Trackers (27 page)

'Lourens, I really don't know. But I am going to try to find
out. Thank you very much. I promise you I won't breathe a word.'

'Thanks, Oom.' Genuine relief. Then: 'I nearly forgot. She said
I must tell you ...'

'Oh?'

'She said, if Lemmer is looking for
something, tell him I've got it.'

I keyed Flea's number into my phone and called. 'The number
you have dialled does not exist...' No big surprises there.

If Lemmer is looking for something,
tell him I've got it.
It was a message. It read: 'Leave me alone, or else ...'

That was a chance I would have to
take.

When I got into bed again, I wondered if she had a real
conscience. She had played Lourens, all the way. The attack had been a bonus
for her.

Did she know that a man who has looked death in the face is
more receptive to the temptations of the flesh?

I would
get her.

Tracking
requires intermittent attention, a constant refocusing between minute details
of the track and the whole pattern of the environment.

The Art of Tracking:
Principles of tracking

Lotter landed at twenty-seven minutes past nine, taxied the
plane alongside my Ranger, undipped the bubble and shouted, 'Howzit, Lemmer, not
bad timing, is it? Jeez, what happened to your face?'

'I walked into a door.'

'You do know they come with handles ...'

I decided to trust my instincts about Lotter. I told him
about our journey with the rhinos, leaving nothing out, not even my suspicions
about his involvement, and my doubts about Diederik's truthfulness. He mulled
it over for quite a few minutes, and then he laughed, first in disbelief, then
in comprehension.

'That explains it,' he said.

'What?'

'Diederik, last night. When I phoned him to check if he was
going to pay for this flight. He said "I suppose I'll have to".'

'When did he ask you to come and pick me up, the previous
time?'

'Last Friday afternoon. But that's par for the course, he's
always in a hurry and late.'

'What did he say?'

'He wanted to send someone along with a game truck. Maybe
himself, maybe someone else.'

So Diederik hadn't lied about
that.
But then, what
did
he lie about?
Because he had, about something.

'You said you've flown him to Mozambique before?'

'Sure.'

'What was he doing there?'

'Listen, by now you should know that Diederik is a bit of a
bullshit- ter. He's all about insinuation and overstatement. That Mozambique
affair, all he said was, "Big bucks, Lotter, wish I could tell you".
You just have to take him as he is. He's entertaining, he's charismatic, he's a
character, first time I flew him, he didn't pay, all charming over the phone,
"Still not got the money?", went on like that for three months. Till
the next time he wanted to fly, I told him, "No offence, but for you it is
pay as you go, and only after you settle your prior account", and he
laughed and said "Sure, Lotter", and I never had trouble with him
again. And what he does once he gets off my plane is his business. But he
knows: I fly by the rules.'

'You must have wondered about his business.'

'Of course. We have this thing, Diederik and I. When he
phones and says he wants to go somewhere, I ask him, "Who are you conning
this time?" and he says, "You know how it is, Lotter, there's a sucker
born every minute". But exactly what he does, I don't care.'

'I do,' I said.

'I can see that.'

The Swanepoels' landing strip was a broad, straight length of
farm road a kilometre from the farmyard.

Lotter flew low over the house before setting down the RV-7
with ease. When Swannie fetched us a minute later with the Land Cruiser, Lotter
was busy anchoring the plane with pegs and ropes.

Swannie admired the plane. '
Jissie
,
that's a sexy little thing.'

'American,' I said, 'wretched Van Grunsven design.'

'Really,' said Swannie. 'What
happened to your face, Oom?'

'He walked into a door,' said Lotter, tapping the side of his
nose conspiratorially.

'Genuine?'

'Genuine,' Lotter was enjoying himself. 'I make a point of
avoiding doors in the Karoo. They can be lethal.'

Swannie looked to me for a sign that Lotter was pulling his
leg. I looked away. He gave up. 'Ma says you must
sommer
come and have lunch, Oom, how are the rhinos, what does Flea, I
mean Cornel, say, when is she coming to visit, did you all have a good trip to
the Karoo?'

'The rhinos are alive and kicking,' I said. 'And when I see
Flea, I'll ask her.'

'Ma's name was Lollie, and she didn't match the rough
simplicity of the Swanepoel men - she was a slim, dignified woman, not pretty
in the conventional sense, but skilfully groomed. There was humour in her eyes,
as though she would laugh easily, and an ease, a contentment with herself and
her life. The interior of the farmhouse was a surprise. I had expected hunting
trophies and crocheted doilies, but found tasteful old wooden furniture,
oriental carpets on polished wood floors, original paintings on the walls, and
a long bookshelf filled with hardcover books.

Her influence on Pa Wickus was good as well - he was the
epitome of the courteous host, offering drinks and making polite conversation.
At the table he said grace, short and serious. In the middle of the table was a
chicken pie, golden crusted. Lollie removed the lids from the other serving
dishes to display sweet pumpkin, steamed green beans, baked potatoes and rice.

'Jissie,’
said Swannie with gusto and reached
for a serving spoon.

'As if I don't cook every day,'
Lollie said.

'Let the guests serve themselves
first,' said Wickus.

Also to his credit he waited patiently until everyone had
finished eating before he brought up the burning question: 'And what brings you
here?'

Since yesterday I had been undecided, still unsure how to
approach him. The problem was that Wickus and Swannie were involved, but I had
no idea at what level. There was something about them, a naivety, that made me
feel their role was incidental and merely superficial.

'It's Flea,' I said.

Both Swanepoel men's eyebrows lifted in tandem.

'She left Diederik's farm in the middle of the night. Without
saying goodbye ...'

'Ay,' said Lollie.

'So was there trouble?' asked Wickus.

'No. But she was supposed to look after the rhinos yesterday
morning. Now Diederik is worried ...'

I hoped it was enough. But Wickus was not stupid. 'That's not
the whole story,' he said, though without reproach. 'Your face, the fact that
you flew here ... I won't ask you what happened, perhaps it's better that we
don't know. But just tell me: How serious is it?'

'Serious enough.'

'Flipit,' breathed Swannie. His parents exchanged a
significant glance, as though they knew something. Wickus nodded slowly. 'How
can we help?'

'I got the impression she came from this part of the world.
Weren't you at primary school together?' I said, looking at young Swannie.

'That was twelve years ago. They left here in ...'

'Nineteen-ninety-eight,' said Lollie.

'Where to?' I asked.

Wickus and Lollie exchanged another look. 'There was a lot of
gossip,' she said softly.

'It's a sad story,' said Wickus.

'Flip ...' said Swannie.

'You were too young to know these things,' his mother said.

Wickus pushed his plate away and put his elbows on the table.
'Tell him, Lollie. I don't know if it will help, but tell him.'

Most animals
continually move their sleeping quarters, and may only have a fixed home during
the breeding season to protect the young.

The Art of Tracking:
Classification of signs

They played it like a duet.

She began with: 'Her father was Louis, a free spirit. . .' and
Wickus added: 'He was a tracker, but the thing you have to understand is that
he was a master. These days you get different levels, with the training they do
now, level one and two and three, then Senior Tracker and finally Master. Now
Louis would have been a Master, Hell's Bells, but he was good.'

'He came from the Kalahari,' she picked up the story. 'They
say he grew up very poor, his father was a drifter, a loser, doing piece work
here and there on farms. Louis's childhood was half wild, with the Bushmen. He
learned to track from them. Not much schooling, only passed Standard Eight,
then he went to help his father, who died when Louis was seventeen. Somehow or
other he ended up in our area.'

'He wanted to get a job with Nature Conservation, but he didn't
have the qualifications, you don't get in there without official papers,' said
Wickus.

'So the hunting people used him. Here, Botswana, Zimbabwe
...'

'The professional hunters, the guys who find the biggest elephants
and lions for the American and German trophy hunters ...'

'Not always legally,' said Lollie.

'What could he do? He wanted to live in the bush, he had to
make a living.'

'A handsome young man, he was, rosy cheeks, a bush of thick
blond hair, but he lived in another world. Apparently he found a python near
Phalaborwa once, and went all strange, said it was his ancestor. Got that from
the Bushmen, they believe men are descended from the python ...'

'But the best
tracker you could get,
highly
regarded, sought after.'

'Then he got mixed up with Drika. No, let me put that
differently. He fell in love with Drika. And she ... the trouble was, she was
barely nineteen, and she was the daughter of Big Frik Redelinghuys and she got
pregnant...'

'Hell's bells,' said young Swannie, sounding just like his
father.

Wickus looked sternly at his son: 'Yes, as I've always said,
some women may be hot, but they can also be hell. Be careful you don't burn
your ...'

'Wickus ...' Lollie cautioned.

'Anyway, Big Frik farmed in the Lowveld, six, seven farms,
oranges, nuts, bananas, game, he used Louis when the overseas people came
hunting, very rich, three daughters. Drika was the youngest. Pretty girl, Flea
got her dark hair and figure from her, but spoilt...'

'Very. Knew she was beautiful, not afraid to show it. And she
had a bit of a wilful streak, wanted what she couldn't have. She was barely out
of school, didn't know what she wanted to do yet, stayed at home that year,
horses and parties. And then Louis came along ...'

'Ma, how do you know all this stuff?' Swannie asked.

'People talk, my child. It was such a big scandal, daughter
of a prominent man. They said Frik found out about their love affair before she
fell pregnant. He sat her down and said over his dead body. And
then
she slept with Louis, to show her father she
would do as she pleased.'

'So she fell pregnant with Flea,' said Wickus.

'Flipit,' said Swannie.

'Frik was furious, such shame on the family. He resigned as a
church elder, didn't set foot in church for over a year, we heard. He disowned
his daughter entirely. Later, when one of his daughters married a Delfosse, and
he had another grandchild, Helena, he sort of recovered. Helena became the
apple of his eye. Anyway, Louis and Drika were married in the Magistrate's
office and they came to live here, on Elandslaagte, a big farm about twenty
kilometres outside Musina, on the charity of others. In those days they still
spoke of
bywoners
, sharecroppers. Louis had
to work where and when he could, so it was Drika and Flea alone in a little
house in the middle of nowhere ...'

'A recipe for trouble,' said Wickus.

'Drika was still a child herself, accustomed to wealth and
glamour, not very keen on raising a crying baby on her own, the romance of running
away with her lover did not last. If you have had attention and admiration all
your life, and suddenly it dries up, you go looking for it. She was in town
more than she was on the farm, she started phoning Big Frik and saying she was
sorry, wouldn't he help her, and Frik said "you made your bed, lie in
it" ...'

'Which is right, children have to learn: everything has consequences.'

'But, Wickus, she was his child ...'

'I'm just saying.'

'If he had helped, who knows ... Drika began leaving Flea on
the farm with her
Venda
nanny more often, and
she flirted with every man, gate-crashing parties, drinking, having a good
time, and Louis knew nothing about it, because when he came home from the veld,
she stayed at home and whined about how awful it was to raise a child alone. It
went on like that for more than two years; everyone knew how she was carrying
on, except Louis. Nobody had the heart to tell him.'