Storms Over Africa

by Beverley Harper

  ‘Didn’t wake you, did I?’ David opened the door, blinking in the light from the hall.

  ‘No. I was just lying in bed thinking.’

  ‘May I come in?’

  ‘Sure.’ He swung the door wider and stepped back. ‘What’s with the decanter?’

  Richard was holding the whisky decanter and two glasses. ‘Thought we might talk.’

  David’s bedroom, like all the upstairs rooms, opened onto a balcony. His doors were open and a cool breeze moved his curtains. ‘Bit chilly in here.’ Richard sat on David’s bed.

  ‘I like it. I can’t sleep without fresh air.’ David chose a chair near the door so Richard got off the bed and went to the other chair.

  ‘Remind you of Scotland does it?’

  ‘I guess.’

  ‘Want a scotch, son?’

  ‘I’ve just cleaned my teeth.’

  ‘Okay.’

  David grinned. ‘But I’ll have one anyway.’

  Richard poured him a small drink.

  ‘Dad!’

  ‘Oh okay.’ He poured a bit more and handed it to David. ‘Don’t make a habit of it, son.’ He watched as David sipped his scotch, pulling a face as the taste mixed with toothpaste. ‘What’s on your mind?’

  ‘Are you sure you want to talk tonight?’

  He saw David’s eyes. The boy had lost his resentful look. ‘Steve was right about us. We’re a very rude family.’

  David said nothing.

  ‘My fault I suppose.’

  Silence.

  ‘You’re not rude, just Penny and me.’

  ‘I’ve been pretty rude lately, Dad.’

  ‘You’ve been bloody awful.’ David opened his mouth but Richard got in first. ‘If you say “Sorry, Dad” I’ll bloody kick your arse.’

  David snapped his mouth shut. Then he grinned. ‘Okay, Dad. Bugger you. You asked for it.’

  Richard laughed softly. ‘Guess that’s fair enough, son.’

  ‘I wanted to talk to you about it.’

  ‘I guessed as much.’

  ‘I thought I loved her.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘But I don’t.’

  ‘How do you feel about her?’

  David put his glass down. ‘I really, really like her,’ he said seriously. ‘I wish . . .’

  ‘We all wish that,’ Richard said hastily.

  ‘Is there any way . . . I mean, can we get around it?’

  Richard tossed off his drink. ‘God I hope so. I hope like hell we can. But I just don’t see how.’

  ‘I really screwed up, didn’t I, Dad?’

  ‘You?’ Richard was surprised.

  ‘Yes, me.’

  Richard stood and went outside to the balcony. David joined him. They leaned against the railing. Richard said, ‘Son, you’ve never screwed up in your life. You’ve been the perfect son in every respect. I’m the one who’s screwed up. I’m the one who tried to make you more like me.’ He turned and stared into the night. ‘What an arrogant bastard I’ve been,’ he said softly.

  ‘Dad?’

  ‘Mmmmmm.’

  ‘You know the night Mum died? You asked me to tell you what we’d talked about and I wouldn’t?’

  ‘I remember.’

  ‘She told me that I would have to make allowances for you because you would never make them for me. She said you were a good and loving man who found it impossible to show your feelings. She told me about Grandmother never showing you affection. She said you loved me very much but hell would freeze over before you’d admit it.’

  ‘Your mother said that?’

  ‘She was very weak by then but she smiled when she said it.’

  ‘Your mother knew me very well.’

  ‘She said that too. And she warned me that it would be up to me to keep our relationship going. She said you were a stubborn fool.’

  Richard laughed. ‘She was right about that.’

  ‘She loved you very much, Dad.’

  Richard turned and placed his hands on David’s shoulders. ‘I know you don’t think so, son, but I loved her very much too.’

  David looked at his father. ‘You never showed it.’

  ‘I did. But you children were never around to see.’

  ‘Why, Dad?’

  Yes, why, Dunn?

  He spoke slowly, feeling his way. He was in very new territory. ‘I was scared to. To me, it was a sign of weakness. I had to be the strong one and I got it all mixed up with action and not showing affection or pride. I got so good at hiding my feelings that it became second nature.’ He smiled at David. ‘Do you know something, son? The day you took your first steps I went down and told Samson. I boasted about it to Samson. I felt so proud of you.’ He gave a derisive laugh. ‘But I never picked you up and showed you how proud I felt. It simply never occurred to me. Your mother did all of that.’

  David was silent.

  Richard’s new-found honesty bit him where it hurt. ‘If I had my way, you’d have turned out just like me. Hard, yes. Competent, yes. But without a shred of obvious caring or sensitivity. Thank God that didn’t happen.’

  David was crying.

  Richard pulled him close and held him. ‘I love you, son,’ he said huskily.

  They stood together for a long time. It was David who pulled away. ‘Don’t get bloody soft on me, Dad, I couldn’t stand the shock.’

  Richard gave a loud bark of laughter. ‘Okay, you little shit. For that, you’ll have another scotch.’

  ‘I hate the stuff.’

  ‘Hard luck.’

  ‘That’s my dad.’ They went inside and David shut the doors to the balcony.

  ‘Thought you liked the cold.’

  ‘I do. But if hell is going to freeze over I think I’ll give it a miss.’

  Richard cuffed his son.

  David cuffed him back.

  Richard had never felt so good about David and, judging by the light in his son’s eyes, David was feeling the same way. Then he remembered Poppie. ‘I have to go down to the village.’

  ‘Now? It’s nearly midnight.’

  ‘Samson’s dead.’

  ‘Christ! Christ, Dad. No wonder you snapped earlier. What happened?’

  He told David all that had happened from the time he left camp until he returned to it.

  David’s face was ashen. Samson had been there all his life. He had taught him Shona. He had shown him the inside of an African’s heart. He loved Samson as he loved his own family. ‘I’ll come with you.’

  Richard went to say no. This was a tough job. Man’s work. Hard and competent stuff. But he found the thought comforting. So, with the word ‘no’ already forming, he said, ‘I’d appreciate that. Thank you.’

  EIGHTEEN

  On the way to the village Richard told David where Samson was buried. ‘It’s probably illegal but to hell with that. Samson would have approved.’

  ‘He loved the hills here. Are the Matopos anything like here?’

  ‘Wilder. Very African.’

  ‘What happened to Samson, Dad?’

  Having already outlined the details, he now told David exactly how it was. ‘I tried to think of something else, tried not to watch, but in the end I figured I owed it to Samson. He was so brave. God, it was hard. I loved that old man.’

  David listened in silence. At one stage he squeezed his father’s arm sympathetically. ‘Thanks for telling me, Dad.’

  ‘I haven’t told you much in the past have I?’

  ‘You were protecting me.’

  Richard laughed. ‘Don’t give me excuses, son. I have plenty of those in the cupboard. I’m trying honesty. It seems to be working. Actually . . .’ he grinned in the darkness, ‘. . . it feels rather good.’

  ‘No clap of thunder?’ There was a smile in David’s voice.

  ‘Not even a whimper.’

  ‘Mum would be proud of you.’

  Richard absorbed it. He guessed the reference to Kathy had been a gentle reprimand.

  ‘Samso
n told me about the trance,’ David said suddenly, ‘he started to teach me.’

  Richard glanced at the dark profile beside him. ‘What happened?’

  ‘I felt I was flying. I could feel wind blowing my hair. I felt out of control.’

  ‘Then what happened?’

  ‘Samson snapped me out of it.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘He’d been flying with me. He sensed I was scared.’

  ‘Did you ever try it again?’

  ‘I wish I had. Samson said that once you get beyond the flying bit you are with your ancestral spirits in a beautiful place. Do you think he felt anything, Dad?’

  Richard remembered Samson’s eyes, the intelligence which appeared towards the end. ‘He felt it. Not all of it but he felt it towards the end. He should have been dead but before he died he cursed those who had done it. He died very bravely.’

  ‘It must have been horrible.’

  ‘I’m not going to tell Poppie how he died.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘The disgrace would kill her.’

  ‘Is that fair?’

  ‘Samson wouldn’t want her to know. They butchered him like a woman. They accused him of being a traitor and a woman. I made a promise to him when I buried him that his kin would never know. I intend to keep it.’

  David nodded. ‘Fair enough.’

  The village was sound asleep. But as they drove into it dogs barked, sleepy voices murmured, a baby cried. Soon people began to converge on Samson’s hut. Several tilly lamps were lit and Poppie, wrapped in her sleeping blankets, emerged through the door, apprehension on her face.

  Richard felt a lump in his throat. He had known Poppie for more than twenty years, had advised Samson on many occasions what to do about her outbursts of temper over his second and third wives, and rejoiced with his head man when she approved of his fourth. He knew that, of Samson’s four wives, this one, Poppie, would be the most devastated by the news of his death. But, as Samson’s number one wife, she was the one he had to tell.

  ‘Poppie, come and sit with me, I have something to tell you.’ He patted the bare earth next to where he sat.

  She walked slowly to him, her eyes on his face, then sat next to him, shooing away a couple of sleepy children who ran as far as the door of the hut then stood peering around it with wide eyes. ‘What is it you have to tell me, Gudo?’

  There is no easy way to tell a woman her husband is dead, even though death is something Africans live with daily. He searched for the right words but, in the end, told her in Shona, in a way he knew others might have done. ‘Poppie, Samson is with the spirits.’

  Her reaction was swift and expected. Tears ran down her cheeks and she rocked on the ground, holding a corner of a blanket to her eyes and shaking her head. She softly crooned the beginning of the haunting sorrow song which she would continue to croon for many days. Richard knew she could still hear him and continued in her language. ‘He is a hero in Zimbabwe. He is a lion of a man. He died like a man of men, a king of kings, a warrior of warriors. He is a man you must be proud of. He is resting now alongside other great men, the men of the Shangani Patrol.’

  A collective ‘hau’ rose from the people around them, all of whom were listening intently. The Shangani Patrol! This was indeed a demonstration of Richard’s respect. Samson must have been very brave.

  ‘Thank you, master,’ Poppie knew Richard would have seen to it that her husband had been properly buried. Then she asked, ‘Why was he not brought home?’

  Richard knew that if the dismembered body of Samson had been brought home, the disgrace of his execution would become known throughout the village and his family would share the dishonour. He searched carefully for the right words. ‘Samson was like my father and I honoured him above all other men in Zimbabwe. As his son, I chose for him to rest with the greatest of brave men. It was my decision.’

  She nodded, bowing to the superior wishes of a man. It was her way, the way of her people. The men made the decisions, the women obeyed.

  The witchdoctor pushed forward. ‘You will tell us of his bravery.’

  Richard was ready for this. He knew they had to have a story to tell and retell. ‘Samson was surrounded by Matabele.’

  ‘Hau!’ The villagers drew closer. Their hatred of the Matabele had been handed down from father to son for several hundred years and it was as strong now as it had ever been.

  ‘He stood proud and tall. He was not afraid of them.’

  ‘Hau!’

  ‘He had no weapons. He faced them like a lion.’

  ‘Hau, hau!’ Some of the men had spears which they rattled, stamping their feet. Richard’s words were being committed to memory. He was telling them the story as they liked to hear it.

  ‘Samson looked at them like this,’ Richard stuck his nose in the air, pulled his mouth down and spat.

  ‘Hau, hau!’ The men were nudging each other in admiration of Samson’s bravery.

  ‘He said, “I spit on your ancient king”.’ Richard had raised his voice.

  ‘Hau, hau!’ They were starting to stamp the beginnings of a dance, mesmerised by this tale of bravery.

  ‘He said, “I spit on the Matabele dog”.’

  ‘Hau, hau!’

  ‘They killed him with their spears.’

  A hush descended on the men.

  ‘Before he died, he cursed them all. He cursed them in his name and his father’s name and his grandfather’s name and in the name of the great Shona warriors.’

  ‘Hau!’

  ‘He died like a man among men. He was not afraid. He went to his ancestors gladly. He is now at peace.’

  Poppie rocked back and forth but her eyes were shining with pride.

  He felt guilty at deceiving her but he had to. This way, Poppie, the other three wives, the children and subsequent grandchildren would enjoy great prestige at the bravery shown by Samson and the honour of being buried next to the Shangani Patrol.

  A village has its own way of dealing with the loss of a loved one. Richard left Poppie in the hands of lifelong friends. The men had rekindled the fires and were beginning a dance to honour Samson. The women were marvelling at Poppie’s good fortune to have been the wife of such a brave man.

  On the way back to the house David said, ‘That was the right thing to do, Dad.’

  ‘They’ll tell it again and again. Samson’s story will grow into a legend.’

  ‘Did he really say he spat on their king?’

  ‘Yeah he did. That’s why they killed him.’

  ‘He must have known.’

  ‘He knew. But he hated them enough to die for it.’

  ‘God!’

  Richard looked at David. ‘What?’

  David shrugged. ‘Try telling that to the boys at school. They’d think I was making it up.’

  ‘That’s Africa, baby.’

  ‘Yeah, Dad, it sure is.’

  Long after David went back to bed, Richard sat in the lounge thinking about Samson. He would miss the man in more ways than anyone could guess. When he finally went to bed he was more than a little drunk.

  Steve was nowhere to be seen the next morning so, after breakfast, he went outside. He was hanging around waiting to see her, he knew that. She had been very angry with all of them last night. Well, he had made his peace with his children, perhaps he could patch things up with Steve. For the life of him, though, he could not see a way around their problem. Her one night with David would always be there, between the three of them, souring their relationship despite any effort on their part to overcome it. But, God, he wanted to try.

  He gave his attention to Winston who was battling to get through the puppy’s enthusiasm to receive the love he believed was rightfully his. Then he saw Joseph Tshuma’s fancy Jaguar sitting in the garage and walked over to it. He was headed off by his gardener, Moses, a stoic and silent man who avoided contact with other people as much as possible. The only exception he made, as far as Richard knew, was when the children wer
e young. Now they were grown Moses had retreated even from them. He was, however, passionately fond of Winston. ‘Very sorry, master,’ he said.

  Richard was astonished. It was the first time the man had apologised for anything. ‘What for?’ The sight of the expensive motor vehicle had angered him. ‘Me clean car.’ Moses shuffled his feet.

  ‘So?’

  ‘Me leave door open.’ Shuffle, shuffle.

  ‘Get to the point, man.’

  The gardener was squirming. ‘Small dog get in. Me not see him.’

  Richard suddenly realised what was bothering the gardener. He walked to the car and opened the driver’s door. Maxwell had outdone himself. The leather seats had been shredded. The interior lining ripped and chewed. The mahogany fittings gnawed and splintered. The puppy had even eaten the rubber off the pedals.

  Richard straightened up and looked at his gardener. ‘Moses?’

  Moses stood, twisting his hat in his hands. ‘Yes, master.’ His misery was profound.

  ‘When did you last get a raise?’

  And Moses stood, lips pursed in confused relief, as Richard walked away whistling.

  He went to see Philamon. The man had not been with the others last night and he had no idea whether he yet knew about Samson. One of Philamon’s two wives informed him that Philamon had gone out last night and not returned. So Richard went back to the house.

  Steve was sitting on the verandah outside her room. He joined her and launched straight in. ‘I meant what I said last night. I love you.’ Emotion made his voice gruff.

  She smiled slightly at his directness. There was no anger in her eyes. ‘I love you too.’

  ‘I’m sorry we’re such a horrible family.’

  ‘You’re not horrible. You’re just very different.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said again.

  She turned her head to look across the valley. He watched the silver-blonde hair around her face, blowing ever so gently in the breeze. He saw the rise and fall of her breasts. He wanted to watch her for the rest of his life. ‘I heard you last night,’ she said eventually. ‘You and Penny in here, you and David up there.’

  He realised she could not have avoided it. The guest room opened into a small hall, the door directly opposite the entrance into the lounge. David’s bedroom was immediately above the guest room.