Embrace (88 page)

They rode bareback all day in the warm November sun. They asked Matron Booysen for sandwiches and fruit and Mr Walshe for his lighter as they wanted to light a fire to make tea — and for the off chance of finding the hidden cave. Then for hours they explored paths and trails on which they had never been before, stopping for lunch in the shade of enormous cabbage trees and yellow-woods, their bases hidden by brambles and tree ferns hundreds of years old. Here they made a fire and boiled an empty can of water and dunked a putrid teabag. Above Copper Falls they followed antelope paths neatly cut along the mountainside’s contours and when they reached the plateaus they cantered across the veld, green, undulating like new corn in the breeze. And they had the time to search for and find the hidden caves. Hisses carried into the back from where dark shadows returned whispered promises of deeper entrances. From the moment they entered with Mr Walshe’s Bic ablaze, the cave had become a black cavern filled with flickering ghosts. Without looking back at the entrance, they moved through a narrow opening into a second chamber. They heard the twitter of bats and the rapid wings fluttering; shadows collided as they took to the air and exited the cave.

‘Look, they’re dancing . . .’ said Lukas, and the echo carried: sing, ing, ng

‘It’s a hunting dance . . . look, this one is pretending to be an ostrich and those are sneaking up on him.’

‘It’s a woman . . . not a him . . . look . . .’

‘Maybe, but it looks like it’s the rock, not part of the painting.’ ‘There,’ Lukas said, taking the lighter from Karl and stretching his arm up towards the ceiling, which remained in darkness. ‘What’s that up there? Can you see?’

‘Looks like a bird... Maybe a lammergeier. No, it’s too far, lift the flame higher.’

He tried to hoist himself up a narrow ledge but couldn’t keep his footing.

They took in what seemed to them the tale of a big hunt or a war. In it were ox-wagon and horses, above it what seemed like an odd and meaningless series of circles and stripes.

‘Looks like they played noughts and crosses, here,’ Lukas said, lifting the flame to the tapestry of criss-crosses.

‘Maybe it’s their language,’ Karl countered. ‘Maybe that’s how they wrote.’

‘The Bushmen couldn’t write, Karl, jissis, that much we know.’ No, no, o

‘No we don’t and anyway, these must be signs, saying something.’ ‘Well, I wish we had found bows and arrows and more Stone Age implements instead of their silly signs. But there’s nothing here. This damn thing is getting hot. I better give it a rest.’

He flicked off the lighter and they waited in pitch darkness.

‘Karl?’ Kaal, kal, al

‘Karl?’ Kaal, kaal, kal, al, a

‘Shhh . . .’ Shh, sh, s

‘What?’What, wat, at, a

‘Listen.’ Isten, issn, sn ‘What?’Wat, t

‘The silence.’ Slince, lince, snss ‘What about it?’Whatait, whatit, uit, uu

Karl found Lukas s arm. He stood on his toes and brought his lips to Lukas’s ear. To cheat the echo, he tried as softly as possible: ‘Beautiful.’ But he knew the darkness, the earth, the rock was an, ear and a mouth and a rib-cage around him. Barely, barely audible, came the’ clicks of the returning t.

At night Karl’s thighs ached. Lukas laughed when he noticed that he could hardly bend his legs. It was as though clutching Rufus’s back had demanded the use of muscles he had not known the existence of. But the next day they were out again; bareback again. They let the horses wade in the river while they sat naked above pools where they swam, then lazed in the sun. Lukas spoke about returning to Indwe, being back with Harlequin, about his father importing two new American saddler mares for Swaargenoeg’s breeding. Going to school in Queenstown where his brothers had matriculated would probably be a bit of an ordeal at first, with everyone thinking you were a pansy if you came from the Berg. But that would pass once the rugby season started in May. And when Karl spoke he passed over the near future as though the next four years either did not exist or were impossible to imagine. His dreams began at university where he was studying law. Poring over books in an enormous library. There he would be free. Life for him would begin there amongst bright and stimulating lecturers — all of whom were as intelligent and creative as Ma’am.

And the army?’ Lukas asked.

‘I’ll go after university, once I’m a lawyer.’

‘You don’t want to be a soldier, do you, Karl?’

He didn’t answer. If he spoke he knew he would He. The warm sun beat down on his face, his arms and chest. The mountains above them rose amber, brown and blue. Birds whose names he didn’t knowcalled from every angle around the river. He felt the day and the world light and glorious. He was not going to lie on a day like today. Just for once I’m not going to lie. He looked downstream to where Rufus still stood in the water. King was tugging long strands of kikuyu from the bank.

‘Karl?’

‘What?’

‘You heard me. About not wanting to be a soldier.’

Again he remained quiet. Then he felt Lukas s hand against his shoulder and their eyes met.

‘It’s okay, Karl. I understand you better than you think.’

‘Of course I want to be a soldier, Lukas. Jirre jissis. I just want to get my degree first, that’s all.’ And he rose to retrieve his shorts and underpants.

Returning to the fort for the first time since Mathison’s night, he saw — smelt — at once that Uncle Klaas and the Silent One had left. The fort smelt again of decaying poplar leaves and thatch. Rains had cleared the covering of any smoke scent that may have lingered. As if they had never been here, he thought. Where were they now? Who knows if they’re even alive.

Lukas had procured slingshots from the farm workers, and he and Karl shot across the river at a row of empty Coca-Cola cans. For every five cans Lukas toppled, Karl felled one. He thought again of how Bok had taken him down to the Umfolozi to fire the revolver. He saw again Bok walking from the round boulder on the opposite bank, his mpategas crunching into the white sand of the dry riverbed while he waited in the shade of the reeds. Held in both his hands was the tray of copper bullets with their little grey lead heads. And he’s sure he sees his fingernails unbitten.

Bok knelt beside him and flicked open the revolver’s chamber. ‘You see, it’s empty,’ he said. ‘You don’t have to fear a revolver. But you must treat it with respect. Here, hold it, Philistine. Both hands.’ And Karl passed the narrow tray of twenty-four bullets to Bok. He placed both hands around the handle, felt the cold metal weight of the open weapon in his fingers, pulling at his shoulders.

‘It’s heavy, Bok.’

‘It won’t be, once you grow accustomed to it. Here, let me show you how to put in the rounds.’ He took the revolver from Karl’s hands.

‘Can I shoot now, Bok?’

‘Be patient. Watch now, look closely at how I do it because you’ll be doing this for the rest of your life.’

One at a time, Bok said, you remove one bullet at a time from the tray and you slip it into its little groove. Like this, you see. They look like a bee’s nest, Bok. Ja, but believe me they do more damage than any wasp. These things kill, Karl. Do you understand me? This thing is not something you play with, ever. Okay? Yes, Bok. You don’t go near this revolver without my permission, ever. Do you hear me, Philistine? Yes, Bok. And he watched as his father’s fingers skilfully filled the honeycomb with bullets before flicking the chamber shut. And now you get yourself into a comfortable position, like this, Bok said, and Karl emulated his father: legs slightly apart, shoulders back. Because you’re still small you can take a dead aim on my arm. Bok knelt beside Karl. He held the revolver and told the boy to lean into him so that he could explain the lining up of the sights with the target. This gap here, shut your one eye, Karl, these two little teeth, do you see them? Yes, Bok. Through them you find this little one at the front, do you see it? Yes, Bok, as he squinted, struggled to keep the right eye shut, and tried to line up the little ant between the little teeth. Then you must see the little one at the front of the barrel, and the target — the jerry can — through the two teeth at the back. Okay? Yes, Bok. So, when all three are in place — can you see all three — keep your one eye closed, Philistine, can you see all three? I think so, Bok. Then, if you keep them lined up and you draw the trigger in, like this, you never pull it, okay, because then you lose balance. Gently, you draw it in sothat you don’t lose the line-up of the revolver with the target. And you keep your eye on the target, always. The target is like a magnet and your eye doesn’t waver, not even for a second, okay? Yes, Bok. Okay. Now I’m going to sit here and you stand behind me and you can rest your hands on my arm as a dead rest, okay? Yes, Bok. With his father half in front of him he took dead aim across the hairy arm. Take your time now, Bok spoke softly, almost into his ear. Remember don’t pull the trigger, just draw it in gently — after you have the jerry can in your sights. That’s good. Beautiful. Can you see it, close your right eye, Karl. Yes, yes, that’s nice. Beautiful. Champion. Keep your eye on the target.

Suddenly nervous, Karl said he didn’t want to shoot. Bok told him there was nothing to be afraid of. Come on, Karl. Try again. You can do it, you’re a big boy. You don’t want Lena and Bernice to hear you were too afraid to fire a few little shots, do you? And Karl, fearful but sure that he had the necessary three things lined up, tugged violently at the trigger. A boom and the revolver came alive, jumped from his hands, dropped; sand flew up no more than a pace beyond his father’s arm.

Are you out of your mind! What the hell did I tell you? Keep your eye on the target. Do you want to kill me? Karl? Why don’t you listen to me, for God’s sake? Look at this revolver, now. Covered in dirt.’ When Bok turned from retrieving the revolver where it lay with its barrel in the sand, Karl was weeping. After pacifying the boy, he knelt down behind him. With his hands around Karl’s hands, holding the boy’s steady at height and around the revolver’s handle and placing his finger over the small forefinger already around the trigger, he helped the boy fire the remaining five rounds, each hitting the opposite bank a little closer to the jerry can.

‘You’re very good for a five-year-old, Philistine. With practice you’re going to be as good as your father.’

‘I’m almost six, Bok. I’m going to school next year,’ he said as they made their way back to where Bokkie waited.

‘Well, you’re very good for almost six. Now you can tell all the boys at school next year your Dad’s already teaching you how to shoot with a revolver. Then no one will mess with you.’

‘And Lena and Bernice,’ Karl answered and ran ahead to tell his mother.

With Jacques gone he found himself in the library at night. Ignoring the encyclopaedias, he read more about the Bushmen and rock art, contemplated the prints in the large books. As huge, impersonal and empty as the school was, he again felt stirring in himself the prodding of some urge to create. And be happy. In his mind the two seemed in a mysterious way connected. He wanted to draw. Maybe write a poem. He laughed aloud at himself when remembering his silly thoughts of swallowing the tambotie seeds. With solitude he was regaining equilibrium and was certain the blues had fled for ever. He was glad of the fact that he and Lukas spoke less than he and Dominic: in quiet lay peace and tranquillity. This shows that everything happens for the good, he told himself. I needed this time away from everyone to come to terms with everything that has happened. This is God’s way of helping me through the dark times, preparing me for next year and the rest of my life. By the fourth and fifth day alone with Lukas he thought he could never again be unhappy. They were free, seeing the teachers only when they went to the teachers’ dining hall to collect their food. Then they sat alone in the closed boys’ dining hall, eating, only occasionally speaking. They rode, swam, participated in the milking, loading silver milk-cans onto the van that dropped off supplies at the surrounding hotels and smallholdings. They slowly began packing up their lockers.

When he awoke on the morning of the day the rest of the school was due back, so were the blues. Feeling the heaviness on his head, narrowing his view of the ceiling above his bed until it seemed but a tiny strip of white Elastoplast above him, he wanted to weep. He cursed God for doing this to him. Thought at once again of thejumping beans. His spirit lifted, briefly, that afternoon when Dominic arrived at the dairy. But by that night the clouds moved in, pressing him down into the sheets where he could not sleep and he swore never again to believe in God or in the absurd idea of Divine Grace.

As the time to pack and leave the school had drawn near, Lukas asked Karl whether the De Mans could give him a lift to the Louis Botha Airport after the concert. Karl said he would ask Bok but that he was certain there wouldn’t be a problem: the airport was right on their way to Amanzimtoti.

‘Don’t tell my parents I was with Dominic for Parents’Weekend. I told them I was with you.’

‘Why?’

‘Because my father likes you more than Dominic. You won’t tell Dominic, will you?’

‘ And then, from Dominic he asked that he too not tell that he had spent Parents’ Weekend with the Websters at Champagne Castle. He said he had promised Bok and Bokkie that he would stay at the school and catch up on homework.

‘Do they expect you to sit here while were all having fun with our parents?’

‘No, they didn’t tell me to stay. It’s just that I want them to know I’m working hard.’

‘Why do you lie to your parents? I can lie to the whole world, but never to my parents.’

‘Please, Dom. If you see them in Durban, will you not tell?’ ‘Okay. But I think it’s stupid and I don’t understand you. This means you can’t tell them anything — not about Mum giving you the Abba tape, not about the flight with Mervy’s Dad. It’s crazy, don’t you see?’ Karl didn’t answer. Stared into the distance. ‘How can you hide such small things from the people you love most? If you can’t speak to them, you can’t speak to anyone. All the small things pile up and you end up hiding a big thing, like robbing a bank or a murder, from them.’