by Peter Rimmer
In his excitement Henry had quite forgotten to do the rest of the shopping.
The dogs were off the back of the wagon well before the wagon reached the gate to Tinus's stockade and raced down the track at full speed, ignored by the horse and Henry. Sitting on the high box of the wagon he watched for the fox terriers and smiled when they rushed out of the open gate yapping to save their lives. The pairs of dogs crossed, ignoring each other and the terriers tried to jump into the back of the wagon without success barking all the time. Henry smiled, the comfortable smile of having just arrived home.
Harry, his eldest grandson came out to see what all the noise was about. Inside the stockade tame Egyptian geese were honking at each other. Having rushed inside, the ridgebacks rushed out again nearly knocking over Harry for the second time and all four dogs raced off into the bush chasing each other, the fox terriers barking all the time. The men were in the fields, but Alison, heavy with her third child came out of her house at the same time Emily pushed open her back door that led out from the kitchen.
Fran heard the noise but having had her fourth stiff gin stayed inside: there was never anything of interest so far as she was concerned. She let the book she was reading slide off her knees and took a long swig at the gin, slightly diluted with water and coloured pink with aromatic bitters. People sometimes asked her what the books were about which at the end of the day she rarely knew. The one she was reading had the illustrious title of Clover Blossom, on the front the imprint of a Regency buck. When the dogs stopped barking she picked up the book from the floor, thought she found her place and carried on reading, soon being no part of Elephant Walk.
Outside round the wagon, staring at the wooden trunk with the iron bands were six-year- old Barend Oosthuizen, his two-year-old sister Tinka, Harry, his sister Madge who was the same age as Barend and younger brother George who had toddled precariously between the msasa trees that shaded the lawn.
"What's in the chest, grandfather?" asked Harry.
"Where's the shopping, father?" asked Emily her arms crossed in front of her chest.
"Oh, dear. My word. Look, I forgot. I've waited a long time for my books and here they are."
"Open the chest, grandpa," demanded Madge. "We want to see."
"All right then. Everyone up in the wagon. We need lots of men to lift the box onto the ground so we'll have to have a look where it is. Barend, come up here quickly and give me a hand. The stationmaster gave me two keys, one for either side of the trunk and the wire cutters will soon have these iron bands out of the way."
"What kind of books?" asked Harry losing interest.
"Let's have a look, shall we?"
Emily helped George up onto the wagon as the dogs came tearing back into the compound sending the geese running and honking for their lives, heads stretched down the end of their necks as far as possible. Ten minutes later the chest came open, the big lid pulling back to reveal the treasure while letting out the smell of old leather. All the children looked inside with puzzled curiosity.
"With these books," said Henry proudly, "I will be able to identify all the butterflies and birds into their right categories and the ones no one has seen before we will give them names and my friend at Oxford who sent all this will register proper Latin names with the Royal Society and when I have finished with the birds and butterflies, I will start with the insects."
"It'll take you a lifetime, father."
"That's the idea, Emily. That's just exactly the idea. A man needs something to do with his life. I did manage the post office but the stores had to wait. Once I had the trunk nothing else entered my mind. Two letters there were. From England. Both the same I would say. One for your husband Emily and one for Tinus. Now who would be writing to them from England?"
"Are you going to read all those books, father?"
"Of course I am. Now, children, I have a very good idea. Why don't we empty the chest one by one and you can put the books into the centre of my room on the floor and I can look at each one as it comes out of the trunk. Now, just look at this one. An encyclopaedia of the world's butterflies with drawings. I bet they haven't got half the ones I've collected. Children! Where are you going? Emily, my dear, it appears we are failing in their education. Hunting the bush, yes. Collecting specimens, no. And reading books is going to be right out of the question. I don't believe my grandson can read."
"George is a little young," smiled Emily.
"I was referring to Harry, Emily."
"I know you were father. Now give me the letters. When the others come back they can lift the trunk into your rondavel and that way we won't have a mess all over the place. Well, not immediately."
Emily put the two letters in the front pocket of her apron and walked across to Alison.
"How are you feeling?" she asked.
"Tired. Be glad when this one is out on its own in the world."
"Letter from England for Tinus. One for Seb. I think they are both from Captain Doyle."
"Shall we open them?"
"Better not. You go and lie down. I'll shower the children."
Alison looked at Emily walking back to her house and smiled. How things changed in life. She took the letter back to her house. Inside the cat was eating a rat on the dining room table, purring loudly. Too tired to care, Alison put the letter next to the cat and the rat and went to lie down. To the sound of the children squealing under the cold shower in the little outside enclosures they had made of grass she fell asleep, her hands clasped over her swollen belly. She was smiling.
Gregory found Fran drunk in the one armchair and taking a clean set of clothing left without a word. The small shower enclosures, one for the men and one for the women, allowed a man to shower looking over the top of the thatch-grass. The water was tepid from the day's sun. He added a jug of hot water to the large bucket and with the rope that looped over an arm of a tree hoisted the contraption above his head and tied the rope. A piece of rubber hose was attached to the bottom of the bucket and dangled over his head held straight down by the weight of a large iron rose. Reaching up he turned the spigot above the shower rose and warm water began to wash the day's dirt from his body. Were it not for Fran drunk in the chair he would have whistled a tune. Tinus, in the ladies' shower with Seb outside standing guard was singing in the Taal, a tune his grandfather had taught him from the Great Trek. Halfway through he switched to English and an even older song of his mother's Scottish clan, the McDonalds. He was a fine mix was Tinus Oosthuizen and forgetting himself he began to whistle 'Green Sleeves' the song some said had been written by Henry the Eighth.
"Shut that up you Sassenach," came from the next shower and all three of them began to laugh.
"Hurry up both of you," shouted Seb. "I need my gin."
The unopened letters sat on the low table on Tinus's veranda that he alone called the stoep. Gregory had given his apologies for Fran, saying she was tired, which everyone knew was a lie. The sun had set leaving a red sky behind the msasa trees and for the first time Emily noticed Tinus had left his gun in the gun cabinet. When not in use the guns were chained so the children, Harry in particular, could not take them out. Gregory said his obligatory 'that tastes good', Henry said cheers and went back to his book while Alison related the story of the cat and the dead rat on her dining room table. Barend tried to twist Madge's hair and received a loud, unladylike smack which made him grin; he had caught her attention. George was fast asleep on a rush mat near the screen door. Slowly the pressure lamp took over the light as colour faded from the night sky. Far away there was a rumble of thunder, the unspoken hope in all of them that it would bring some rain. Food was set out on the big table that had been moved onto the screened veranda for the summer. The tension of war that invaded their lives for so long was gone and only the blight on their happiness was Fran and Gregory Shaw. The experiment of using the maize corn to fatten the cows, Seb's great brainchild, had worked and the farm for the first time was self-sufficient. Thirty blacks were now empo
wered and housed in their own compound, each family given an area to build a hut in the same tradition their own chiefs had perpetuated through the centuries. All signs of fear had left the farm and food was assured for everyone. They could hear drums beating from the native compound, a sure sign of content.
"You'd better open them," said Alison.
"Doyle saying he's gone bust," said Tinus.
"Doesn't matter," said Sebastian picking up his letter from the low table where in his mind's eye it was burning a hole. The huge hand of Tinus came forward and picked up his letter. The letters were opened in silence and Henry put down his book. Everyone waited. Seb looked up for a moment and then started again. Tinus had finished reading and was staring at the ceiling the lamp throwing strange shadows from his full beard up over the dark cavities of his eyes. Silently he passed the letter to his wife. Seb finished the letter for the second time and gave it to Emily. Tinus began to chuckle from deep in his big chest, the shirt buttons fighting to stay attached to his shirt.
"What's going on, old boy?" asked Gregory.
"Very simply," said Sebastian, "my partner and I are very rich. Em, give him the letter. Alison pass yours to my father-in-law if you don't mind Tinus. Presume they have made you the same offer?
"Sixty thousand pounds sterling. Who are these Baring Brothers?"
"The largest merchant bank in London," said Henry scanning the letter passed to him from Alison. "My word that really will put the old pirate's nose out of joint." And then everyone began to laugh at the reference to The Captain, the reason for all of them being in the room.
"Are you going to sell?" asked Seb of Tinus quietly.
"Of course I am. Look, Seb, a farm can belong to only one person in the end. We both know that. My dream, far back in my mind as I knew I would never have the money, is to buy a wine farm in the Cape. Ceres in particular. Every Boer wants a wine farm in the Cape with a long Cape Dutch house and a cottage down the road by the sea. Why don't we both buy farms in the Cape?"
"Funny how money upsets everything," said Fran Shaw pushing open the screen door. "Someone better give me a gin. You either have too much or too little. Splits up the jolly old family, see." She was quite drunk and Gregory put her down in his chair.
"Funny how often the truth comes from babes and drunks," said Gregory too quickly. There was a long silence. "No, Fran, I apologise. That was quite unnecessary. Appearances, Fran, appearances. Always so very important. No, on second thoughts let us go home. Will you excuse us, everyone. Good night."
"Take some supper," said Alison.
"Sorry. But I don't feel hungry. Henry, old boy, I'll see you in the morning. Such a long way from Florence don't you think? A long way from Chittagong. A long way from Nottingham. Fact is I'm a long way from anywhere."
Working on the principle that talking about a bad situation makes it worse, Emily turned to the children.
"Come along children it is well past your bed time."
"Mummy, I'm still hungry," said Madge trying to keep the whine out of her voice.
"You've eaten enough for three grown people."
"Harry," said his grandfather stepping into the breach, "come along and I'll tell you another story of the first Mandervilles who landed with William the Conqueror."
"Oh, tops. Come on Madge, Grandfather's going to tell us a story."
"Barend," said Tinus, "take your sister back to the house." He spoke in the Taal and without a question Barend took his sister by the hand. "Both kiss your mother and Aunt before you go: good night."
"Father," said Emily, "can you pick up George. He's fast asleep."
When Henry had taken his grandchildren and Barend and his sister had gone to their house, Emily turned to Alison and Tinus: "What are we going to do?"
"Nothing," said Tinus.
"She's drunk. Unhappy. He's miserable."
"Never tell a person the truth about themselves. First they will secretly hate you and secondly it will not do any good. We can be kind to both of them, Em. All we can do. Married people have to go to each other with their problems."
"If only she had some children," said Alison.
"Would you like me to serve supper?" said Emily. "My father will be a long time with the children. He loves to tell stories."
"He should write them down for the future," said Alison quickly following the change of subject.
"He has his butterflies," said Emily, relieved the crisis was over, "and now he has all the flowers and insects to contend with."
As Emily got to her feet with the others to go to the dining room table and their cold supper a crash that sounded like broken pottery echoed across the compound over the beat of native drums throbbing constantly from the native compound down by the river.
For the first time in his life, Gregory Shaw almost hit a woman but upbringing and training stopped the deadly impulse. Turning away from the woman who had thrown the jug he was sick with horror at what he had almost done. He knew that if he was not a gentleman he was nothing. Outside the fox terriers were barking, a hollow sound in the empty night.
Sobered by the broken jug and the brief threat of her husband, Fran began to shake. She tried to tell the dogs to shut up but nothing came out of our mouth. Gregory had his head bent away from her and the horror of what he was doing came to her and with it understanding. He was crying. Silently. But he was crying and for once she began to think about someone other than herself.
"Greg, I'm sorry."
"I nearly hit you."
"I know."
"That is so terrible. You know that. A man hitting a woman."
"It's my fault. I married you because I thought you were rich."
"It's my fault. I thought a wife so young would bring back lost years."
"And extinguish her memory."
"Maybe…Are people always selfish?"
"Always, Greg. If they think otherwise they are lying to themselves. Even charity is given for self-satisfaction. Each must have what the other wants to balance. Harmony comes with balance I think though mostly I don't know what to think."
"You want to go back to England. I have nothing but my share in this farm and that doesn't amount to anything if you want to be rich. Divorce and where will you go? I didn't know about the Catholic clause and with my dreams rushing around me I wouldn't have cared. Digging farms out of the African bush is hard, Fran. There are things here we didn't know about in England. Rinderpest. Too much rain. Drought. War. Did you know last night a leopard ate the head from a calf while it was being born? Smelt the blood of birth. Tinus had to shoot the cow. No one has ever tamed Africa and maybe no one ever will. Even Nat had his church burnt to the ground. His school. Everything he thought he was doing right. But Africa didn't want his God any more than his education."
"Will the money come back if we divorce?"
"I don't know."
"Don't you want to find out?"
"No. What I have is here. I'm too old to change my life. Fran I'm almost forty-four and most of my life has gone."
Quietly Gregory went down on his knees next to the cold fireplace and began to pick up the pieces of broken porcelain from the rush mat. Outside the dogs had stopped barking. In the still of the night they could hear Henry Manderville's voice storytelling his grandchildren and for a moment they both listened through the open windows. Then the drums stopped and without the rain the frogs were silent. Even the whirr of crickets was dampened by the dark of the moonless night.
"He loves his grandchildren," said Gregory.
"Oh, yes. They have something to give each other you see. The balance. They are his future and he is their past. He likes talking the stories and they like listening. It's all about them. Their family. They all belong to the same thing…Don't blame yourself. I was a fool long before I met you. Probably always been a fool. Part of what's being told out there I wanted: family, children, belonging but something else said there was more and I went looking. I enjoyed everything on the surface and you were to be th
e rich prize of my success. There was music but only that was on the surface. Do you know I have never heard an original note of music in my life? When I took my LRAM I cheated on the composition. I thought of Mozart and changed some of the notes because there were so many of them. I was so good at fooling people and myself that one of the teachers thought I would go into composition. Become a composer. For a brief flight of fancy I believed him, fool I was. We are what we are, Gregory. Thank you for not hitting me. I deserved it. Can you bare to give me a hug?"
"Of course, you fool."
"Maybe only babes and drunks do tell the truth."
"You're not drunk anymore."
"No, I'm not."
The letter from Captain Doyle that was meant to precede the offer from Barings Brothers arrived a week later. For the families living in isolation the idea of the white tribes of Africa having a war with each other was ludicrous and when Gregory laughed out loud at the idea of untrained farmers squaring up to the British Empire he received a look from Tinus that was murderous and quickly apologised having quite forgotten the man he worked with all day long was not an Englishman.