drunk - not mildly drunk, but quite frighteningly so. Why do girls get themselves into these impossible situations? she asked herself bitterly. Don’t we ever stop to think? Her eyes strayed to the window. The sky threatened rain from heavy clouds full of menace.

  Glen had arranged a cold lunch. He would. Michelle’s thoughts were full of resentment. Inside the hamper there had been cold cuts and salads and chilled wine which he said he couldn’t buy up at the chalet.

  They ate in the dining-room and there was a constant murmuring of voices coming from the direction of the kitchen, which comforted Michelle somewhat.

  ‘I think we should leave as soon as we’ve eaten our lunch,’ she kept her voice pleasant, ‘don’t you?’

  ‘Look,’ Glen’s usually soft voice was even softer, ‘there’s going to be a storm. You said so yourself, and there’s nothing you can do about it. There’s nothing I can do about it. So? What’s the answer? We’ve got to wait for it to pass. That’s the most reasonable thing to do.’

  ‘But it could go on for days,’ she answered, with impatience now. Up here the conditions could remain terrible for days. Even I’m beginning to know the Drakensberg by this time.’

  ‘That’ll be the day,’ Glen laughed mockingly. ‘But look, like I said, Michelle, forget it.’

  There was a crack-of-a-whip flash of lightning only a split second before an explosion of thunder and then, apart from the howling of the wind, complete, terrifying silence. Michelle found herself waiting for another flash, her nerves tensed beyond words. Outside, the wind tore at mountain crags and slammed itself against the precipices.

  Glen was helping himself to biscuits and cheese. His movements were slow and precise. He shuffled fragments of food about in his mouth with his tongue and, looking at him, Michelle felt contempt towards him.

  ‘Glen,’ she said, ‘hurry, please! Why are you doing this to me?’

  ‘After I’ve had some coffee.’

  ‘Here, let me pour it for you.’ She went in the direction of the table against the wall at the far end of the room, where the maid had placed the coffee things. After she had poured the coffee, which was very strong, she brought a cup back to him. ‘Drink it before it gets cold, then we can leave.’

  Looking at her, Glen said, ‘I don’t like being cheated, Michelle, and you’re trying to cheat me.’

  ‘Nonsense. You don’t come into it. I’m merely trying to cheat the storm.’

  ‘Have some coffee,’ he said.

  ‘I have some. Look.’ She went to her cup and saucer.

  ‘When am I going to see you again?’ he asked.

  ‘You are seeing me. Let’s have our coffee.’

  When they had finished they went out to the Land-Rover and the wind forced Michelle to take two steps backwards. The clouds were low and the air moist, but it had not started to rain and there had been no more lightning.

  Glen started the engine and hooted at the dogs to move out of the way. Michelle noticed the way in which the wind was parting the thick hair on their backs - and yet the animals seemed unperturbed by the cold.

  It seemed absolutely incredible, but far, far down in the distance there was sunshine.

  ‘Well,’ Glen was saying, over the noise, ‘we’re on our way. It won’t be long now.’ However, Michelle knew almost at once that her trials were only just beginning. Glen’s movements were fumbling. He took the first hairpin bend too fast. Soon after leaving the border and after having driven along a flat strip, the track seemed to come to a halt and a kind of wall, from piled up boulders, had been built across it.

  Beyond the wall, there was a drop which went on and on into the valleys below. Michelle’s frantic eyes questioned Glen’s fingers which clutched the wheel. This, then, must surely be the end - and then, incredibly, there was the track again and they had made it round the bend. For a brief moment she turned to look at the silent peaks behind them, jutting through the low clouds. The peaks were cold, bleak and lifeless. The Land-Rover was groaning against compression as it began the descent. Glen swore softly and his hand moved towards the brake. He brought the vehicle to a skidding, shuddering halt, then inched it forward again, ‘So? What’s the next step?’ he asked. ‘I’m stoned.’

  Michelle’s nerves began screaming as he took another bend, dangerously near another wall of boulders which was really not a wall at all. There was no cement to tie the boulders together - nothing to stop them scattering. They were merely piled here, as a guide - as a grim reminder to what lay behind. A Land-Rover could go right through them and over and over again - down, down.

  ‘Why did you do this?’ she shouted. ‘Why, Glen? Answer me!’

  ‘You want the truth? The real truth? Well, the reason is simple - I’m worried.’ He turned to look at her.

  ‘Keep your eyes on the track!’ she told him, practically screaming.

  Then she plunged her teeth into her lips as the Land-Rover tilted forward. Surely if the back came up much higher the Land-Rover would do a somersault? The wheels did not appear to be turning but skidding, locked in the grip of the brakes.

  ‘I’ve spent a lot of money,’ Glen tried to make himself heard over the engine and rattle noises. ‘Most of it wasn’t mine. I borrowed it. And you know what? I’m not going to be able to pay it back. But don’t let me bore you with the facts.’

  ‘Forget about that now,’ Michelle told him. ‘Concentrate on driving, Glen. Nothing else matters at the moment. The rest can wait. I’m sure you’ll be able to sort it out.’

  ‘That’s what you think. Being wonderfully honest is all very well, but being wonderfully honest doesn’t get you anywhere, so you’ve got to work round it somehow. Make it seem honest.’

  ‘Concentrate on your driving, Glen, please!’

  ‘And,’ he went on, lifting his voice, ‘being dishonest, even a little dishonest, makes enemies, let’s face it - and right now I have a whole lot of enemies waiting for me down there.’

  The drop to one side of the passenger seat made Michelle gasp with fright. ‘Oh, look out!’ she yelled.

  ‘This is a hell of a way to handle a Land-Rover,’ he turned to grin at her,. ‘Can you drive?’

  Michelle stared at him in disbelief and said nothing.

  ‘Can you?’ he repeated. ‘You’ve got a car.’

  ‘That’s different.’

  ‘Is there a difference?’

  ‘Of course.’ She could hardly control the shaking in her legs. Should she ask him to stop and let her out? She could walk. They could both walk.

  ‘Glen,’ she begged, ‘stop the Land-Rover and let’s walk down. Leave the Land-Rover here. Ease it over so that another vehicle might pass, if need be.’

  ‘Uh-huh.’ Glen shook his head. ‘I’m not walking. Walk?’ He turned to her and laughed outright. ‘What do you take me for?’

  ‘I’d like to walk.’ She had her hand on the door handle.

  ‘You’ll do no such thing. I’m sure to let you walk. My favourite chick.’ Suddenly the Land-Rover was slipping forward again. It gained speed and Michelle heard herself cry out.

  In
a flash she saw the drop on her side and knew they were going over, and then, without realizing that she was doing it, she put out her hand and wrenched the wheel so that the Land-Rover swerved over and hit the side of the mountain on Glen’s side with a dull thud before the engine coughed and died with a great shudder.

  She found she couldn’t stop shaking - then she was gasping - crying, really, without tears. The tears were blocked behind a great barrage of shock.

  Glen seemed stunned. He sat there saying nothing and, when she was calm enough, Michelle said, ‘Put the handbrake on, dammit!’

  Suddenly he was sober. ‘It’s in gear, and anyway, jammed against the mountain.’ However, he reached for the brake. ‘I’m sorry.’

  In a small, exhausted voice she said, ‘Yes. I’m sorry too.’

  It had started to rain now and soon the sullen Sani Pass would be a slithery mess. Michelle felt the sudden chill of isolation.

  ‘So? What’s the answer?’ Glen asked, and when she made no response, he said, ‘As soon as I’ve got myself in hand I’ll see what I can do, Michelle.’

  They sat in silence, then he said, ‘I know this sounds ironical, but do you want a drink? To steady your nerves?’

  She shook her head. ‘No.’

  He did not suggest one for himself. ‘I’ll have to open the door on your side,’ he told her. ‘I can’t get out here. I want to see how we can get moving again.’

  Not wanting to be left alone in the Land-Rover in case, by some trick of fate, it became dislodged from its resting place and started to move forward, Michelle got out first. Then she stood in the wind and the rain, watching helplessly, as Glen walked around the back of the Land-Rover.

  Above the sound of the wind, she heard it - the drone of another vehicle as it laboured up towards them, still out of sight, but close.

  Glen had heard it too and came to stand beside her - and then they saw it: a Land-Rover. It stopped and the door opened and, unmistakably, Lyle Cunningham walked towards them, covering the ground in great strides.

  His glance took in the Land-Rover jammed against the side of the mountain, its wheels turned sharply at an angle. The turning of those wheels had saved Glen Hayes’ Land-Rover from going over the side of the Pass.