Shooting Butterflies

by T. M. Clark

  ‘Just remember, he might be big, but he’s a gentle giant,’ Joshua said to her. Then he pulled his horse’s head towards his chest and said roughly into the stallion’s ear, ‘Take good care of her. I’ll be watching you …’

  The stallion breathed deeply, his nose flaring as if he was listening to every word. He stomped his foot and tinkled with his bit, eager now that the day was nearly over and he was heading in the direction of home. Joshua smiled at Apache, once a proud warhorse. Together they had survived the Rhodesian Bush War during their time in the Grey Scouts, and now he was being subjected to family pony rides. Apache snorted as if understanding Joshua’s thoughts.

  Joshua laughed.

  ‘Just take care of her, you spoilt brat,’ he said to his horse. ‘This is the easy life now.’

  ‘What about Gabe? Can he ride home too?’ Tara asked.

  ‘Not this time. His dad is waiting at the intersection for his drop off. The weekend is over, your cousin needs to go home, to his own house.’

  ‘But Dad, why can’t he just stay with us? It’s holidays. It’s not fair that he always has to be in his house on a Sunday night. That’s a stupid rule his family has.’

  ‘My cousin’s house, his rules.’

  ‘It’s not fair, Dad. It’s not like they ever do anything with him anyway. He might as well live with us all the time, it would be so much nicer for him and for me.’

  ‘Don’t say that, Tara. Their family might have their own problems, but they are family, and you can’t speak about them as if they are bad. They are just different from us. Closed off. Private. You’re lucky that his dad allows him to spend so much time with us, he could be nasty and not let him visit at all. Then who would you talk to all the time?’

  ‘Dad,’ Tara said. ‘Uncle Stuart is your first cousin, hey?’

  ‘Second,’ Joshua corrected.

  ‘So there is blood in there somewhere. So promise me that just because you have some of the same blood, you will never be like him, okay?’

  ‘I promise I won’t. His path and mine took different directions years ago. Now, we need to leave or we will be arriving home in the dark.’

  ‘Thanks, Dad,’ Tara said and she smiled.

  Joshua’s heart melted at the innocence in her smile. She remained totally oblivious of the harsh world that he and her mother protected her from. His heart broke to think that poor Gabe had to return home to his drunk, abusive father. But what happened behind closed doors within a person’s home was their business. It was a rotten system.

  Joshua turned to his twin, Jacob, who stood holding the reins of the other horses.

  ‘Poor kid. Sometimes I wish I could smash Stuart’s face in for what he continually puts Gabe through. I’m amazed the boy returns for holidays from university. I’d stay well away if I were him,’ Jacob said.

  Joshua nodded. ‘Me too. To both Gabe staying away from home, and to wanting to beat up Stuart. But I think Gabe comes home for Mauve, to check on his mother, not for want of seeing his father. I don’t know how we can actually be related by blood. Pity you can’t choose your relatives.’

  ‘Agreed. But I’d still choose you, brother, despite the fact that you are a total softy. You know you give in to Tara all the time, right?’ Jacob said, but his face was soft too, the words said without malice.

  ‘Thanks, but you would not have to choose me as your brother. Because you were born exactly three minutes after me, I would be the one choosing my younger sibling.’ Joshua laughed and Jacob shook his head.

  Joshua coughed, and his tone turned more serious. ‘I know I give into her. She looks at me with that pixie face, bats those blue eyes and I’m toast. There’s nothing in the world I wouldn’t do for her. Not that I have ever heard you say no to her either.’

  ‘That’s my sworn duty as the doting uncle. Never to give her cause to doubt I’ll say yes. Since your girls will be the only ones who will ever call me Uncle, it’s my duty to spoil them,’ Jacob said as he mounted his horse, Ziona. He took the lead reins of the five horses from his brother’s hand, so that Joshua could mount up on the bay, Elliana. ‘You, on the other hand, will face the wrath of your wife when we get home so late with your daughter. Give it another two hours and it will get dark while we stand around here talking. Even though the war is over, she still hates it when you are out in the dark. Especially if you have Tara with you.’

  ‘She’ll forgive us. She always does. Besides, she knows that Tara gets her horse-madness from me, and that she is happier on a horse than anywhere else. Maggie loves me, she always forgives me.’

  ‘You’re a lucky son of a bitch, you know that? First Maggie and now the girls. I tell you, I envy your life now that independence is here.’

  ‘No you don’t. You love being the footloose bachelor of the district. Think of the routine life I have settled into, the downside of being a lawyer from Monday to Friday. You would die trapped inside a courtroom.’

  ‘That I would. Give me my trucking company any day …’

  ‘Come on,’ Joshua said as he mounted. His brother passed him back two of the lead reins, and twisting in his saddle, Joshua touched Elliana’s flank with his heels to begin their journey home. She needed no second urging and the horses on lead reins pranced behind her, free of their saddles that had been loaded in the back of Maggie’s bakkie, they tossed their heads in high spirits, sensing they were on their homeward journey.

  Joshua grinned at his daughter. It was hard to believe she was already twelve years old. With her pixie build, inherited from her mother, she looked about eight. Her ash-blonde hair, cut with a blunt fringe, was sticking up at all angles after their day spent at the district party at the Farmers’ Club. Her dungarees were striped denim and she wore a cotton shirt. Maggie had told him that although Tara still had no bosom, she’d put all her T-shirts at the back of her wardrobe and would only wear thick, button-up cotton shirts so no one could see that she was a late bloomer behind the other girls at school. Her huge dark blue eyes noticed everything, and were like windows into her soul. Sparkling mischievously, they radiated her humour, her love for life and her passion for horses.

  ‘Do I have to stay behind the lead horses on the way home, or can I ride next to you, Dad?’ she asked as Apache automatically pushed his way forward to be nearer the lead, putting the mares and geldings behind him.

  ‘Just keep Apache close to the front, honey,’ he said. ‘But don’t let him get too far ahead of us.’

  Tara patted Apache’s thick neck as he tossed his head.

  ‘Bye, guys, see you soon,’ Gabe called as he aimed an old camera at them. Tara turned slightly in her saddle, waved and blew him a kiss. Gabe was the opposite of her in looks, and despite their age difference he was her best friend. His eyes were as green as bright emeralds, rimmed with thick lashes and heavy eyebrows. His thick sable-brown hair was cut short on the sides, and a little longer on the top, so that it seemed to fall like a horse’s mane to the side of his face. She smiled, thinking of him cooped up with her sister Dela and her mum in the front of the bakkie, until the intersection of theirs and the Victoria Falls Road, where he had to get out and drive back into Bulawayo with his dad.

  Her smile slipped from her face. She wasn’t too fond of Gabe’s dad. Once she had tickled Gabe when he was with them for a weekend, and he had winced away. She lifted his shirt, despite him telling her not to, and she had seen the biggest, blackest bruise on his side. When she asked what had happened, he told her he’d fallen down the stairs at home. But Gabe was swift and surefooted, and he would never have done that. So she kept asking, until eventually he told her that his dad had hurt him, and made her promise not to tell her parents, because if she did, then he wouldn’t be allowed to come to their house anymore. She had never told a soul. She would rather see a bruised Gabe than never see him at all. And she made him promise to try to keep out his father’s way. And he had – mostly. Soon after that he finished school and went away to university, but he still came home for
holidays. Tara wished he came only to them and not to his parents’ house.

  Apache began to gain speed. Tara quickly brought her mind back to her horse and her hand back to her reins as the stallion followed her dad as he urged his horses into a trot, then a gentle canter as they left the farmers’ club behind and headed homewards.

  Dusk was just knitting its inky darkness over the African sky. The lengthening shadows had joined together and formed barriers of dark beneath the lowvelt bush. A quietness spread over the small riding party. Ahead of them, a big kudu bull leapt over the road, followed by another three. Their large twisted horns looked majestic as crowns as they nimbly negotiated their way into the thick bush on the other side of the road and disappeared from view, their grey coats and white stripes perfect camouflage, helping them to blend into the thorn trees. Dusty brown impala flicked their tails as they grazed along the shorter grass next to the road, ghosting silently back into the bush as the party of three humans and eight horses walked peacefully near them, the buck unthreatened by the riders on their horses. Beetles sang into the coming night, loud and high pitched. A go-away bird called, signalling their intrusion into the bush.

  ‘Can we have a rest, Dad?’ Tara asked as she yawned and arched her back to ease the ache that had begun to throb there. After riding for the past hour and a half, and having to keep Apache in check, her muscles needed a break.

  ‘We are almost there, only one fence left. We’re still on Potgieter’s land, but soon we’ll be home.’ He turned to her and smiled, and she saw his teeth flash white in his tanned face.

  She loved that face and knew every crease in it. There were times still when she would sit on his lap while he was in his armchair, and wrap her hands around his shoulders and listen as he read her the paper or talked to her mum. She’d watch his Adam’s apple bob up and down in his throat and put her hand on it, feeling the vibration of his laugh. She grinned at the thought.

  ‘Can you hang in there, Imbodla? Apache’s looking after you, not hurting your hands?’

  ‘Aw Dad, don’t call me that. I get into trouble at school when the staff call me that. Matron Jones says if the staff have given me that name, it means I’m not being a proper lady, and I shouldn’t be so friendly with them.’

  ‘Ignore the old biddy, you should be proud that you have earned a Ndebele name. It’s a sign of respect. Besides, a wildcat is a beautiful animal. You’ve seen them. Intelligent, sleek, supple, natural and affectionate, but always holding their own, and they walk a little on the wild side. That’s my girl, an African wildcat, an imbodla.’

  ‘I know. But you named me that, it wasn’t given to me by any of the workers.’

  ‘So you’re saying I’m not a worker? I wonder who provides the food on the table, and pays the school fees and the gymnastic lessons for you then? You know, any Ndebele man or woman who belongs on this land would have called you that eventually. I remember the day I first called you Imbodla, your mother freaked. She said it sounded like a maid’s name. Took quite some convincing that I was saying it with pride. You’re my spirited daughter, my wildcat.’

  A shot rang out loud, the sound foreign in the evening bush.

  ‘Dad?’ Tara said. She swung around in her saddle in time to see her uncle Jacob slump forward onto his horse’s neck. Ziona pranced sideways but held her ground, her head up and nose flaring, uncertain. In slow motion, he slid down her side and hung from one stirrup, his head and arms on the road.

  ‘Uncle Jacob!’ she screamed.

  A second shot cracked through the air. She heard a dull thud as it hit a target next to her and she turned back to look at her father. The breath caught in her throat as she saw him clutch at his chest, his big hands crossed over one another. Elliana shuddered but she too stood her ground, ears flicked back, the whites of her eyes showing.

  Time stood still.

  ‘Dad!’ Tara screamed, starting to dismount, one foot out of the stirrup leathers.

  ‘Run, Tara. Apache ándale!’ she heard her father command. ‘Home!’

  Apache’s ears pinned back flat against his head and he bolted into a full gallop up the road. He’d obeyed his master’s command, the perfectly trained bush war horse. Tara clung to his neck as she looked over her shoulder. Her father was lying on the road and someone big dressed in camo clothes was leaning over him. Then her view was obscured by horses. The five lead-rein horses raced after her, joined by Elliana and Ziona. Their reins trailed as they snorted, flicked their heads and galloped in blind fear a few strides behind her.

  ‘No! Dad!’ she screamed and tugged on Apache’s rein, trying to turn back and run down the person who had hurt her father. Apache snorted and ran on, his head held low, pulling the leather through her fingers. He listened to only one master.

  ‘Dad! Uncle Jacob!’ she screamed. She flattened her body against Apache’s neck, clinging to his mane for extra stability, knowing that she had to be as small a target as possible. All the survival training from years before rushed through her head.

  Small target.

  Get away.

  Only fight if in a corner.

  Hide.

  Be invisible.

  Growing up on a farm during a bush war, staying for months at a time with only her mum, sister and the workers on the farm while her dad was away fighting in the Grey Scouts, her dad had made sure she could always fight for herself. Defend herself. Defend her family. Survive if it became necessary. And today all that training was being tested. Someone had shot her uncle and her dad, and she needed to get help.

  Her heart ached. She tried to pull on the reins to make the stallion slow a little as a bug hit her face and blinded her. She could feel him as he tossed his head, opened his mouth and pulled the slack from the leather reins out of her hands, still listening to the man who had trained him and spent years in the bush with him. He wasn’t slowing.

  Too scared to let go of the reins, she wiped her face on her arm and pressed her eyes into her sleeve. The bug cleared out and her vision returned.

  She looked around her to find where they were.

  She saw the cattle gate ahead at the end of the strip road. The wire concertina-style gate was higher than a normal gate, marking the boundary fence between the properties. She knew this place. They were almost on their farm.

  She could hear the other horses as they thundered behind her, the sound clear over the beating of the blood rushing through her heart. Their hooves kicked up chunks of dirt as they followed their stallion.

  She was in trouble.

  ‘Stop, Apache! Stop, we can’t jump that, it’s too high,’ she told him. He tossed his head again, but his ears twitched as he listened to her. She stroked his neck, thick with creamy lather. The skin shuddered and twitched under her hand. Alive and responsive.

  ‘Come on, Apache, stop boy. You and I, we can’t jump that. I need to open that gate so all the other horses can get through as well.’

  She felt his neck twitch as he slowed and came to a stop at the gate with a jolt. The other horses stopped too, pressing in to him from behind. He held his ground, avoiding the barbed wire. ‘Good boy,’ she soothed as she looked at her uncle’s horse, Ziona. One stirrup leather was missing from his saddle. Her uncle hadn’t been dragged the whole way.

  Another shot sounded. Loud and in the distance, but she could tell it was still close to her.

  She shivered and Apache’s ears flattened again. The other horses jostled in, grouped into a bunch, the whites of their eyes flashing. She could smell the fear from the horses as they pressed close around her. Looking for safety with their stallion.

  A year ago she’d have been armed with her trusty .38mm she’d inherited from her granny on her father’s side. But her dad had insisted that the Bush War of Rhodesia was over now that they had had an independence celebration and renamed the country.

  But he’d been wrong.

  The war wasn’t over.

  He’d been shot.

  And she wasn’t armed.


  A weak target if the shooter pursued her. A lame duck caught up against a fence line. It was like the bad dreams she used to have at boarding school, but this one she knew she wasn’t waking up from.

  It was real.

  Cold sweat ran from her body. She urged Apache to step closer to the gate. He pranced sideways, his ears pricked, listening for her commands.

  She tried to open the gate while sitting on his back. It didn’t move.

  She wasn’t strong enough to pull the closure wire off the concertina fence with her hands alone. Reluctantly she dismounted, jumping to the ground from her saddle. She wrapped Apache’s reins around her arm and across her palm. ‘Just don’t leave me here, boy. Dad said to go home. We need to do that. We can get Mum and she can come and see what happened to Dad. We just need to get this gate open first and then you need to let me get up on your back again.’

  She pushed her shoulder into the upright and pulled against the huge fence post with everything she had. But she couldn’t budge the wire. So she stood on the wire at the bottom, jumping on it to get it to slide down the wood and loop off the bottom of the post, but it was so tight it didn’t budge.

  ‘No!’ she muttered at the gate. ‘Open! Come on, open!’

  She knew she had to keep her voice low. Her voice would carry in the bush above the natural sound that the horses made. She couldn’t attract attention to herself and as much as she wanted to scream at the gate in frustration, she would spook the horses and whoever her pursuer was might hear her and know she was in distress, know she couldn’t get the gate open. Know she was defenceless and trapped.

  She had to get away.

  She kicked at the gate and shook it, and tried again to open it. Ramming her shoulder into the wood, she dug her feet into the sand and heaved, grunting as she strained against it. But the wire remained taut.