by Sue Rabie
They had been in Du Plessis’s small office, just Du Plessis and David, Potgieter manning the front desk.
There was a frown on Du Plessis’s face.
‘Your daughter?’
David had kept quiet.
Du Plessis had read further.
The frown disappeared to be replaced with the look of a man coming to an uncomfortable realisation. ‘Oh,’ he had said, after he had read the whole report, ‘I see.’
Did he? David had wondered.
‘Well, whatever the circumstances you still have to report to me once a month,’ he had told David. ‘You do what you’re told and I’ll keep this to myself, we don’t need the whole of Boston to know about it.’
David had done as he was told and Du Plessis had kept David’s criminal record from becoming public knowledge.
But this was different.
‘The boy is not going to get better on his own, Du Plessis,’ David said. ‘If we don’t get there soon with the antibiotics …’
‘If you break your parole you could find yourself back in jail learning how to service cars and replace gearboxes all over again,’ Du Plessis said, interrupting him. ‘It’s my job to make sure you don’t get into trouble, David, it’s also my job to make sure you don’t hurt anybody ever again.’
David glanced up at him sharply.
What was Du Plessis saying? What was he getting at?
‘You read my file, sergeant,’ he objected. ‘You know I didn’t …’
‘I know the circumstances of your case, David,’ Du Plessis cut in. ‘I even think I understand, but I can’t let you administer drugs, not even in an emergency.’
David shook his head. ‘Well who’s going to do it then?’ he asked. ‘Constable Potgieter? You?’
Du Plessis shrugged. ‘We’ll see,’ he said, turning away. ‘Maybe the boy isn’t that bad, maybe he’ll be better tomorrow and all this would have been unnecessary.’
He went to help Malan and Mark with the generator, leaving David staring angrily at his back.
What was he thinking? What did he know? If they didn’t give the boy the antibiotics then he would die.
And David would have another death against his name.
Janey.
‘Daddy … please, don’t …’
He clenched his fist as he left the office, following Du Plessis towards the warmth of the kitchen.
Neither of them saw the figure leaning nonchalantly against the doorjamb of the storeroom they had taken the cots from.
And neither of them saw Alex Kyle smile as he watched them go.
Ten
❄
Mark was in the kitchen when David found him, shovelling a large spoonful of stew into his mouth while at the same time shining a powerful torch through the trap door into the basement.
‘Malan finished checking the generator yet?’ he asked as Mark scooped a spoonful of rice into his mouth.
Mark shook his head, pointing at the open trap door with the spoon as he swallowed his mouthful. ‘He’s still down there,’ he answered. ‘Checking there’s enough diesel in it to last the night. Du Plessis just joined him.’
‘So, you ready to go?’ David asked.
Mark stopped with another helping halfway to his mouth, staring at someone who had arrived in the doorway behind them.
David turned.
It was Alex Kyle. He was leaning casually against the doorjamb, his arms folded across his chest and his head tilted mockingly to one side. The stance was arrogant, disdainful almost. Mark didn’t seem to notice, but it made David’s hair stand on end. He turned to face the man squarely while Mark continued chewing noisily.
‘I hear you’re going out again,’ Kyle said.
It was politely put, civil even …
‘Yes,’ David said carefully.
Mark didn’t hear the caution in his voice and promptly told Kyle why. ‘We’ve got to get medication and supplies,’ he said, chewing.
‘When will you be back?’ Kyle asked cordially.
David opened his mouth to answer, but Mark got in first. ‘Don’t know,’ he said, spooning in another helping, ‘might not even need to come back.’
David held his breath.
Kyle nodded and smiled. ‘So … how long before someone finds out we’re in trouble?’
This time Mark couldn’t answer. He had shovelled in another spoonful of stew.
David answered Kyle instead. ‘We’re not in trouble yet,’ he said. ‘If we can get food out to the people at Elandskrans they’ll be fine. We can manage here until the snow stops. We shouldn’t have to call on anyone to come to our aid.’
Kyle nodded again. ‘Well …’ he said casually, ‘need any help?’
‘No, thank you,’ David said. ‘We’ll be fine.’
Kyle nodded and stepped aside as David pushed Mark past him into the hall, Mark protesting through the mouthful of stew.
‘Come on,’ David almost growled.
On the way out he caught Phiwe’s attention and jerked his head for the Zulu to meet them at the front door.
Then he spotted May.
She was standing with the girls. No, not with them, in front of them, shielding them almost. In front of her stood Potgieter.
David swore to himself and changed direction. ‘Everything all right here?’ he asked as he approached the group.
‘It will be as soon as Constable Potgieter here stops harassing these girls,’ May said, nodding at Potgieter.
Potgieter scowled back, his hat tilted on the crown of his head and his elbow resting on the butt of his revolver. ‘I’m just being friendly,’ he said.
‘Too friendly,’ May said. ‘The girls just want to be left alone. They’ve been through enough without you trying to come on to them all the time.’
‘I’m not trying to come on …’
‘Potgieter,’ David said carefully, keeping his voice low so nobody else would hear. ‘Just leave them alone, okay?’
Potgieter turned on him angrily. ‘You stay out of this,’ he said. ‘Who the hell are you to give me orders?’
David sighed. ‘I’m just trying to keep the peace.’
This time Potgieter snarled. ‘That’s rich … coming from you … a mur …’
That was as far as he got.
His adenaline surging, David grabbed Potgieter by the throat and shoved him up against the wall, pinning him just as Jake had pinned him in Anri’s kitchen. ‘Don’t you dare …’ David warned. ‘Don’t you ever say that again …’
Potgieter spluttered and struggled to get free.
‘David? David!’
David heard the warning in Mark’s voice. He was assaulting a police officer, was making the situation worse by using violence, but Potgieter had almost given his secret away.
How had he known? How had he learnt about David’s past?
‘David, let him go …’ Mark warned. ‘Du Plessis could be here any second.’
He was standing right behind David now, and David felt his hand on his shoulder. ‘David, everybody’s looking,’ he said, quietly.
Potgieter sagged as David slowly eased his grip. It was no good threatening Potgieter, it was hardly any good trying to reason with him either, but if someone had heard …
He let Potgieter go and turned away, the constable slipping further down the wall as he did so.
Phiwe and May were staring at David, so were at least half the other people in the hall.
‘David,’ Mark whispered harshly, as he pulled David away by his elbow. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’
David didn’t reply. He hardly heard Mark. His mind was elsewhere. He was thinking about what he would lose if the others knew what he had done.
Had Sergeant Du Plessis told Potgieter about his past? Had Du Plessis trusted Potgieter with that information?
‘Look,’ Mark said, ‘I think I’d better stay. We can’t rely on Du Plessis and Malan to keep Potgieter in check if they’re going to be in the basement wit
h the generator all the time …’
What would Mark and Anri say if they found out?
‘One of us has got to make sure nothing else goes wrong. Phiwe can go with you to get the supplies and medication …’
What would May say?
‘I’ll stay here until you get back from the clinic, everyone will be asleep by then and we can leave without disturbing them. Okay?’
David looked at Mark for the first time.
What had he said?
‘David,’ Mark lowered his voice. ‘Frankly, it would be better if you went.’
David glanced at Potgieter. He was quiet for now, still leaning against the wall with his hand to his throat. Jake stood with Kyle at the entrance to the bar, just watching him.
David looked away. They weren’t the problem; it was him.
He was the common denominator.
Mark was right. Perhaps it would be better if he just left. ‘All right,’ he said to Mark. ‘But be careful.’
He took a breath, trying to ignore the sensation of approaching doom.
‘Hey,’ Mark grinned, ‘trust me.’
❄
It was colder outside. The snow was coming down harder, the flakes small but falling in sheets that closed the field of vision to less than five metres. David and Phiwe struggled through it towards the grader, then battled once more to get the engine going. The grader stubbornly refused to start until David manually pumped the fuel lines.
Eventually, his hands aching from the cold, the grader chugged to life and they were able to lurch out of the club grounds and down to the main road. The village was eerily dark and insubstantial in the swirling storm. The building, when they got to it, was in darkness, but Jethro Miller was framed in the doorway, a luminous green beanie on his head, an overlarge blue dressing gown reaching over his knees and fluffy sheepskin slippers on his feet. Phiwe looked away, struggling to keep a straight face.
‘What took you so long?’ Miller asked angrily, as he stamped his feet and blew into his gloveless hands. ‘I’ve been waiting for ten bloody minutes.’
With that he turned abruptly and pushed back into his store.
Inside, two paraffin lamps cast a greenish white glow over the cash-out section, the shadows stark and angular on the walls and floor, where Miller had already begun stacking supplies. There was one twenty kilogram bag of flour and a ten kilogram bag of sugar, two bags of mealie meal, some boxes of tea and a tin of coffee. David looked cynically at the tightfisted contribution and sighed. ‘We’ll need more than that,’ he said.
Miller objected. ‘You can’t take more,’ he said. ‘What if others need some? What if Malan needs more out at the club?’
‘There’s more than enough for everyone,’ David told him. ‘And if Malan runs out at the club I can come back.’
He picked up a paraffin lamp, chose a trolley and made his way to the dry-goods aisle where he began loading up.
‘You’ll pay for all of that, David Roth,’ Miller complained. ‘That stuff’s not cheap you know.’
David ignored him as he heaved two more bags of flour and another three of meal into the trolley. He added extra sugar, dried maize, beans, corn and powdered milk before going on to the tinned goods for spaghetti in tomato sauce, more beans, bully beef, ham and other canned vegetables. After that he went to the animal feed section. By this time Phiwe had joined him with a flat-bed trolley. Ten hay bales from the warehouse were added to the cache, along with sacks of grain for the induna’s cattle and several sacks of coal and anthracite. Two torches and a dozen packs of batteries completed the cache.
‘How the hell are you going to pay for all this?’ Miller demanded.
The tills were unusable; the credit card machine also out of action.
David took off his watch and handed it over without arguing or waiting for a response. Miller looked down at the watch and snapped his mouth shut.
It was a gold Rolex.
He tucked the watch away and promptly began pushing David’s trolley towards the grader where he began helping Phiwe load the horsebox.
They packed the supplies in until there was barely enough room for Phiwe to stand, then David sealed the horsebox shut with Phiwe inside.
‘Good luck,’ Miller offered as David climbed up into the cab.
David accepted the sendoff with a nod and started the grader once more. He didn’t mind that his watch was gone. It was just a possession, something from his previous life.
He carried on down the road towards the clinic, wondering how they were going to get in and what Doctor Wilson would say when he discovered his rooms had been ransacked.
And what would Du Plessis say? He was purposely going against the conditions of his parole. When Du Plessis found out he’d be in trouble.
Well, he’d just have to make sure the sergeant didn’t hear about it until he had given the boy the antibiotics.
He stopped the plough outside the clinic so that the single working headlamp shone through the windows and they could at least see what they were doing.
David jumped down and crunched through the snow to the front door.
It was locked.
Phiwe squeezed out of the groom’s door and watched sceptically as David tested the padlock. It was a solid Yale. David leant on the wood.
Quite firm.
‘Let me,’ Phiwe said, handing David his torch. He had a large smile on his face, a smile that stayed there as he squared his shoulder towards the door. He took a deep breath, grinned at David once more, then lunged.
The door gave way with a shattering crack. The lock remained intact, but the wood around the hinges splintered and broke, leaving the door itself hanging at an angle from the padlock, swinging forlornly in the wind.
Phiwe peeked in almost tentatively then stepped back for David.
‘No, after you. I insist,’ David said, his smile echoing Phiwe’s.
They ducked through the door, David passing back Phiwe’s torch and taking his own out.
It was cold and gloomy in the clinic, the light from the grader barely enough to illuminate the waiting room. The passage and the four other rooms beyond it were in darkness.
Phiwe and David braved the passage to the first of the rooms. They found themselves in a consulting room – a large oak desk with a leather chair behind it and two easy chairs for patients jumping out of the darkness at them. Filing cabinets took up one wall and an examination bed with a half-drawn curtain took up the other. There were no cabinets or storage cupboards, so they went through to the next room. A small kitchenette. Again no medication. David breathed into his hands to warm them, then tucked one hand into his armpit and followed the beam of his torch back out into the passage.
The last room was what passed as the Emergency Room in Boston. It was a large green-floored space filled with three beds – two high hospital cots up against one wall and an operating table behind a glassed-off section. Around all three beds was the basic equipment that would be needed in an emergency: heart monitors, blood-pressure monitors, oxygen tanks and steel trolleys covered with green drapes. In both sections were cabinets filled with instruments, medical supplies and rows and rows of empty bottles and vials. Off in one corner was a small fridge. David made his way towards it while Phiwe went off to the nearest glass cabinet. The Zulu found sealed gauze strips, bandages, ointments, thermometers and other instruments, while in the fridge David found the antibiotics. He searched for a strong bacterial antibiotic, finding the right kind within moments and shoving the bottle into his pocket. He found a piece of paper and a pen and jotted down the name and the quantity he took. His fingers cramped as he wrote, but he also pencilled an apology for the broken door, then set the note down on one of the neatly made up beds before calling Phiwe from his search.
‘You have it?’ the Zulu asked.
‘Yes,’ David said. ‘I have it. Let’s get you back to the club.’
He would drop Phiwe off, pick Mark up, then get going to Elandskrans.
&
nbsp; ❄
The lights were still on at the club, which meant Malan and Du Plessis had managed to keep the generator going, but there was no one there to greet them at the front door as they drove up.
Good. Everyone must be asleep already, David thought, as he got down from the grader. He wondered what the time was.
They scrambled up the stairs and into the club, the snow billowing in with them.
‘Eish!’ Phiwe exclaimed as David forced the door shut and turned to dust snow off his head and shoulders. ‘Makaza!’
‘Bloody cold,’ David agreed, glancing across at the hall.
He was expecting to find slumbering bodies, was even expecting to be cursed for letting in the cold air and waking those already asleep, but what greeted him as he stepped into the main hall froze him to the core.
Eleven
❄
Mark stoked the settling fire and then added three more pieces of wood to the coals. The big hall was quiet. It was ten o’clock according to his watch, and he sat down on a spare cot, wondering how much longer David and Phiwe would be. He glanced around the gloomy room to make sure everyone was comfortable. They had turned the overhead strip light out, but the glow from the fireplace still lit much of the room. Most of the locals and the passengers from the bus were asleep, burrowed down warm and snug in their blankets, as close to the fire as they could get. May was already in her cot, the three girls asleep beside her a safe distance away from the place Potgieter had staked out for himself. Of Potgieter there was no sign. Du Plessis had insisted there be enough wood for the fire during the night and Mark supposed he was out getting more. He peered through to the kitchen area to see if Du Plessis and Malan were finished with their preparations for the morning. They had disappeared into the pantry to check on supplies. He heard their voices from time to time, low and subdued as they made preparations. Once he heard them discussing David, his friend’s name wafting though from the pantry in snatches as the two men spoke. Mark wondered what they were saying, wondered too why Du Plessis had kept David behind after they had used the CB radio. He hoped it was nothing bad, hoped they realised how much David was doing for them and the others. David was a good man, no matter what his past held. Something bad, Mark knew, something terrible enough to drive him from the life he had once led. He was hiding from his past, from the memories that haunted him day in and day out. Mark knew it. Anri knew it. The whole of Boston could tell. But who were they to question his motives? They were only too grateful that someone had taken over Pat Booysen’s old garage, were only too grateful that they had someone to rely on to fix their tractors and generators and …