When the Lion Feeds c-4 Page 8

  I'm sorry, Sean, honest I'm sorry. I didn't know that...

  Sean walked ahead of him into the kitchen and slammed the door in his face. He went through into Waite's study. From the bookshelf he lifted down the heavy leather-covered stock register and carried it to the desk.

  He opened the book, picked up a pen and dipped it. For a moment he stared at the page and then in the deathscolumn he wrote the number 13 and after it the wordsdip poisoning. He pressed down so hard with the pen that the nib cut the paper.

  It took Sean and the herdboys all the rest of that day and the next to bale out the tank, refill it with clean water and mix in fresh dip. He saw Garrick only at meals and they didn't speak.

  The next day was Sunday. Garrick went into town early, for the church service started at eight o'clock. When he had gone Sean began his preparations. He shaved leaning close to the mirror and handling the cut-throat gingerly, shaping his side burns and clearing the hair from the rest of his face until his skin was smooth and freshlooking. Then he went through to the master-bedroom and helped himself to a generous portion of his father's brilliantine, taking care to screw the lid back on the bottle and replace it exactly as he had found it. He rubbed the brilliantine into his hair and sniffed its perfume appreciatively. He combed his hair over his forehead, parted it down the centre and polished it into a gloss with Waite's silver-backed brushes. Then a clean white shirt, breeches worn only once before, boots as shiny as his hair, and Sean was ready.

  The clock on the mantelpiece in the lounge assured him that he was well ahead of time. To be exact, he was two hours early. Eight o'clock now: church didn't end until nine and it would be another hour before Anna could escape from under the eyes of her family and reach the rendezvous above the falls. He settled down to wait. He read the latest copy of the Natal Farmer. He had read it three times before for it was a month old, and now even the excellent article on Stomach parasites in Cattle and Sheep, had lost much of its punch. Sean's attention wandered, he thought about the day ahead and felt the familiar movement within his breeches. This necessitated a rearrangement for the breeches were tight fitting.

  Then fantasy palled; Sean was a doer not a thinker, and he went through to the kitchen to solicit a cup of coffee from Joseph. When he had finished it, there was still half an hour to go.

  The hell with it, said Sean and shouted for his horse.

  He climbed the escarpment, letting his horse move diagonally up the slope and at the top he dismounted and let it blow. Today he could see the course of the Tugela river out across the plain, it was a belt of dark green. He could count the roofs of the houses in Lady-burg and the church spire, Popper clad, shone in the sunlight like a beacon fire.

  He mounted again and rode along the edge of the plateau until he reached the Baboon Stroom above the falls.

  He followed it back and forded it at a shallow place, lifting his feet up on the saddle in front of him to keep his boots dry. He off-saddled next to the pools and knee-haltered his horse, then he followed the path until it dropped over the edge of the plateau into the thick forest that surrounded the falls. It was cool and damp in the forest with moss growing on the trees, for the roof of leaves and creepers shut out the sun. There was a bottle-bird in the undergrowth. Glug, glug glug, it said, like water poured from a bottle, and its call was almost drowned in the ceaseless thunder of the falls.

  Sean spread his handkerchief on a rock beside the path, sat down on it and waited. Within five minutes he was fidgeting impatiently, within half an hour he was grumbling aloud. I'll count to five hundred.... If she hasn't come by then I'm not going to wait. He counted and when he reached the promised figure he stopped and peered anxiously down the path. There was no sign of Anna. I'm not going to sit here all day, he announced and made no effort to stand up. A fat yellow caterpillar caught his eye; it was on the trunk of a tree farther down the slope. He picked up a pebble and threw it. It bounced off the tree an inch above the caterpillar. Close, Sean -encouraged himself and stooped for another stone. After a while he had exhausted the supply of pebbles around his feet and the caterpillar was still moving leisurely up the trunk. Sean was forced to go out on a foraging expedition for more pebbles. He came back with both hands full and once more took up his position on the rock. He piled the pebbles between his feet and reopened the bombardment. He aimed each throw with the utmost concentration and with his third pebble he hit squarely and the caterpillar popped in a spurt of green her. You shouldn't say things like that about your Pa.

  You should respect him. And Anna had looked at him calmly and asked, Why? which was a difficult question. But now she changed the subject. Do you want to eat yet? No, said Sean and reached for her. She fought back, shrieking demurely until Sean held her down and kissed her. Then she lay quietly, answering his kisses. If you stop me now I'm going to get mad, whispered Sean and deliberately unfastened the top, button of her dress. She watched his face with solemn eyes and her hands stayed on his shoulders until he had undone her blouse down to the waist and then with her fingers she traced the bold black curves of his eyebrows. No, Sean, I won't stop you. I want to as well, I want to as much as you do. There was so much to discover and each thing was strange and wonderful and they were the first to find it.

  The way the muscles stood out down the side of his chest beneath his arms and yet left a place where she could see the outline of his ribs. The texture of her skin, smooth and white with the faint blue suggestion of veins beneath.

  The deep hollow down the centre of his back, pressing her fingers into it she could feel his spine. The down on her cheeks, so pale and fine he could see it only in the sunlight. The way their lips felt against each other and the tiny flutter of tongues between. The smell of their bodies, one milky warm and the other musky and vigorous. The hair that covered his chest and grew thicker under his arms, and hers: startlingly dark against white skin, a small silky nest of it. Each time there was something new to find and greet with soft sounds of delight.

  Now, kneeling before her as she lay with her head thrown back and her -arms half-raised to receive him, Sean suddenly bowed his head and touched her with his mouth. The taste of her was clean as the taste of the sea.

  Her eyes flew open. Sean, no, you mustn't, oh no, you mustn't. There were lips within lips and a bud as softly resilient as a tiny green grape. Sean found it with the tip of his tongue. Oh, Sean, you can't do that. Please, please, please. And her hands were in the thick hair at the back of his head holding him there. I can't stand it any more, come over me... quickly, quickly, Sean. Filling. like a sail in a hurricane, swollen and hard and tight, stretched beyond its limit until it burst and was blown to shreds in the wind and was gone. Everything gone. The wind and the sail, the tension and the wanting, all gone. There was left only the great nothingness which is peace. Perhaps a kind of death; perhaps death is like that. But, like death, not an ending, for even death contains the seeds of resurrection. So they came back from peace to a new beginning slowly at first and then faster until they were two people again. Two people on a blanket among reeds with the sunlight white on the sand about them. Each time it's better and better, isn't it, Sean? Ah! Sean stretched, arching his back and spreading his arms. Sean, you do love me, don't you? Sure. Sure I love you. I think you must love me to have done, - she hesitated to do what you did. I just said so, didn't I? Sean's attention wandered to the basket. He selected an apple and polished it on the blanket. Tell me properly. Hold me tight and tell me. Hell, Anna, how many times have I got to say it?

  Sean bit on the apple. Did you bring any of your Mais shortbread?

  it was coming on night when Sean got back to Theunis Kraal. He turned his horse over to one of the grooms and went into the house. His body tingled from the sun, and he felt the emptiness and sadness of after-love, but it was a good sadness, like the sadness of old memories.

  Garrick was in the dining-room, eating alone. Sean walked into the room and Garrick looked up nervously. Hello, Garry. Sean smiled at him and
Garrick was momentarily dazzled by it. Sean sat down in the chair beside him and punched him lightly on the arm.

  Have you left any for me? His hatred was gone. There's plenty, Garrick nodded eagerly. Try some of the potatoes, they're jolly good. They say the Governor sent for your Pa while he was in Pietermaritzburg. Had him alone for nearly two hours. Stephen Erasmus took the pipe out of his mouth and spat down onto the railway lines. In his brown homespun and veldschoen he did not look like a rich cattleman. Well, we don't need a prophet to tell us what it was about, do we? No, sir, Sean agreed vaguely. The train was late and Sean wasn't listening. He had an entry in the stock register to explain to his father and he was mentally rehearsing his speech. Ja, we know what it's about all right. Old Erasmus put the pipe back between his teeth and spoke around it. It's been two weeks now since the British Agent was recalled from Cetewayo's kraal at Gingindhlovu. Liewe Here! in the old days we'd have called out the Commando long ago. He packed his pipe, pushing down onto the glowing tobacco with a calloused forefinger. Sean noticed that the finger was twisted and scarred by the trigger-guards of a hundred heavy rifles. You've never been on commando have you, Jong? No, sir. About time you did then, said Erasmus, about bledy time.

  Up on the escarpment the train whistled and Sean started guiltily.

  There she is. Erasmus stood up from the bench on which they were sitting and the station master came out from his office with a rolled red flag in his hand. Sean felt his stomach sink slowly until it stopped somewhere just above his knees.

  The train ran in past them, whooshing steam and brakewhining. The single passenger coach stopped precisely opposite the wooden platform. Erasmus came forward and took Waite's hand. Goeie More, Steff. More, Waite. They tell me you're the new chairman now. Well done, man. Thanks. Did you get my telegram? Waite spoke in Afrikaans. Ja. I got it. I told the others, we'll all be out at Theunis Kraal tomorrow. Good, Waite nodded. You'll stay for lunch, of course.

  We've got a lot to talk about. Is it what I think it is? Erasmus grinned wickedly. The tobacco had stained his beard yellow around his mouth and his face was brown and wrinkled. I tell you all about it tomorrow, Steff. Waite winked at him, but in the meantime you'd better get that old muzzle-loader of yours out of moth-balls. They laughed, one deep down and the other a rusty old laugh. Grab the bags, Sean. Let's get home. Waite took Ada's Arm and they walked with Erasmus to the buggy. Ada had on a new dress, blue with leg o'mutton sleeves and a picture hat. she looked lovely but a little worried as she listened to them talking. It's strange how women can never face the prospect of war with the same boyish enthusiasm as their men. Sean! Waite Courtney's roar carried clearly from his study along the corridor and through the closed door of the sitting-room. Ada dropped her knitting into her lap and her features set into an expression of unnatural calm.

  Sean stood up from his chair. You should have told him earlier, Garrick said in a small voice. You should have told him during lunchI didn't get a chance. Sean! Another blast from the study.

  What's happened now? asked Ada quietly. It's nothing, Ma. Don't worry about it Sean crossed to the door. Sean, Garrick's stricken voice, Sean, you won't, I mean you don't have to tell - He stopped and sat hunched in his chair, his eyes full of desperate appeal. It's all right, Garry, I'll fix it. Waite Courtney stood over the desk. Between his clenched fists the stock register lay open. He looked up as Sean came in and closed the door. What's this? He prodded the page with a huge squaretipped finger.

  Sean opened his mouth and then closed it again. Come on. I'm listening. Well, Pa, Well, Pa. , he buggered. just tell me how you've managed to massacre half the cattle on this farm in a little over a week? It's not half the cattle, it's only thirteen. Sean was stung by the exaggeration. Only thirteen, bellowed Waite, only thirteen. God Almighty, shall I tell you how much that is in cash? Shall I tell you how much that is in hard work and time and worry? I know, Pa. You know, Waite was panting. Yes, you know everything. There's nothing anyone can tell you, is there? Not even how to kill thirteen ead o prime oxen. Pa -'Don't Pa me, by Jesus. Waite slammed the heavy book closed. Just explain to me how you managed it. What's

  "dip poisoning"? What the bloody hell is "dip poisoning"?

  Did you give it to them to drink? Did you stick it up their arses? The dip was too strong, said Sean. And why was the dip too strong? How much did you put in? Sean took a deep breath, I put in four drums. There was silence and then Waite asked softly, How muchPFour drums. Are you mad? Are you raving bloody madVI didn't think it would harm them. His carefully rehearsed speech forgotten, Sean unconsciously repeated the words he had heard from Garrick. It. was getting late and my leg was -- Sean bit the sentence off and Waite stared at him, then the confusion cleared from Ins face.

  , Garry! he said. No, shouted Sean. It wasn't him, I did it You're lying to me. Waite came round from behind the desk. There was a note of disbelief in his voice. To his knowledge it was the first time it had ever happened.

  He stared at Sean and then his anger was back more violently than before. He had forgotten the oxen, it was the lie that concerned him now. By Christ, I'll teach you to tell the truth. He snatched up his sjambok from the desk.

  Don't hit me, Pa, Sean warned him, backing away.

  Waite threw up the'sjambok and swung it down overarm.

  It hissed softly and Sean twisted away from it, but the tip of the lash caught his shoulder. Sean gasped at the pain and lifted his hand to it. You lying little bastard! shouted Waite and swung the whip sideways as though he were scything wheat, and this time it curled around Sean's chest under his uplifted arm. it split his shirt like a razor cut and the cloth fell away to expose the red ridged welt across His ribs and around his backHere's some m'ore! Waite lifted the siambok again and as he stood with his arm thrown back and his body turned off balance he knew he had made a mistake. Sean was no longer clutching the whip marks; his hands were held low and his fists were bunched. At the corners his eyebrows were lifted, giving an expression of satanical fury to his face. He was pale and his lips were drawn back tight, showing his teeth. His eyes, no longer blue but burning black, were on a level with Waite's. He's coming for me. Waite's surprise slowed his reflexes, he couldn't bring his whip-arm down before Sean was on him-. Sean hit him, standing solidly on both feet, bringing the full weight of his body into the punch, hurling it into the middle of Waite's exposed chest.

  Heart punched, strength oozing out of him, Waite staggered back against the desk. The siambok fell out of his hand and Sean went after him. Waite had the sensation of being a beetle in a saucer of treacle: he could see and think but he could barely move. He saw Sean take three quick paces forward, saw his right hand cocked like a loaded rifle, saw it aimed at his defenceless face.

  In that instant, while his body moved in slow motion but his mind raced, the scales of paternal blindness dropped from Waite Courtney's eyes and he realized that he was fighting a man who matched him in strength and height, and who was Ins superior in speed. His only advantage lay in the experience he had gathered in forty years of brawling.

  Sean threw his punch: it had all the power of the first one and Waite knew that he could not survive that in his face, and yet he could not move to avoid it. He dropped his chin onto -his chest and took Sean's fist on the top of his head. The force of it flung him backwards over the desk, but as it hit he heard the brittle crackle of Sean's fingers breaking.

  Waite dragged himself to his knees, using the corner of the desk as a support, and looked at his son. Sean was doubled up with pain, holding his broken hand against his stomach. Waite pulled himself to his feet and sucked in big breaths of air, he felt his strength coming back.

  All right, he said, if you want to fight, then we fight.

  He came round the desk, moving slowly, his hands ready, no longer underestimating his man. I am going to knock the daylights out of you, Announced Waite. Sean straightened up and looked at him. There was agony in his face now, but the anger was there also. Something surged up in
side Waite when he saw it.

  He can fight and he's game. Now we'll see if he can take a beating. Rejoicing silently Waite moved in on him, watching Sean's left hand, disregarding the broken right for he knew what pain was in it. He knew that no man could use a hand in that condition.

  He shot out his own left hand, measuring with it, trying to draw Sean. Sean side-stepped, moving in past it. Waite was wide open for Sean's right, his broken right, the hand he could not possibly use, and Sean used it with all his strength into Waite's face.

  Waite's brain burst into bright colours and darkness, he spun sideways, falling hitting the leopard-skin rug with his shoulder and sliding with it across the floor into the fireplace. Then in the darkness he felt Sean's hands on him and heard Sean's voice. Pa, oh, my God, Pa. Are you all right? The darkness cleared a little and he saw Sean's face, the anger gone from it and in its place worry that was almost panic. Pa, oh, my God! Please, Pa. Waite tried to sit up, but he could not make it. Sean had to help him. He knelt next to Waite holding him, fumbling helplessly with his face, trying to brush the hair back off his forehead, stroking the rumpled beard into place. I'm sorry, Pa, truly I'm sorry. Let me help you to the chair.