At last Jarvis found a place where the rain did not fall too badly, and Kumalo found himself a place also, and they sat there together in silence. But outside it was not silent, with the cracking of the thunder, and the deafening downpour on the roof.
It was a long time that they sat there, and it was not until they heard the rushing of the streams, of dead rivers come to life, that they knew that the storm was abating. Indeed the thunder sounded further away and there was a dull light in the church, and the rain made less noise on the roof. It was nearly over when Jarvis rose and came and stood in the aisle near Kumalo.
Without looking at the old man he said, Is there mercy? Kumalo took the letter from his wallet with trembling hands; his hands trembled partly because of the sorrow, and partly because he was always so with this man. Jarvis took the letter and held it away from him so that the dull light fell on it. Then he put it back again in the envelope, and returned it to Kumalo. I do not understand these matters, he said, but otherwise I understand completely. I hear you, umnumzana.
Jarvis was silent for a while, looking towards the altar and the cross on the altar. When it comes to this fifteenth day, he said, I shall remember. Stay well, umfundisi.
But Kumalo did not say go well. He did not offer to carry the saddle and the bridle, nor did he think to thank Jarvis for the milk. And least of all did he think to ask about the matter of the sticks. And when he rose and went out, Jarvis was gone. It was still raining, but lightly, and the valley was full of sound, of streams and rivers, all red with the blood of the earth. That evening they all came out in the pale red light of sunset, and they examined the sticks, but no one understood their purpose. The small boys pretended to pull the sticks out, seizing them near the earth, and turning the whites of their eyes up to heaven in their mock efforts. The small girls looked on, half with enjoyment, half with apprehension. This game went well till the young son of Dazuma pulled one out in error, and stood shocked at what he had done. Then there was silence, and the small boys looked in fear at their elders, and the small girls went to their mothers, some weeping, some giggling with apprehension, some saying, We told you, we told you. The young offender was taken off by his mother, who shook him and said, You have shamed me, you have shamed me. And the grown men that there were in the valley searched round the place, and one said, There is the hole. So they put it in carefully, and one got down on his knees and patted the ground round the stick, so that the place would look as though the stick had never been removed. But one said, Make it rough, for the ground is wet, and it will look as though it has been patted. So they made it rough, and put grass and pebbles over it, and indeed no one could have said that it had been patted.
Then the cart with the milk arrived, and the mothers of the small children, or some messenger that they had sent, went to the church for their portions. What is all this with the sticks? Kumalo asked his friend. Umfundisi, I do not know. But tomorrow I shall try to discover.
33
THE STICKS STOOD for days in the places where the men had put them, but no one came again to the valley. It was rumored that a dam was to be built here, but no one knew how it would be filled, because the small stream that ran past the church was sometimes dry, and was never a great stream at any time. Kumalo’s friend told him that Jarvis had gone away to Pretoria, and his business was surely the business of the sticks, which was the business of the dam. So the days passed. Kumalo prayed regularly for the restoration of Ndotsheni, and the sun rose and set regularly over the earth.
Kuluse’s child was recovered, and Kumalo went about his pastoral duties. The school went on with its work, and they were no doubt learning there about seeds and plants, and the right kind of grass for pastures, and the right kind of stuff to put into the soil, and the right kind of food to give to cattle. More and more he found himself waiting for news of Jarvis’s return, so that the people might know what plans were afoot; and more and more he found himself thinking that it was Jarvis and Jarvis alone that could perform the great miracle.
The girl was happy in her new home, for she had a dependent and affectionate nature. The small boy played with the other small boys, and had asked after his mother not more than once or twice; with time he would forget her. About Absalom no one asked, and if they talked about it in their huts, they let it make no difference in their respect for the old umfundisi.
One day the small white boy came galloping up, and when Kumalo came out to greet him, he raised his cap as before, and Kumalo found himself warm with pleasure to see his small visitor again. I’ve come to talk Zulu again, said the boy. He slid down from his horse, and put the reins round the post. He walked over to the house with the assurance of a man, and dusted his feet and took off his cap before entering the house. He sat down at the table and looked round with a pleasure inside him, so that a man felt it was something bright that had come into the house. Are the accounts finished, umfundisi? Yes, they are finished, inkosana. Were they right?
Kumalo laughed, he could not help himself. Yes, they were right, he said. But not very good. Not very good, eh? Are you ready for the Zulu?
Kumalo laughed again, and sat down in his chair at the other side of the table, and said, Yes, I am ready for the Zulu. When is your grandfather returning? I don’t know, said the small boy. I want him to come back. I like him, he said. Kumalo could have laughed again at this, but he thought perhaps it was not a thing to laugh at. But the small boy laughed himself, so Kumalo laughed also. It was easy to laugh with this small boy, there seemed to be laughter inside him. When are you going back to Johannesburg, inkosana? When my grandfather comes back.
And Kumalo said to him in Zulu, When you go, something bright will go out of Ndotsheni. What are you saying, umfundisi?
But when Kumalo would have translated, the small boy cried out, No, don’t tell me. Say it again in Zulu. So Kumalo said it again. That means when you are gone, said the small boy, and say the rest again. Something bright will go out of Ndotsheni, said Kumalo in Zulu. Something about Ndotsheni. But it’s too hard for me. Say it in English, umfundisi. Something bright will go out of Ndotsheni, said Kumalo in English. Yes, I see. When I go, something bright will go out of Ndotsheni. The small boy laughed with pleasure. I hear you, he said in Zulu. And Kumalo clapped his hands in astonishment, and said, Au! Au! You speak Zulu, so that the small boy laughed with still greater pleasure, and Kumalo clapped his hands again, and made many exclamations. The door opened and his wife came in, and he said to the small boy, this is my wife, and he said to his wife in Zulu, this is the son of the man. The small boy stood up and made a bow to Kumalo’s wife, and she stood and looked at him with fear and sorrow. But he said to her, You have a nice house here, and he laughed. She said to her husband in Zulu, I am overcome, I do not know what to say. And the small boy said in Zulu, I hear you, so that she took a step backwards in fear. But Kumalo said to her swiftly, He does not understand you, those are only words that he knows, and for the small boy he clapped his hands again in astonishment and said, Au! Au! But you speak Zulu. And the woman went backwards to the door, and opened it and shut it and was gone. Are you ready for the Zulu, umfundisi? Indeed I am ready. Tree is umuti, umfundisi. That is right, inkosana. But medicine is also umuti, umfundisi.
And the small boy said this with an air of triumph, and a kind of mock bewilderment, so that they both laughed together. You see, inkosana, said Kumalo seriously, our medicines come mostly from trees. That is why the word is the same. I see, said the small boy, pleased with this explanation. And box is ibokisi. That is right, inkosana. You see, we had no boxes, and so our word is from your word. I see. And motor-bike is isitututu. That is right. That is from the sound that the motorbike makes, so, isi-tu-tu-tu. But inkosana, let us make a sentence. For you are giving me all the words that you know, and so you will not learn anything that is new. Now how do you say, I see a horse?
So the lesson went on, till Kumalo said to his pupil, It is nearly twelve o’clock, and perhaps it is time y
ou must go. Yes, I must go, but I’ll come back for some more Zulu. You must come back, inkosana. Soon you will be speaking better than many Zulus. You will be able to speak in the dark, and people will not know it is not a Zulu.
The small boy was pleased, and when they went out he said, Help me up, umfundisi. So Kumalo helped him up, and the small boy lifted his cap, and went galloping up the road. There was a car going up the road, and the small boy stopped his horse and cried, my grandfather is back. Then he struck at the horse and set out in a wild attempt to catch up with the car.
There was a young man standing outside the church, a young pleasant-faced man of some twenty-five years, and his bags were on the ground. He took off his hat and said in English, You are the umfundisi? I am. And I am the new agricultural demonstrator. I have my papers here, umfundisi. Come into the house, said Kumalo, excited.
They went into the house, and the young man took out his papers and showed them to Kumalo. These papers were from parsons and school-inspectors and the like, and said that the bearer, Napoleon Letsitsi, was a young man of sober habits and good conduct, and another paper said that he had passed out of a school in the Transkei as an agricultural demonstrator. I see, said Kumalo. But you must tell me why you are here. Who sent you to me? Why, the white man who brought me. uJarvis, was that the name? I do not know the name, umfundisi, but it is the white man who has just gone. Yes, that is uJarvis. Now tell me all. I am come here to teach farming, umfundisi. To us, in Ndotsheni? Yes, umfundisi.
Kumalo’s face lighted up, and he sat there with his eyes shining. You are an angel from God, he said. He stood up and walked about the room, hitting one hand against the other, which the young man watched in amazement. Kumalo saw him and laughed at him, and said again, You are an angel from God. He sat down again and said to the young demonstrator, Where did the white man find you? He came to my home in Krugersdorp. I was teaching there at a school. He asked me if I would do a great work, and he told me about this place Ndotsheni. So I felt I would come here. And what about your teaching? I am not really a teacher, so they did not pay me well. And the white man said they would pay me ten pounds a month here, so I came. But I did not come only for the money. It was a small work there in the school. Kumalo felt a pang of jealousy, for he had never earned ten pounds a month in all his sixty years. But he put it from him. The white man asked if I could speak Zulu, and I said no, but I could speak Xosa as well as I spoke my own language, for my mother was a Xosa. And he said that would do for Xosa and Zulu are almost the same. Kumalo’s wife opened the door again, and said, It is time for food. Kumalo said in Zulu, My wife, this is Mr. Letsitsi, who has come to teach our people farming. And he said to Letsitsi, You will eat with us. They went to eat, and Letsitsi was introduced to the girl and the small boy. After Kumalo had asked a blessing, they sat down, and Kumalo said in Zulu, When did you arrive in Pietermaritzburg? This morning, umfundisi. And then we came with the motor-car to this place. And what did you think of the white man? He is very silent, umfundisi. He did not speak much to me. That is his nature. We stopped there on the road, overlooking a valley. And he said, What could you do in such a valley? Those were the first words we spoke on the journey. And did you tell him? I told him, umfundisi. And what did he say? He said nothing, umfundisi. He made a noise in his throat, that was all. And then? He did not speak till we got here. He said to me, Go to the umfundisi, and ask him to find lodgings for you. Tell him I am sorry I cannot come, but I am anxious to get to my home.
Kumalo looked at his wife, and she at him. Our rooms are small, and this is a parson’s house, said Kumalo, but you may stay here if you wish. My people are also of the church, umfundisi. I should be glad to stay here. And what will you do in this valley?
The young demonstrator laughed. I must look at it first, he said. But what would you have done in that other valley? So the young man told them all he would have done in the other valley, how the people must stop burning the dung and must put it back into the land, how they must gather the weeds together and treat them and not leave them to wither away in the sun, how they must stop ploughing up and down the hills, how they must plant trees for fuel, trees that grow quickly like wattles, in some place where they could not plough at all, on the steep sides of streams so that the water did not rush away in the storms. But these were hard things to do, because the people must learn that it is harmful for each man to wrest a living from his own little piece of ground. Some must give up their ground for trees, and some for pastures. And hardest of all would be the custom of lobola, by which a man pays for his wife in cattle, for people kept too many cattle for this purpose, and counted all their wealth in cattle, so that the grass had no chance to recover. And is there to be a dam? asked Kumalo. Yes, there is to be a dam, said the young man, so that the cattle always have water to drink. And the water from the dam can be let out through a gate, and can water this land and that, and can water the pastures that are planted. But where is the water to come from? It will come by a pipe from a river, said the young demonstrator. That is what the white man said. That will be his river, said Kumalo. And can all these things you have been saying, can they all be done in Ndotsheni? I must first see the valley, said the demonstrator laughing. But you came down through it, said Kumalo eagerly. Yes, I saw it. But I must see it slowly. Yet I think all these things can be done.
They all sat round the table, their faces excited and eager, for this young man could paint a picture before your eyes. And Kumalo looked round at them and said, I told this young man he was an angel from God. He got up in his excitement and walked round the room. Are you impatient to begin? he said. The young man laughed with embarrassment. I am impatient, he said. What is your first step that you take? I must first go to the chief, umfundisi. Yes, that is the first thing you must do.
Then outside he heard the sounds of a horse, and he got up and went out, wondering if it could be the small boy again, and back so quickly. And indeed it was, but the boy did not climb down, he talked to Kumalo from his horse. He talked excitedly and earnestly, as though it were a serious matter. That was a close shave, he said. A shave, asked Kumalo. A close shave? That’s slang, said the small boy. But he did not laugh, he was too serious. It means a narrow escape, he said. You see, if my grandfather hadn’t come back so early, I couldn’t have come to say goodbye. You are going then, inkosana?
But the boy did not answer his question. He saw that Kumalo was puzzled, and he was anxious to explain. You see, if my grandfather had come back later, then perhaps it would have been too late for me to ride down here again. But because he came early, there was time. That means you are going tomorrow, inkosana. Yes, tomorrow. On the narrow gauge train, you know, the small train. Au! inkosana.
But I’m coming back for the holidays. Then we’ll learn some more Zulu. That will be a pleasure, said Kumalo simply. Goodbye then, umfundisi. Goodbye, inkosana.
Then he said in Zulu, Go well, inkosana. The small boy thought for a moment, and frowned in concentration. Then he said in Zulu, Stay well, umfundisi. So Kumalo said, Au! Au! in astonishment, and the small boy laughed and raised his cap, and was gone in a great cloud of dust. He galloped up the road, but stopped and turned round and saluted, before he set out on his way. And Kumalo stood there, and the young demonstrator came and stood by him, both watching the small boy. And that, said Kumalo earnestly to the demonstrator, is a small angel from God. They turned to walk back to the house, and Kumalo said, So you think many things can be done? There are many things that can be done, umfundisi. Truly? Umfundisi, said the young man, and his face was eager, there is no reason why this valley should not be what it was before. But it will not happen quickly. Not in a day. If God wills, said Kumalo humbly, before I die. For I have lived my life in destruction.
34
EVERYTHING WAS READY for the confirmation. The women of the church were there, in their white dresses, each with the green cloth about her neck. Those men that were not away, and who belonged to this church, were there
in their Sunday clothes, which means their working clothes, patched and cleaned and brushed. The children for the confirmation were there, the girls in their white dresses and caps, the boys in their school-going clothes, patched and cleaned and brushed. Women were busy in the house, helping the wife of the umfundisi, for after the confirmation there would be a simple meal, of tea boiled till the leaves had no more tea left in them, and of heavy homely cakes made of the meal of the maize. It was simple food, but it was to be eaten together.
And over the great valley the storm clouds were gathering again in the heavy oppressive heat, so that one did not know whether to be glad or sorry. The great dark shadows sailed over the red earth, and up the bare red hills to the tops. The people looked at the sky, and at the road by which the Bishop would come, and did not know whether to be glad or sorry. For it was certain that before this sun had set, the lightning would strike amongst the hills, and the thunder would echo amongst them.
Kumalo looked at the sky anxiously, and at the road by which the Bishop would come; and while he was looking he was surprised to see his friend driving along the road, with the cart that brought the milk. For the milk never came so early. You are early, my friend. I am early, umfundisi, said his friend gravely. We work no more today. The inkosikazi is dead. Au! Au! said Kumalo, it cannot be.
It is so, umfundisi. When the sun stood so and he pointed above his head it was then that she died. Au! Au! It is a sorrow. It is a sorrow, umfundisi. And the umnumzana? He goes about silent. You know how he is. But this time the silence is heavier. Umfundisi, I shall go and wash myself, then I can come to the confirmation. Go then, my friend.