by Sue Rabie
‘So,’ she asked finally, after they had left Pietermaritzburg behind them and started up the highway towards Howick. ‘What are you going to say to her?’
‘Who?’ he asked, though he knew exactly what she was talking about.
Anri gave him a doubtful glance. ‘I think you should talk to her, David. Before she goes.’
David’s attention was dragged abruptly from the window.
He stared at Anri, feeling his heart go cold. ‘What do you mean, Anri?’ he asked carefully. ‘Before she goes where?’
Anri stared straight ahead. ‘I’m sorry, David,’ she told him. ‘All I know is that she said she was leaving.’
David’s breath caught in his throat.
He turned away from Anri and looked out over the bleak landscape that was flashing by – the land wet and brown and the remaining snow hard and dirty.
❄
David was relieved when they turned off the highway at Merrivale and onto the road towards Boston. The snow here was still the old snow that had fallen almost a week ago, now slowly melting with the warmer weather, yet still deep enough to slow them to a crawl as they entered the village. The neon signs of the petrol station were working and the display of tyres stood in front of the open door to the convenience store. Anri drove onto the covered forecourt and brought the vehicle to a halt beside a pump. They stayed seated for a while, listening to the slow ticking of the cooling engine.
‘When,’ he suddenly asked her.
Anri stared at him. ‘Today,’ she said.
He nodded, then put his hand to the door to open it.
‘David …’ Anri stopped him.
She didn’t quite know how to say it. Didn’t know how to thank him. She had tried in the hospital, had stood over him as he lay in his bed unable to think of the right thing to say. ‘There are no words,’ she said. ‘We will never be able to repay what you did.’
He shook his head. ‘I was a fool,’ he said. ‘I could have killed you both.’
Anri tilted her head and frowned. ‘You are no fool, David Theron,’ she said. ‘Only foolish.’
David looked up at her in surprise. She had used his real name.
It sounded strange in her mouth.
‘You should go to her,’ Anri told him. ‘She’ll make you see.’
He smiled uncomfortably, then thanked Anri for the lift and pushed himself out of the truck.
Phiwe came out of the convenience store to greet him as he climbed from the bakkie. His hand was in plaster, but the wide grin was back on his face, and his teeth were as bright as ever. ‘David,’ the big man exclaimed, and reached out his good arm to shake David’s hand. ‘You’re back.’
David nodded and looked around. Things were just the same, the garage, the convenience store, the tearoom across the road.
Except that the tearoom was closed. He saw a small sign on the door and wondered what it said, whether May was already gone.
‘Well?’
He looked at Phiwe who was nodding towards a line of cars queued up outside the workshop behind David’s garage.
‘You’ve arrived just at the right time …’
David sighed at the work the snowstorm had cut out for them.
‘Eish! It looks like you will be busy for some time,’ someone said, echoing his thoughts.
It was Inga Ngubane. He and Potgieter appearing from the door to the convenience store.
David thought how odd it was that these two particular men should appear side by side.
Inga looked gaunt and tired, his arm in a sling, but the grin on his face told a different story.
Potgieter was also smiling, although not as widely. Even though he was in uniform, there was no gun at his side.
Some things did change. Sometimes life could still surprise.
David nodded at the two as they came to stand in front of him.
Inga looked him up and down and laughed. ‘You were the one who told me to be careful,’ he said. ‘By the looks of it you should have taken your own advice.’
David’s face was still bruised, the cut on his cheek sprouting stitches.
‘I’ll try harder next time,’ he said, smiling.
Phiwe and Inga laughed, but Potgieter only smiled slightly. He hadn’t said a word since his arrival, had hardly managed to look David in the eye.
But he spoke up now.
‘David,’ he said. ‘Can I have a word with you?’
David shrugged and nodded. ‘Sure,’ he said, and excused himself from Inga and Phiwe.
David looked at the tearoom again as he left them. It was still in darkness, the sign on the front door telling everybody the shop was closed.
He felt his heart sink.
Was he too late? Had she already gone?
He wanted to go and find May, wanted to ask why she was leaving, but he didn’t want Potgieter to know about it. David restrained himself and followed the man.
They didn’t go very far, just a little way down the road until Potgieter found the right words. ‘Back there,’ he started. ‘That night … when we were in the clinic?’
David didn’t say anything.
‘I saw myself for the first time,’ Potgieter went on.
They walked past the cash store where a few cars were parked, past the post office where Mrs Perryman and Hetty would be manning the counter and the telephone switchboard in the back.
‘When you looked at me like that, when you turned away and just walked out … I knew what it was like to be a coward.’
David slowed.
It took courage to say something like that.
He stopped and looked at Potgieter. The man was staring down the road towards the clinic, at the door that David and Phiwe had kicked in, now back on its hinges.
Potgieter pointed absently to the door. ‘I fixed it,’ he said. ‘Doc Wilson wasn’t happy about the door being broken and the cupboards raided. He was going to press charges against you.’ He stopped and almost smiled. ‘I told him he couldn’t because Du Plessis had ordered you to get the medication.’
David glanced from the clinic door to Potgieter.
‘I also told the police that Du Plessis ordered you to take care of Mark.’ Potgieter looked up the road then back at a lump of snow at his feet. ‘The others agreed that that was the best thing to say. At least that way your parole wouldn’t be jeopardised.’
David shook his head. ‘You shouldn’t have,’ he said. ‘It’ll just make the situation worse.’
Potgieter glanced at David for the first time. ‘You saved Mark Werner’s life, David,’ he said. ‘You saved all our lives. No one wants to see you go back to jail.’
David was surprised. Potgieter had changed. He was almost a different man.
‘You showed me something,’ the constable continued. ‘I caught a glimpse of myself through your eyes and I didn’t like what I saw.’ He shrugged. ‘So I’m going to try to be different,’ he said. ‘Perhaps more like Du Plessis. ‘
They both looked away. It was difficult speaking of Du Plessis and Malan, was difficult to imagine Boston without them.
‘Boston needs someone like Du Plessis even more now,’ David told Potgieter. ‘It’s good you’ll be here.’
Potgieter nodded and then stopped. He glanced at David. ‘Are you leaving?’ he asked.
David shrugged. ‘Not any more,’ he said.
Potgieter frowned. ‘I though you would go too, when May said she was going …’
‘You spoke to May?’ David asked, interrupting him.
Potgieter nodded. ‘Just now, before you arrived.’
David’s heart seemed to stop. ‘She’s still here?’ he asked.
Potgieter nodded. ‘She went out to the club,’ he said.
David started walking. He hardly heard Potgieter call out to him, didn’t hear him offer a lift.
David started to run.
❄
It was a long run up the road past the cash store and Mrs Perryman’s house, a painful distanc
e to the club turn-off and up the short rise that backed onto the graveyard on the left. He was gasping by the time he got there, the stitches pulling in his side and his ribs aching. He staggered to a stop on the rise of the hill, stood bent over for a moment as the burning in his side flared.
Was she still there?
He looked at the buildings beyond the graves and the tennis courts now mottled with melted snow. The club house stood forlornly at the foot of the hill, the facade now a stark, black skeleton.
David couldn’t see May anywhere.
He was too late.
He lowered his head, pressed his hand to his side and tried not to breathe too deeply.
‘Up here,’ came the call.
David jerked his head up at the voice.
She had parked her car above the ridge and partially behind one of the big hedgerows that lined the driveway, was perched on the bonnet looking down at the exact same view David had been searching for her in.
David straightened slowly and turned.
She wore a summer frock with a light jersey over her shoulders to take the edge off the chill that still hung in the air.
She wore boots, ankle length lace-ups with white socks trimming the top of the leather.
It struck him for the first time how beautiful she was.
And it was her … just her …
‘You shouldn’t have run, David.’
She slid off the bonnet of the car, her dress catching on the hood ornament slightly so that she had to stop and shake it lose.
She turned back to him.
Suddenly he didn’t need to breathe anymore, suddenly there was no need.
‘I thought I’d missed you,’ he managed. ‘I thought you’d already gone.’
She tilted her head at an odd angle. ‘No,’ she said, ‘you didn’t miss me. I was waiting for you.’
She started down towards him, her skirt pressing against her thighs as she walked. ‘I heard you were coming back today,’ she told him. ‘I wanted to see you to make sure you were all right.’
He dropped his hand from his side. ‘I’m fine,’ he said.
May raised an eyebrow. ‘Really?’ she asked. She came to a halt a few strides away, then turned abruptly to gaze at the mountains in the distance. Her next question came as a surprise, almost catching him off guard. ‘Are you really “fine”, David?’
He frowned. It was oddly put, her voice tilting up in a question.
‘Yes,’ he said.
May looked at him for a moment and then began walking towards what was left of the club. David had no option but to follow.
He hesitated halfway there, but she carried on towards the old club house, made her way round to the side door where he had killed Kyle.
He hadn’t wanted to come back here, hadn’t wanted to see this place again, but if he wanted to speak to her, he had to follow, would have to go down and face it once more.
He studied the scorched area around the buildings as he walked. He went closer to the side door so he could see the outline of the grader in the devastation, the skeleton of the vehicle a stark corpse in the ashes.
It was strange seeing it like that, after all it had done, after everything he and the machine had been through.
He glanced from the grader to May.
She had stepped into the club.
‘May,’ he called out. ‘I wouldn’t …’
But she didn’t listen. She eased through the remains of the doorway, stepping delicately through the ruined kitchen then around the broken bar and the scattered remains of steel roof sections that lay in islands of ash.
‘May,’ he said, following. ‘Be careful. It’s still dangerous.’
She ignored him as she made her way under the arch that separated the bar and the main hall.
She came to a stop in front of the grader, staring up at its naked forlorn frame.
‘You know,’ she said quietly as she looked up at the grader. ‘I almost feel sorry for it.’
He was about to agree with her when she spoke again.
‘I almost feel sorry for you too.’
He glanced quickly at her.
Her voice had hardened again, the wistful tone she had used for the grader gone.
‘You shouldn’t feel sorry for me …’
‘I said almost, David,’ she said, interrupting him. ‘I almost feel sorry for you.’
‘May,’ he said. ‘I’m not sure I understand what you’re talking …’
‘I think you know what I’m talking about, David.’
He began to shake his head.
‘I say “almost”, David, because I know you don’t want pity. I say “almost” because at the moment I’m too bloody cross to feel sorry for you at all.’
He stared at her in surprise.
‘Why the …’
‘Because you still blame yourself, David, I can see it in your face.’
Again she hadn’t given him time to finish the sentence, again she had simply answered as if she knew what he was going to ask her.
She took a step closer. ‘While you were lying in that hospital bed, and we were picking up the pieces back here, I wondered why you had done it, why you had risked your life …’ She looked levelly at him as she spoke. ‘Inga told me it was because you didn’t care …’
‘That’s not true …’
She ignored him. ‘You didn’t care, David, you didn’t care what happened to you, you only cared about the others, about me or Mark or the boy or the passengers, never about yourself. You didn’t care whether you lived or died, did you? You didn’t care if anything happened to you because you thought you had nothing left to live for.’
He shook his head.
‘You still don’t, do you, David? You still don’t care.’
He half turned away, his anger rising. ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about,’ he said. ‘You don’t understand.’
She took another step towards him. ‘You’re wrong David,’ she said. ‘I do understand. I’ve been through this … I lost a child because of what I did, and I know what you’re carrying around on your conscience.’
He frowned at her.
‘And remember?’ she added. ‘You told me.’
He didn’t remember.
‘Out there in the snow,’ she told him. ‘When we were running? You told me everything.’
It came back to him, those terrible hours when he had said anything to keep her awake, to keep her walking, to keep himself going.
He had told her about Janey, he had told her his deepest secrets.
She came right up to him, stopped less than half a metre away from him, the hem of her dress swirling against his shins, her dark hair wisping lightly across her face.
‘I know what you’re feeling, David. I know what you’re thinking. You doubt yourself even now. Especially now. You’ve worried about it for so long, fretted over her death so long that you think you’re to blame. You’ve convinced yourself that what you did was wrong.’
It was. He was to blame.
‘But you’re not.’
He looked away.
‘You’ve forgotten the reasons behind your actions, David. You’ve forgotten why you took her life in the first place …’
‘Don’t say that …’
He couldn’t look at her, couldn’t face her.
‘You did it to save her the pain, David. Remember?’
‘No … No, I didn’t …’
‘You did it because she asked you to … because even at her age she knew she was dying, because she wanted to go …’
‘No …’
‘You did it to end her suffering …’
‘No!’ he shouted. ‘I did it to end my suffering!’
❄
David choked on the words. A swirling dizziness crashed in on him. He had to shut his eyes to control it. It seemed to last forever, but when he was eventually able to open his eyes he discovered he was kneeling in front of May. She was also on her knees, holding him up
.
He felt strange, as if he was back in the snow with Kyle, the helicopter beating above him, the bright light in his face, the pain in his side stabbing into him.
Only this time the pain was higher.
He felt as if the blade was in his heart, the scalpel twisting in his chest.
He groaned as he took another breath.
He gripped May tightly, his forehead against her shoulder so he wouldn’t fall. ‘I couldn’t bear it any more …’ he gasped. ‘I couldn’t bear seeing her like that, listening to her …’ Another breath. ‘Visiting her every day and knowing she was getting worse … knowing she was dying …’ He curled his fist into her hair. ‘I couldn’t go on. My life was falling apart. My heart was breaking …’ He struggled to take another breath. ‘And then one day she asked me to stop it … to end the pain … and I …’
He couldn’t say it.
He squeezed his eyes shut and forced himself on. ‘I … was … relieved!’ He gasped, the pain in his heart burning. ‘Can you believe that? I was relieved. It was like I could live again … it was like she was giving me another chance. So I took it. I didn’t even wait. I didn’t even go home and think about it. I went downstairs to the drug cabinet in the ER and took out the Pentobarbital. I unsealed a fresh syringe and measured out the dose … and then I went back upstairs. I didn’t question my actions once. I didn’t even let myself think. Janey was on a drip, so it was easy to inject straight into her IV line. It wasn’t like I was injecting it into her directly. It wasn’t like I was doing it to her. And then she asked me to read to her, so I sat down on her bed with her on my lap and started reading. It was a book about horses. It was her favourite. I knew every word of that book. I used to read it to her before she got sick. But for some reason I had to concentrate really hard to understand the words I was looking at. I was concentrating so hard on that book that I didn’t even realise she had passed away. I just carried on reading.’
He shook his head, his temple against her shoulder and his hands in her hair. ‘And now I see her in my dreams, begging me to stop, begging me not to do it …’
The white hot pain in his chest was so bad he had to stop and hold his breath.
He wanted to tear away from May, to run … to die.
But May was speaking. Her voice was soft at first, so soft that he almost didn’t hear her. ‘You’re wrong, David,’ she said. ‘She’s begging you to stop blaming yourself. She’s begging you not to give up.’