The Boston Snowplough

by Sue Rabie

  ‘My mistake,’ Jake apologised, his back to Mark, ‘I didn’t see him coming.’

  He was still smiling, the hard grin hidden from Mark but directed with menace at David.

  Owen Dlamini stared out anxiously from the groom’s door.

  David pushed himself up, dusting the snow from his clothing. He ignored Jake’s outstretched hand and the warm trickle making its way down his cheek. He knew perfectly well it had been intentional, that Jake had been planning the move, waiting for the right moment, for David to open the groom’s door.

  Mark pushed past Jake and inspected David’s face. ‘That looks serious,’ he growled. ‘What did he do?’ he asked again.

  David shook his head and glanced at Jake. ‘Nothing …’ he said.

  Jake’s smile vanished.

  ‘It was an accident,’ David went on. He shrugged dismissively. ‘I didn’t see the door swing open.’

  The look on Jake’s face was no longer one of satisfied triumph. It was surprise.

  ‘You sure he didn’t do it deliberately?’ Mark queried.

  David shook his head. ‘It was my fault,’ he told Mark and smiled. ‘Silly mistake.’

  David watched warily as Jake turned towards the stairs, then touched a hand to his cheek, wincing as he felt the cut.

  Why would Jake risk another confrontation? David asked himself.

  ‘You’re going to let him get away with it?’

  David turned to Mark.

  ‘He did it intentionally.’

  David sighed. ‘I didn’t want to start another argument,’ he explained. ‘It will just cause more trouble, and that’s one thing we can really do without right now.’

  Nine

  ❄

  May Jordaan spooned another helping of stew onto the plate of the next person standing in line. She was behind the service counter that was built under a wide arch that joined the main hall of the club to the kitchen – a large room from which they usually served tea, coffee and cake to villagers who came to watch the occasional theatre production or attend a wedding. Now it was being used to serve hurriedly made food to the twenty or so men and women who were stranded in the club. Some were the men that David had brought in the day before, the others were villagers who had made their way from their dark, cold homes in search of the hospitality the club’s generator offered.

  Besides Phiwe, who had come with May to help settle the passengers, there was old Mr Mollard, a retired banker, Mrs Perryman, Boston’s switchboard operator and local gossip, and a young girl, Hettie le Roux, who worked in the post office. The rest of the group lingered loosely around the kitchen and bar, or sat on the cots that Malan had spread out in the main hall. It was a big room, with a stage at one end and an enclosed veranda on one side. On the other side of the room a passage lead to Malan’s office and storerooms.

  Opposite the kitchen another archway led to the large bar where racks of glasses hung over the beechwood counter. The pool table took up the centre of the bar area, while around the edge, in front of the bay windows, were booths with green-striped benches. It was a typical bar, smelling slightly of stale beer and cigarettes, but with a warm and friendly atmosphere nonetheless.

  An atmosphere a far cry from that found in the main hall. Even with the fire roaring in the hearth and the warmth of the gas heaters there was a faint chill in the air. The snow outside was not abating, and the villagers were glancing at the drifts building up outside the club with worry in their eyes.

  How much longer would it last?

  Would the generator hold out? Would they have enough food and wood?

  It was into this atmosphere that the rest of the passengers were thrust.

  May looked up as they arrived. They came in behind Malan and Du Plessis, a troupe of twelve or so men and women, the two men lending support to the first few passengers. Potgieter was pretending to help, but was actually doing very little. He was following three teenage girls who were doing their best to avoid his leering gaze. Behind him stalked a man in a blue blanket jacket with an angry scowl on his face.

  Something had happened.

  Then came Mark Werner, also with a scowl on his face, helping an old man.

  The last to enter was David, bleeding from a cut on his cheek.

  May stopped serving and grabbed a towel as she came out from behind the counter.

  The tension amongst the newcomers was palpable, adding to the already strained atmosphere in the club.

  May read their faces and could see that trouble was very near. ‘Mr Malan?’ May called across the room, ‘we’ll need more cots.’

  Malan and Du Plessis looked blankly up at her.

  ‘And can you also arrange for someone to fetch more blankets and pillows from your stores?’

  No one moved.

  ‘It’s been quite a night, Mr Malan,’ she said, ‘perhaps a cup of hot tea for everyone would go down well?’

  People started moving. Malan flashed her a half-smile and then handed his keys to Du Plessis who disappeared with a reluctant Potgieter to fetch pillows and blankets from the storeroom. Malan then disappeared through a swinging door into the kitchen for the tea. The newcomers shuffled further into the room, the men and women already there making way for them. Some of the men, who had just been served their supper, offered their plates to the cold and shivering newcomers who accepted gratefully. Some of the villagers sitting at the tables stood up and took blankets to the women and girls.

  ‘You’d better come with me and get that seen to,’ May said, ignoring David’s tight expression as she walked up to him.

  David did not argue, but he didn’t move either.

  She tried again, keeping her voice low so only he could hear. ‘It would be wise to wash the blood off,’ she told him, looking directly at the cut on his face. ‘Sometimes it makes people nervous …’

  She glanced around the room as she said it.

  David followed her gaze. She was right. They were staring at him.

  ❄

  In the changing rooms, May found extra towels and a first-aid kit in a small cupboard. ‘Sit,’ she ordered.

  He sat on the counter, and she began cleaning his face, acutely aware of his anger.

  ‘What happened?’ she asked as she worked.

  He didn’t say anything, just closed his eyes as she applied pressure to his cut with one hand and gently wiped the blood away with the towel.

  She tried again. ‘It’s been a strange few days,’ she told him, keeping the pressure on his face while she rummaged for a plaster. ‘I wish it would stop snowing,’ she added. ‘At least then we might have a chance of getting the power back on.’

  Still no response.

  ‘Who is he?’

  David opened his eyes.

  ‘The man in the blue jacket?’ May tried again. ‘Do you know who he is?’

  David glanced at her. ‘No,’ was all he said.

  She tore a plaster open with her perfect teeth.

  ‘He did this, didn’t he?’

  He looked at her lips. ‘Yes.’

  She gently closed the cut on his cheek with the plaster. It was delicate work and she leaned into him, steadying herself against his shoulder as she carefully stuck on the Band-Aid.

  He could feel her breath against his neck, could feel her warmth through his jacket. She smelt strangely of spices and vanilla. Charlene had always smelt of Chanel No. 5. She had never smelt of spices. She didn’t like to cook.

  ‘He’s with Alex Kyle,’ David said.

  He spoke to get rid of the image of Charlene, to distract himself from May’s touch.

  ‘They were travelling together,’ he told her. ‘Kyle came with us when we went to find the others. When we got back to the farm Jake was upset Kyle wasn’t there.’

  May pressed at the ends of the plaster to make sure they were stuck.

  ‘That’s a bit odd,’ she said, stepping back. ‘He knew his partner was safely here? Why get violent?’

  David fingered the pla
ster. ‘I suppose he was worried I had done something to Kyle.’

  She began tidying up the first-aid kit, then, suddenly, the lights dimmed.

  A slow fading … a flicker … then renewed illumination.

  David and May glanced at each other.

  The generator?

  They waited for more flickering.

  Nothing.

  May carried on with their conversation as she rinsed his blood from the towel. ‘What do you mean ‘done something’?’ she asked. ‘What did he think you would do to his friend?’

  It was exactly the question David was asking himself. What had Kyle been after at the bus? Why was Jake so worried about being separated from Kyle? Or was it that Jake was worried that Kyle would leave without him?

  The cut was throbbing, but the plaster had helped. He slipped off the counter. ‘Thanks,’ he said softly.

  May smiled up at him. She was taller than Charlene, her eyes almost level with his chin. He turned away before she could say anything.

  ❄

  The atmosphere in the main hall had changed. There was a low hum of conversation and Mrs Perryman and Hettie were going around with a tray of tea and coffee. Constable Potgieter had also returned. He had found blankets and pillows in the storeroom and had begun handing them out to those who needed them. He had gone to the three girls first.

  Mark and Du Plessis were still struggling with the cots that had to be wrestled out of a back room and manoeuvred down the passage and through the doorway. Phiwe was with them, and David went to help, noting that Alex Kyle and Jake were standing together at the arch leading to the barroom. They were watching him, but he ignored them, following the thumping and grunting that was coming from where the three men were stacking the beds from the storeroom against the wall before carrying them into the main hall.

  ‘Need help?’ David asked.

  Phiwe started to smile, then stopped as Mark scowled at him. ‘Not as much as you do,’ he retorted angrily.

  He was clearly still frustrated that David hadn’t stood up to Jake.

  ‘When he came at you the first time I stopped you,’ Mark started. ‘And I was right to do so. But tonight was different. You should have done something!’

  David didn’t respond. He simply picked up a cot and began carrying it to the main hall.

  In the hall, he glanced once more at Alex and Jake to judge their moods. They had turned away and gone into the bar where Jake had lit up a cigarette.

  David relaxed slightly and went back for another cot. This time Mark didn’t say anything, just glowered crossly at David.

  They carried all the beds out of the storeroom and into the main hall, May and the oldest of the three girls made them up as David and Mark brought them out. Potgieter also helped, but again he was more of a hindrance than anything else. He kept close to the oldest girl, grinning at her even though she ignored him.

  ‘Go and get some more firewood,’ Du Plessis growled at the constable.

  There was a wooden shed against the side of the building where the firewood was stored.

  ‘Peewee can do it,’ Potgieter whined.

  Du Plessis frowned at him. ‘Peewee’s busy with something else,’ he said. ‘I’m asking you.’

  Phiwe had finished carrying the cots and was now collecting dirty dishes from around the room, taking them to Mrs Perryman and Hettie who were washing up. The other two girls were helping them dry.

  ‘It’s getting worse out there,’ Potgieter complained. ‘I’ll freeze.’

  ‘Good,’ Du Plessis said. ‘Maybe it’ll cool you off.’

  Potgieter opened his mouth to object, but Du Plessis stared at him stonily until he turned to leave.

  ❄

  Mark and Malan were standing at the entrance to the club watching the falling snow outside.

  ‘Potgieter’s right,’ David said, as he and Du Plessis joined them. ‘The snow is getting worse.’

  Du Plessis nodded sagely at David’s comment.

  ‘We should be going,’ David continued.

  Mark gaped at David. ‘Going where?’ he asked.

  ‘To the farmers exchange. We need to collect supplies for the people at Elandskrans. We also need to get to the clinic and fetch those antibiotics.’

  Du Plessis glanced quickly at David.

  ‘I know,’ Mark said, letting his head loll back in resignation, ‘I just thought we would be eating supper first. My stomach’s beginning to think my throat’s been cut.’

  David was also hungry, was still trying to warm up after the trip from the farm, but he would rather get this last thing over and done with before the weather got so bad that they couldn’t find their way up the road. ‘Sorry,’ he told Mark. ‘But we’d better go before it gets worse and before we get too comfortable.’

  ‘There’s no chance of that,’ Mark said. ‘My feet feel like they’ll never be warm again.’

  David smiled in sad agreement, then turned to Malan. ‘Can we use your radio?’ he asked. ‘We need to see how the others at the farm are and contact Jethro Miller and get him to open his store.’

  The phones were down, but the CB network was still holding up, at least until the array of aerials buckled under the weight of the snow. Malan had a CB radio in his office, as did most of the farms in the area. Miller had one in the house behind his store.

  Malan and Du Plessis led the way to Malan’s spacious office. There was a desk in the middle of the room facing the door, a large bay window behind it and filing cabinets to either side. A safe took up a part of the right-hand wall, while a large cupboard took up most of the wall on the left.

  The CB radio was locked away in the cupboard. Malan opened it for them and rummaged in the filing cabinet for Jethro Miller’s call sign while Mark talked to Anri. All was well. Her only worry was for the boy whose temperature had risen. Miriam was sitting with him now. Michelle was making tea. Mark told his wife they would be back soon.

  Du Plessis leant against a filing cabinet as David took his turn.

  ‘WQ 244 calling WQ 301. Jethro Miller, calling Jethro Miller, Jethro, are you there? Over.’

  The lights dimmed again.

  ‘Shit,’ Malan swore.

  The flickering lasted a heartbeat then the lights settled once more to a steady glow.

  Could the diesel in the generator be running out? David wondered.

  ‘Damn thing,’ Malan said, as if he had read David’s mind. ‘It’s just old,’ he told them, ‘I’ve got more than enough diesel, but the generator tends to play up in cold weather.’

  David nodded, then tried the radio again, his fingers unconsciously tracing the edge of the plaster on his cheek. It had stopped throbbing now; the cut was only tender if he smiled and he had a feeling he wasn’t going to be doing a lot of that this evening.

  ‘WQ 244 calling WQ 301. Jethro, can you hear me? Over.’

  David kept trying, acutely aware of Du Plessis watching him, until Jethro Miller came on the air.

  ‘WQ 301 here, Malan, is that you? Over?’

  ‘It’s David Roth, Mr Miller …’

  ‘David?’ Miller interrupted. ‘What’s wrong? Over.’

  ‘I need you to open the store,’ David told him. ‘There’s an emergency out at Elands …’

  ‘At this time of the evening?’ Miller interrupted again.

  David didn’t care what time it was. ‘People are in trouble, Jethro,’ he said, trying to explain. ‘I need to get food and wood or they’re not going to last. Over.’

  ‘Who’s going to pay, David?’ he asked, obviously unhappy about the situation.

  David closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. Malan and Du Plessis watched him without expression.

  ‘I’ll pay, Jethro,’ he said, ‘you won’t be out of pocket. Over.’

  Jethro hummed and hawed but eventually capitulated and it was arranged that they would meet him outside his store in half an hour.

  David handed the receiver back to Malan.

  ‘I
’ll leave it on in case someone needs to contact us,’ Malan told David. ‘And we’d better check the generator.’

  David hoped there was nothing mechanical wrong with the generator. Fixing a stubborn generator was the last thing he felt like doing.

  He braced himself when he thought of what could still go wrong. And he still had to get the medication from the clinic.

  He glanced up as Malan interrupted his thoughts. ‘I’ll need help with the generator,’ Malan said to the three men. ‘The damn thing’s in the basement under the kitchen. I’ll need someone to hold the flashlight.’

  ‘I’ll help,’ David said, but Du Plessis stopped him.

  ‘No,’ Du Plessis said, interrupting. ‘I need a word with you. Alone.’

  David waited.

  ‘I’ll help Malan with the generator,’ Mark said awkwardly. ‘I’ll meet you in the kitchen later, okay, David?’

  David nodded and Mark left hurriedly after Malan.

  ‘What’s all this about the clinic and antibiotics?’ Du Plessis asked, as soon as they were out of earshot.

  They hadn’t told him about the boy.

  ‘He’ll need the medicine,’ David said, after he had told him everything. ‘I’ll take it back with me when I drop the supplies off at Elandskrans. I’ll bring him back here when he’s strong enough to travel.’

  Du Plessis shook his head. ‘I can’t let you do that.’

  David just looked at him. He understood why Du Plessis was reluctant, understood it was his job, but this was an emergency.

  ‘Look, Du Plessis,’ he said. ‘They’re just pills. The boy will get worse if he doesn’t get the medication.’

  But Du Plessis was unmoved. ‘You may not administer drugs, nor may you examine or prescribe any medication to anyone at any time. You know this, David.’ He cocked his head. ‘You’re not a doctor any more.’

  Not a doctor anymore.

  David felt the words hit home …

  ‘And as your parole officer I can’t let you do it,’ Du Plessis continued.

  David felt the shame of it. He thought back to the first time he had met Du Plessis, to the first time the policeman had heard about David’s conviction.

  ‘Culpable homicide,’ the policeman had said, reading from his file.