People of Heaven

by Beverley Harper

‘Ah!’ Wilson chuckled. ‘I am a man of the land and I have learned that the mealie needs rain and time before it is ready to be eaten.’ He pointed to some newly born calves. ‘Jackson would eat them now. Dyson would wait, but not for long. Me? I am content to wait.’

  ‘I wish I had your patience, Wilson. For now, it appears to be in short supply.’

  ‘You are welcome to my patience, Nkosi. But you would not wish for my anger.’

  Driving back to the house, Michael wondered, as he had so many times before, how people like Wilson were able to control their emotions. It was a facade, he knew. One borne from necessity. Even so, it was a remarkable show of restraint.

  ELEVEN

  Tessa was having the time of her life. The sense of freedom was almost overwhelming. She could live like this forever. Life on the run with Jackson was a wonderful adventure. Being summer, though the days were uncomfortably hot, the nights were blissfully balmy, a gentle kiss on their skins as they lay curled together.

  The map taken from the house showed that the railway line ran through virtually uninhabited land. This was not strictly true. Although there were no towns as such, tribal trust land and African villages covered most of the area. Tessa could not understand why Jackson avoided contact with these people. In her mind, she was someone to be made welcome, treated like a princess. After all, hadn’t she given up a life of pampered luxury? Hadn’t she shown that she was not like other whites? Didn’t she deserve their acceptance and respect? She was a heroine, a champion of the Zulu cause, to be praised and feted, not treated like some embarrassingly shameful secret. But Jackson knew that Tessa would not be made welcome by his people. The knowledge of what Tessa and Jackson were doing would only make them afraid, fearful that their own lives might be touched by this sinful act. The few they did encounter raised eyebrows at the sight of a young white woman in the company of a young black man but any conclusion they might have drawn was so bizarre that they did not dwell on it.

  Each evening Tessa and Jackson sought a sheltered, out-of-the-way place to bed down for the night. There, under the stars, they enjoyed each other to the fullest extent, performing the one and only act that bonded them together, the only thing that intertwined their destinies. It was such a powerful force that neither of them realised that when the music stopped and the stars went away there would be nothing left.

  They skirted the village where Jackson’s grandparents lived. Jackson knew it well. He’d been coming here for holidays all his life. And, as his father experienced all those years ago when he came back from the war, the sight of the village filled Jackson with nostalgia. He looked with longing at the neat beehive huts. Down there were his kin. Down there he could find the sanctuary of food, shelter and friendship. An uninvited melancholy settled like a cloak around his shoulders. He didn’t mention his connections to the village which, nestled in a fold of the foothills, caused Tessa to exclaim, ‘That looks like something out of a fairytale. It’s beautiful. Oh, Jackson, wouldn’t it be wonderful if we could live there.’

  Very quickly, Jackson had realised that he was making a terrible mistake. How could he have been so stupid? Without Tessa in tow all he would have been doing was running away from home, not breaking the law. He could have travelled openly to Bechuanaland. Instead he was living rough, a fugitive, always alert for prying white eyes. Some girls might have coped but Tessa was too different. She was arrogant and demanding and prattled almost non-stop. She was also white. He delighted in her body and using it was fine by him. But within a couple of days, Jackson knew that Tessa could never accept the African way of life. For all her rhetoric, she was too pampered, too totally European and far too giddy in the head to see much further than his deek. She expected him to wait on her hand and foot. It was Jackson who had to find wood when it was safe to build a fire. It was Jackson who prepared a bed of sweet grass for them to lie on. It was Jackson who collected up wild fruit and berries for them to eat. Tessa would simply sit and wait for him, accepting his offerings as her due.

  Jackson was caught between two worlds. His tribal, traditional upbringing told him that the woman was supposed to be doing these menial tasks. The system in South Africa had conditioned him to the fact that Tessa was the master and Jackson the slave. The signals were confusing and further complicated by the illegal nature of their relationship.

  By the end of the third week, the strain was beginning to tell. As they moved further north it was harder to stay out of sight. Once they crossed the Balelesberg Range, the land flattened out, providing little cover. They had left Natal behind and were in the Transvaal, Afrikaner country, dour individuals who barely tolerated Africans or English-speaking South Africans. Jackson decided it would be safer to travel at night and hide up during the day until they were well north of Johannesburg.

  Just for a change, Tessa accepted his decision without an argument.

  He looked at her closely. She’d been unusually silent all day. For the past week she had done nothing but complain about the heat, lack of decent food, sore feet and how much she hated sleeping on the ground. Jackson grew thoroughly sick of her. Two nights ago a violent storm caught them without shelter and then it rained all night. Tessa had clung to him shaking with cold and sobs. Her silence today made him think that she too was having second thoughts.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘No.’ Tears formed and rolled down her cheeks.

  ‘What’s wrong now?’ He was unable to hide his irritation.

  ‘I feel sick.’

  ‘You look okay.’

  She brushed at her cheeks. ‘I’ve missed a period.’

  It was not an expression he knew. ‘What do you mean?’

  She took a shuddering breath. ‘I think I might be pregnant.’

  Tessa had been dreading this moment. Jackson was not in love with her. At first she had pushed the thought aside, blaming her imagination. But then, as she started to look for signs that he felt the same for her as she did for him, she realised that not only did he not love her, he made no attempt to hide the fact. He never showed affection, never touched her unless they were having sex, spoke only when he absolutely had to and was obviously irritated by anything she had to say.

  Last night, when he reached out and put his hand between her legs she had been unable to stop herself from asking, ‘Do you love me, Jackson?’

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ he’d laughed. ‘I am a Zulu. How could I love a white woman?’

  The response had stunned her. Tessa realised he had not been referring to the apartheid laws of South Africa. In Jackson’s heart, she was simply not good enough for him.

  She watched his face now as he absorbed her words. His eyes were cold, expressionless. ‘You fool,’ he hissed finally.

  It was all going horribly wrong and she grew very afraid. He was all she had. ‘Jackson!’ she pleaded.

  ‘This is the last thing I need.’

  ‘You need!’ She was suddenly furious. ‘What about me?’

  ‘What about you?’ he challenged, haughtily Zulu. ‘You are a woman.’

  It was like a slap in the face. He was no different from all the others. A woman’s place was either on her back or bent to one of so many endless tasks. Her fear grew. She’d burned her boats, there was no going back. ‘It won’t be born for ages,’ Tessa tried to placate him. ‘We’ll be settled in Bechuanaland by then.’

  ‘You might be,’ Jackson sneered. ‘I’ll be in Zambia.’

  ‘But what about us? You will take me with you, won’t you? You can’t just abandon me. I thought you loved me.’

  ‘Well I don’t. And pregnant you’re no good to me at all.’

  His words pushed her too far. How dare he when she’d given up everything for him?

  ‘I didn’t get this way on my own you know. You are equally to blame.’

  ‘If we practised hlobonga you wouldn’t be pregnant.’

  ‘You were always pleased enough to fuck me properly,’ she threw back at him.

  �
�Don’t say that word. I hate it when you use that word.’

  ‘Fuck,’ Tessa yelled.

  That was when Jackson snapped. The backhander was so powerful that it knocked Tessa off her feet. He was surprised. He’d seen African women absorb beatings much worse. Tessa’s susceptibility to his blow showed a weak spot. She was all mouth. The knowledge gave Jackson a new power over her. She lay whimpering on the grass as he stood over her. ‘Get up.’

  ‘You hurt me.’ It was more than just physical. Tessa’s pride had been crushed by his rejection of her.

  ‘I’ll hurt you again if you don’t get up.’

  The threat worked. Tessa rose slowly to her feet, the right side of her face already swollen and discoloured. Again, Jackson was surprised at how this haughty girl had suddenly become vulnerable. ‘I want to go home,’ she said in a small voice.

  There, it was out in the open. Having said it, Tessa’s resolve grew. ‘This was a mistake. I want to go home.’

  ‘You can’t. You’ve got a bastard black baby in your belly. How do you expect to keep that a secret?’

  Tessa began to cry.

  Jackson turned and walked away. ‘Do what you like. I’m going to Bechuanaland.’

  He was several hundred metres away before the realisation finally hit her. While she desperately needed him, Jackson had no need of her. The power she believed she had over him was nothing more than his taking what she had so freely offered. He had used her and now she was trapped, suddenly terrified that he would discard her somewhere to fend for herself. ‘Wait.’ She began to run after him. ‘Jackson, please don’t leave me here. Wait for me.’

  He didn’t stop. Tessa had to run for several minutes to catch up. ‘From now on, you’ll pull your weight,’ he said when she drew level with him. ‘See that tree over there. Go and fetch some fruit.’

  ‘You’ll wait here?’ she asked in a small voice.

  ‘Yes.’

  As she plucked the wild apples, Tessa’s calculating mind was already looking for a way out. ‘When we get to the next town I’ll go to the police and tell them he abducted me. They’ll believe me. Mother will take me back, I know she will. In the meantime, I mustn’t let him suspect. He must think I want to stay with him.’ She took the fruit to Jackson. ‘Here,’ she said softly. ‘I’m sorry. I won’t use that word again.’ She hated him now. How could I have thought I loved him?

  Jackson was having thoughts of his own. ‘I could kill her and bury the body. No-one would ever find it. Travelling alone would be quicker and safer.’ But he discarded the idea as soon as he had it. Killing a white girl, if he were ever caught, would mean an automatic death sentence. Far better to take her as far as Bechuanaland and then dump her.

  That night, it was Tessa who collected up the grass for their bed. That night, it was Jackson who insisted they have sex. Tessa didn’t want to but she was afraid to say no. As he guided himself into her, the fires which she couldn’t control burned in open betrayal. Tessa’s body responded eagerly although her mind rebelled and her heart was revolted. For the first time, Tessa understood. She was powerless to stop the cravings, a prisoner inside her own body.

  About two months after Tessa’s disappearance, Michael realised he was happier than he had ever been. He hummed under the shower, smiled all the time, and had a lightness inside him that had never been there before. He did not have to look far to see why. Jennifer Bailey.

  Over the past four years he hadn’t seen a lot of her. She’d been away at university and, after graduating, went on a working holiday in Europe. In France, she put her degree to good use, joining a team of scientists who were studying the effects of cramped and totally unnatural living conditions under which many European zoos housed and displayed some of Africa’s largest animals.

  Jennifer had come home a couple of times. Whenever she did, the two of them were inseparable, going to parties or the beach together. Their relationship, however, remained platonic. Both of them felt they were too young for commitment but there was an unspoken understanding between them that when the time was right, they would put their feelings to the test. There was a risk of course that one or the other might meet someone else. Indeed, Michael had found the psychiatrist, Annie Lewis, attractive and might have been tempted to pursue a relationship with her if they hadn’t argued over Tessa. He told himself it just wasn’t meant to be.

  Now Jennifer was back in Africa. She was waiting for Dr Emil Daguin, the head of the research project in France, to arrive for a major breeding habit study of black rhinoceros recently introduced into the Okavango Delta in Bechuanaland and other undisturbed areas nearby. It was an ambitious scheme, scheduled to take five years, and Jennifer had been offered a position on the team.

  Fundraising difficulties and the death of Dr Daguin’s wife in a tragic car accident had delayed commencement of the project. Fate, it seemed, was giving Jennifer and Michael the opportunity at last. Michael slipped easily into the habit of seeing her three or four times a week. And last night, as naturally as breathing, their relationship soared into intimacy, leaving Michael in no doubt that he was in love.

  The evening had started as usual, Michael dropping in for a drink around six. ‘Fancy a movie?’

  She screwed up her nose. ‘Seen it.’

  ‘Dinner?’

  ‘Made it.’

  Michael, comfortable on the sofa, stretched his legs. ‘Where are your folks?’ Then he remembered. They had gone up to their mountain holiday cottage in Himeville for a week to get away from the summer heat. ‘Just you and me, huh?’

  ‘You got it.’

  The timbre of her voice had deepened. Michael immediately sensed the change. There was no need for more words. They met in the middle of the room, eyes locked, the only outward sign that their minds, hearts and souls had, with no warning, meshed. As their lips met a jolt like an electric shock ran through both of them. And, as his arms tightened around her, the kiss deepened and Michael knew he was holding his future.

  Lying together later, Jennifer had talked about Emil Daguin and his project. ‘He’ll be looking for someone to coordinate it.’

  Michael’s head was still spinning from their lovemaking. ‘Bit out of my league.’

  ‘Not at all. You’d be perfect.’

  ‘Jen, I’m a cane farmer.’

  ‘You’ve worked with black rhino, though.’

  ‘Yes but I’ve got no scientific background.’

  ‘Emil will handle that side of things. What he needs is someone with good organisation skills, not another academic.’

  The more she talked about it, the more excited he became. It was not just the prospect of working side by side with Jennifer that appealed to him, though God knows, the thought was about as pleasing as they came. He was honest enough to acknowledge that while he was content to run UBejane, the Umfolozi black rhino project had whetted his appetite for a different kind of future.

  It was around two in the morning when Michael returned to the farm. The euphoria was still with him. He knew he wanted to spend the rest of his life with Jennifer. Emil Daguin’s project was the icing on the cake. Everything was suddenly falling into place. But, in all fairness, could he expect his mother to yet again shoulder the full responsibility of UBejane? The quandary played on his mind, offering no obvious solution.

  Claire commented on his mood at breakfast. ‘You’re looking very preoccupied this morning. Could it have something to do with Jennifer?’

  Gregor paused, spoon halfway to his mouth. At twelve, he had the annoying habit of knowing everything. ‘He’s in love.’

  Michael cuffed him playfully on the back of his head.

  Dramatically, Gregor allowed his face to fall onto the fresh pawpaw he was eating.

  Claire was laughing. ‘Go and wash your face, you idiot child.’

  Gregor left the table saying, ‘Don’t tell her anything till I get back.’

  Michael shook his head. ‘Always the entertainer. He belongs on a stage.’

  ‘
It’s probably where he’ll end up. Now, what about you?’

  Michael grinned. ‘Okay, I admit it. I’m twenty-six and ready to settle down. Jennifer is . . . well, just bloody marvellous.’

  ‘That’s great.’ Claire threw down her napkin, rose from the table and hugged him. ‘I must write to Sally.’

  ‘Hold on.’ Michael pushed his chair back and stood up. ‘Let’s not rush this.’

  Claire gave him a shrewd look. ‘Rush what? You and Jennifer have been seeing each other regularly since she returned. You’ve known her most of your life. You may have only just realised that she is the one for you but, I can assure you, Michael, the rest of us have seen it coming for ages and Jennifer has known what her feelings are for some time.’

  ‘You think so?’ Michael smiled widely.

  ‘Try asking her to marry you.’

  Michael looked anxious. ‘What if she says no?’

  ‘She won’t.’

  ‘What makes you such an expert?’

  ‘I’m a woman.’

  Michael folded his arms. ‘So?’

  ‘Women know these things.’

  Gregor returned. ‘What have I missed?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Michael told him airily.

  Gregor sat down and resumed his breakfast. ‘Must be an interesting nothing,’ he observed to his plate. ‘The poor man looks like a beagle. All droopy and soppy.’

  ‘Do shut up,’ Michael laughed. ‘And hurry up. You’ll miss the bus.’

  When Gregor had gone Claire said, ‘Come into the office. We must talk.’

  Michael wondered what was on her mind. He was totally unprepared for her words.

  ‘How would you feel about putting UBejane on the market?’

  ‘Sell!’ He was incredulous. This place was her life.

  Claire looked fondly at her firstborn. ‘If Gregor were more interested, I wouldn’t think of it. Sally may well stay in Paris. She’s overcome her disappointment about being too tall for ballet and wants to concentrate on fashion design. Tessa . . .’ Claire bit her lip. ‘That leaves you, Michael. You’re here for me, I know that, but your heart isn’t in it.’