Steyn sat down on a rock. He picked at his fingernails, trying to dislodge specks of dirt. ‘I’m afraid to see him again.’
‘Mr Matzdorff has to take some responsibility for what’s happening. He also made choices that led to this. He’s old enough to understand that. You’re not the one who decided he should die, and you won’t be the one pulling the trigger.’
Gideon knew very well who that would be. That damn broom-handle Mauser. He had seen swords, daggers and lances, all kinds of rifles and cannons and even those terrible pom-poms that fired explosive bullets like machine guns, but that outlandish pistol now seemed to him more sinister than any of them. Though another weapon would no doubt have taken its place if the Mauser pistol hadn’t been available, Gideon wished he hadn’t given that pistol to Eksteen. He wished he didn’t have to leave Matzdorff to this fate. He had to weigh his options. Could he save the Jew, and with it what’s left of this boy’s innocence, without sacrificing his mission or perhaps even himself? If he could engineer it so Matzdorff could escape in such a way that he was not implicated at all … But the man would be under guard and even if the guards were taken out, he’d be surrounded by men who’d notice his leaving. Guile rather than violence would be the way to go … He should stop thinking like this. Major Bryce had said no single life was worth more than what he had to do. Sacrifices had to be made. The major never said the sacrifices would only be made by people other than Gideon himself. He had bloody well nearly killed himself once to save the Jew. That was enough. Death wanted some people and it was not his place to stand in its way. What was that story about the Arabian servant who went far away to escape death and then it turned out death had an appointment with him at that place anyway? Normally Gideon would not take such an accepting attitude. He believed in his ability to shape events, and if not events, then at least his own life. But one does not go pissing into the wind over and over. To hell with Matzdorff.
‘Why do you think he wanted to leave so desperately?’ The boy had got his voice under control.
‘Something to do with his wife. He’s not a traitor.’
‘She’s that Boer lady?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘I’ve seen her at the shop … What will happen to her?’
‘Look, I don’t know what’s going to happen to anybody. I’m not a prophet. We’re all in this bloody thing. Who knows what …’ Gideon gestured to the pale-blue sky. It was an eye that saw everything and never blinked.
The horse grabbed the grass with its rubbery lips, tore at a clump with its teeth. The hoof-pick hung limp between Gideon’s fingers. Steyn held his two hands outstretched in front of him, inspecting if his nails were clean now.
27 November 1901 (2)
Esther left the Lost Lamb before dawn, sneaking out before her mother or grandmother awoke. Less than one day of unmitigated camp life and relentless thought had been enough to convince her that she had to go join the fighting men. Women on commando were rare, certainly for extended periods, but when it came to riding and shooting she could hold her own against any of the men. She wasn’t quite so sure she could shoot at people or stand the rough life in the veldt, but there was only one way to find out. The worst that could happen is that she would have to return to the Lost Lamb again … Perhaps not quite the worst, but the worst she was willing to contemplate. She had been able to extract a good idea of the commando’s current whereabouts from Steyn the day before, and was confident that she could get close enough to be spotted by a sentry. That would be all she had to do, and someone would take her to their camp.
She had brought riding breeches and long-sleeved blouses for later, but had opted to wear a dress and bonnet for the time being. It would help identify her as a non-combatant if she encountered Khakis. Since the Boers did not wear uniforms, anyone in civilian clothes could be taken for a fighter, but women got the benefit of the doubt. She thought it interesting that people come in two types, each just half of a potential pair. What is this thing that makes us dance around each other, moths around a flame, obsessed with finding a mate? Gideon was with the commando. Esther told herself that she wanted to join the men mainly for reasons of national interest and that her self-interest was confined to her need to do right by her people. Romantic love made little difference either way, she insisted. But why then were her thoughts about him and not about the enemy? Why was it his easy smile that lay in wait whenever her mind drifted, the bony face and sparkling eyes? When he smiled, the corners of his mouth curled down rather than up, yet it looked joyous and made her feel the same. She could not say why he had such an effect on her. She envied the apparent ease with which he walked the earth, the way he listened to and looked at her, the conviction that it was possible to feel completely at home somewhere and be glad to be there. The mere thought of him made her insides turn to mush, to sweet pie filling, forbidden fruit from the Garden of Eden. The realisation made her smile. Can one be so silly and not be bothered by it? … Yes. All kinds of things are possible. Even happiness.
Jacob Eksteen watched her approach. A sentry had alerted him that the same girl from before was coming and he had walked out into the veldt to meet her. The day was getting better and better, he thought. The men were satisfied, and here came the friend of his youth, his friend of friends. She did not look hurried like that day when her house got burnt down. He doubted there was bad news this time. Maybe she brought home-made treats or had simply come to see him for the hell of it, now that caring for the wounded no longer kept her at the Lost Lamb. He looked forward to the interlude.
She saw him, tall and thin and so still it wouldn’t be surprising if a bird settled on him. She rode up very close to him and dismounted.
He had never seen her wear a bonnet and was glad when she took it off. Headgear like that was for the pious and aged, not for someone like Esther. ‘It’s good to see you. What brings you out here?’
‘Aren’t you going to enquire after my wellbeing?’
‘How are you?’
‘Perfect, and you?’
‘Couldn’t be better.’
They could always do this, run through the clichés with full awareness of its absurdity. It was a game they played, a pretend-life of propriety. Esther used to think of it as a way to prepare themselves for a future where they would have to fulfil certain roles in society. This time it felt a bit hollow though. Jacob had changed in a way she couldn’t fathom, or maybe she was the one who had become different.
‘I brought you something.’ She pulled a parcel from her saddlebag, unfolded the cloth to show him the bread.
‘Tell your mother thanks for me.’
‘She wasn’t the one who baked it.’
He was surprised. ‘It’s hard to imagine you doing something so homely.’
‘I have the same problem.’ She looked across to the scattered groups of men. ‘That’s why I’ve come to join the commando.’
‘Join, you say? … But you can’t.’
‘Can’t what?’
‘Can’t come here, with us. We can’t have a woman here.’ It wasn’t totally true – they sometimes had women, though not as members of the commando. But the thing he was thinking about was the business with Matzdorff. He didn’t want her around when the moment came. He didn’t even want her to know about it, not after she had worked so hard to save the unworthy bastard.
‘I won’t be any trouble and I can look after myself.’
‘I know that, but there is a …’ He grasped at the words with outstretched fingers. ‘It’s a man’s world. Your being here will change everything.’
‘It could make it better.’
‘Things are very … delicate. With morale and such. There is a unity among the men and I don’t know if I can risk that. Besides, it’s not safe. The Khakis seem to be mounting a new drive again. They’ll come at us before the summer is over, for sure.’
‘I thought you’d be glad to have the extra man, even if it’s a woman.’
‘I could us
e someone who can ride and shoot like you. Above all I could use someone with your spirit. But you’re not a man … I’m glad you’re not, on the whole, but in this instance … You can’t stay.’
‘Do you have that power, to send me away?’
‘Out here my word carries some weight.’ The words dropped like stones.
She knew better than to go up against Jacob Eksteen. Better play for time and try again tomorrow. ‘I’m tired though, so I’d love to stay the night, at least. Aren’t you going to offer me some coffee? I’ve had a long ride.’
‘Of course. We’ll have it at the tent. We just happen to have some new supplies, courtesy of Her Majesty the Queen.’
Like most of the men, Gideon watched the two of them walk towards the tent, Jacob leading Esther’s horse. He doubted that anyone else felt the terrible excitement he did.
Klein Steyn stood by his shoulder. ‘She’s hellishly pretty.’
‘Yes.’
‘Now that she’s here, she can tell you what it said in that letter.’
‘It saves your skin, doesn’t it?’ Gideon gave the boy a playful shove. They grinned at each other, happy for the moment.
Out of sight from all of them, Matzdorff sat inside a shallow open cave, his hands tied behind his back, propped up against the rock face. His shoulders ached. His feet were tied together too. A bored young man he didn’t know well sat off to the side, turning a broken wooden spoon into a fork by making parallel cuts into it. The guard whistled without great enthusiasm or success. Matzdorff was in a stupor of sorts. His brain simply refused to accept the reality that impressed itself on him in countless ways. The physical discomfort was less trouble than the thoughts. He was outraged, but deeply aware of the futility of the emotion. He felt an overwhelming awareness of time passing. Everything he sensed or thought flowed by and got lost, something that had either happened for the last time or would soon happen for the last time.
He thought of Prussia, a youth driven by the stupid notion that there had to be a better life somewhere else where there were no shtetls, no Poles or Russians or Germans, any of those people who hated his kind in principle. A lot of good that did him. These Boers were like Germans in their love of order, like Russians in the baseness of their passions, like Poles in their constant air of being wronged. And here he was, a ghetto of one about to suffer a genocide of one. When they killed him, they would kill the entire world in his head. His memories would be gone and his future would be a vacuum of experiences never to happen. Does this man, this prosecutor, judge and executioner, have any idea what he’s doing, of the full extent of his actions? Matzdorff could not conceive of any man deliberately taking away all the things God gave someone else. They had punished him for supposedly stealing a pot – an empty vessel, for crying out loud – and yet could decide to steal infinitely more from him. It’s easy to hate humanity when it displays such inhumanity. All these thoughts would be lost too. Everything he thought or felt added to the funeral pyre. And the worst was that the truth would not be known, that Francine would not learn of his death till much later and would never know why and how it happened. That seemed to him the ultimate injustice, that even the memory he left behind would be sullied. He hoped to God there was a heaven and that he would be happy in it. Perhaps he could lead an uprising against the Almighty … That was blasphemy. But why not? It is the last refuge of those who can’t rail against the world any more.
A tiny hummingbird flew past. It caught the sun on its wings for a moment, and was gone.
At Jacob’s tent, Esther swirled the last of the coffee in the bottom of her tin cup and poured it onto her tongue. It was sweet and bitter at the same time. ‘Thank you for this. And for your time.’
‘Everyone’s taking it easy today.’
She got up. ‘Where are my two patients?’
‘Matzdorff … I’m not sure. Way down the back there in the gulley, I think. The Dutchman’s quite close by, just to the right of that clump of ouhout bushes, somewhere there … You can stay here, though. You can sleep in the tent tonight, no need to go completely rough. And I think the men will sleep easier if you’re out of sight.’ He was hoping to keep the news about Matzdorff from her, but it was hard to do without raising suspicion. Couldn’t she have come just one day later?
Esther sensed something, a timbre in his voice she found unfamiliar. Diplomacy did not suit him. She did not find subterfuge easy herself. ‘I’ll just go say hello to Mr Doncker.’
She walked, but wanted to run – either towards Gideon or away from it all, anything but this slow meting of time and distance. It had occurred to her that perhaps this was all the land was for, to put space between people, but it was just a silly notion.
Gideon was putting ammunition into his bandolier, packing his haul from the day before so they’d be easier to use. He saw her shoes first, the hem of her dress. He was almost too scared to look up, in case there might be a different face than the one he cherished in the moments before falling asleep. Then he did look and neither of them smiled nor spoke. They stared at each other like you might look into a mirror if you hadn’t seen yourself for a long time. They looked to assure themselves that yes, this was him and yes, this was her. The faces were the faces they knew and wanted to know ever better.
‘I’ve brought you something.’ She held out a loaf of bread, draped in white cloth.
‘Come sit here in the shade.’ He opened the cloth, broke off a piece of bread and ate. Then he tore off some more and gave it to her. Their fingers tangled briefly, tingled for longer. ‘This is wonderful.’ They had more of the bread and then she leaned back, braced by her hands. He did the same, his hand half on hers. Their shoulders touched. They looked at the rising slope, beginning to turn green with new grass, and the layer of ochre rock, streaked by black runoff that capped the hill. A small tree here, another there. Above it the azure sky where dazzling white clouds drifted, majestic swans. Cicadas sang of the sun and birds like the hearts of young lovers.
‘Did you get my letter?’
He pulled it out of his pocket and showed her. ‘I couldn’t read a word of it, so I just imagined what it said.’
‘It’s probably better that way.’
Silent spaces surrounded their words.
‘I wanted so much to hear your voice.’
A breath. ‘You know what I want to say.’
‘I still want to hear you say it.’
She looked at him looking at her. The strangely angular face, lips slightly apart, dots of sunlight sparking in his hair, a smear of dirt near his temple, the flecks of colour in his eyes, the smell of honey and leather that hung about him … She was aware of every detail. In that moment, for once, anticipation and satisfaction coincided. Esther thought she heard the sound of two hands clapping. ‘I don’t know what’s going on with me.’
‘Do you know if it’s a good thing?’
‘Oh yes. It is the best thing that can be.’
‘I’m glad for you. And for me. I’m glad for me too.’ He smiled, and his whole heart was in it.
‘And you, what’s going on with you?’
‘Also a good thing.’
Warm air stirred on their skin. Leaves trembled in the bush behind them.
Gideon thought that if his life had felt slightly unreal before, it was because he was pretending to be someone other than who he was, not in the way people usually do, to make a living or otherwise avoid embarrassment, but for life or death. Could it be that in this pretence he found a truth that suited him better than anything his normal life could offer? For months now he had been living a life of denial, a nomadic life scrounging a living off the land, like a monk denying himself many of the supposed basic necessities of life, among people who denied the patently obvious fact that they had lost the war. What an idealistic act to choose this excruciating resistance over the obvious truth represented by vast foreign armies! The madness of it had a captivating beauty; he could see how Jacob Eksteen could be so utterly seduced by it.
This craziness was life and he was in it, borne along by it as surely as his brother Edward had been by the currents at Piha. Now that he had found something worth living for, more than ever he did not want to drown. A moment like this, with this beguiling woman, alluring as anemone … Everything was worthwhile after all and he was deeply happy.
Esther had never imagined forming this sort of bond with anyone but one of her own people. Yet this foreigner had chosen to join their cause; for him it was a calling rather than a duty. His being on their side wasn’t just an accident of birth, as it was for the others. Didn’t the fact that he chose this make him one of her people in an even more significant way? He wasn’t the leader of this group of men, but she couldn’t help but think that by answering the call of justice rather than just the call of duty he was in some way superior to any of them. He was worthy in a way none of them could be and he belonged with her as she belonged with him.
‘I don’t want to leave, but Jacob won’t let me stay … I’m worried something will happen to you.’
‘Nothing will happen to me.’ He hoped, and it was an unfamiliar feeling.
For the next hour, they talked and toyed with each other’s clothing, removing the odd windblown seed, wishing they had been far from prying eyes, far from war. He showed her how his wounds had healed. She let her fingertips slide over the scars. He could feel it in some parts, not in others. She wanted to kiss those red ridges, just to be kissing something. She had brought some apricots and they shared the fruit. He had a tin of Scottish shortbread for her.
‘I’m supposed to do sentry duty this afternoon,’ he told her after lunch. ‘Sorry, but I couldn’t know you’d be here.’
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