Edge of the Rain

by Beverley Harper

  ‘Motivates him!’ Pa thought for a moment. ‘The winds of change,’ he quoted Harold Macmillan. ‘The time has come. Britain has taken countries like Nyasaland and Bechuanaland to the edge. The people are now ready to jump. Seretse Khama is the rightful chief of the majority tribe. He’s intelligent and well educated. I’m only guessing here, Chrissy, but I’d say a sense of duty is probably what motivates him.’

  ‘It can’t be easy for him being married to an English woman. Do the people accept her?’

  ‘They do now,’ Pa told her. ‘She’s gone out of her way to learn the language and customs.’

  Mum looked disapprovingly at Pa. ‘It’s disgusting. A white woman living like a native. It can’t work.’

  ‘It’s been known to work,’ Pa said quietly and with infinite sadness. ‘It just requires a bit of give and take.’

  Alex realised that a second conversation was taking place at the table. ‘Is this why Mum’s the way she is?’ he wondered. ‘All because Pa’s great-grandmother married someone with a bit of black blood?’ He shook off the idea. It had to be more than that.

  After dinner Mum took her Bible into the lounge. Chrissy briefly joined the men on the verandah but excused herself saying she had to be up early. ‘Sleep tight,’ Pa said.

  Alex saw her face soften as she smiled at him.

  Alex didn’t see much of Chrissy during his stay. She went out at first light and returned at dusk. She then spent several hours in her room working, only coming out for dinner and then going to bed early. The little he saw of her interested him. He liked the way she fitted in with his family, as if she were one of them. She treated his mother with gentle respect and sometimes sat chatting with her as she bustled around the kitchen. She clearly had a soft spot for his father. She often asked him questions and always listened intently to his replies.

  Where Madison seemed like a constant challenge, Chrissy felt like a pair of comfortable slippers. ‘No! That’s not fair.’ He laughed at the comparison. ‘Chrissy is just so easy to be with.’ He decided he wanted to see more of her. He put Madison out of his mind. She hated him. She believed he had made love to her, taken her virginity, for no other reason than to get even with her father. There was no way he could convince her otherwise. He thought of !Ka’s words.

  ‘When you choose a wife, !ebili, always remember that you and she will cry together over great sadness and laugh together over great happiness. These things are easy. Even strangers can do these things. It is the time between good and bad events that are hardest. The woman you choose should think like you, do like you and be like you so that when you are between the excitement of sad and happy times you and she can share the silence. If silence does not sit easily between two people they fill it with empty words. People tire of empty words and grow angry and tell lies. Test your woman with the silence, !ebili. See if she becomes angry.’

  Ruefully, Alex realised that Madison didn’t need silence to grow angry. The mere sight of Alex would probably do it.

  He spent his days with Pa. Alex had to examine every corner of the farm, every part of the house. Pa dragged him from one end to the other. When he proudly showed him the cattle yards, Alex didn’t have the heart to tell him he’d seen them before, that they had been completed before he left school. Mum, once she had recovered from his sudden appearance, acted as though he had never left. Pa couldn’t bear to let him out of his sight. Alex realised he was lonely. ‘It can’t be easy,’ he thought on his second day, ‘living out here with a woman who spouts the Bible from morning to night.’

  Pa, however, always loyal to his beloved Peta, only hinted at dissatisfaction after Alex asked him the question he had been burning to ask. ‘How did I get lost in the Kalahari, Pa?’

  His father looked surprised. ‘Who told you about that?’

  Alex folded himself to the ground and waited while Pa took a little longer to join him. Then he told his father everything—the beating Jeff had given him, how he was rescued by the Bushmen, and how, after he had been with them a while and learned some of their language, he heard the story of them finding him when he was a baby. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ he concluded.

  His father looked pained. ‘I wanted to.’

  ‘What stopped you, Pa?’

  Pa took his time, rummaging for tobacco, stuffing his pipe, lighting it with a match. Finally, ‘When I first met your mother she was not . . . well, you know . . . religious. Well, yes she was—’ he amended hastily, ‘but not like she is now.’ He puffed on his pipe slowly. ‘We were very much in love,’ he said dreamily.

  Alex said nothing; !Ka once told him, ‘If you break into a man’s heart while he is looking backwards, you may never learn what it was he intended to say once he starts looking ahead.’

  ‘That business with you in the Kalahari was peculiar. I’ve wondered again and again what happened to you.’

  ‘How did I get lost, Pa?’ He could hear the tobacco crackle as his father drew deeply on his pipe.

  ‘Back then your mother and I went into the desert every year to hunt. We loved the bush and this yearly hunting trip was our holiday. We’d pack everything but the kitchen sink into the truck and take off for two weeks. It was great fun.’

  ‘What did you hunt?’

  ‘Buck mainly. We were after meat. We’d always come home with enough biltong to last us months. You cut your teeth on biltong.’

  Alex remembered the sun-dried strips of meat which, even if other treats were in short supply, were always available as snacks.

  ‘Did you hunt lions?’

  Pa shook his head. ‘Never. I don’t collect trophies, son. If you can’t eat it, don’t shoot it. That’s my motto.’

  Alex thought how like the San his father’s philosophy was. But he said nothing.

  ‘You were just over two but as adventurous as hell,’ Pa continued. ‘Independent too. You’d take yourself off to do whatever it was you wanted to do and, when we’d come to look for you, you wouldn’t be there. You’d have gone off somewhere else. When you decided you were sleepy you’d just find somewhere quiet and lie down and have a nap.’ Pa laughed. ‘We once found you sound asleep in the dog kennel.’

  Alex laughed too. He had heard that story before but it always amused him.

  Pa frowned suddenly at his pipe. ‘That day . . . the one you got lost . . . you’d climbed into the back of the Land Rover and fallen asleep. I had no idea you were there. I went off to try and shoot a springbok. I stopped several times before I picked up fresh spoor. As usual, once I found the spoor I tracked the animals on foot. The rifle was in the cab with me and I had no reason to look in the back. You must have woken up after I left, climbed out and started to look for me. I didn’t see your tracks when I came back with the springbok because, well frankly, they’d have been the last thing I’d have expected to see. When I got back to camp your mother asked me where you were.’

  ‘So you came looking for me?’

  His father shook his head. ‘Not right away. We searched all over the camp site in case you’d done your falling asleep trick. By the time we realised you must have been in the back of the Land Rover it was almost night. Your mother was frantic with worry.’ Pa smiled slightly. ‘Come to that, son, I wasn’t all that unconcerned either. There are a lot of lion out there.’

  Alex shivered at the memory of Her With The Bad Foot. !Ka had told him about his near miss.

  Danie Theron continued. ‘We backtracked my route. When we got to the place where I had stopped to track the springbok we found your shoe print. We also found lion spoor; there must have been fifteen or twenty in the pride and they were headed in the same direction as your prints. By this time the wind was whipping up the sand something fierce but we kept following your footprints. Then the sandstorm hit. I tell you, son, I’ve never seen anything like it. Your mother and I only just made it back to the truck. We couldn’t move. That damned sandstorm blew all night and most of the next day and all we could do was huddle in the bloody truck. Your
mother was in a terrible state. I didn’t dare leave her. She was six months pregnant with Paul and I had to stay with her. By the time it was safe to leave the truck your footprints had disappeared but we kept looking and calling your name.’

  Alex could tell by his father’s voice that he was reliving the experience as though it were happening now.

  ‘When we found your shorts and nappy snagged in a thorn bush, son, we both believed you were dead. It was a terrible moment. Your mother sank down next to them and I thought her heart would break.’ Pa took a shuddering breath. ‘We kept looking for you but there was no trace. The decision to return home, not knowing your fate, was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.’

  ‘I must have had a guardian angel looking out for me.’

  ‘That’s what Mum said when you were returned.’

  ‘I don’t understand, Pa. How come you didn’t tell me?’

  ‘Your mother was never quite the same after that. She’d been brought up by very religious parents. She sort of turned to religion as a way of easing the pain. When you were returned she saw it as some kind of miracle. She believed her prayers had been answered.’ Pa looked over at him and smiled briefly. ‘She had this kind of belief that if we spoke about the miracle something bad would happen to you again. I dunno. It was as if she believed that her faith had been tested and to speak of the miracle would be tempting fate. Something like that.’

  ‘I guess I can understand that,’ Alex said slowly.

  ‘Don’t tell her you know,’ Pa said. ‘She’s still superstitious about it, especially since you vanished and returned a second time.’

  ‘You love her very much don’t you, Pa?’

  ‘More than I ever believed possible,’ his father said softly. ‘Even if . . .’ his voice trailed off and Alex let it go. It was his father’s business, not his.

  On his last day Alex cornered Chrissy before dinner. ‘Can I look you up in Gabs?’

  ‘Sure.’ She smiled. ‘I didn’t know you lived there.’

  ‘I don’t. I plan to go back to the Kalahari. I’ll be in Gabs on and off.’

  ‘I’d like to see the desert.’

  ‘Ever spent time with the Bushmen?’

  ‘I think so.’ She sounded doubtful. ‘Are the Kung proper Bushmen?’

  ‘There are all kinds of Bushmen. Some live a hunting and gathering life in the desert, some own farms, some, like those in Shakawe, are river Bushmen. The Kung live in the Tsodilo Hills. There are various tribes all over this country, all speaking different dialects. There’s been considerable debate as to what classifies a Bushman. A lot of people think they are bound by a common language group; others say it’s a cultural thing and only the huntergatherers are Bushmen or, as they are also called, San. Still others say it’s a biological grouping.’ He had her full attention so he continued. ‘I tend to go on appearance. The Kung are certainly of Bushman origin although very few of them these days are full-blooded.’

  ‘That explains a lot,’ Chrissy said. ‘I’ve met a few in villages near where I’m working. They’re different, but not as unsophisticated as I expected.’

  ‘Cross-breeding with Bantu tribes and exposure to tourists has caused that.’

  ‘I’d like to meet some traditional Bushmen; I find them fascinating.’

  ‘You’d have to go into the desert for that. Maybe we can go together some time.’

  She gave him a number in Gaberones where he could contact her. She had already left for the Hills the next morning when he said goodbye to his parents.

  ‘Don’t leave it so long next time.’ It was the closest Pa had come to criticising his long absence. He was rummaging in his pocket as he spoke. ‘Here, I’ve got something for you. Mum and I bought it for your eighteenth birthday. I’ve kept it. Always knew you’d turn up again. Go on, take it.’

  Pa held out his hand. A silver and onyx signet ring lay in his palm, square cut and solid looking.

  ‘Gee Pa, you didn’t have to do that.’ Alex was not sure he wanted it; a signet ring was not really to his taste. But, there was Pa looking pleased and Mum was smiling and excited and he knew he would wear it to make them happy.

  He slipped the ring on his finger. It fitted perfectly. ‘Thanks,’ he said, feeling awkward. He kissed Mum and hugged Pa and saw their pleasure at giving him the ring. ‘Thanks,’ he said again, meaning it.

  ‘It might remind you of us, son, bring you home more often, what do you think?’

  ‘I won’t stay away so long again, Pa. I promise.’

  Mum did a lot of praising and blessing and crying. ‘Why do you have to go? Stay here and help your father.’

  But he did not want to stay. He found her company a strain and the knowledge made him ashamed.

  Pa drove him into Shakawe. ‘You’re doing the right thing, son. You have to make your own life. Don’t mind Mum, she’s only thinking of me but I’m fine.’

  ‘Are you, Pa?’ Alex thought, watching his father drive away. Then he realised his guilt was gone. And at the same time it occurred to him that he really did love his mother. He just didn’t like her very much.

  A local staff member of Wenela said he could take Alex as far as Francistown. He planned to see Aunty Dorie there, and maybe even spend a night with her, but he picked up another lift immediately into Gaberones. Tired, he arrived in the capital at six o’clock on Friday evening. He stayed at a friend’s house and slept until midday Saturday. When he woke Marv was there, anxious to get out into the desert.

  ‘Hold on, Marv. There’s a girl I want to see tonight.’

  ‘Where are we going?’

  It was then that Alex discovered that Marv had absolutely no concept of privacy. Reluctant to hurt his feelings, Alex said, ‘The hotel.’

  ‘Great,’ said Marv. ‘They do terrific steaks.’

  Chrissy sounded pleased to hear from him. ‘My partner is with me,’ Alex told her. ‘Do you mind if he joins us?’

  She said she didn’t mind.

  ‘Got any clean clothes?’ Marv looked as though he had just crawled out from under a vehicle.

  Their host came up with a pair of clean, but threadbare jeans. Alex tossed Marv a T-shirt. ‘That’ll do you.’

  At 6.30, having cleaned the interior of the old Land Rover Marv was driving, the two of them went to collect Chrissy. Marv had showered and changed into the borrowed clothes, slicked down his hair with water so it dripped onto the T-shirt and placed a piece of toilet paper over a cut on his chin from shaving. As much as he liked Marv, Alex was wishing he’d take a hike.

  Chrissy had the same reaction to Marv as did every other woman. ‘Hello,’ she said coolly when introduced.

  Marv was grinning from ear to ear. ‘Hi, carrot top.’ He nudged Alex. ‘Better watch this one, redheads have terrible tempers.’

  The trouble was, he meant well. His heavy handed humour was without malice. He treated all women the same way—like one of the boys.

  The evening looked to be ruined before it began, Alex could tell. Chrissy did not like Marv and Marv was oblivious of the fact.

  To her credit Chrissy was not openly rude to Marv. As they walked into the hotel, though, she could not stop herself from saying, ‘Marv, you have toilet paper stuck to your chin.’

  Marv whipped it off so quickly his chin began to bleed again and he spent the next thirty minutes dabbing at it surreptitiously.

  The evening wasn’t as bad as it might have been. Using !Ka’s wisdom yet again: ‘No man, whatever his failings, is worthless. If you fail to find the worth of a man it is your fault, not his’, Alex got Marv talking about the two Land Rovers he had put together from the wrecks in Jacob’s yard.

  This was Marvin Moine territory. He dropped his attempts at humour and got serious and technical. When he could see he had said something Chrissy had not understood, he patiently explained, using utensils, plates and napkins to illustrate his point. With the subject exhausted, Alex then asked Marv to tell Chrissy why he limped, knowing that Marv’s relucta
nce to speak of the accident resulted in him appearing modest and brave.

  ‘Okay, !Ka,’ he thought, watching Chrissy’s respect grow. ‘I’m fresh out of ideas.’ But it was a start.

  They dropped Marv off first. ‘See you later,’ Alex said, revving the engine to drown Marv’s ‘How much later?’ response, although he could do nothing about the lewd wink.

  At her place she made coffee. ‘He’s the weirdest man I’ve ever met.’

  He found a bottle of milk in the refrigerator and took it to her. ‘He’s different,’ he agreed. ‘Can turn his hand to anything, though.’

  ‘He’s okay. I just wish he wasn’t so crass.’ She looked up at him, ignoring the bottle he held out.

  ‘Totally honest.’ He looked back and carefully placed the bottle of milk on the counter.

  ‘And loud.’ She moved towards him.

  ‘Very brave.’ He put his arms around her.

  ‘Even his name is weird.’ Her face was inches away.

  ‘Full of sincerity.’ He tightened his arms.

  ‘You don’t really want coffee do you?’

  They were content to take their time. They explored each other, paced their emotions, not reaching for blood-pounding, star-bursting passion. By the time he entered her he knew her body well. He felt as though he were wrapped in a warm cocoon of gentle intimacy. As he moved inside her he watched her eyes. They looked back at him unblinking, loving, friendly eyes which flooded him with warmth and happiness. He thought he had known her forever. Each of them was giving, not taking. And in the giving, each of them took more than they believed possible. There was no heaving and sweating finale. He came to her as she came to him, with the sweetest, intimate, loving tenderness. He stayed inside her and kissed her lips, her nose, her eyes. When he rolled off her he took her with him, held in his arms, his lips against her hair.

  He stared up at the ceiling, listening to the words in his heart. Her hair smelled like fresh air on a soft autumn morning. Her breath against his neck whispered like the gentle Mantis breath. Her skin felt soft, like a duiker’s underbelly. She filled his senses as fully as a day in the desert.