by Wilbur Smith
"that's where he is!" Johnny set off down the drive. the latrine was a rock chamber cut into the side of the drive. a flap of canvas served as a door; beyond was a regular four-holer over sanitary buckets.
Johnny pulled the canvas aside and stepped into the cubicle. the boss boy and his assistant were there. Johnny stared in surprise, for a moment not understanding what they were doing. they were so absorbed they were unaware of Johnny's presence.
suddenly realization dawned, and Johnny's face tightened with revulsion and disgust.
"you filthy-" Johnny snarled, and catching the boss boy by the shoulders pulled him backwards and pinned him against the wall. he lifted his heavily metalled fist and drew it back ready to hurl it into the boss boy's face.
"strike me and you know what happens," said the boss boy softly, his expression. flat and neutral, looking steadily into Johnny's eyes.
Johnny hesitated. he knew the company rules, he knew the government labour officers" attitude, he knew what the police would do. if he hit him, they would crucify him.
"you are a pig!" Johnny hissed at him.
"you have a wife," said the boss boy. "my wife is in swaziland.
two years i have not seen her." Johnny lowered his fist. twelve thousand men, and no women. it was a fact. the actuality sickened him, but he understood why it happened.
jim "get dressed." he stepped back, releasing the boss boy.
"get dressed both of you. come to the station. i will meet you there." for a week now, since the fall of hanging in 43 section, big king had been out of the stopes.
rod had ordered it that way. the excuse was that big king's white miner had been killed in the fall and now he must await an allocation to another section. in reality rod wanted to rest him. he had seen the strain both physical and emotional that big king had undergone during the rescue. when together they had unearthed the miner's corpse, the man with whom big king had worked and laughed, rod had seen the tears roll unashamedly down big king's cheeks as he picked up the body and held it easily against his chest.
"hamba gable, madoda," big king had muttered. "go in peace, man.
big king was a legend on the sander ditch. they boasted about him; how much bantu beer he could drink in a sitting, how much rock he could lash single-handed in a shift, how he could dance any other man off his feet. he had been awarded a total of over a thousand rand in bravery awards. big king set the pace, others tried to equal him.
rod had put him in charge of a transport team. for the first few days big king had enjoyed the opportunity of showing off his strength and socializing, for the transport team moved about the workings allowing big king to visit most of his numerous friends durin a shift.
but now big king was becoming bored. he wanted to get back into the stopes.
"this," he told his transport team contemptuously, "is work for old men and young women." and with one snatch and lift he picked up a forty-four-gallon drum of dieseline and unaided placed it on the platform of the loco.
a forty-four-gallon drum of dieseline weighs a little over 800 lbs. avoirdupois.
all "this fuss for that. davy delange paused in his labour of tamping the dynagel into the shot holes. he -leaned forward to inspect the reef. in the face of the stope it was a black line, drawn against the blue quartz rock.
the carbon leader reef, it was called. a thin layer of carbon never more than a few inches thick, more often half an inch. black soot, that's what it was. davy shook his head thoughtfully. you could not even see the gold in it.
davy was two years, older than his brother Johnny, and there was no physical or mental resemblance between the two of them. davy's sandy hair was cropped into a conventional "short back and sides'. he wore no personal jewellery, and his manner was quiet and reserved.
Johnny was tall and lean, davy squat and muscular.
Johnny was extravagant, davy careful beyond the point of meanness.
their only common trait was that they were both first-class miners.
if Johnny broke more rock than davy, it was only because davy was more careful than Johnny; he did not take the same chances, he observed all the safety procedures which Johnny frequently flouted.
davy earned less money than Johnny, but saved every penny he could. it was for his farm. davy was going to buy a farm one day.
already he had saved a little over r49,000 towards it. in five more years he would have enough. then he could get himself a farm and a wife to help run it.
Johnny, on the other hand, spent every penny he earned.
he was usually in debt to davy by the end of each month.
"lend us a hundred till pay day, davy." disapprovingly, davy lent him the money. davy disapproved of Johnny, his appearance, attire and habits.
abandoning his microscopic inspection of the carbon leader reef,
davy resumed tamping in the explosive, working carefully and precisely on this highly dangerous procedure. the sticks of explosive were charged with detonators and ready to burn. by law, nobody but the miner-in-charge could perform this operation, but davy did it automatically while he thought about Johnny's latest trespass. he had raised davy's rent.
"a hundred rand a month!" davy protested aloud. "i've got a good mind to move out and find my own digs." but he knew he would do no such thing. hettie's cooking was too good, and her presence too feminine and alluring.
davy would stay on with them.
rod." dan stander's voice was serious and low. "i've got a nasty one for you."
"thanks for nothing." rod made his own voice weary and resigned as he spoke into the telephone. "i'm just going on my underground tour.
can't it wait?"
"no," dan assured him. "anyway, it's on your way. i'm speaking from the first-aid station at the shaft head. come across.
"what is it?"
"assault. white on bantu."
"christ." rod jerked upright in his chair. "bad?"
"ugly. worked him over with the handle of a fourteen pound hammer.
i've put in forty-seven stitches, but i am worried about a fracture of the skull."
"who did it?"
"miner by the name of kowalski."
"him!" rod was breathing heavily. "all right, dan.
can he make a statement?"
"no. not for a day or two."
"i'll be there in a few minutes." rod hung up the phone and crossed the office.
"dimitri."
"boss?"
"pull kowalski out of the stopes. i want him in my office soonest. put someone in to finish his shift."
"okay, rod, what's the trouble?"
"he beat up one of his boys." dimitri whistled softly, and rod went on.
"call personnel, get them onto the police."
"okay, rod."
"have kowalski here when i get back from my tour." dan was waiting for him in the first-aid room.
"take a look." he indicated the figure on the stretcher.
rod knelt beside him, his mouth tightening into a thin pale line.
the catgut stitches lay neatly across the dark swollen gashes in the man's flesh. one ear had been torn off, and dan had sewn it back on.
there was a black gap where teeth had been behind the swollen purple lips.
"you will be all right now." rod spoke gently, and the bantu's eyes swivelled towards him. "the man who did this will be punished."
rod stood up. "let -me have a written report on his injuries, dan."
"i'll fix it. see you for a drink at the club after work?"
"sure," said rod, but underneath he was seething with anger, and it stayed with him during the whole of his underground tour.
rod dropped straight down to 100 level. his first duty was to get the stuff out, and he wanted to check the reserve in the ore storage bins.
he came into the long brightly-lit tunnel beneath the ore passes, and paused. the loaded conveyor belt whined monotonously, speeding the broken reef towards the bins.
the tunnel was deserted,
except for the lonely figure of the sweeper at the far end. it was one of the phenomena of a well-run gold mine that in a tour through the workings you encountered so few human beings.
mile after mile of haulage and drive were silent and devoid of life, and yet there were 12,000 men down here.
rod set off towards the bins at the shaft end of the tunnel.
"joseph," he greeted the old sweeper with a smile.
"nkosi. "joseph ducked and bobbed with shy pleasure.
"all is well?" rod asked. joseph was one of rod's favourites, he was always so cheerful, so uncomplaining, so patently honest and without guile. rod always made a point of stopping to chat to him.
"it is well with me, nkosi. is it well with you?" rod's smile died suddenly, he had noticed the fine white powdering of dust on joseph's upper lip.
"you old rogue!" he scolded him. "how often must i tell you to hose down before you sweep? water! you must use water!" this was part of the ceaseless battle of the miner to keep down the dust.
"the dust will eat your lungs!" phthisis, the dread incurable occupational disease of the miner, caused by silica particles being drawn into the lungs and there solidifying.
joseph grinned shamefaced, shifting from one foot to the other.
he was always embarrassed by rod's childish obsession with dust. in joseph's opinion this was one of the few flaws in rod ironsides" character. apart from this weird delusion that dust could hurt a man, he was a good boss.
"it is much harder to sweep wet dirt than dry dirt," joseph explained patiently. rod never seemed to understand this self-evident fact, joseph had to point it out to him every time they had this particular discussion.
"listen to me, old man, without water the dust will enter your body."
rod was exasperated. "the dust will kill you!" joseph bobbed again, grinning at rod to placate him.
"very well, i will use plenty water." to prove it he picked up the hose and began spraying the floor with enthusiasm.
"that is good!" rod encouraged him. "use plenty of water. "and rod went on down to the storage bins.
when rod was out of sight, joseph turned off the hose and leaned on his broom.
"the dust will kill you!" he mimicked rod, and chuckled merrily, shaking his head in wonder at the childishness of it.
"the dust will kill you!" he repeated, and burst into delighted laughter, slapping his thigh.
he did a few shuffling dance steps, it was so funny.
the dance steps were awkward, for under his trousers, strapped to the calves of both legs, were heavy polythene bags filled with gold linea-from under the bins.
rod stepped out of the mary anne at 85 level, and paused to watch big king loading a baulk of timber onto the loco while his transport team stood back respectfully and watched him. turning from his task big king saw rod standing on the station landing and marched up to him.
"i see you," he greeted rod. big king was not one to make hasty judgements, it was only after the rescue operations in 43 section that he had decided rod was a man.
he was now ready to accept him as an equal.
"i see you also, king nkulu." rod returned the greeting.
"find me work with men. i sicken of this."
"you will be back in the stopes before the week is ended," rod promised.
"you are my father," big king thanked him and went back to the transport team.
Johnny delange saw the underground manager coming up the haulage towards him. there was no mistaking that tall wide-shouldered silhouette, nor the man's free swinging stride.
"whee!" Johnny whistled with relief, grateful for the premonition that had warned him to pack the fifty-pound cardboard cartons of dynagel into the explosives locker of the railway truck, rather than, as he usually did, pile them haphazard onto the platform in defiance of safety standards.
"stop!" Johnny commanded the boss boy and his assistant who were pushing the truck, and it trundled to a halt beside rod.
"morning, Johnny."
"hello, mr. ironsides."
"how's it going?" Johnny hesitated before replying, and immediately rod was aware of the tension between the three men. he glanced at the two swazis, they were sullen and apprehensive.
"there's been trouble," he thought. "not like Johnny, he's too clever to let tension cut down his fat homage "well-" Johnny paused again. "look, mr. ironsides, get rid of this bastard for me." he jerked his thumb at the boss boy. "give me someone else."
"what's the trouble?"
"no trouble, i just can't work with him. rod raised an eyebrow in disbelief, but turned to the boss boy.
"are you happy in this section, or do you want transfer?"
"i want transfer!" growled the boss boy.
"right." rod was relieved, sometimes in a case like this the swazi would refuse transfer. "tomorrow you will be told your new section."
"nkosi!" the boss boy glanced sideways at his assistant.
"it is the wish of my friend that he transfers with me." so that's it, rod thought, the ever-present spectre which we must ignore because we can find no way to lay it. Johnny had probably caught them at it.
"your friend shall go with you," rod nodded, telling himself that this was not condonation, but merely practical politics. if he separated them, the boss boy would pick on someone else who might not be receptive. then there would be more trouble, stabbings, faction fighting.
"i'll get you a replacement, he told Johnny, and then suddenly a thought occurred to him. my god, yes! what a team they would make!
"Johnny, how would you like big king?"
"big king!" Johnny's gaunt bony features split into a wide smile. "now you're talking, boss!" at three o'clock rod had finished his tour and was in the cage on the way to the surface. the cage was crowded, men pressed shoulder to shoulder, the stench of sweat almost overpowering.
they were hauling shift now, the day's work was over, the stopes were scraped and washed down, the shot holes drilled and charged, the fuses connected into the electrical circuit.
the men were out of the stopes now, falling back in orderly companies and battalions along the wall to the stations. there to wait patiently for their turn to enter the cages and be whisked to the surface.
rod was mulling over the myriad problems he had encountered during the day, and the solutions he had dreamed up. he had opened a new section in the back pages of his notebook and headed it simply "costs'.
already there were two entries there. let them give me the job, he thought fervently, just let me have it one month and i'll move the world.
"mr. ironsides." the man beside him spoke. rod glanced down at him recognizing him.
"hello, davy." it was remarkable how dissimilar the two brothers were.
"mr. ironsides, my boss boy has worked his ticket. he's going home at the end of the month. can you see that i get a good man to replace him?"