‘I suppose animals like that, if they could think, would think humans are the dangerous ones.’
‘I guess we are … My grandfather used to tell me this story about the jackal and the wolf. A lot of our kids’ stories are about them. Anyway, they see a man. The wolf had never seen one before, so he asks the jackal what kind of creature this is. And the jackal says, “This is the round-headed creature, you never know what it will do.” I used to think it’s such a lame story, but the old man was onto something.’
Gideon continued to steer the conversation. ‘I’m amazed at people, the things we do. Here we are, about to rain down rocks and death on a bunch of others.’ It was something that had been bothering him. He had considered timing the fuses so that the explosion would occur before or after the column had passed, but on the whole it would be better if he did it as expected, ingratiating himself with Eksteen so he could complete his mission, end the war sooner and in so doing, save many more lives. This was what he told himself, not for the first time.
‘You’re a good one to talk. You came thousands of miles to fight in a war that had nothing to do with you. Why did you come?’
Was his cover story going to undermine every argument he tried to make, Gideon thought grimly. Esther, too, brought it up when he tried to reason with her. ‘But doesn’t it bother you that we kill other people?’
‘You haven’t answered my question yet.’
‘Why I came? … If I have to be honest, it wasn’t so much about the war as about myself. I wanted to see a different side to life, find out a bit about my own limits. This was an opportunity.’ Stick as close to the truth as you dare when you lie, Major Bryce had told him.
Jacob smiled. ‘I knew it was bullshit, that story about being inspired by our cause.’
‘Since we’re being so honest, you have to answer my question. Doesn’t the killing bother you?’
‘No.’
Clearly the commandant wasn’t going to be forthcoming on this. Gideon wanted to know specifically about the execution, not long-distance shooting. He was sure Jacob Eksteen would shoot him if he found out what he really was. If it did happen, he’d want to understand the mind of the man who pulled the trigger. ‘With that traitor though, when it’s like that,’ he ventured.
Jacob swallowed the biltong he had been chewing. The saltiness of it stung his throat. ‘You think about it the wrong way. Being born gives us the opportunity to live, not the right. One has to earn that, and some people don’t. Normally they get away with being useless, but not in war. It’s an unforgiving time. We shoot our enemies for the sake of our people, but traitors … Traitors have to be shot for the sake of all people.’ Jacob fell silent. A dark smudge had appeared at the furthest bend in the road. Two scouts rode ahead. Jacob waited till they had passed. ‘You’d better get to your fuse.’
Gideon crept out of the sangar, crawling along until he could no longer see the road. Then he got up and ran to the tin of coals, grabbed it and took it close to the fuse. The end of the fuse was in a sandy hollow. This was where he would tip out the coals. His heart was beating wildly, far more than the exertion warranted. He was about to do something awesome … awful. He was amazed just thinking about it. You take a specific liquid absorbed in sawdust or something, wrap it in paper and light it. The chemical reaction creates a gas that expands at tremendous pace, forceful enough to tear rock asunder. Eksteen’s grandfather had been right – the round-headed creature was truly scary.
He looked back up towards the shelter, had trouble picking out the man’s shape in the shadow. He hoped he’d see the signal when it came. In a few moments, some innocent soldier would be walking or riding along the road, dreaming of another day, another place. Suddenly there would be a loud boom and tons of rock would collapse onto him, his horse, his companions. Life and love extinguished, flesh buried, tears formed in distant eyes, fate cursed. Because someone had the gall to touch a glowing coal to a flammable string. Because someone believed in The Greater Good, the excuse for atrocities since atrocities began. God, he wished to be somewhere else, with someone else, Esther with her olive skin, serene look, nimble hands.
There! The commandant gave the signal. Gideon’s hand trembled ever so slightly as he took the little brazier and tipped the coals into the hollow with the fuse. Nothing happened. He blew on the coals. The fuse sputtered to life, to light. To death. It burnt a path towards the rocks. He had to run. No time now. You don’t want to be out here when the rocks start flying. His pants clung to his thighs, impeding his movement. He strained to keep his legs pumping. How many more steps? His breath burnt in his chest. He dove into the shelter. Safe!
Gideon’s mouth gaped. Jacob’s jaw was clenched. He couldn’t see anything happening. What if something had gone wrong? Maybe he shouldn’t be trusting this foreigner. He could hear the column – the clip-clop of hooves, jangling harnesses, rumbling wheels – just out of sight now, down below. Why was it taking so long? Maybe there was something wrong with the dynamite. It might be old. It could be, if Tromp had stolen it from a mine. He looked at Gideon, who was staring at the place where he had put the dynamite.
‘Did you get it right?’
Jacob’s question was answered by a magnificent explosion, a flash and a shockwave they felt in their chests, then a rumble and screaming, horses whinnying, crashes and dust everywhere. Down on the road, people had started firing blindly into the mountain, staving off fear and imagined death. Horrible moans echoed around.
‘Cease fire! Cease fire!’ A British officer tried to restore order. His voice carried up the mountainside and eventually registered with those a few feet from him. They repeated the exhortation until all fell silent except for the moans of injured men and horses.
Jacob wished he could see the destruction. He bet those men wished to be home right now, down in the pub with their mates or at home with wives and mothers, not in this pit of death.
The column must have gone into battle positions, except for those involved in digging out and caring for the victims. Commands rang out. There was some discussion as to whether there really had been a bang first, or just the noise of the landslip.
‘You did good.’ Jacob patted Gideon on the shoulder, a clumsy gesture.
Gideon tried to concentrate on the progress of a dung beetle rolling a pellet through an indent left by his boot. When he decided to offer Eksteen use of the dynamite, he thought it would allow him to show his worth without hurting anyone, that they could blow up telegraph poles, maybe damage a minor bridge. Not this carnage. How many more times would he inadvertently send events on a course with an outcome that would horrify him? He vowed to himself he’d use more imagination from now on, that he’d think through what would happen because of what he did and picture the reality of it before deciding what to do.
Within half an hour, the British column had reorganised itself and was moving out, continuing on its way. They had transferred much of the load onto horses. The wagons carried the wounded men.
The group travelling down the road was a bit larger than Jacob had hoped, but would still make a reasonable target. Nobody seemed to be going the other way. He didn’t think the Khakis would abandon their supplies or take flight, but an attack would at least serve the purpose of appeasing his own men and harassing the enemy. He picked up the flag and waved it in the chosen direction, watching through his binoculars until he saw confirmation that his message had been received. Liebenberg was going to lead the attack. The field cornet wasn’t much for making plans, but had a good rapport with the men. Anyway, Jacob thought it more important to be here, keeping an eye on the Dutchman himself and making the key decisions.
‘Let’s go have a look down there.’ Jacob took his rifle and headed down the slope. Gideon followed. Some way down, he stumbled and slid, sending rocks a-rolling. ‘Watch out! There might still be Khakis down there.’ Gideon braced himself with his hands. After a day in the sun, the stones were almost too hot to touch.
When they c
ould first see the pile of rocks the explosion had dumped on the road, they stopped to look. There was a wagon half buried in the rubble and another that had been abandoned. There didn’t seem to be any guards. Perhaps everyone was too scared to be left behind, or there was nothing worth guarding.
‘There doesn’t seem to be anything alive down there.’ Gideon tried to keep his voice free of emotion.
‘I’d like to see.’ Jacob resumed the descent.
The road was not completely blocked, but the undamaged part was only wide enough for a man or horse to pass. The wagon that had not been buried appeared to have at least lost a wheel, judging by the angle of the draught pole. An injured ox had been shot. Jacob pointed to a dark stain in the dust some ways off. ‘More blood.’
‘Human or animal?’
‘We bleed the same.’
Gideon hoped it had been an animal. He looked up at the cliff, seeing the scar made by the falling rocks. ‘I would’ve expected the rock fall to be further this way.’
They both looked up.
‘Jacob.’
The voice startled them, coming from a shaded spot to the right. Both Gideon and Jacob raised their rifles.
‘Don’t tell me it was you who did this.’ In the mutated Dutch of the Boers. The man was sitting flat on the ground, his rifle abandoned in the gravel. His head was bare, curly ginger hair standing in all directions.
‘Tjaart? What the hell are you doing here? Why are you with the Khakis?’
‘Look what you’ve done …’ The man gestured towards the prone figure on the ground next to him. ‘My father’s not going to make it.’
Jacob went closer to look. The old man’s skull had a concave wound, bloody and matted with hair. The man’s eyes flickered open, showing nothing but confusion. He made an animal sound.
‘How was I supposed to know you’re with the enemy now? What, are you scouting for them?’
‘We’re fighting to save our country from this mindless destruction.’ The man, Tjaart, spoke without emotion, completely exhausted.
‘By siding with the Khakis? They’re the ones burning the farms, not us.’
The sitting man hung his head, gathering his resolve. Tjaart Potgieter was a lawyer by profession, used to stating his case. He was in the dock now, so to speak, but the same principles had to apply. There were extenuating circumstances. ‘People like you forced them into it by not surrendering when we lost … At least the British are more humane than you lot. They let me stay with my father to the end. You’ll take everything from a man and expect him to carry on as if nothing had happened.’
Jacob rested his rifle butt on the ground. ‘I was there when you vowed to fight to the bitter end. Were you just lying or what?’
‘I believed what I said and I still do. Where you and I differ, Jacob, is about what the bitter end is. I mean, look around … Look at that man with you, you’re both half starved, living like animals. What you’re doing is not waging war; it’s sheer torture, interspersed with murder. If this isn’t enough to convince you that the bitter end has already been reached, I don’t know what will.’
‘For me, the bitter end is when I say it is … But you’re right. For you, it is now.’ Jacob took the broom-handle Mauser from its holster.
‘Commandant!’ Gideon spoke up. ‘This man cannot do anything to us now.’
‘Oh, but he is doing something to me. He’s telling me all this was for nothing, that everything I do means nothing. And he’s a traitor. You know where I stand on that.’
The wounded man on the ground let out a sigh. Jacob looked at him. Time to put the old man out of his misery. He levelled the pistol and fired, tearing a chunk out of the prone man’s head.
‘Oh my God! Oh my God! What am I going to tell Ma?’ Tjaart grabbed his father’s lifeless body by the shoulder.
Like before, when he shot Tromp, Jacob felt a tremendous surge of relief, accomplishment even. Doing the supposedly unthinkable was liberating in a way he could not have imagined. You have to do this to know. To be beyond laws and conventional morality. It was like breaking through to a new world, brave and terribly beautiful. Colours were brighter here, thoughts clearer, and the wind whispered words. He had never done anything in his life to compare. This was the moment of insight, epiphany, the appearance of God in all His overpowering wonder. The smell of cordite stung Jacob’s nose. If only all of life could be this vivid. Unadulterated. Uncompromised. It was all raw beauty and righteousness.
The seated man gaped at this angel of death, fishing for thoughts that made sense. ‘God, Jacob … What will your mother say when she finds out?’
Jacob was amazed, disappointed. What was it with the man talking about his mother? Did he have no respect for the moment? These souls without poetry, these loathsome traitors, are a shame on humanity. ‘Tjaart, go scout in hell. Maybe there’s gold there and it’s the next place the British will invade.’ The barrel of Jacob’s pistol moved a few degrees. When it pointed at the seated man, he pulled the trigger. Tjaart shuddered and toppled backwards, still with his hand on his father’s shoulder. A maroon patch bloomed on his cheek.
Gideon was touched by a terrible awe. It was like his eyes had turned to crystal and could not see anything new. This was unmapped territory, something beyond war. Not countries, but heaven and hell were having it out. Hell led, and Jacob Eksteen was its champion. ‘This is a man who knew your mother …’ he said with more breath than voice.
‘That old man was her brother.’ Jacob turned and walked.
Far away, the sound of gunfire erupted.
Gideon and Eksteen followed the road without riding on it, keeping as far away as the cliff sides, both higher and lower, would let them. The sound of gunfire had died down. There was no indication which side had stopped firing first, and why. For all they knew there could still be Khakis about. They kept their horses at a walk, quietly listening for telltale sounds, looking for any sign of people. At one point, Eksteen lifted his hand and Gideon reined in his horse. There was the faint whine of insect wings. One noisy bug whirred past them. Then came a voice, accompanied by its echo. The words were indistinctive. Gideon followed the commandant’s lead, getting off his horse and leading the animal behind some scrawny trees. The voices became louder. If it was the enemy, they would have to leave their horses, scamper down the cliff side and hope to find a good hiding spot. Gideon realised with a shock that the oncomers were speaking English. He caught Eksteen’s eye, gave him a questioning look. Eksteen signalled for him to wait. Their eyes were fixed on the furthest bend in the road they could see, some seventy yards away.
What appeared was one of the strangest sights Gideon had yet seen. A group of men, thirty or forty of them in underwear, came stumbling along in close formation. They were connected with their own belts tied as nooses from neck to neck. Their hands were behind their backs, obviously tied too. They were barefoot, gingerly stepping on the rough gravel, trying to keep from falling. One slip would bring a whole group of them down, if not all. Swear words and yelps of pain sounded out. They must be Khakis who had been captured, Gideon realised. The Boers had nowhere to keep prisoners, so usually stripped the men and set them free.
Next to him, Jacob Eksteen burst out laughing. ‘Just look at the sad bastards!’ Eksteen mounted his horse and rode towards them, shouting in English, ‘Greetings, oh mighty conquerors!’
Gideon jumped on his mount and followed. He never realised the commandant could speak English, but shouldn’t have been surprised. Hadn’t he seen Eksteen read an English book just the other day?
The Khakis, or dirty whites as they were just then, came to a shuddering halt when they saw the Boer rider. Eksteen made a slow circuit around them. Their eyes followed him. They were quiet. I few shuffled their torn and bloody feet to find a smooth spot on the road. Gideon kept his distance, for fear that one of them might recognise him, small as that chance might be. He watched Eksteen’s right hand, afraid he might draw that Mauser pistol from its holster.
‘You sorry bastards,’ he heard Eksteen say. Oh God no, there came the pistol … Eksteen held it aloft. ‘Go home!’ he shouted, and fired a shot at the ground at their feet. ‘Go!’
They scampered off, trying in vain not to touch the ground.
Jacob fired another two or three shots just behind them. ‘Run and don’t stop!’ He enjoyed their humiliation, but these men were true to their cause and didn’t deserve to die.
Gideon spurred his horse on and rode past them quickly. ‘C’mon, let’s go find the commando,’ he urged as he rode past the commandant.
They found the rest of the men about a mile further on. From their excited talking, Gideon managed to piece together what had happened. As planned, some men had been assigned to shooting the draught animals as soon as the Khaki column came into firing range, two oxen from each team and then others at will, to bring the column to a halt. Then they simply started picking off the men one at a time until the white flag went up. The Khakis surrendered quite readily these days, knowing that only their honour and not their freedom was at stake. They could surrender today and be fighting again tomorrow. The Khakis were forced to strip and take off their boots. As a consequence, many of the Boers sported gleaming new footwear. The Khakis were tied up and sent on their way, with only the wounded few left behind and under guard.
Liebenberg assigned a few men to slaughter two of the oxen. A handful of men were standing guard up on the hill, a few rounded up the horses that hadn’t bolted, the rest ransacked the wagons. They stuffed their saddlebags with food and ammunition. Gideon opened a Maconochie’s ration tin on the spot, relishing the turnip stew he used to hate, along with hard army biscuits. One complete wagon contained crate upon crate of women’s and children’s clothing, for reasons the men could only guess at. Some men cursed their bad luck, but then got into the festive mood of the moment and started dressing up, to general laughter. Only two men had been wounded, both only lightly, and they were having as much fun as everyone else.
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