Shadows in the Grass

by Beverley Harper

  ‘And miss all this magnificent scenery! Not a chance. Don’t fuss, Dallas, I’ll be fine.’

  And indeed, as the day progressed, Lorna improved. The next morning she was sick again. ‘Perhaps we should stop somewhere until you’re over this.’ Dallas was becoming increasingly concerned. ‘It worries me, seeing you so ill.’

  Lorna straightened from a bout of retching and wiped her mouth. Perspiration shone on her forehead and her pallor was alarming. ‘Don’t treat me like a bloody invalid,’ she snapped. ‘I might start behaving like one.’

  Dallas pressed his lips together to stop smiling. Humour, in Lorna’s current frame of mind, was definitely not a good idea. But it always amused him when she swore. It was not the words themselves so much, as the refined accent in which she delivered them. She could make her language sound both respectable and shocking at the same time. ‘Have it your way,’ he said, not unkindly.

  ‘Thank you. I intend to.’ Lorna bent double and brought up more watery liquid, swearing under her breath – frustration the most likely cause. ‘Help me,’ she said suddenly.

  He was beside her in an instant, an arm giving support.

  ‘Sorry to be such a miserable wretch.’

  ‘You can’t help it.’

  ‘It’s so frustrating, Dallas. I loathe feeling off-colour, that’s what makes me difficult.’

  Dallas kissed her hair. ‘Stubborn would be a better word.’

  She leaned into him. ‘I think I might lie down for a bit.’

  ‘Good idea.’

  ‘Will you stay with me?’

  ‘Of course.’

  She slept for several hours and, on waking, was back to the old Lorna.

  Logan and Will stayed well away from Dallas’s domestic difficulties. They had guessed that Lorna was pregnant and knew there was nothing they could do for her. Both men feared her vitriol when she was in a bad frame of mind and were more than happy to let Dallas deal with it. Mister David too, went out of his way to remain silent whenever Lorna was out of sorts. He did speak to Dallas about her welfare, and on being told that she had dreamed of crossing a swollen river – Dallas having put this down to her lack of enthusiasm at crossing the Howick Falls after she’d learned it was there that he’d met Sarah – Mister David had shaken his head. ‘No. That dream is a sign that she carries a female child.’

  ‘Do Zulu women also become sick?’

  ‘It can happen.’

  ‘Do you have any way to prevent it?’

  ‘Not this. It is normal. Our women are protected from other things.’

  ‘Such as?’

  Mister David had become quite comfortable telling Dallas about evil spirits. ‘They must be protected from wizards with a medicine that only an inyanga can make. If you like, I can ask for some at Chief Ngetho’s kraal.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Although Dallas didn’t know what Lorna would make of it, anything was worth a try. ‘What else?’

  ‘The madam is far from home.’ Mister David reached inside the canvas cover of the wagon. ‘I find this to keep her safe.’ He held up some small weeds bearing tiny leaves and yellow flowers. ‘It is called the umKhondo plant. She should wear it round her ankles.’

  Dallas took the wilting weeds. Wearing them would probably appeal to Lorna, the novelty of doing so far outweighing any reason behind it.

  ‘Madam must not stand when she eats.’ Mister David looked distressed. ‘That would be very bad.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Then the baby also stands and will arrive by its feet.’

  This was beyond Dallas’s understanding. He had no idea which part of a baby was supposed to emerge first. Calves presented front feet and their heads at the same time, although he suspected that human babies might be different. ‘Oh,’ was the best he could do.

  Mister David was warming to his subject. ‘And you must keep out of the river, for it will carry you away.’

  ‘How am I expected to wash?’

  ‘I will bring water.’

  He seemed so serious that Dallas nodded agreement.

  ‘I will make up some isiHlambezo closer to her time of birth.’

  It was a word Dallas had not encountered before and he asked for an explanation.

  ‘We soak special plants and keep them covered in a pot. A small spoonful each day will make it an easy birth. Be careful not to allow anyone other than yourself to look on this medicine for if they do, the child will resemble them, not you.’

  For all Dallas’s admiration of the Zulus and their traditions, some of what Mister David was telling him seemed to fit with what he would have called old wives’ tales.

  Lorna agreed. ‘I’ll wear the flowers and sit to eat if it makes Mister David happy. But that’s it. I will not swallow any witchdoctor’s concoction. As for you being carried away in the river, one has to ask how that would be possible.’

  The Thukela was showing distinct signs of drought, its flow reduced to a trickle of shallow water. The next morning, however, rain in the Drakensberg Mountains had turned the river into a swirling brown maelstrom. Lorna looked at it in amazement. ‘Where are those weeds?’ she managed. ‘Tell Mister David to keep picking.’

  By the time they reached Chief Ngetho’s umuzi, Lorna had been well-schooled by Mister David as to matters of etiquette. Very often, Dallas joined in their discussions. Up until then, all the advice his driver had given was for a man. Women were different. They were a man’s property and Lorna would not be viewed as anything else. She could not join a beer drink, sit in with the bartering process, go anywhere near the cattle or speak until spoken to. A woman had to be demure and modest at all times, not engaging in eye contact, nor even eating with the men.

  It pleased Dallas greatly to see her accepting and adopting Zulu ways which were so different from everything the two of them had grown up with. He had worried that Lorna might object to the lowly status accorded to women. Although ahead of her time herself, and knowing she could never accept a Zulu woman’s place in her own society, Lorna could see no reason to question age-old tradition. She was able to look beyond the superficial and see sense in the underlying reasons, although, like Dallas, she privately rejected some of the more superstitious customs.

  A Zulu woman’s life seemed hard by anybody’s standards. Not only did she cook and clean but worked in the fields for hours on end, toiling in the hot sun to grow the mealies that made up her family’s staple diet. She had to be amenable at all times, especially towards her husband, male members of his family, and any of the wives who were regarded as socially superior. She could not dream of so much as looking at another man. The very real threat of execution was there to ensure her good nature. She bore children with the minimum of fuss, suffering total isolation in a special hut for anything up to eight days until the child’s navel string fell off, but was still expected to pull her weight hoeing and weeding, often back in the field the day after giving birth. The collection of water and washing of clothes in crocodile-infested rivers was cheerfully undertaken by her, despite the regularity with which African women lost their lives to these ferocious and much-loathed killers. Firewood was also her responsibility and she regularly carried heavy loads on her head, walking vast distances under a boiling sun and braving whatever wild animal she might encounter.

  By comparison, the men seemed to have an easy time, spending long hours in pleasurable conversation in the shade, drinking beer one of the wives had made, eating their food and rotating sexual favours. However, each man old enough to belong to a regiment – and the ages ranged from about sixteen to seventy and beyond – was obliged to defend his king, his clan and his chief. Deaths during battle, particularly once the white man arrived with firearms, were many. The Zulu warrior went against bullets with nothing more than a shield and assegai. They died in their tens of thousands. Not accounting for as many deaths, but certainly as responsible for a considerable depletion of their numbers, were casualties from ongoing tribal skirmishes.

  The result �
� more women than men.

  A husband was a very desirable asset. He was obliged to feed, clothe and provide shelter for each wife. Cattle being taboo for women, and hunting a man’s domain, if women wanted milk and meat they had to rely on a husband to provide them. He also gave her children, who would take care of her as she grew older. Unmarried women were rare and regarded as outcasts. The death of a husband did not necessarily mean an end to security – more often than not, one of his brothers would take on the responsibility of his wives. Therefore, a married woman was reasonably assured of continued protection throughout her life.

  With so many wives to control and keep happy, a strict pecking order had developed. Severe penalties kept women obedient and children and chores kept them occupied. It was a system that had worked well for centuries. So Lorna kept quiet, observed, and learned from Mister David, and came to respect the rules of Zulu society. Arguments would break out, but were always resolved with humour and dignity. Esteem was given freely and received humbly. Discipline that seemed harsh did serve to remind people of their manners.

  The treatment of her son was another matter entirely. Cam, as a young male child, was indulged every moment. For the two days they spent at the umuzi, Dallas grew used to the sight of his son strapped to the back of a young inTombazana. Cam would be taken to the river to bathe and play, or to a hut to taste food specially prepared by the girl’s mother.

  Lorna’s and Cam’s hair colour continued to be a constant source of fascination to everyone. Etiquette did not allow any man to approach Lorna, but young Cam’s head was constantly touched and his hair pulled in playful wonder – sometimes with too much enthusiasm, in which case his tears caused great consternation, and even led to reprisal if the offender was a child. Women, except for the great and right-hand wives, treated Lorna’s locks to even more attention, several even begging for a snippet. These Lorna would happily have given were it not for Dallas’s warning that she could very well end up with no hair at all.

  Lorna spent most of her time at Chief Ngetho’s umuzi learning how to make a love letter for Dallas. This provided hours of giggling entertainment for the ntombi, girls eligible for marriage but as yet unpromised. Lorna’s insistence on using mainly white beads amused everyone. ‘I love him very much,’ she would protest in the most basic Zulu, bringing on yet another bout of merriment and many lewd comments over Dallas’s ability to keep her satisfied.

  It was of some concern to the older women that Cam had not been cleansed of isiGwenba at birth. Through Mister David’s interpreting, they told Lorna that, unless the procedure were performed, he would grow up to be unusually lecherous or have a tendency towards eczema. The cure was to take the stem of a castor oil leaf, thrust it roughly into the baby’s rectum and twirl it until copious quantities of blood became evident. Lorna was horrified at the prospect, especially when Mister David informed her that many babies bled to death after the treatment. Dallas intervened, explaining that Cam had been born in Britain where similar customs were carried out. He described, with embellishment, the purification ceremony – basically baptism – and how by dousing a baby with specially blessed water that child was protected from isiGwenba. The women remained unconvinced until Dallas improvised and gave details of a completely fictitious ritual that was similar enough to the Zulu way to satisfy them.

  When the time came to leave Chief Ngetho’s umuzi, Lorna had made friends with so many women and children that the morning’s work was left undone as they crowded around to say goodbye. Riding alongside Dallas, she was in high spirits. ‘Are all these people so friendly?’

  ‘Not always. Mister David has a brother living there. They’ve sort of adopted the rest of us. Don’t forget, Colenso is not that far away. White faces are nothing new. As we go further down the valley, that changes.’

  ‘Will any of them be hostile?’

  ‘It’s possible. We’ve been chased away a couple of times. Most kraals like to trade but that’s no guarantee that a welcome on one trip will mean the same next time round. The further we get from civilisation, the more superstitious people become. We could be refused entry for something quite simple, like an owl hooting on the roof of a hut the night before.’

  ‘You’ve learned so much. Sometimes I feel I’ll never catch up.’

  ‘You’d better not. You’re a woman. It would be unseemly.’

  She laughed; then, without warning, her face drained of colour. Lorna leaned sideways, retching.

  Her morning sickness had grown no worse or better. She would wake feeling fine but within half an hour become cranky and ill. That state lasted several hours then, quite suddenly, Lorna would be back to her normal self. Dallas became used to these mornings and learned the only way to deal with them was to disappear. Fussing only made her more irritable.

  Keeping Cam out of the way helped. He loved riding with his father, tucked comfortably in front of him on the saddle. Dallas enjoyed it too. The child seemed to be growing before his very eyes, baby babble rapidly turning into Zulu or English words. Dallas felt such love whenever Cam’s eyes lit up with recognition and he said ‘Dada’. Having missed the first nine months of his son’s life, Dallas was more than happy to make up for lost time.

  Aside from the inconvenience of morning sickness, Lorna loved being out in the bush. Life under canvas was predominantly a masculine preserve for the very good reason of its discomfort. The fact that it was something most women had enough sense to avoid was a challenge Lorna took on with grim determination to succeed.

  There were a few intrepid women out and about in wagons with their husbands. Not many hunted, although some developed a dexterity with firearms that matched that of their menfolk. Other hunters adopted the attitude of sailors – that having a woman along encouraged bad luck. Lorna typified the free spirit required for a woman to be enticed from the safety and comfort of home into the unknown and dangerous world of adventurous men. Whatever drove her, she pooh-poohed the idea of bringing misfortune.

  ‘Utter rubbish,’ she’d snapped when Will raised the subject.

  ‘I’m only saying that some believe it.’

  ‘Do you?’ she challenged.

  In Will’s opinion Lorna could do no wrong. ‘Of course not.’ His voice belied his words.

  Her eyes danced with mischief. ‘Yes, you do, Will. Go on. Admit it.’

  Will looked embarrassed and shrugged.

  ‘If you expect trouble it will always find you.’ Lorna turned to Logan. ‘Isn’t that so?’

  ‘I daresay,’ Logan agreed, chuckling at the other man’s discomfort. ‘Though Will is right in one respect. Having a woman along leaves more scope for misadventure. And before you climb on your high horse, let me point out that a man feels obliged to protect his woman. It means he cannot fully concentrate on protecting himself. Understandably, accidents happen. That’s all I’m saying.’

  ‘I take your point,’ Lorna said in a subdued voice. ‘I never thought of it in such a way.’

  ‘But you’re no trouble,’ Will put in, eager to show loyalty.

  The ease that existed between everyone was largely due to Lorna’s ability to cut through formality. She was not exactly one of the boys, no-one’s imagination being that good, but never once did she use femininity as an excuse. Lorna was quick to realise that when nausea hit, the best place for her was in the wagon. As her illness subsided, she got on with things and made no mention of it. Still, Lorna refused breakfast because she could not keep it down. No-one tried to coax her, knowing she would eat when she felt better. Dried strips of biltong, wild fruit and berries, comprised the midday meal, and the culinary skills of their cook made for dinners everyone could appreciate, despite the strangeness of some concoctions. Cam seemed to be a bottomless pit when it came to food. Dallas watched with pride as his son’s small body grew sturdy and brown. At the end of each day, full to the brim with fresh air, endless stimulation, unlimited exercise and plenty to eat, Cam fell asleep in someone’s arms as he listened intently to ca
mpfire conversations. His life was healthy, secure and free. He responded with a happy nature and endless curiosity.

  Will and Logan still bickered but the bite had gone from their exchanges. Each, it seemed, had developed respect for the other’s expertise. Either would die rather than admit it, though.

  Despite regular practice with his rifle, Logan’s arm continued to be a concern. ‘It’s not your aim,’ Dallas said one night. ‘That’s never been better. It’s speed. You’re too slow.’

  ‘Rubbish,’ Logan snapped back. ‘I’m as fast as I ever was.’

  ‘No, you’re not. And in a tight situation with elephants, you could be seriously hurt.’

  ‘We need the tusks.’

  ‘We’re trading a few.’

  ‘Not enough. I’m going back into that valley and you can’t stop me.’

  Dallas blew air and reluctantly gave voice to a decision he had made a few days earlier. ‘No, that I can’t. But I can come with you.’

  The look of relief on Logan’s face told everyone that he too had been worried.

  They reached the valley of Dallas’s only elephant hunt near sunset two days after leaving Chief Ngetho’s umuzi. It was as beautiful as Dallas remembered. Hemmed in by hills with lush grass, a belt of trees following the river, game dotted over an open plain stretching away some twenty miles. A hunter’s paradise.

  To Will it was threatening, the narrow access gorge their only way in or out. Evidence of elephant activity was hard to miss.

  It was as sultry as before. The humidity and heat pressed down, faces ran with sweat and clothes stuck to their bodies. Almost immediately, Cam came out in a rash and grew uncharacteristically fractious. Lorna mixed a calamine paste and rubbed it over his body. Mister David boiled a concoction of crushed leaves and chopped roots, let the brew cool and applied it liberally. Whether it was the calamine, Zulu muthi or a combination of the two no-one would ever know but Cam improved and the rash never came back.

  Late that afternoon the elephants came. More than last time. There were about a hundred, making their stately way to a favourite drinking spot at the river, spread out for the best part of a mile. The sight stopped everyone. Outspanned and shaded by trees, the wagons, cattle and horses presented no threat. The elephants ignored them.