by Wilbur Smith
Where is Nkosi Duff? Sean roared.
They stared at him blankly.
Where is he? Sean's beard bristled. The baas took a horse and went for a ride, answered one of the grooms nervously.
`When? bellowed Sean. In the night, perhaps seven, eight hours ago. He should be back soon. Sean stared at the groom, breathing heavily. Which way did he go? Baas, he did not say.
Eight hours ago, he could be fifty miles away by now.
Sean turned and went back to his room. He threw himself on the bed and poured another cup of coffee. This is going to break her up badly -'He imagined the tears and the chaos of undisciplined grief. Oh, hell, damn you to hell, Charleywood! He sipped the coffee and thought about going as well, taking a horse and getting as far away as possible. It's no mess of my making, I want no part of it. He finished the coffee and started dressing. He looked in the mirror to comb his hair and saw Candy standing alone in the chapel, waiting while the silence turned to murmuring and then to laughter. Charleywood, you pig Sean scowled. I can't let her there, it'll be bad enough without that. I'll have to tell her. He picked up his watch from the dressing-table, it was past nine. Damn you, Charleywood. He went down the passage and stopped outside Candy's door. He could hear women's voices inside and he knocked before he went in. There were two of Candy's friends and the coloured girl Martha. They stared at him. Where's Candy? In the bedroom, but you mustn't go in. It's bad luck. It's the worst bloody luck in the world, agreed Sean.
He knocked on the bedroom door.
Who is it? Sean. You can't come in what do you want? Are you decent? Yes, but you mustn't come in. He opened the door and looked in on a confusion of squealing females. Get out of here, , he said harshly, I have to speak to Candy alone. They fled and Sean closed the door behind them. Candy was in a dressing-gown. Her face was quick with anticipation; her hair was pulled back and hung shiny and soft.
She was beautiful, Sean realized. He looked at the frothy pile of her wedding-dress on the bed. Candy, bad news, I'm afraid. Can you take it! He spoke almost roughly, hating it, hating every second of it.
He saw the bloom on her face wither until her expression was dead, blank and dead as a statue. He's gone, said Sean. He's run out on you. Candy picked up a brush from her dressing-table and started stroking it listlessly through her hair. It was very quiet in the room. I'm sorry, Candy. She nodded without looking at him; instead she was looking down the lonely corridor of the future. It was worse than tears would have been, that silent acceptance.
Sean scratched the side of his nose, hating it. I'm sorry, I wish I could do something about it He turned to the door. Sean, thank you for coming and telling me There was no emotion in her voice; like her face it was dead.
That's all right Sean said gruffly.
He rode up to Xanadu. There were people clustered about the marquees on the lawn; by the quality of their laughter he could tell they were drinking already. The sun was bright and as yet not too hot, the band was playing from the wide veranda of the mansion, the women's dresses were gay against the green of the lawns. Gala dayfluttered the flags above the tents. Gala day shouted the laughter.
Sean rode up the drive, lifting his hand in brief acknowledgement of the greetings that were shouted to him. From the vantage point of his horse's back he spotted Francois and Martin Curtis, glasses in hand, standing near the house talking to two of the Opera girls. He gave his horse to one of the native grooms and strode across towards them. Hello, boss, called Curtis. Why so glum, you're not the one getting married. They all laughed. Francois, Martin, come with me pleaseWhat's the trouble, Mr Courtney? Francois asked as he led them aside. The party's over, Sean said grimly. "There'll be no wedding.
They gaped at him. Go around and tell everybody. Tell them they'll get their presents back-, He turned to leave them.
What's happened, boss? Curtis asked.
tell them that Candy and Duff changed their minds. Do you want us to send them home?
Sean hesitated. Oh, the hell with it, let them stay let them all get sick drunk. just tell them there'll be no wedding.
He went up to the house. He found the pseudo-priest waiting nervously in the downstairs study. The man's adam's apple had been rubbed raw by the starch-stiff dog collar.
We won't need you, Sean told him.
He took out his cheque book, sat down at the desk and filled in a cheque form. That's for your trouble. Now get out of town Thank you, Mr Courtney, thank you very much. The man looked mightily relieved; he started for the door. My friend, Sean stopped him. If you ever breathe a word about what we planned to do today, I'll kill you. Do I make myself clear? Sean went through to the ballroom, he slipped a small stack of sovereigns into the constable's hand. Get all these people out of here. He gestured with his head at the crowds that were wandering among the tables looking at the gifts. Then lock the doors. He found the chef in the kitchen. Take all this food outside, give it to them now. Then lock up the kitchens. He went round the house closing the doors and drawing the curtains. When he walked into the study there was a couple on the big leather couch and the man's hand was under the girl's skim; she was Oggling. This isn't a whore house, Sean shouted at them and they left hurriedly. He sank into one of the chairs. He could hear the voices and the laughter from outside on the lawn, the band was playing a Strauss waltz. It irritated him and he scowled at the marble fireplace. His head was aching again and the skin of his face felt dry and tight from the night's debauch. What a mess, what a bloody mess, he said aloud After an hour he went out and found his horse. He rode out along the Pretoria Road until he had passed the last houses, then he turned off into the veld. He cantered into the sea of grass with his hat pushed back an his head so the sun and the wind could find his face. He sat relaxed and loose in the saddle and let his horse pick its own way.
in the late afternoon he came back to Johannesburg and left his horse with Mbejane in the stableyard. He felt better; the exercise and the fresh air had cleared his head and helped him to see things in truer perspective. He ran himself a deep hot bath, climbed into it and while he soaked the last of his anger at Duff smoothed out. He had control of himself again. He got out of the bath and towelled, then he slipped on his gown and went through to the bedroom. Candy was sitting on his bed. Hello, Sean. She smiled at him, a brittle smile. Her hair was a little tangled now, her face was pale and unrouged. She had not changed from the dressing-gown he had seen her in that morning. Hello, Candy! He picked up the cut-glass bottle of bay nim and rubbed some into his hair and beard. You don't mind me coming to see you, do you? No, of course not. He started combing his hair. I was about to come and see you myself. She drew her legs up under her in the double-jointed manner of women that is impossible for a man to copy. Can I have a drink, please? I'm sorry, I thought you never touched the stuff. Oh, today is special. She laughed too gaily. it's my wedding day, you know. He poured the brandy without looking at her. He hated this suffering and he felt his anger at Duff coming back strongly. Candy took the drink and sipped it. She pulled a face. it tastes awful.
that'll do you good!
To the bride, she dranc it down quickly.
Another one? asked Sean. No thanks She stood up and went across to the window. It's getting dark now, I hate the darkness. Darkness distorts things so; what is bad in the daylight is unbearable at night. I'm sorry, Candy, I wish I could help you She whirled and came to him, her arms circled tight round his neck and her face pale and frightened pressed to his chest.
Oh, Sean, please hold me, I'm so afraid!
He held her awkwardly. I don't want to think about it. Not now, not now in the darkness, she whispered. Please help me. Please help me not to think about it I'll stay with you. Don't get yourself upset. Come and sit down. I'll get you another drink. No, no, she clung to him desperately. I don't want to be alone. I don't want to think. Please help me! I can't help you, I'll stay with you but that's all I can do. Anger and pity mixed together in Sean like charcoal and saltpetre; his fingers
tightened hard on her shoulders, digging into the flesh until they met bone. Yes, hurt me. That way I'll forget for a while. Take me to the bed and hurt me, Sean, hurt me deep. Sean caught his breath. You don't know what you're saying, that's crazy talk. It's what I want, to forget for a little. Please, Sean, please. I can't do that, Candy, Duff's my friend. He's finished with me and I with him. I'm your friend too. Oh, God, I'm so alone. Don't you leave me too. Help me, Sean, please help me. Sean felt his anger slide down from his chest and flare up, cobra-headed, from his thighs. She felt it also. Yes, oh please, yes. He picked her up and carried her to the bed. He stood over her while he tore off his gown. She moved on the bed shedding her clothing and spreading herself to meet him, to take him in and let him fill the emptiness. He covered her quickly bayoneting through the soft veil and into the warmth of her body. There was no desire in it, it was cruel and hard drawn out to the frontiers of endurance. For him an expression of anger and pity; for her an act of renunciation. Once was not enough. Again and yet again he took her, until there were brown smudges on the bedclothes from his bleeding back, until her body ached and they lay entwined, wet and tired from the fury of it.
In the quiescence of after-passion Sean spoke softly. It didn't help, did it? Yes, it did. Physical exhaustion had weakened the barriers that held back her grief. Still holding onto him, she started to cry.
A street lamp outside the room threw a silver square of light on the ceiling. Sean laid on his back and watched it, listening to Candy's sobs. He recognized the moment they reached their climax and followed their decline into silence. They slept then and later before the day woke together as if by arrangement. You are the only one who can help him now Candy said.
Help him do what? asked Sean. Find what he is looking for. Peace, himself, whatever you want to call it. He's lost, you know, Sean. He's lost and lonely, almost as lonely as I am. I could have helped him, I'm sure I could. Duff lost? Sean asked cynically. You must be mad! Don't be so blind, Sean, don't be misled by the big talk and the grand manner. Look at the other things. Like what? asked Sean.
She didn't answer for a while. He hated his father, you know. I guessed as much from the little he told me The way he revolts at any discipline. His attitude to Hradsky, to women, to life. Think about it, Sean, and then tell me if he acts like a happy man. Hradsky did him a disservice once, he just doesn't like him, Sean defended Duff. Oh, no, it's much deeper than that. In a way Hradsky is an image of his father. He's so broken up inside, Sean, that's why he clings to you. You can help him Sean laughed outright. Candy, my dear, we like each other that's all, there are no deep and dark motives in our friendship. Don't you start getting jealous of me now Candy sat up and the blankets slipped down to her waist. She leaned towards Sean and her breasts swung forward, heavy, round and silver-white in the half light.
There's a strength in you, Sean, a kind of solid sureness in you that you haven't discovered yet. Duff has recognized it and so will other unhappy people. He needs you, he needs you very badly. Look after him for me, help him to find what he seeks. Oh! Nonsense, Candy, Sean muttered with embarrassIr ment.
Tromise me you'll help him. It's time you went back to your room, Sean told her. People will start talking Promise me, Sean. All right, I promise.
Candy slipped out of the bed. She dressed quickly. Thank you, Sean, goodnight. For Sean, Johannesburg was poorer without Duff: the streets were not so busy, the Rand Club was drearier and the thrills at the Stock Exchange not so intense. However, there was work to do; his share and Duffs as well.
It was late every evening when the conferences with Hradsky and Max ended and he went back to the Hotel.
In the reaction from the day's tension, when His brain was numb and his eyes burned, there was little energy to spare for regret. Yet he was lonely. He went to the Opera House and drank champagne with the crowd there. One of the girls did the Can-Can on the big table in the centre of the room and when she stopped in front of Sean and Trevor Heyns, with her forehead touching her knees and her petticoats hanging forward over her shoulders, Sean let Trevor whip her pants down, a week before he would have punched Trevor in the nose rather than concede the honour.
it wasn't so much fun any more. He went home early.
The following Saturday noon Curtis and Francois came into the office for the weekly progress meeting. When they had finished and Hradsky had left, Sean suggested, Come along with me, we'll go and have a pot or twelve at the Grand National Bar, baptize the weekend so to speak.
Curtis and Francois fidgeted in their chairs.
We had arranged to meet some of the other boys down at the Bright Angels, boss. That's fine, I'll come along with you, said Sean eagerly, the prospect of being with ordinary men again was suddenly very attractive to him. He felt sickened of the company of those who shook his hand and smiled at him while they waited for a chance to wipe him off the board.
It would be good to go along with these two and talk and not stocks and shares, to laugh with men who didn't give a digginn if C. R. C. s hit sixty shillings on Monday. He'd get a little drunk with Francois and Curtis; later on perhaps he'd have a fight, an honest, snortmig, stand-up fight. God, yes, it would be good to be with men who were clean inside, even if there was dirt under their nails and the armpits of their shirts were stained with sweat.
Curtis glanced quickly at Francois. There'll be just a crowd of roughnecks down there, boss, all the diggers come in on a Saturday. that's fine, said Sean Let's go. He stood up and buttoned his dove-grey coat; the lapels were edged in black watered silk and matched the black pearl pin in his tie. He picked up his cane from the desk.
Come on, let's get moving!
They ran into the noise from the Bright Angels a block before they reached the building. Sean grimed and quickened his step like an old gun dog with the scent of the bird in its nostrils again. Francois and Curtis hurried along on either side of him. There was a big digger standing on the bar counter. Sean recognized him as one of his men from the Little Sister Mine the man's body was tilted back to balance the weight of the demijohn he held to his lips and his throat jerked regularly as he swallowed. The crowd around Ins feet were chanting: Think it, down, down, down, down, down. The digger finished, he threw the bottle against the far wall and belched like an air-locked geyser. He bowed to acknowledge the applause and then he caught sight of Sean standing in the doorway. He wiped his mouth guiltily-with the back of his hand and jumped down off the counter. The other men in the crowd turned and saw Sean and the noise tapered off. They spread out along the bar in silence. Sean led Francois and Curtis into the room. He placed a pile of sovereigns on the counter.
Set them up, barman, take the orders. Today is Saturday and it's time to tie the dog loose. Cheers, Mr Courtney. Good luck, sirGezondheid, Mr Courtney.
Their voices were subdued with respect.
drink up, men, there's plenty more where that came from. Sean stood with Francois and Curtis at the bar.
They laughed at his jokes. His voice was loud with good fellowship and his face flushed with happiness. He bought more drinks. After a while his bladder started making its presence felt and he went through the back door into the washrooms. There were men talking in there; he stopped before he rounded the edge of the screen into the room.
... what's he want to come here for, hey? This isn't the mucking Rand Club. Shh! He'll hear you, man, do YOU Want to lose your job? I don't give a tilmn. Who does he think he is, "Drink up, boys, there's plenty more where that came from, I'm the boss, boys, do as you're told, boys, kiss my arse, boys! Sean stood paralyzed. Pipe down, Frank, he'll go just nowThe sooner the better, say I, the big dandy bastard with his ten-guinea boots and gold cane. Let him go back where he belongsYou're drunk, man, don't talk so loudSure I'm drunk, drunk enough to go in there and tell him to his face..
Sean backed out through the door and walked slowly across the bar to Francois and Curtis. I hope you'll excuse me; I've just remembered there's something I've got to do this afternoon
That's too bad, boss. Curtis looked relieved. Perhaps some other time, hey? Yes, perhaps some other time. They were pleased to see him when he went up to the Rand Club. Three men nearly fought one another to buy him a drink.
He had dinner with Candy that night and over the liqueurs he told her about it. She listened without interruption until he finished. They didn't want me there, I don't see what I've done to them that they should dislike me that way And it worries you? she asked. Yes, it worries me. I've never had people feel like that towards me before. I'm glad it worries you. She smiled gently at him. one day you're going to grow into quite a nice person. But why do they hate me? Sean followed his original line of thought.