Kobie dropped his brush into a glass jar of thinners and closed the tin of resin, hammering the lid with the heel of his hand. He leant down to inspect the patch on the float.
Hannah tried to rein in the excitement which seemed to flick through her like a live charge. ‘What did you see?’
Kobie sat back up and looked at his gnarled hands, picking off bits of resin. ‘When the oubaas ran big herds of sheep on the farm, I would walk or ride out to check them. I was often on the plateau at sunset. Especially when the dark comes early and the cold drops like a stone onto the veld. I’ve seen strange things. Not every time I was out, but some.’ The silence stretched unbearably before he softly continued. ‘Once, I smelt strong smoke, like I was in the smoke, but there was no fire. Once, up on the plateau, the wind carried a thick smell of sewage, so bad I had to cover my nose. There are no people up there, Miesies, no drains, nothing.’
Hannah’s thoughts scrambled. ‘Could it have been manure on the fields that you smelt?’
‘Manure is sweet – even pig manure – but human shit is different. It made me want to vomit. Do you understand?’
Hannah nodded, sorry she had interrupted.
‘A few times, I have heard far-off keening. You know what keening is? It’s not weeping. It’s a sound that comes out of someone’s stomach – a sound they can’t control, might not even know they are making. It tears out of them when they are too stunned by grief to talk. It is a deep, old sound that makes your hair stand up.’
Hannah felt the flesh on her arms and scalp rise. Kobie looked at Hannah, his own eyes wide now. ‘A few times across my life, I have seen women on the plateau. One was small and her dress came to here.’ He gestured to mid-calf. ‘She wore a kappie, you know this kappie? Like in the old days. The bonnet with the deep rim? I couldn’t see her face. She was carrying buckets, two heavy buckets. She walked and then disappeared, even though I was frozen in the same place.’
Hannah ventured carefully, ‘And you saw her more than once?’
‘Yes, a few times. Always in the same place, she walks a short way with her buckets and disappears. Like a movie reel at the bioscope, over and over. And there was the other woman who frightened me when I was young. She just walked. Tall and thin. She wore a long dress to her ankles and a kappie. My mother used to tell us she was looking for her children. I don’t know why my ma said that.’
The stories intrigued and thrilled Hannah. Yet her rational brain struggled to make sense of them. There was no doubt in her mind that Kobie was telling the truth, that he believed what he had seen. But did she? She had never considered ghost stories to have any root in reality, but then she had never heard one first-hand and witnessed the conviction on the teller’s face.
‘Kobie, have other people seen these things?’
‘My mother and my sister, Lena. We have lived our lives on the farm and we know every corner. I tell Miss Sarah when we were children. But white people, they don’t like things they can’t explain. And if they can’t explain something, sometimes they don’t even see it.’
Hannah saw the truth in his statement and thought of her parents, who debated and argued things into or out of existence, proud of their open-mindedness. How ironic that they were completely closed to the idea of the supernatural. Staunch in their academic atheism. She wondered where she stood now. She felt Leliehoek changing her. As if a different, brighter person were emerging from a dull, old husk.
‘Miesies, I don’t know what happened, but I do know that place on the plateau is restless – that something hangs in the air.’
Walking down from the sheds towards the farmhouse, Hannah took a deep breath, pulling her shoulders back and lifting her chin – as if drawing herself up to her full height would give her the necessary courage to face Alistair Barlow. She felt a clench of nerves as she knocked on the front door.
The sound of dogs on wooden floorboards rushed at the door, and she braced herself for the onslaught as the door opened. But the three big dogs just pushed themselves around her legs, sniffing her feet, their tails wagging furiously. She tried to stop a tail from lifting her skirt as she looked up into Alistair’s face. The white scar pulling his cheek crooked unnerved her. The picture of him in her mind had been dominated by his anger and now, seeing his face composed and deliberately neutral, the twisted mouth looked wrong. She felt the unfairness of his disfigurement, and pity welled up in her. Alistair stepped out onto the paving stones rather than inviting her in. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he waited while she looked at him. It was as though his pride had him stubbornly meeting her eyes and daring her to look away first. But she didn’t look away, instead saying, ‘I’d like you to take me up to the plateau. Kobie’s been telling me about the farm, and I want to see the plateau. Will you take me?’ She gritted her teeth and forced out, ‘Please.’
‘Okay,’ said Alistair.
‘Oh,’ she said, caught on the back foot now as she scrambled for words. ‘I thought you would say no. I thought you hated the sight of me.’
Hannah glimpsed the hint of a grin at the corner of his mouth. The bastard’s enjoying this, she thought, clenching her fists at her sides.
Alistair turned and reached for his keys just inside the door. ‘I changed my mind.’ He brushed past her as he headed for his pickup and she had to trot behind him to keep up, wondering as she went whether he had changed his mind about saying no or about hating her.
Instead of going back down the drive towards the farm road, Alistair drove past the sheds. He continued on to a track that wound up around the hill behind the house. They drove in silence. Hannah opened her window. In the wing mirror, she could see the dogs’ heads pushed through the railings of the pickup, their tongues lolling and nostrils flaring as they tracked the farm smells. ‘What are your dogs’ names?’ she said, keeping her eyes on the mirror.
She felt him glance her way before he said, ‘The ridgeback is Grant, and the Labs are Lee and Jackson.’
‘I wouldn’t have taken you for a Confederate supporter.’
‘No, not at all,’ he said, his mouth twisting into a small smile. ‘Just a military history fan. They were outstanding generals.’
As they climbed higher, the grassland opened up into swathes of red-brown grass. A small herd of blesbok grazed down the slope. They turned their broad, white faces to the vehicle, the largest snorting and moving back a few paces. As he saw the Toyota moving away from them, the big male relaxed and dipped his head once more to the grass.
They reached the fence and slowed to a stop. Hannah was already scrambling out to open the gate and enjoyed the surprise on Alistair’s face. Yes, Harry, you think you know what kind of girl I am. You don’t. But she had to use all her strength and stand on tiptoes to pull the wire loop over the top of the pole. She could feel her skirt riding up the back of her thighs and hoped he was looking the other way. Once she’d pulled the wire gate across and dropped it in the grass, she stood with her hands on her hips, her hair escaping from the plait into wisps around her face as she waited for him to drive through.
He leant across and spoke through the passenger window, ‘Leave it, we can close it on the way back.’
She caught him glancing at her exposed leg as she swung into the cab and she pulled her skirt as far down her knees as she could. The truck jerked as he fumbled the gears and he swore, his hand smacking the gear stick into place. Had he always been this angry, she wondered, or was his bitterness connected to his scarred face? It was not something she could ask without risking her life.
‘Do you feel lucky, Punk?’
‘Excuse me?’ said Alistair, glancing across at her.
Hannah blinked, realising she had spoken aloud. ‘Nothing.’ She slid down a bit in the seat, fixing her gaze on the view from the window.
They crested the top of the hill. A plateau stretched before them. A wind pump stood next to a concrete reservoir, its blades turning gently in the mild breeze which stirred the grass into a whisper. The sun was
high and the sky, a rich cobalt blue. The dogs had leapt off the back of the Toyota and now ranged around the vehicle, not venturing far.
‘There’s really not much to see.’ Alistair was leaning on the bonnet of the Toyota, watching Hannah. She walked the few paces over to the reservoir and peered over the top into the pool of water. Trailing her hand in the water, she disturbed the surface into ripples that fanned across the pool. The water was cool – deep and inviting. She tilted her head upwards to a line of old gum trees that stretched away across the plateau. The ground beneath them was bare and knobbled with roots, their trunks striped in pale ribbons of grey and pink and orange.
Alistair’s voice reached her from the pickup. ‘I always wonder who planted such a straight line. It’s a windbreak, but why here and not at the house?’
Hannah turned to face him. ‘It was the kids.’
He straightened, the shock on his face stark. ‘What?’
‘The camp children planted these trees. I read about it.’
His eyes darkened. ‘Where are you reading this stuff? Where are you getting these crazy ideas?’
Hannah turned her head to look at him, her face serious. ‘I found a journal in the shop, written by a Boer woman. A girl actually. She writes that she was interned at a camp called Goshen. The writing is so vivid, Alistair. The problem is I can’t find any official record of the camp. No mention of it in any book or online document I have managed to lay my hands on. It’s so frustrating! And then Kobie tells me these creepy stories about seeing women up here and smelling raw sewage and hearing keening on the wind. I just want to unravel the threads and find some truth at the bottom of it all.’
Alistair’s mind rushed and tumbled. How could this be true when he had lived here all his life and never heard any mention of it? He had long been interested in the war history of the area and was well read. He knew the set piece battles by heart, had visited the sites many times. He had picked up shell casings and bits of saddlery in the veld, keeping his small collection in a drawer in his study. What if this mad story were true? What if his own farm were part of the history he loved so much? The spark of excitement was snuffed by the thought of the people who would come to the farm, the attention that would turn again to him. And they would come – there was no doubt. Hannah was already here, and that was bad enough. He glanced across at her, her gaze fixed on the stand of trees. It would mean spending more time with her, having her walking in his fields, riding in his pickup, and coming into his house. His heart contracted and fear won over.
He didn’t like the words as they came out his mouth: ‘It’s a waste of time.’
Hannah’s face fell and she turned searching green eyes on him, the disappointment clear. ‘You don’t believe me.’
Alistair kicked the heel of one boot rhythmically against the tyre behind him. Looking down at his feet, he remained quiet.
‘What about Kobie’s stories then?’ Hannah persisted, turning her body to face him. ‘Do you think he’s lying too?’
‘I don’t think either of you are lying. I just think you’ve got hold of stories. Fiction. Folktales. You said yourself there are no facts to back them up.’ He looked up at her and he felt like the liar. Once, he would have been open to any adventure, been up to exploring any possibility. Now it was too threatening. She was too threatening.
Hannah said nothing on the return journey, and Alistair felt guilt curdle in his stomach, preferring the sparky, angry girl to this composed, quiet one. When they rolled to a stop in the farmyard, she opened the door and, with a tight smile that didn’t light her eyes, she said, ‘Thank you for taking me up there, Alistair. I’m sorry I wasted your time.’ Before he could respond, she had disappeared around the side of the house to where her car was parked.
Alistair slammed his door hard. Bloody woman. He hardly knew her; why should he be feeling guilty? The image returned to him of Hannah standing at the gate, hands on her hips, escaped hair soft around her face and slim legs bare, with ridiculous flip-flops. Who wears flip-flops in the Free State? What disturbed him most, though, was that, far from looking out of place, Hannah had looked alarmingly at home. What he actually wanted was to see her here again. For the first time in eight long, dark years, Alistair recognised this feeling. He was attracted to her. He pushed the thought away, telling himself he wasn’t ready – maybe would never be ready for another relationship again. He opened the tailgate for the dogs to jump down and Grant, instead of leaping off, put his big head on Alistair’s shoulder. Just rested it there. Alistair stroked both hands down Grant’s head and ears, taking comfort from the dog’s huge heart.
Later that afternoon, Hannah strolled over to Coffee and Cake, hoping she would catch Kathryn before she too closed up her shop. She told herself she needed something sweet to cover the emotion of the day. Something pretty and girlie and delicious to restore her balance. Poking her head through the door, she saw Kathryn putting the chairs up onto the tables and getting ready to sweep. ‘Oh, sorry, I was hoping you’d still be open.’
Kathryn looked up, a big smile lighting up her face when she saw Hannah. ‘I’m officially closed, but I’m dying for a cup of tea myself. Want one?’
‘Desperately,’ Hannah said and smiled at Kathryn’s laugh.
‘Sounds like my day too,’ Kathryn said.
Hannah perched on a tall barstool at the counter while Kathryn made quick work of the sweeping.
‘Choose something out of the cabinet, anything you like,’ said Kathryn, ducking her head to retrieve a napkin from under a table. ‘There are plates on the shelf.’
Behind the counter, Hannah found two mugs and two side plates. Not sure how the hot water tap on the coffee monster worked, she went as far as popping teabags into the mugs. The selection in the display cabinet was overwhelming. Rows of intricately iced cupcakes, slabs of chocolate brownies, and glazed pastries vied for her attention. She eventually settled on a lemon meringue pie, artfully constructed in a small glass jar so that the meringue puffed out the top and the yellow lemon curd made a sunny stripe across the middle of the jar. She dipped a teaspoon into the jar and closed her eyes in delight.
‘My goodness, that is just delicious,’ she said, watching Kathryn finish up, and licking the back of her spoon.
Kathryn smiled at her as she pulled a lever on the coffee machine and filled their mugs. ‘Those little jars are sweet, hey. I’m always on the lookout for new ideas – Pinterest and I are like this,’ she said, crossing her fingers. She handed Hannah a mug of strong tea and sipped her own.
‘You’re not having anything to eat?’ said Hannah, indicating the second plate.
‘It’s the only downside to my business,’ said Kathryn with a rueful smile. ‘I spend so much time making these things, and then all day smelling them, I just can’t bring myself to eat any of them. Offer me a samosa or some hot chips, though, and I might bite your whole hand off.’
Hannah chuckled, scraping the last of the buttery crumb crust from the bottom of the jar. Heaven. Kathryn watched Hannah over the rim of her cup, as if waiting for her to reveal why she was really there.
‘Sarah Barlow invited me out to the farm for tea, and then I had an altercation with her son.’ Hannah felt her mood sink again at the thought of Alistair’s brittle words which had quashed her hopes of pursuing Rachel’s story.
‘The elusive Alistair …’ Kathryn said. ‘I’m astonished you managed to even have a conversation with him, let alone an argument.’ At Hannah’s raised brows, she continued, ‘Let’s just say he keeps to himself. He’s always polite, but he keeps walking with a quick hello, never stops to go beyond that. What were you arguing about?’
Hannah deliberated for a second, and then decided to tell Kathryn about Rachel’s journal and the references to Goshen. Kathryn listened with her head cocked to the side, dark eyes intent, like a little bird. Hannah found herself relaxing as she spilled her encounters with the Barlows and Kobie into the space between them.
Kathryn wai
ted until she finished and then asked gently, ‘What is it you want from all this, Hannah?’
Hannah looked down at her mug to avoid the searching gaze. ‘I’m not entirely sure. I came to Leliehoek on a whim. And I love it. Being here, I mean. And the shop. Then I find this journal, and for the first time in a very long time I’m excited about something. This girl has grabbed hold of me in a way I don’t fully understand. She’s living through the worst possible experiences, and yet she’s resilient. And there’s something about her – a pathos, a loneliness I find myself relating to. It sounds feeble when I say it out loud.’
‘No, not feeble. The word vulnerable comes to mind, and I would guess you haven’t been that in a long time.’ Hannah looked up in surprise and met Kathryn’s intelligent brown eyes. ‘It happens when you put yourself out on the line, and it sounds to me like you are venturing into unfamiliar territory – on many fronts.’
‘What do you mean?’ said Hannah, sitting back in her chair and folding her arms across her body.
‘You are completely alone here. You’ve left all the expectations of your past behind, and now you’re pushing into places that are wholly your own pursuit. It seems to me like you are opening yourself up. Maybe Alistair is one of those new fronts?’ Kathryn smiled at Hannah’s bewildered face. ‘It’s a good thing, Hannah.’
Hannah stared at Kathryn, wondering how she could possibly have so much insight into her life. They had really only just met, and yet Kathryn spoke with an understanding which Hannah’s parents – or Todd, for that matter – had never had. She wasn’t sure how comfortable she was with it.
An Unquiet Place Page 8