Trackers (14 page)

(The Black Swan)

September 2009

The art of tracking involves each and
every sign of animal

presence that can be found in nature,
including ground spoor,

vegetation spoor, scent, feeding
signs, urine, faeces, saliva,

pellets, territorial signs, paths and
shelters, vocal and other

auditory signs, visual signs,
incidental signs, circumstantial

signs and skeletal signs.

The Basics of Tracking: Spoor Identification. (From: The Art
of Tracking, New Africa Books, December 31,1995, Louis W Liebenberg)

Territorial
boundaries may be scent-marked with urine, faeces or scent transferred to
bushes from special scent organs.

The Basics of
Tracking: Classification of signs

I don't go looking for trouble, it comes looking for me.

Eleven on a Saturday morning at the tail end of September.
Emma le Roux and I, alone together in the Red Pomegranate. My world at this
moment near perfect, complete. The lazy sounds of Loxton village, a wagtail
chirping hello as it bobbed over the restaurant threshold, a sunbeam shining
through the north window. I had finished my big breakfast with gusto; the
filter coffee tasted rich and strong. Emma was still eating her fresh scones
with jam and cream, slowly and with obvious pleasure. A pot of tea stood
waiting. Her skin glowed and there was a blush to her cheeks, because only two
hours earlier we had been entangled on the sheets of my bed. Now she was
describing the book she was reading in a voice that was always deeper than her
delicate figure suggested. On the perfect bow of her lip, a fleck of cream,
like a snowflake.

It was all too good to be true, because I am Lemmer. The gods
must have woken, because a faint sound, deep, mechanical, grew louder, until
Emma stopped talking and turned her head. Tannie Wilna, the heart and soul of
the Red Pomegranate, came in from the kitchen wiping her hands on her skirt.
'Do you hear that too?'

We listened as the rolling thunder grew, the direction
clearer. An invasion via the Carnarvon Road.

We all looked out on the wide traffic circle around the
church. The village seemed to pause, people tumbled out of the general dealer,
out of the farmers co-op. A group of coloured children came running from the
direction of the church hall, their shouts drowned in the cacophony. They
pointed excited fingers up the street.

A dramatic entry on the traffic circle, at nine o'clock:
outlandish creatures of chunky chrome, steel and black. Long leather tassels
fluttering from handlebars and saddlebags, four Harley Davidsons - the riders
in shades and stupid helmets, garish bandanas pulled over their mouths and
noses, arms and legs stretched to reach the pedals and handlebars. They
disappeared behind the church, followed the curve around to the restaurant and
pulled up in front of it. They shoved the back ends of the bikes towards us,
neatly in line, the front wheels pointing to the street. A final revving of the
engines, an ear-splitting racket, stands kicked out and the bandanas pulled
down.

Merciful silence.

The number plates were tiny. I read them in order. NV ME.
BOY'S TOY. LOUD, PROUD. And HELLRAZOR. All from the Cape.

NV ME climbed down from his throne, unbuckled his helmet,
pulled off the fingerless leather gloves, then the tasselled leather jacket. He
had steel grey hair, stylishly and expensively trimmed, and a boyish face full
of confidence. The T-shirt somewhat tight.

He cast an imperious gaze across Loxton. 'Fucking one-horse
town,' was his verdict, pronounced for all to hear.

The labourers from the shop sidled up, the children came
running.

All four riders had their feet on solid ground, leather
trousers, shiny black boots, adorned with silver baroque. All were on the
fib-side of forty. Number two was big, maybe two metres tall, number three was
short and small with a ratface. Number four was average, but sporty.

'Stand back! You can look, but no touching,' Steel Grey
ordered the children.

They stared at him wide-eyed, but kept their distance.

The Knights of Harley trooped in, led by Steel Grey, followed
by Ratface and Sporty. The Big Guy covered the rear. A pecking order.

'Good morning,' Tannie Wilna said, 'welcome to Loxton,' with
the affectionate warmth she offered everybody.

They inspected her and her restaurant. 'Do you have any
beer?' Steel Grey asked, unimpressed.

Emma turned back to me, shaking her head slightly and ate her
scone.

'Unfortunately we are not licensed, but the bottle store is
just across the way. I'll send Mietjie over quickly. Please, sit down ...' and
she held out her hand to the large table for six.

Steel Grey checked me over once. Ratface eyed Emma
speculatively.

They sat down. The back of Sporty's T-shirt read
'If
you can
read this, the bitch fell off.?

Tannie Wilna brought them menus. 'What beer do you prefer?'

'Black Label,' said Steel Grey. 'Cold.'

'Run over and fetch us four Black Labels from Zelda, please,'
Tannie Wilna said to Mietjie. 'Ask her for the cold ones.'

'Make that twelve, Aunty,' said Steel Grey.

'Lots of drinking to do,' said the Big Guy.

'The Thirstland Trek,' said Ratface, court jester to the
House of Harley. They all laughed. Hu-hu-hu. Comrades.

Mietjie went out on her errand. A moment's silence.

Outside four coloured people rode by on a donkey cart towards
Beaufort, the hooves clip-clopping on the tar. Sporty watched them, and said,
'Back roads.' The others guffawed again, some in-joke. They began a
conversation, voices louder than necessary so that we, the audience, could
listen.

Emma
gave me a small, nostalgic smile, acknowledging that our magic moment was over.

Rabid animals
are often characterised by unusual behaviour, which may include attacking
humans.

The Basics of Tracking:
Dangerous animals

'Where were we?' she asked quietly.

'The Black Swan,' I said and sipped my coffee. It was the
gripping book she had been telling me about.

'I was just about finished anyway.' Emma poured tea into her
cup and picked up the last scone.

At the next table Steel Grey announced he was going to buy a
Porsche Cayenne.

'Why?' Sporty asked, 'Your Q7, it's a year old.'

'Because I can.'

Hu-hu-hu.

Steel Grey was trying too hard to be the bold, tough
vagabond, the

Hell's Angel clone. Clearly he was well-off, but the
masquerade revealed some deep discontent. He probably had some high position in
a large corporation, senior management, but the role of chief executive had
eluded him, probably because his bosses saw the vicious dictator inside him.
Best guess: Financial Services sector, Fund Manager. Risk, adrenaline, big
bucks, megalomania, consuming ambition.

I considered the others. The Big Guy was the easiest to
place; he was Steel Grey's corporate underling, his watchdog. The other two
were more difficult, not colleagues, but kindred spirits. Steel Grey's clients,
possibly. Played golf together, had long drinking-buddy lunches and the
occasional sneaky visit to Teasers. All four were rich Afrikaners from Cape
Town's northern suburbs, off on a flight of fancy in the school holidays,
having parked the wife and children at the beach house in Hermanus. But the
chasm between what they really were and the image they wanted to project was
just too wide.

'You've got too many toys,' said Ratface.

'Toy makes the boy,' the Big Guy said and looked to Steel
Grey for approval.

He got it: 'Fucking right.'

So they began talking about their possessions.

Mietjie arrived with the beer, and Tannie Wilna served them.
'Forget the glasses,' said the Big Guy.

They drank deeply from the bottles, with great satisfaction.
Steel Grey banged his bottle down hard on the table, wiped his mouth. 'Mother's
milk.'

Emma leaned over her tea towards me. 'Regression,' she
whispered. 'Students again.'

More like complete arseholes, I thought.

'More beer,' Ratface shouted.

Tannie Wilna brought it.

As she passed us I asked for the bill.

'Aren't you going to have a double thick?' she asked,
surprised. The Knights went suddenly silent, listening intently.

'Not today, thank you, Tannie,' I said quietly.

'Double thick,' giggled Ratface.

Hu-hu-hu. And they drink more beer.

'The scones were delicious,' Emma said to Tannie Wilna.

'Thank you, Emmatjie.'

Emma poured more tea into her cup.

'Emmatjie, come and sit with us,' said Sporty.

'Don't bother, she's double thin,' said Ratface.

'The closer the bone, the sweeter the meat,' said Sporty.

Hu-hu-hu.

'He
looks a bit thi-i-i-ck,' said the
Big Guy, looking at me and tapping his head.

Lemmer's first Loxton Law: No hand to be raised in anger in town.
I stood up, walked over to the counter, and took out my wallet with my back to
them.

'Why, wasn't Jesus born in Loxton?' asked Ratface.

Tannie Wilna frowned.

'Because they couldn't find one wise man here,' said Steel
Grey.

Hu-hu-hu.

'Couldn't find a virgin either,' said Big Guy.

Hu-hu-hu, an octave higher.

Tannie Wilna wrote out our bill. Slowly and carefully as
ever.

'I don't know, Emmatjie looks like she could be a virgin
still,' said Steel Grey.

I put my hand on the counter, let my head drop, breathed
slowly. Inhale, exhale. I knew how their minds worked. They had checked me out,
seen a grey, skinny country bumpkin and they had found courage in their
numbers.

'Double-thin virg-in,' said Sporty.

'You're a poet, and you know it,' said the Big Guy.

'Emma, oh, Emma,' Ratface sang.

Hu-hu-hu.

'... go and tell your grandma, this uncle wants a baby with
you.'

Raucous laughter at his version of the old Afrikaans song
Emma, ko' le ma'.

I opened my wallet, fingers poised, ready to pay. I could see
the tremor in my hands.

'Don't worry, Emma, I'll be gentle with you,' said Ratface.

'Or maybe not,' said Sporty.

Hu-hu-hu.

I heard Emma's chair scrape back. I knew the trouble had
arrived.

'Come on, then,' said Emma. 'Just try.'

'Hoooo ..
.' said Ratface, but with diminished
bravado.

Emma's voice cut like a knife: 'I wonder what your wife would
say if she could see you now. And your children ...'

They had no smart alec reply to that.

'That will be ninety-five rand,' said Tannie Wilna in a whisper.
For her sake we had to get out of here. Now.

'You are
so
pathetic,' said
Emma.

Pregnant silence. I hastily put the money down on the counter
and turned. Emma faced them all, her body taut with fury. 'Emma ...' I said,
because I had seen her in action before, seen her nine months ago poking a
delicate finger into a burly policeman's chest, repeatedly and fearlessly.

I saw Steel Grey's face, the venom, and I knew what he said
next would change everything. I was on my way to Emma when he said, 'Who the
fuck do you think you are?'

I clung desperately to my last shred of self-control. My head
screamed: Walk away.

' You
are fucking pathetic, you scrawny
little bitch,' Steel Grey hissed.

Rage
washed all resolve away. I changed my direction, towards him.

Spoor includes a
wide range of signs, from obvious footprints, which provide detailed
information on the identity and activities of an animal, to very subtle signs,
which may indicate nothing more than that some disturbance had occurred.

The Basics of
Tracking: Classification of signs

'Hell, those are bloody beautiful bikes out there, you guys
must be stinking rich,' a deep jovial voice emanated from the doorway. A large
body swiftly stepped in front of me, a familiar face winked at me, diverted me.
'Lemmer, buddy, I've been looking all over town for you,' as though he knew me
well.