by Sue Rabie
Mark was waiting expectantly for him at the door. ‘Anything?’ he asked.
David shook his head and Mark sighed and began trudging back to the grader, his face grim. David glanced over his shoulder at Alex Kyle. He had somehow managed to pry open one of the doors to the cargo bays beneath the bus and was dragging the luggage out.
What was he doing?
David stopped. ‘We don’t have time for that,’ he called out to him, but Kyle didn’t seem to hear.
David started retracing his steps. ‘Mr Kyle,’ he tried again as he got nearer. ‘We have to go.’
This time Kyle stopped what he was doing and looked up. David stopped too. Kyle’s face was slightly flushed. ‘Those people have nothing to wear,’ he told David. ‘I’m just collecting a few of their things …’
David looked at the pile of suitcases and bags scattered about in the snow. ‘Leave it,’ David said eventually. ‘Anri will take care of them. The others need us more right now.’
Kyle frowned. ‘You can’t leave these things out here,’ he said. ‘Someone will come and take them.’
David looked at him steadily. ‘No one else will come,’ he said. ‘When we’ve found the others I’ll come back, but right now we need to get going.’
‘For what?’ Kyle asked him. There was a slight snarl in his voice, an anger David had previously not heard. ‘Those others are dead already! They were dead the moment they stepped out of the bus!’
David saw the anger rise in the man, saw the way he stood poised on the balls of his feet like a fighter. This man was dangerous. This man was not unpacking the luggage out of kindness.
David was careful to keep his voice even as he spoke. ‘There’s still a chance they’re alive, Mr Kyle,’ he said, then turned away deliberately and went back to the grader, glancing at Mark who had stood watching the altercation anxiously.
Am I being callous? David asked himself, as he climbed into the grader and started the motor. Maybe those people really do need their luggage?
Kyle looked back at the cargo bays once more and then turned away. He didn’t look up as he made his way around the front of the grader to the horsebox, but David knew he was still angry.
❄
They had an hour of daylight left to continue the search, to find someone. David set the grader in motion and started back along the road to the Werner’s farm. He took a left at the crossroads and followed a side road that led down into a valley and, eventually, to the small settlement of Elandskrans. There was a chance the men from the bus had taken the small road, the winding track eventually leading between two protective hills which the passengers might have seen as a refuge.
Snow continued falling as the grader trundled down the hill towards Elandskrans.
There were close on fifty homes spread out in the low, bowl-shaped valley, the dark doors and windows the only things standing out against the thick layer of white covering the land. But of the fifty wood-and-thatch houses only twenty or so had smoke coming from their chimneys.
David scanned the houses for signs of life. Two or three old kombis stood beside one of the huts, and emerging from its doorway came a figure, quickly joined by others as the people heard the rumble of the grader as it came down the pass.
Some began making their way towards them, the men trudging up the hill through the thick snow.
Then David heard a barely audible noise from the horsebox.
He stopped the grader.
Mark had the small groom’s door open and was banging on it to catch David’s attention.
‘Mark? What is it?’
‘Behind us! Someone’s signalling!’ Mark shouted.
A small cluster of cement-block houses and wattle huts had been built against the lee of the hill above the settlement. Half a dozen people were standing there waving and shouting.
He looked down at the others making their way up the hill towards them. Some of them were running now, and David felt his chest tighten.
It was better to avoid the crowd that would soon be upon them, was better not to face a band of cold and hungry men and women, so he turned the vehicle and ploughed his way up through the thick field of snow to the smaller group of houses overlooking the valley.
David assumed it must be the induna’s kraal, situated above the others for a view over the settlement.
The road up to the huts was totally obscured, and the huts themselves almost half-buried under the drift of snow that had backed up against the lee of the hill. The people had done their best to clear the snow in front of the houses, spading the drifts into heaps on either side, but the snow continued to fall.
David stopped the grader in the clearing. The small group of men and women gathered around him, the younger children holding back as the humped-backed monstrosity of the plough came to a coughing, spluttering stop.
The machine scared them, and they were wary of the man who drove it.
‘Sanbonani,’ David said, holding up a hand as he stepped down from the cab.
The men gathered there greeted him with expressionless faces.
Mark and Kyle clambered out of the horsebox. ‘Sanbonani,’ Mark said, nodding.
He too was greeted with reserve.
‘Have you come to help us?’ one of the men asked.
He was the youngest of the men, one of four who stood a little way in front of the women.
Mark stepped forward. ‘We are looking for some people who have become lost in the snow,’ he said, addressing the older men in their own language.
But, again, it was the younger man who spoke. ‘You have not come to help?’ he asked.
Mark frowned and began to object, but David placed a hand on his arm. ‘What help do you need?’ he asked quietly.
The younger man turned to him, but another older man spoke. His temples were peppered with grey, the short neatly-kept beard covering his chin also streaked with age. ‘The roads are closed to us,’ the older man said. ‘We have no wood. We have no food.’
David looked at the man carefully. He wore a wristband of twisted impala hide on his right arm and although he leaned on a stick, David could see the stick was a knobkerrie. He was sure this man was the induna.
David looked around at the bleak landscape. It was true, they would have no way of collecting wood in this snow. He turned back to them. They were warmly dressed for the most part, the women wrapped in colourful blankets and the children in layers of oversized jerseys, but he could still tell they were cold.
‘We can help you and your people,’ he said to the older man. ‘We can go back to Boston and bring you food and wood.’
Mark began to object, but the older man nodded and gestured behind him. ‘And you must take your people away. They eat more than my whole family put together.’
David looked at him. ‘My people?’
The man nodded to indicate a building. ‘The ones you are looking for. They are there.’
❄
Mark and David looked towards the building that the old man was pointing to. It was the largest of the cement-block houses and the only one with smoke coming out of the chimney.
‘Come,’ the older man said. ‘My wife is taking care of them.’
David glanced once at Mark, who was still staring at the headman in disbelief, and then slowly followed.
‘We found them last night,’ the induna said as he led them through the snow towards the buildings. ‘They were upsetting my cows and we went down expecting to find jackals.’ He pushed the door open, then stood aside to let David in. ‘My son nearly shot one of them.’
The induna nodded at the younger man behind him. It was the one who had spoken when they had first arrived, the angry one who had asked for help.
David nodded at the younger man and walked into the house. It was a four-roomed house, quartered into two bedrooms, a kitchen and a living room. They were there, all ten of them, sleeping on the floor in front of the fire.
As they entered a woman sitting next to the fire plac
ed another log in the flames from a small pile of wood beside the hearth.
A very small pile.
David greeted her as she stood.
She was a young woman, the youngest wife, he thought.
‘Have you come to take them away?’ she asked in her own language.
‘Yes,’ David replied.
‘They will need something warm before they go,’ she said. ‘So will you.’
She bent back over the fire and for the first time he noticed a cast-iron pot hanging at the back of the fireplace. In it steamed phutu, with another pot of thick, rich gravy simmering beside it. She began spooning the phutu and gravy into small bowls while her husband woke the first of his guests – the man who slept furthest from the fire.
The man mumbled something as he was gently shaken and then half sat up as he came fully awake. ‘What is it?’ He spoke Xhosa.
‘It is nothing,’ the induna said in Zulu. ‘You are safe.’
The bus driver wiped his hand over his eyes and looked around. ‘Where am I?’ This time he spoke Zulu.
‘You are in my house,’ the induna said. ‘Remember last night?’
The man blinked and looked around the room.
He saw David standing at the door. ‘Who are you?’ he asked in English.
David stepped forward. ‘My name is David Roth,’ he said. ‘We’ve been looking for you for two days.’
‘Are you the rescue party?’
David looked at Mark and Kyle. ‘You could say that.’
The man sat up straighter. ‘The others …’ he began. ‘I left the others in the bus. Are they …?’
‘They’re all right,’ David told him. ‘We found them yesterday. Everyone’s fine.’
The man sagged back and shut his eyes. ‘Thank God,’ he breathed and then opened his eyes again as the woman touched him on the arm.
‘You must eat,’ she said. ‘You are going out in the cold again.’
The man took the food gratefully.
The others were woken then. They ate the phutu quickly, watching David, Mark and Kyle. They were their deliverance, their salvation, and when David handed back his bowl and thanked the induna’s young wife, the others took it as a signal to do the same and very soon they were hurrying across the snowy ground to the grader. No one questioned the transport, they just followed Mark and Kyle, wrapped themselves in the blankets and waited for David to get the grader going.
‘I’ll be back,’ David said to the men and women who had gathered to watch. ‘I will bring food and wood.’
The small group had grown to a large crowd, and as he said his farewell even more people came up the hill from the settlement below. David tried not to look at them as he started the grader. Their faces would haunt him if he failed.
He kept his eyes on the instruments as he coaxed the grader into life.
He would have to make another long cold trip to keep his promise.
You’ll do it, he said to himself. You’ll do it because it’s one step closer to absolution.
Six
❄
David didn’t head back to the Werner’s farm. Instead, he drove to Boston itself, the village situated closer to Elandskrans than the farm. He and Mark had discussed it before they left. ‘It’ll be dark soon,’ Mark had said. ‘And there’s another reason why we should head for Boston.’
David waited.
‘I don’t have enough space or food for everyone,’ Mark said quietly. ‘As it is Anri is battling to provide for the others.’
David felt that sinking feeling again. If Mark and Anri were finding things hard then he couldn’t imagine what the people in the township were feeling.
‘All right,’ he said. ‘Du Plessis can find a place for these people, probably at the club. We’ll come back here, drop off supplies, and then go to your place and pick up the rest of the passengers.’
It was decided then.
‘Are you sure you can handle it?’ Mark said. ‘It’s another long drive out in the cold.’
David didn’t mind. The cold didn’t just numb his limbs, it also numbed his mind and to a certain extent he was grateful.
He radioed ahead to Du Plessis to let him know they were on their way.
❄
It was almost dark by the time they arrived. Only a few lights greeted them as they made their way down the main road – the lights in his own establishment and those in May’s tearoom across the road.
So the power lines had finally fallen, David thought. Now the village was running on generators.
Sergeant Du Plessis and Phiwe stepped out of his store as he manoeuvred the grader onto the forecourt and finally turned the engine off.
‘Bleddie hell, David,’ the Sergeant almost snarled as he came up. ‘What took you so long?’
David didn’t answer, he didn’t have to. Du Plessis had already turned to the horsebox and was directing Phiwe to lower the ramp so he could off-load the passengers and take them across the road to the tearoom where warmth and food waited.
Mark and Kyle were the last off.
‘Where are we?’ Kyle asked with a frown. ‘Why didn’t we go back to the farm?’
Mark explained the situation, but Kyle didn’t seem happy. ‘I thought we were going back to the farm?’ he said. ‘You said you would take us back to the bus?’
‘There’s not enough space or enough food for everyone at the farm,’ David said levelly. ‘And I did say I’d take you back. When everything is over.’
Kyle stared at him passively, his face expressionless but his eyes hard.
What the hell was wrong with him, David wondered? And why the hell is everyone making this so difficult?
He waited for a response, but Kyle turned away and David was left standing beside the grader.
‘What was that all about?’ Mark asked.
David didn’t know, nor did he particularly care. He was cold and hungry, and he had to get diesel into the grader before he could think about taking care of his own needs. ‘I’m not sure,’ he told Mark. ‘But go with. Keep an eye on him.’
Mark looked at him worriedly, but followed Kyle across the road and into the tearoom. David remained unmoving. He was drained, was reluctant to even think about taking the next step.
‘You did well to find them, Nkosi.’
David turned slowly to the voice.
Phiwe, with a big grin on his face.
David nodded. ‘We were lucky.’
‘So were they,’ Phiwe said. He could see the strain on David’s face. ‘I can close up tonight,’ he told him. ‘I’ll put more diesel in the grader before I go. You go across the road, Miss Jordaan has been asking after you all day.’
David cocked his head at Phiwe then squinted across at the tearoom. The snow was heavier and he could barely see into the shop front, but there was still a comforting, yellow glow from inside that promised warmth and food.
May would be there. May with Charlene’s straight hair. May with Janey’s wide blue eyes.
He turned away. ‘I’d better load supplies,’ he told Phiwe. ‘The people at Elandskrans need them and I’d rather do it before the snow gets too heavy.’
In reality he didn’t trust himself to look at her, he didn’t want to remind himself of his wife and daughter. He didn’t want to remind himself of the dream.
He started towards the store to collect what supplies he had.
While Phiwe began filling the grader with diesel, David kept himself busy at the fridges, trying to get his tired mind to work out what the people at Elandskrans would need the most. He took the obvious things first: bread and milk. He packed eggs too, taking a chance that at least some of them would survive the journey in the horsebox. Packs of mealie meal, sugar and flour came next. Then tins of fish, corned beef and beans. And, finally, big bags of samp. There wasn’t much else after that, his small convenience store only catered for emergency shopping, but it would be enough for now. On top of the basic necessities he added chocolates, chips, biscuits and
sweets for the children. The last thing to go into the horsebox would be the six bags of wood that were stacked outside the door of the store.
By the time Phiwe had finished pumping the diesel, the horsebox floor was halfway to being covered.
It was also snowing harder.
‘This wood will last perhaps one day and one night,’ Phiwe said sceptically as he thought of the number of people living in the settlement at Elandskrans. ‘If it keeps on snowing they’ll have to find more.’
David knew Phiwe was right. ‘Let’s just hope it doesn’t,’ he said, then looked across the road at the tearoom.
There was nothing left for him to do. All he had to do now was collect Mark. Then they would be on their way back to drop off the supplies and get the rest of the passengers from the farm. He wouldn’t need to speak to her, maybe wouldn’t even see her if he was fast enough. He made his way as quickly as he could across the road, his head down and the collar of his coat up against the snow.
The tearoom was a hive of activity.
He pushed open the door, stamping his feet and shaking the snow out of his hair, then stopped when he realised he was being watched.
The diner was fuller than he had ever seen it, but despite the crowd he could still feel Kyle’s stare.
He was sitting alone in a booth, a cup of coffee in front of him.
David felt the man’s anger from where he stood.
He tried to ignore Kyle as he started forward through the others, going to Mark and Sergeant Du Plessis who stood at the back of the diner like two shepherds watching over their flock. They were quietly discussing what they were going to do with so many people.
It was a typical tearoom – a long counter down one side with the open-plan kitchen behind it from which May and her cook served teas and lunches and the occasional dinner to anyone who didn’t fancy cooking for themselves. It wasn’t a lucrative business, certainly not in the village of Boston, but it was well run and the food was still an attraction to the locals who ate there regularly because of the high standards May maintained. Several booths lined the wall facing the kitchen, with two tables looking out over the main road. Except for Kyle’s table, all were full. The kitchen however was empty. May was on her own; the cooks that usually worked for her kept at home by the bad weather.