Shooting Butterflies

by T. M. Clark

  Tara looked at Gabe. Gabriel, with his kind, gentle soul, had always been in her life. He was as close to a brother as she was ever going to get. He understood her. Always.

  ‘Marie-Ann, why don’t you go grab Tara something cool to drink? I’ll make sure she doesn’t fall of this bench, it’s quite narrow,’ Gabe said.

  ‘Oh very well,’ Aunty Marie-Ann said as she went off to get the beverage.

  ‘Stuck up old biddy. How her and your mum could be related amazes me,’ Gabe said. ‘Come on, let’s see if you can sit up.’

  ‘Gabriel,’ Tara said, ‘what’s going to happen now?’

  ‘We’re going to munch our way through that spread of cakes and drink lots of cups of tea in the room over there, and then home.’

  ‘No, not now. I mean what’s going to happen now that my dad and Uncle Jacob aren’t there to run their businesses? Who’s going to run Whispering Winds?’

  ‘Ah, your mum will most likely sell it. I know Mr Potgieter has approached her already.’

  ‘He can’t have our farm! It’s not right!’ Tara said. ‘He’s horrid. Whenever I have seen him he always has on the same grass-green suit that looks like he’d split the seams at any moment. Gabe, it’s the same colour as baby poop when they get diarrhoea. And his thick legs always in his green knee-high socks, and his safari shorts always ending just above his hairy knees.’

  ‘Don’t be nasty about his lack of clothes sense. That look was in vogue a few years back.’ Gabe smiled.

  Tara grinned. ‘Did you see how his bushy beard sticks out at all angles, and he strokes it like it might be a cat. But it doesn’t smooth down, it bounces up and curls around his hand as if it were snakes. Like Medusa from my Greek mythology book, except the hair is on his face, not his head. And did you notice that his beady grey eyes are the same as his pit-bull terrier? Like those of a pig, slit and untrustworthy.’

  ‘Now you are just being nasty, Tara. You can have a problem with him, but you can’t go around saying things like that—’

  ‘Only to you. I wouldn’t dare to anyone one else, Gabe. But I don’t want him to have our farm. I don’t want anyone to have Whispering Winds, or anything that is ours, except us.’

  Gabe smoothed a stray hair off her forehead. ‘Sometimes in life it’s not what’s right that happens, it’s more like dumb blind luck. Come on, here comes your aunt and before she gets up at you again, let’s get you on your feet and back with your mum.’

  ‘Thanks, Gabe,’ Tara said. ‘I’m so glad I have a cousin like you.’

  ‘Me too,’ he said.

  Three weeks after the funeral, Gabe strode through the door of the house Maggie and the girls were renting in Bulawayo. It was so much smaller than the farmhouse that their furniture dominated the rooms. But Maggie had insisted that the girls complete their year of school, and she had moved the family to the city where the girls could continue as day scholars for the rest of the year.

  ‘Maggie, I’m here to take Tara to say goodbye to the horses. I’ll bring her back on Sunday night.’

  ‘I still think it’s a bad idea. I just wish she didn’t need to go back there and that the two of you weren’t so adamant to do this without me.’

  ‘It’s not that we don’t want you there, it’s just that it’s Tara’s goodbye. You’ve had yours. The girls were still at boarding school when we packed up the farmhouse and moved you into the city. And when you left, you said you’d seen the last of Whispering Winds.’

  ‘I did. And I signed the papers to sell it to Buffel Potgieter last Monday. We don’t own it anymore. The bank and everything has been dealt with. I told Mauve this when she called.’

  ‘I know, Mum did tell me. So I called Buffel, and I told him that we wanted to say goodbye, that we need closure. I’ve already let him know we’re there till Sunday, and he said it was fine. Just that we were not to shoot any of the animals.’ He turned to Tara. ‘You packed?’

  ‘She packed on Tuesday,’ Maggie said.

  Tara was already standing next to Gabriel with her suitcase.

  Together they walked out the door.

  Gabe opened the door of his mother’s car and made sure Tara was inside. He put her small suitcase in at her feet.

  ‘It’s chockers in the back, this will have to travel here,’ he said before he closed her door, walked around and climbed into the driver seat.

  ‘It’s almost like being collected on a Friday from boarding school,’ Tara said. ‘Going home for the weekend.’

  ‘Almost, except this will be the last time we drive out to Whispering Winds.’

  ‘I know …’ Tara said as her voice cracked. ‘And thank you for this, Gabe.’

  He grinned at her as he started the car. ‘Don’t thank me until we’ve survived the weekend’s cooking duties together. You know, without a cookboy employed in the farm house anymore, we are going to have to cook our own meals.’

  ‘Braai every meal?’ Tara asked.

  ‘You bet. Except we can stop for a hot pie and warm bread at the station just as we get onto the Vic Falls road. And I did pack a crate of Coke.’

  ‘We can’t drink only Coke all weekend,’ Tara said, settling back into the seat as Gabe stuck his head out the window to reverse out the driveway, the camping gear filling the back seat to the ceiling blocking his view.

  Once he was out on the road and moving forwards again, he wound up his window with the handle. ‘Who says? It’s just us. We can do as we please.’

  ‘Can’t wait!’ Tara said, grinning.

  Still grinning after a night of sleeping on a roll-up mattress on the floor in her old bedroom, Tara was woken by Gabe bringing her tea in a tin mug. ‘Come on, sleepy head. It’s time to get moving.’

  ‘Where we going?’ she asked.

  ‘Everywhere and nowhere. We can just ride around the farm, say goodbye and think of all the fun we’ve had all over this place.’

  ‘Okay,’ Tara said. ‘I don’t want to go near the river.’

  ‘Oh, we’re going there. You need to say goodbye to your dad.’

  Tara stilled and looked at Gabe. ‘I’m not sure I want to go there …’

  ‘You must, Tara. It’s just a place. You need to see that your dad isn’t there any longer. Now it’s just bush, like everywhere else. Besides, I already asked Buffel Potgieter if he was okay with us visiting there. I told him that I’d spoken to the Member In Charge at the police station, and that he had said it was a good idea that we were coming out to say goodbye.’

  ‘You went to the police?’

  ‘No. I lied. I just told Buffel that so he wouldn’t try to stop us going down there. We might never know who shot your dad and Jacob, but we can go say our own goodbye.’ Gabe looked at Tara intently. ‘I don’t know what happened that day. You have been really quiet with the details, and I haven’t pushed you to tell me anything. But you can, when the time is right. I know the police tracked the shooter to where he climbed into a bakkie, and tracked the spoor of the bakkie all the way to the tar road. Then they lost it.’

  ‘Gabe, can I trust you?’

  ‘You know you can. Spill …’

  ‘It’s so hard … I don’t know who killed them, but if I tell about it all, someone who might know, they may die too. I’m not a killer, Gabe, and neither is he. He saved me, he opened the gate. So I made a promise not to tell.’

  ‘You know that could mean your father and uncle’s murderer will always be out there?’

  She nodded. ‘They will get justice when I’m older. Dad always said that justice comes in many different ways, and at many different times.’

  ‘Oh Tara, how is that you’re only twelve and yet you understand so much in that head of yours?’

  ‘Maybe because I’ve got smarts!’ She laughed at her cousin and knew that he’d never tell her secret. It was safe.

  ‘So much has changed so fast, Gabe,’ she whispered. ‘It’s all happening too fast.’

  ‘Changes aren’t all bad.’

  �
�So far they are. Mum selling the farm, us moving into the city, and then us moving countries so fast. Going to South Africa will be horrid.’

  ‘Hey, South Africa isn’t that bad. I’m twenty, and until I started university there two years ago, I had never even been out of Zimbabwe! Treat it as an adventure. Something new. Something different. I felt like that when I started at university. It was so big, so different.’

  ‘That doesn’t count. You come home for holidays, and then we see you. Your university is in Stellenbosch and my mum’s family is in Durban. When will we ever see you? I don’t want to go live anywhere else, I want to live here, Gabe. I just want to stay here.’

  ‘I know, but your mum can’t manage this farm alone. That’s why she sold it.’

  ‘She chose not to manage it. She did most of the work when Dad was working in the city every day, and when he was in the army. I don’t understand why she suddenly can’t do it anymore.’

  ‘I don’t know. Sometimes adults do these weird things.’

  ‘She sold everything without even talking to me and Dela. She never even asked if I wanted to keep anything from here. I have nothing, Gabe. Nothing that belonged to Dad or to Uncle Jacob. She took it all and sold it. My dad wasn’t dead for two weeks and she’d sold everything. She couldn’t wait to wash her hands of Whispering Winds. To get rid of every memory of Dad.’

  Gabe gently placed his hand on the back of her head. ‘There are so many things here that I want to take home too, but they don’t belong to your family anymore. They are Potgieter’s now.’

  ‘My horse – she sold my Elliana and Dad’s Apache without even seeing if we could keep them in the city somewhere, like at the showgrounds, or on someone else’s place. Or take them to South Africa with us. What am I supposed to do in South Africa, Gabe? I can’t even speak Afrikaans!’

  ‘There are people there who speak English too. I don’t know her reasons for not asking you about what you wanted. I think this weekend is her way of saying sorry, that she was wrong. At least she let you come out here with me. It’s our weekend to say goodbye to your dad and Uncle Jacob, to the farm and the horses, and also to each other, because I don’t know when next I’ll see you in South Africa. I promise that we can stay in touch by letters and by phone.’

  ‘Promise me you’ll never turn weird like my mum, Gabe!’

  ‘Oh Imbodla, I promise,’ he said, and he hugged her to him.

  She wrapped her arms around his strong shoulders and hugged him back.

  ‘You know what, Gabe? Life without my dad is so not fair. It’s crap.’

  ‘I agree with you, but we have to go on living and make it better. Come on, I’m going to get the weapons out of the wall safe. At least your mum didn’t sell them with the farm so I could bring them with us this weekend. I know you were unarmed on the day your dad died, but you won’t be today. As much as I hate guns, we’ll carry them just in case. You need to feel safe while saying goodbye.’

  ‘Gabriel,’ Tara said. ‘Thank you for understanding me.’

  ‘Sure, kid,’ he said as he walked out of the room.

  Bomani had saddled Apache and Ziona for them.

  ‘Saddle Elliana as well, Bomani,’ Gabe said. ‘You can ride with us today.’

  Apache stood ready, his coat glossy from brushing and his hooves shining from their recent brushing with linseed oil. His eyes followed Tara’s every move. She noticed that Bomani had put her saddle on the stallion.

  ‘But he’s Dad’s,’ Tara said as she turned to Gabe.

  ‘Your dad would want you to take him to say goodbye. Bomani is taking Elliana, so she’ll be there too. You can ride both horses.’ Gabe looked at Elliana and Apache, standing saddled side by side, as they had been so many times before. ‘Let their last ride together be a memorable one with us.’ Gabe smiled. ‘But Bomani will have to walk Apache if you ride Elee, or he’ll be thrown.’

  ‘I guess,’ she said, lost in thought about how her father’s horse wouldn’t let anyone else on him, only her dad, and now her, as she led him over to the corral-style fence so she could climb up on onto the saddle. She remembered when they’d built the horse corral. They had cut down the huge gum trees. And, so that no horse would get hurt, they cleared the stumps from the area. Now the ground was smooth and compacted with just soft sand on the top. Her dad. Her uncle. Gabe. Bomani and the farmboys and her. She ran her hand over the railing where it showed wear from her stepping on it to get onto the horses.

  ‘I don’t know why we never got a step of any sort here, you know that? I’ve seen you clamber up that fence for so many years, getting on horses that were too big for you, yet we never got a block of wood or anything.’

  ‘That’s okay, me and the fence are old friends,’ Tara said as she slipped her leg over Apache’s back and put her feet into her stirrups. They were perfect, no one had changed her saddle. She smiled at that thought, and then frowned.

  ‘She didn’t keep my tack, Gabe. I don’t even get to keep my saddle Dad gave me for Christmas. It was mine and she sold it.’

  ‘You know, I think if we snuck it into the city Potgieter wouldn’t notice. We can hide it at my house, so your mum doesn’t know, then when the removal people come to pack your house, we can put it in your garage so it moves with you to South Africa. I know we can’t take it all, but we can take your saddle and your dad’s if you want. Just because those were special.’

  ‘I’d like that. But Potgieter might come looking for it and I really don’t want to see him, Gabe.’

  ‘I bet he hasn’t been here yet. Bomani, has Baas Potgieter been to look at the horse shed?’

  ‘No. He hasn’t been through the gate at all,’ Bomani said as he tightened Elliana’s girth.

  ‘See, he won’t know.’

  Tara grinned.

  ‘I won’t tell,’ Bomani said. ‘I will rearrange the tack room so you can’t see it’s missing.’

  ‘Oh thank you, Bomani!’ Tara said. ‘Thank you!’

  Bomani’s white teeth showed in his wide grin. She knew she was going to miss that smile, his gentle touch with the horses, the hours he’d ride with her searching for and picking the sweet donkeyberries when they were in season. Finding the Kaffir oranges that she loved so much, the sweet juicy insides a reward for breaking into the thick yellow exterior. Even when she wasn’t out with him, he’d bring some back to her as a gift, because he knew she liked the wild fruit, almost as much as the wild figs that he would bring home too. She smiled as she remembered the amount of times Bomani had ridden with her to collect the ripe prickly pears at the top end of the farm, and would ensure the bucket didn’t fall on the way home so they could have the fruit, icy cold from the fridge, with thick cream from the dairy as dessert after dinner. Bomani had always been with her. He wasn’t just her horse boy, he was her friend. She just had never realised it before.

  She shook her head to dislodge the thought of how much she was going to miss him.

  ‘Come on,’ Gabe said and the three of them set out at a walk that soon turned into a canter along the straight stretch of road.

  ‘Race you to the velvet beans,’ Tara said, and she kicked Apache in the ribs. The big horse’s muscles rippled underneath her as he surged forward.

  The canter soon turned into a full-blown gallop towards the field. Tara could feel Apache labour under her and stretch for his next stride. She rocked comfortably in the saddle, crouching low and feeling the breeze stroke its fingers through her hair. The velvet bean field was on their left, and as she raced towards the gate at the far end, she thought about how recently the beans had been flattened by their neighbour’s cattle when they had broken through the fence on the far end of Whispering Winds, and eventually ended up in the planted lands. She thought about how, now he owned the farm, it no long mattered that his cattle ate the crops that had been sown to feed the people on the farm that she’d never again sit in the kraal eating sadza and beans with mfino with Bomani and James, or with Kela or Inacio.

&n
bsp; She saw the gap in the fence line where the thick branch of the camel thorn tree had fallen, making a natural steeplechase jump. She slowed Apache to a canter and lined him up then gave him his head. He strode over without even touching the thatching grasses that grew tall and brown on the other side. She slowed him to a walk, and waited for Gabriel to come alongside her.

  ‘Balla Balla,’ Bomani said, and she turned in her saddle to look where he pointed. A big kudu bull with its twisted horns stood on the edge of the clearing. When Tara clapped her hands once loudly in his direction, he bounded away through the thick bush and was quickly gone.

  ‘That wasn’t nice,’ Gabriel said. ‘He was just minding his own business.’

  ‘Well I don’t want Mr Potgieter to see him here. He hunts all the time, you know. You heard him shooting last night,’ she said.

  Gabe smiled at her. He didn’t remind her that her father had hunted too on the very same farm they now rode on. Instead he let her drift away through the forest of trees at the far end of the farm.

  When they reached the shallow dam they unsaddled the horses and led them into the water. Soon it was too deep for Tara to stand and she simply held onto Apache’s mane as he swam. Ensuring his reins were knotted over his neck, she slid along his body and held onto his tail, floating behind him. When she noticed that he was no longer swimming but beginning to walk she slipped onto his back again. Reluctantly she turned him towards where they had left the saddles. A family of warthog arrived and foraged on the bank.

  ‘I’m going to miss those,’ Tara said. ‘Every time we ride through here, I watch for them.’

  ‘I know. If you didn’t you might get thrown off your horse!’ Gabe said as Ziona swam nearby.

  Tara smiled.

  Eventualy they clambered out the water. Without fear of the horses bolting for home, she watched as they rolled in the dry patch of sand, drying off. Soon they were back on their feet, their neatly brushed hair whorled in all directions as they sneaked the opportunity to snack on the green grass.