by Wilbur Smith
There was a civic reception and parade through the streets of the town, while at a mass meeting of the Ossewa Brandwag the commanding general held them up as an example of Afrikaner manhood and extolled their dedication and fighting skills.
It is young men such as these who will lead our nation to its rightful place in this land, he told them, and while the massed uniformed ranks gave the OB salute, the clenched right fist held across the chest, Manfred and Roelf had the badges of officer rank pinned to their tunics.
For God and the Volk, their high commander exhorted them, and Manfred had never before experienced such pride, such determination to honour the trust that had been placed in him.
over the weeks that followed, the excitement continued to build up. There were fittings at the official team tailor for the gold and green blazers, white slacks and broad-brimmed Panama hats which made up the uniform in which they would march into the Olympic stadium. There were endless team briefings, covering every subject from German etiquette and polite behaviour to travel arrangements and profiles of the opponents whom they were likely to encounter on the way to the final.
Both Manfred and Roelf were interviewed by journalists from every magazine and newspaper in the country, and a half an hour on the nationally broadcast radio programme This is your Land was devoted entirely to them.
Only one person seemed unaffected by the excitement.
The weeks you are away will seem longer than my whole life, Sarah told Manfred.
Don't be a silly little duck, he laughed at her. It will all be over before you know it, and I'll be back with a gold medal on my chest. Don't call me a silly little duck,she flashed at him, not ever again! He stopped laughing. You are right, he said. You are worth more than that. Sarah had taken on herself the duties of timekeeper and second for Manfred's and Roelf's evening training runs. On flying bare feet she took short cuts up the hillside and through the forest to wait for them at prearranged spots with her stopwatch, borrowed from Uncle Tromp, a wet sponge and a flask of cold freshly squeezed orange juice to refresh them. As soon as they had sponged down, drunk and set off again she would race away, cutting over the crest of the hill or through the valley to wait for them at the next stage.
Two weeks before the sailing date, Roelf was forced to miss one of the evening runs when he was obliged to chair an extraordinary meeting of the students representative council and Manfred made the run alone.
He took the long steep side of the Hartenbosch mountain at a full run, going with all his strength, flying up the slope with long elastic strides, lifting his gaze to the crest. Sarah was waiting for him there, and the low autumn sun was behind her, crowning her with gold and striking through the thin stuff of her skirts so that her legs were silhouetted and he could see every line and lovely angle of her body almost as though she were unclothed.
He pulled up involuntarily in full stride and stood staring up at her, his chest heaving and his heart pounding, not only from his exertions.
She is beautiful. He was amazed that he had never seen it before, and he walked up the last angle of the slope slowly, staring at her, confused by this sudden realization and by the hollow hunger, the need that he had kept suppressed, whose existence he had never admitted to himself but which now suddenly threatened to consume him.
She came to meet him the last few paces; barefoot she was so much smaller than he was and that seemed only to increase this terrible hunger. She held out the sponge to him, but when he made no move to take it from her, she stepped up close to him and reached up to wipe the sweat from his neck and shoulders.
I dreamed last night we were back in the camp, she whispered as she worked, swabbing his upper arms. Do you remember the camp beside the railway tracks, Manie? He nodded. His throat had closed, and he could not reply.
I saw my ma lying in the grave. It was a terrible thing.
Then it changed, Manie, it wasn't my ma any more, it was you. You were so pale and handsome, but I knew I had lost you, and I was so eaten by my own sorrow that I wanted to die also and be with you for ever. He reached out and took her in his arms and she sobbed and fell against him. Her body felt so cool and soft and compliant and her voice shook.
Oh, Manie. I don't want to lose you. Please come back to me, without you I don't want to go on living. I love you, Sarie. His voice was hoarse and she jerked in his arms.
Oh Manie. I never realized it before, he croaked.
oh Manie, I have always realized it. I loved you from the first minute of the first day, and I will love you until the last, she cried, and turned her mouth up to his. Kiss me, Manie, kiss me or I will die. The touch of her mouth ignited something within him, and the fire and the smoke of it obscured reason and reality.
Then they were under the pines beside the path, lying on a bed of soft needles, and the sultry autumn air was soft as silk upon his bare back, but not as soft as her body beneath his nor as hot as the liquid depths in which she engulfed him.
He did not understand what had happened until she cried out, in pain and intense joy, but by then it was too late and he found himself answering her cry, no longer able to draw back, carried along on a swirling tidal wave to a place he had never been before, nor had he even dreamed of its existence.
Reality and consciousness returned slowly from far away, and he drew away from her and stared at her in horror, putting on his own clothing.
What we have done is wicked beyond forgiveness No. She shook her head vehemently and, still naked, reached for him. No, Manie, it's not wicked when two people love each other. How can it be wicked?
It's a thing from God, beautiful and holy. The night before Manfred sailed for Europe with Uncle Tromp and the team, he slept in his old room at the Manse.
When the old house was dark and quiet, Sarah crept down the passage. He had left his door unlatched. Nor did he protest as she let her nightdress fall and crept under the sheet beside him.
She stayed until the doves in the oaks outside the stoep began fluttering and softly cooing. Then she kissed him one last time and whispered: Now we belong to each other, for ever and always. It was only half an hour before sailing and Centaine's stateroom was so crowded that the stewards were forced to pass the champagne glasses over the heads of the guests, and it required a major expedition to get from one side of the cabin to the other. The only one of Centaine's friends who was not present was Blaine Malcomess. They had decided not to advertise the fact that they were sailing on the same mail ship, and had agreed only to meet once they were clear of the harbour.
Both Abe Abrahams, bursting with pride, his arm hooked through David's, and Dr Twenty-man-jones, tall and lugubrious as a marabou stork, were in the party around Centaine.
They had come all the way down from Windhoek to see her off. Naturally, Sir Garry and Anna were there, as were the Ou Baas General Smuts, and his little fluffy-haired wife with her steel-rimmed spectacles making her look like an ad:rtisement for Mazzawattee tea.
the far corner Shasa was surrounded by a bevy of young ladies, and was in the middle of a story that was being followed with shrieks of amusement and gasps of increduous wo rider, when suddenly he lost track of what he had been saying and stared out of the porthole beside him.
Through it he had a view out onto the boat deck, and what had caught his attention was a glimpse of a girl's head as she passed.
He couldn't see her face, just the side and back of her head, a cascade of auburn curls set on a long slim neck, and a little ear sticking out of the curls at a jaunty angle. It was a fleeting glimpse only, but something about the angle and carriage of that head made him lose immediate interest in the females in front of him.
He went up on his toes, spilling champagne, and stuck his head through the porthole, but the girl had passed by and he only had a back view of her. She had an impossibly narrow waist but a cheeky little rump that switched from side to side and made her skirts swing rhythmically as she walked. Her calves were perfectly turned and her ankles slim and neat. She
went round the corner with a last twitch of her bottom, leaving Shasa determined that he must get a look at her face.
Excuse me, ladies. His audience gave little cries of disappointment, but he eased himself neatly out of their circle and began working his way towards the door. But before he reached it, the sirens started their booming thunder of warning and the cry went up, 'Last call, ladies and gentlemen all ashore, those who are going ashore, and he knew he had run out of time.
She was probably a dog, a backside like heaven and a face like hell, and she almost certainly isn't sailing, anyway, he consoled himself. Then Dr Twenty-man-Jones was shaking his hand and wishing him luck for the Games, and he tried to forget that bunch of auburn curls and concentrate on his social duties, but it wasn't all that easy.
out on deck he looked for an auburn head going down the gangway, or in the crowd on the quayside, but Centaine was tugging at his arm as the gap between ship and land opened below them.
Come, cheri, let's go and check the dining-room seating. But you have been invited to the captain's table, Mater, he protested. 'here was an invitation in the, Yes, but you and David haven't, she pointed out. Come along, David, let's go and find where they have put the two of you, and have it changed if it's not suitable. She was up to something& Shasa realized. Normally she would take the seating for granted, secure in the knowledge that her name was all the guarantee of preference that was necessary, but now she was insistent, and she had that look in her eye which he knew so well, and which he called her 'Machiavellian sparkle.
Come along then, he agreed indulgently, and the three of them went down the walnut-panelled staircase to the first class dining-room on the deck below.
At the foot of the stairs a small group of seasoned travellers were being affable to the head waiter; five-pound notes were disappearing like magic into that urbane gentleman's pocket, leaving no bulge, and names were being rubbed out and re-pencilled on the seating plan.
Standing a little apart from the group was a tall familiar figure that Shasa recognized instantly. Something about him, the expectant turn of his head towards the staircase, told Shasa he was waiting for someone, and his dazzling smile as he saw Centaine made it clear who that someone was.
Good Lord, Mater, Shasa exclaimed. I didn't realize Blaine was sailing today, I thought he would be going later with the others, he broke off . He had felt his mother's grip on his forearm tighten and the quick catch of her breath as she saw Blaine.
They have arranged this, he realized with a flare of amazement. 'That's what her excitement was. And at last it dawned upon him. You never think it of your own mother, but they are lovers. All these years, and I never saw it. The little things, insignificant at the time but now full of meaning, came crowding back. Blaine and the mater, damn me blind! Who would have thought it and conflicting emotions assailed him. Of all men in the world, I would have chosen him, in that moment he realized how much Blaine Malcomess had come to stand in the place of the father he had never known, but the thought was followed instantly by a flush of jealous and moral indignation. 'Blaine Malcomess, pillar of society and government, and Mater who is always frowning and shaking her head at me, the naughty little devils, they have been raving away for years without anybody suspecting! Blaine was coming towards them. Centaine, this is a surprise! Mater was laughing and holding out her right hand to him.
Gracious me, Blaine Malcomess, I had no idea you were on board. Shasa thought wryly: What marvelous acting! You have had me and everybody fooled for years. The two of you make Clark Gable and Ingrid Bergman look like a pair of beginners! Then suddenly it didn't matter any more. The only thing that was important was that there were two girls following Blaine as he came towards Centaine.
Centaine, I'm sure you remember my two daughters. This is Tara and this is Mathilda Janine, Tara. Silently Shasa sang the name in his head. Tara what a lovely name. It was the girl he had glimpsed on the boat deck, and she was only one hundred times more stunning than he had hoped she might be.
Tara. She was tall, only a few inches below his own six foot, but her legs were like willow wands and her waist was like a reed.
Tara. She had the face of a madonna, a serene oval, and her complexion was a mixture of cream and flower petals, almost too perfect, yet redeemed from insipid vacuity by the smoking chestnut hair, her father's wide strong mouth and her own eyes, resilient as grey steel and bright with intelhgence and determination.
She greeted Centaine with the correct amount of deference and then turned to look directly at Shasa.
Shasa, you too remember Tara, Blaine told him. She came out to Weltevreden four years ago. Was this the same noisy little pest? Shasa stared at her the one in short skirts with scabs on her bony knees who had embarrassed him with her boisterous and childish capers? He could not believe it was, and his voice caught in his throat.
How good to see you again, Tara, after so long. Remember, Tara Malcomess, she cautioned herself. Be controlled and aloof. She almost shivered with shame as she remembered how she had gambolled and fawned around him like a puppy begging to be patted. What a callow little beast, I was. But she had been smitten by a crush so powerful at first sight of him that the pain of it still lingered even now.
However, she managed to display the right shade of indifference as she murmured, Oh have we met? I must have forgotten, forgive me. She held out her hand. Well, it's pleasant to meet you again, Shasa? 'Yes, Shasa, he agreed, and he took the hand as though it were a holy talisman. Why haven't we met again since then? he asked himself, and immediately he saw the answer.
It was deliberate. Blaine and Mater made damn sure that we never met again in case it complicated their own little arrangement. They did not want Tara reporting back to her mama. But he was too happy to be angry with them now.
Have you made your table reservations? he asked, without relinquishing her hand.
Daddy is sitting at the captain's table, Tara pouted lovingly at her father. And we are to be left all alone. The four of us can sit together, Shasa suggested quickly.
Let's go and talk to the Maitre. Blaine and Centaine exchanged relieved glances, it was all going exactly as they had planned, with one twist they had not foreseen.
Mathilda Janine had blushed as she shook hands with David Abrahams. Of the two sisters, she was the ugly duckling for she had inherited not only her father's wide mouth but his large nose and prominent ears as well, and her hair was not auburn but ginger carrot.
But he's got a big nose too, she thought defiantly, as she studied David, and then her thoughts went off on a tangent.
If Tara tells him I'm only sixteen I'll just die! The voyage was a tempest of emotions, full of delights and surprises and frustrations and agonies for all of them.
During the fourteen days of the passage to Southampton Blaine and Centaine saw very little of the four youngsters, meeting them for a cocktail beside the ship's pool before lunch and for a duty dance after dinner, David and Shasa each taking a turn at whirling Centaine around the floor while Blaine did the same to his daughters. Then there would be a quick exchange of glances between the four young people and they would make their elaborate excuses before all disappearing down into the tourist class where the real fun was, leaving Blaine and Centaine to their staid pleasures on the upper decks.
Tara in a one-piece bathing costume of lime green was the most magnificent sight Shasa had ever laid eyes upon. Her breasts under the clinging material were the shape of unripe pears and when she came from the pool with water streaming down those long elegant limbs, he could make out the dimple of her navel through the cloth and the hard little marbles of her nipples, and it took all his control to prevent himself groaning out loud.
Mathilda Janine and David discovered a mutual zany and irreverent sense of humour, and kept each other in convulsions of laughter most of the time. Mathilda Janine was up at four-thirty each morning, no matter how late they had got to bed, to give David raucous encouragement as he made his fifty circuits of the b
oat deck.
He moves like a panther, she told herself. Long and smooth and graceful. And she had to think up fifty new witticisms each morning to shout at him as he went bounding past her. They chased each other around the pool and wrestled ecstatically below the surface; once they had managed to fall in locked in each other's arms, but, apart from a furtive pecking kiss at the door of the cabin that Mathilda. Janine shared with Tara, neither of them even considered carrying it any further. Although David had benefited from his brief relationship with the Camel, it never occurred to him to indulge in the same acrobatics with someone as special as Matty.
Shasa on the other hand suffered under no such inhibitions. He was vastly more sexually experienced than David, and once he had recovered from the initial awe of Tara's beauty, he launched an insidious but determined assault on the fortress of her virginity. However, his rewards were even less spectacular than David's.
it took him almost a week to work up to the stage of intimacy where Tara would allow him to spread suntan oil on her back and shoulders. In the small hours of the morning when the lights on the dance floor were dimmed for the last dance and the band played the sugary romantic Poinciana', she laid her velvet-soft cheek against his, but when he tried to press his lower body against hers, she allowed it for only moments before she arched her back, and when he tried to kiss her at the cabin door she held him off with both hands on his chest and gave him that low tantalizing laugh.
The silly little witch is totally frigid,, Shasa told his reflection in the shaving mirror. She probably has an iceberg in her knickers. Thought of those regions made him shiver with frustration, and he resolved to break off the chase. He thought of the five or six other females on board, not all of them young, who had looked at him with unmistakable invitation in their eyes. I could have any or all of them instead of panting along behind Miss Tin Knickers, But an hour later he was partnering her in the mixed doubles deck quoit championships, or smoothing suntan oil on that flawless finely muscled back with fingers that trembled with agonized desire, or trying to keep level with her in a discussion of the merits and demerits of the government's plans to disenfranchise the coloured voters of the Cape Province.