Storms Over Africa

by Beverley Harper

  He drove back to the camp site by the river and set up his tent. He intended to get some sleep there before making the long drive back to Pentland Park and the problems he knew would be waiting for him.

  SEVENTEEN

  The morning after the men left camp, Steve woke with a blinding hangover and wishing she were anywhere but where she was. Penny was lying in the other camp bed, exhausted and deeply asleep. Steve climbed quietly from her bed, dressed quickly and went outside into the cool morning. Dew glistened on the leaves of the trees and clung to the grass. The sun, crouching low on the horizon, was at just the right angle to turn the beads of moisture into sparkling diamonds. The light hurt her eyes. She knew she should take photographs but she simply could not be bothered.

  She saw David sitting alone by the cooking fire onto which he had thrown a couple of logs. The fire sent a thin column of smoke up through the trees. The river sparkled beyond and, behind the river, Africa welcomed in a new day in sepia tones. It was a beautiful scene but the whisky of last night churned in her stomach and thumped behind her eyes and left her sour and unimpressed.

  David looked up and pointed to the fire. ‘Coffee’s on.’

  ‘Thanks.’ She poured herself a mug of coffee, threw three teaspoons of sugar into it and sat down at the table, stirring erratically so the coffee slopped over the side of her mug.

  ‘How’s Pen?’ David watched the spilled coffee run through a crack in the table.

  ‘Asleep,’ she replied abruptly. She took a sip at her coffee, then cursed when it burned her mouth.

  ‘Steve, I’m really very sorry about . . . well, you know,’ David stammered slightly.

  She was in no mood for this. She had had enough of David’s hurt, enough of Penny’s problems and enough of Richard’s pride. In fact, the whole damned Dunn family could go to hell as far as she was concerned. ‘Forget it,’ she snapped.

  ‘I can’t. I feel responsible for everything.’

  She looked at him. In the clear morning air he looked about fifteen. How the hell could I have believed him when he said he was nineteen?

  ‘I said forget it.’

  ‘You hate me now, don’t you?’

  Oh, Christ, this is all I need.

  ‘I don’t hate you, David, I don’t hate any of you. I just want to get away.’

  ‘It’s all my fault.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ she said, sharper than she intended. ‘Things happen. That’s life. The mop flops that way. That’s the way it is.’ She stood up. ‘I really don’t want to talk about it.’ She moved off towards the supplies tent.

  Philamon was in the tent packing up. ‘Any chance of something to eat?’ she asked churlishly.

  Philamon looked surprised at this woman who had always only spoken to him respectfully. ‘When the madam Penny is awake.’ He was resentful at her tone.

  ‘That’s easy, I’ll wake her up now. Let’s get breakfast over and leave, we’ve got a long drive.’

  She stomped off to the tent and shook Penny awake.

  Penny had had a rough night. Her dependency on cocaine left her swinging between long hours of wakefulness and others of fitful sleep. At one stage she had gone outside to where the whisky bottle had been, only to find it empty. Her body ached and trembled like she was suffering a bout of malaria. She had gone back to bed and lain awake, her hands on her stomach where Joseph’s child grew, thinking, ‘Die, you little bastard, die.’ She did not want this child growing inside her. Focusing her hatred on Joseph Tshuma and his child, she finally fell into an exhausted sleep which lasted until Steve woke her.

  ‘What time is it?’ Despite all that had happened, and with dark circles under her red and puffy eyes, she looked young and soft and vulnerable.

  Steve looked at her watch. ‘Six-thirty.’ She was surprised it was still so early.

  ‘Oh, God,’ Penny groaned and tried to roll over and go back to sleep.

  ‘Up!’ Steve commanded. ‘We have a long day ahead of us.’

  While Penny fumbled around in the tent and then went to where David sat and poured herself a cup of coffee, Steve took a shower in the ablutions tent. The water was still cold, not having had a chance to warm up, and she took perverse pleasure in its chilly cascade, prolonging the shower and washing her hair as well. By the time she emerged, dressed, with her wet hair hanging down her back, Philamon had breakfast well under way.

  David and Penny attempted several conversations during breakfast but Steve kept her eyes on her plate and remained silent. The fact that her coffee had grown quite cold during her shower did nothing to improve her mood. She was pissed off and she did not care who knew it.

  Packing up the camp took several hours. They were unable to fit all the gear into the Land Rover so, at David’s suggestion, they left it stacked in the camp. ‘Dad will bring it back. If not, it’ll probably be okay here until we can come back for it.’

  Philamon went to get into the driver’s seat but Steve curtly told him she would drive. That way, she reasoned, she could concentrate on the road and leave her inner thoughts to be dealt with when she was not hungover. Penny sat next to her. David, who had grown very quiet again, sat behind them with Philamon.

  The drive was a nightmare. Penny had bursts of almost hysterical conversation where she would babble about people Steve did not know and places she had never seen. Then she would lapse into long, hand-wringing silences which were almost as bad as the talking. Once or twice, Steve noticed tears sliding down her cheeks. She ignored the girl’s pain. ‘Silly bitch got what she was looking for,’ she thought nastily.

  They finally reached Pentland Park at six that evening, having stopped in Masvingo for lunch. Wellington, surprised to see them, apologised for not having food prepared. Winston sniffed them all but, when Richard did not appear from the Land Rover, went away with a mournful sigh and lay on the verandah. The puppy, Maxwell, greeted everyone like a long-lost friend and David made an elaborate display of playing with the animal which got him over excited and a nuisance to all. Philamon took his own belongings and walked back to his village disgruntled.

  Wellington prepared scrambled eggs. David, trying to get through Steve’s frosty manner said, ‘You’re welcome to stay here as long as you like,’ which was the wrong thing to say.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ll be gone as soon as I can. I’m sure you can’t wait to get rid of me.’ She slept in the guest room downstairs.

  She had never been able to prolong a mood. In fact, she hated people who indulged in them. So the next morning, feeling refreshed and somewhat ashamed of herself, she went looking for David. She found him tinkering with the engine of the old farm Land Rover. ‘Morning,’ she greeted him.

  David looked up from under the hood. His eyes were wary of her. ‘Good morning.’ He put his head back under the bonnet.

  She got straight to the point. ‘David, I would like to apologise for the way I behaved yesterday.’

  His head reappeared. He grinned at her, and she saw the half-boy, half-man and thought, ‘He’ll be a lovely husband for someone one day.’

  ‘No problem. I think we all asked for it.’

  She smiled, feeling the way of their truce. ‘I’d better look for Philamon, I think I put his nose out of joint.’

  ‘I’ll drive you down if you like.’

  ‘No, I need to walk, it’ll blow away the cobwebs.’

  ‘It’s nearly half a mile.’

  ‘Good.’

  Encouraged by her better mood, David found the daring to say what was on his mind. ‘I behaved like an idiot, I’m sorry.’ The events of the past thirty-six hours had cleared away his resentment. He was able to see his feelings for her as they really were. Not love, simply a crush on the woman who had introduced him to manhood. He was not sure he could deal with the idea of her marrying his father, doubtful he could treat her as if nothing had happened between them, but his hatred of her had dissipated.

  ‘I understand, David, I’m sorry too. It’s just unfortun
ate that . . .’ She let it hang between them.

  He grasped it eagerly. ‘What I want to tell you is, well, if you and Dad can still make a go of it I wouldn’t . . .’

  ‘Thanks,’ she cut in, not wanting to hear the rest of it, knowing it could never be resolved. ‘I’d better go and talk to Philamon.’

  She found Philamon sitting outside his hut, enjoying the attention of his two wives and the antics of his children. He rose and greeted her politely in English, his bland expression not revealing his thoughts.

  Steve knew it would not be enough to simply say sorry. She had to apologise to him in such a way that he would realise she really meant it and she cast around in her mind for the right words. It was the children playing around the hut which finally gave her the words she sought. ‘Yesterday I was like a naughty little child.’

  Philamon chuckled, understanding she wanted to apologise. ‘There is a little child inside everyone.’

  ‘But an adult should not let that little child out where it can hurt people.’ She looked at him, unblinking. Her honesty was plain to see and he respected that.

  ‘I am thinking, madam, that when this little child could see you had a lot of other thoughts in your head, it slipped out before you could stop it.’ In his innate politeness, he was giving her an excuse. This was not good enough for Steve.

  ‘There was more than a little child in my head, Philamon. There were enough whisky fumes to make an elephant drunk.’

  Philamon laughed delightedly. ‘The madam who drinks like a man makes a very bad little child,’ he agreed.

  ‘The little child has gone back inside.’

  ‘It is good, that is where the little child belongs.’

  ‘And the whisky fumes have blown away.’

  ‘It is good also.’

  ‘So this adult with no whisky fumes would like to say she’s very sorry.’

  Philamon inclined his head to accept the apology. But his sense of humour gave him the last word. ‘If this little child comes back, madam, then the master should give it a spanking.’

  Steve laughed. It was the best she had felt since Richard left the camp. ‘Philamon, if that nasty little child ever comes back you can all give it a spanking.’

  As she returned to the house she was thinking, ‘two down, one to go’. She made straight for Penny’s room. She found her crying and trembling.

  ‘Oh, Pen, don’t cry.’ She felt worse about Penny than she had about David and Philamon. She should have known what the girl was going through.

  ‘What am I going to do?’

  ‘Do you have a family doctor?’

  ‘I couldn’t go to him. He knew my mother. He’d be horrified.’

  ‘He’s probably the best person you can go to. At least he’s known you a long time. He cares about you.’

  ‘What do I tell him? The cocaine? The baby?’

  ‘Both.’

  ‘Oh, God, what a mess.’ Penny cried harder than ever.

  Shit! What do I do now?

  She remembered her mother’s tactics. If the body was clean, fed and looking attractive, the problems worrying the inner person would not appear to be as bad. Steve took Penny in hand. She forced her to take a shower and wash her hair. While Penny was doing that, she rummaged through her closets and produced a nice pair of white trousers, a smart blouse, some white sandals and some lacy underwear. With Penny dressed, she sat her down in front of her dressing table and told her to fix her face. Then she marched the girl into the dining room and sat with her while she ate breakfast.

  They took their coffees out onto the verandah. ‘How are you feeling now?’ she asked.

  ‘Not so bad.’ Penny sounded surprised.

  ‘You see! Nothing’s so bad you can’t make it better.’

  Penny smiled wanly. ‘Thank you,’ she said softly. ‘You’re a good person, Steve. I hope you and Dad . . .’

  ‘Whoa,’ Steve stopped her. ‘This is your day, my problems can wait. And by the way, I’m sorry I was such a bitch yesterday.’

  ‘Can’t say I blame you.’

  ‘Enough about me. We have to get you sorted out. First things first, what are you going to do about the baby?’

  Penny thought about that. ‘There’s a clinic in South Africa. I heard one of my friends talking about it. It’s not an abortion clinic, it takes patients for all kinds of things, but it will perform abortions if a doctor recommends it and it also specialises in people with drug-related problems. Maybe I could go there.’

  ‘Sounds good to me. How do you get in?’

  ‘I think you have to be referred.’

  ‘Penny, you’re going to have to face up to your doctor. I’ll come with you.’

  ‘Will you?’ Penny sounded slightly reassured.

  ‘Of course. I might even go down to South Africa with you.’

  ‘That would be wonderful. I seem to have lost all my resources. I don’t want to face this on my own, I’d like to have you with me.’ She hesitated a moment then added, ‘Do you think it’s wrong, killing this baby?’

  Yes I do. ‘There are two schools of thought, Pen. Some people believe it’s a woman’s right to do as she wishes with her own body. Others take the view of the child. Depends which way you think about it.’

  ‘How do you think about it?’

  For a moment Steve was undecided whether frankness or a softer approach would be the correct answer. Finally she decided to be honest. ‘I’m a modern woman, Pen. I believe I have the right to make certain choices for myself. I run into trouble over abortion, though. As much as I feel a woman should be allowed to make a decision that suits her, I can’t help thinking about the right of the child. Frankly, I’d hate to be in your position.’

  Penny set her jaw. ‘I don’t want this baby and that’s the bottom line.’

  ‘Fair enough.’

  ‘You disapprove, don’t you?’

  ‘I honestly don’t know.’ And Steve found she honestly did not know. She could see the necessity for Penny to have an abortion. To have a mixed race child in Africa, where it would not be accepted by either whites or blacks, was always going to be a lottery as to how the child adjusted. Especially the child of a single mother. It would ruin Penny’s life which was only just beginning. She shut her mind to the rights of the baby.

  They drank their coffee, then Penny went to the telephone and made an appointment to see the family doctor for the following Monday afternoon. That left Steve with three days at Pentland. For three days wherever she turned she would be reminded of Richard. She prayed he would not return until after she left. She prayed he would. Penny returned from the telephone looking more determined, happier. ‘She’s a real Dunn,’ Steve thought. ‘Action was what she needed.’ Then she ruined Penny’s mood by mentioning Richard.

  ‘Dad’ll be fine,’ she answered crossly. ‘He survived the war. Don’t waste your time worrying about him.’ But she looked worried herself which worried Steve even more.

  Philamon decided he had better set the traps in the game reserve. Samson, before leaving camp with Richard, had asked him to set them up and keep an eye on them. ‘The master has given me his old rifle,’ he had said. ‘If someone is breaking our traps, shoot him. You will find the rifle in the shed where the skins used to be kept and you will find the bullets there also.’ Samson remembered Richard’s careless words, ‘Shoot the bastard’.

  Philamon borrowed one of the farm vehicles and drove towards the game reserve. The traps, a collection of snap traps, wire nooses, bows and arrows, rolls of barbed wire and the means to dig and disguise pits, had been stashed in a small cave on Pentland Park. He collected them from the cave and set off for the reserve. He did not notice David following him in the farm Land Rover.

  That night, Penny’s mood swung wildly down. Steve had been congratulating herself on dealing successfully with the girl. She had been calm most of the day, friendly to David during dinner and had even referred several times to her relationship with Joseph Tshuma. Out of habit,
Wellington put a bottle of wine on the table. David sipped one glass, Steve, remembering her hangover of yesterday, had none and Penny drank the rest. They were totally unprepared for her sudden outburst at the table.

  ‘How can the two of you sit there and pretend nothing’s happened between you?’

  David looked over at her, startled. He was used to his sister’s moodiness but even he had been lulled by her manner. ‘Now, sis . . .’ he said, uneasily.

  ‘I think you’re disgusting.’

  ‘I thought we’d got through this,’ Steve said sharply, suddenly embarrassed.

  Penny sneered at her, ‘You’d like that, wouldn’t you? You sit there all angel-faced and act like the virgin queen.’ She rose and went to the liquor cabinet.

  ‘Don’t drink any more,’ David begged, unwisely.

  ‘Who’s going to stop me?’ Penny challenged him.

  She returned to the table with a full glass of whisky. ‘Jesus, Pen, you’re not going to drink all that,’ David burst out, eyeing the brimming glass of neat alcohol.

  ‘You just watch me, little brother.’ She swigged a third of the whisky.

  Steve looked at the girl’s lovely face tortured by fear, the physical pain of withdrawal, doubt and self-hate and realised there was nothing she or David could do to stop her. In fact, it would probably be better to let her drink herself into oblivion rather than try. Any attempt to prevent her drinking would result in Penny being resentful which, in turn, might make her drink more. She rose from the table and said, ‘On your own head be it,’ and went to the kitchen to tell Wellington and Elizabeth to take the rest of the night off. If Penny was going to put on a show, there was no point inflicting it on the servants. When she returned to the dining room, Penny was back at the liquor cabinet.