Then after thirty minutes my brother came in with the young dominee, both very grave. And my brother went to his daughter and said in an unbelieving voice, I hear you want to leave me. The girl stood up and buried her face in her father’s beard, and said, No, Pappie.
— Do you hear that, dominee? She doesn’t want to go.
Then the devil came into him, and he said to her, there now you needn’t go so often to the church.
Then he kissed her, and growled at her, I hope you’ll be happy, daughter.
Then he said to the dominee, have you kissed her yet?
The dominee went so red as a man could go, and said, once, meneer. Which I tell you that you may see how the old fashions still linger amongst some.
And my brother growled, what’s the world coming to? You’d better kiss her now.
Then he went to his wife and kissed her, and said, you were bolder than that.
And the young dominee went awkwardly to his girl, but you can imagine the kind of kiss, there in front of us all.
— I won’t say she’s the best of my daughters, said my brother, but I won’t say she’s the worst.
Then he growled at me.
— Magtig, Sophie, how long will you keep us waiting for the wine?
THAT WAS THE TIME that the black woman died of the smallpox in Maduna’s country, and one sickened in our own location at Venterspan. And I tell you that my sister-in-law and I, and Dominee Stander, and the captain’s mother and the captain himself, and my nephew also, were ashamed of our location at Venterspan; for while it is true that we brought Christianity to the dark continent, we brought other things too. And when the smallpox came, some of our people were in a panic. That was a hard time for the police; the doctors and nurses came from Johannesburg and Pretoria, and they worked day and night, vaccinating all the people of the grass country, white and black. Labuschagne fitted up a machine for making lights, and they worked day and night at every sub-police station in the countryside, and on all the farms, and throughout the length and breadth of Maduna’s country. And my sister-in-law, who was a true follower of the Lord Jesus Christ, went working in the location herself with two of our servants from Buitenverwagting, cleaning up the filth, and putting stuff into the drains, that are no drains at all but only the courses that the foul and thrown-out water makes for itself, before it flows, black and sour, into the Buffelsriver. And my brother spoke neither for it nor against it, except to growl at her, of course I’d like the smallpox in the house.
And they will tell you about all this time of anxiety and toil, those who have not lost all sense of justice, that it was the lieutenant who did it all. It was he who got all the stuff from Pretoria, and had it sent to this place and that, and arranged for the cars and the lights, and arranged all the places and the times, so that there was not one place or time when the doctors and the nurses and the stuff and the people were not all there together. And it was he who got all the black people together, in the locations and down in Maduna’s country, telling them to have no fear, but to suffer this small scratching of the arm and save themselves from dying. And they obeyed him because he had the great authority, not only of his height and rank, but of that strange thing that lives within a man. But he was weary unto death.
And on the third night, thus weary unto death, he came back from Maduna’s country, and went into his office, and put a telephone call through to Pretoria for more of the stuff, for they kept our telephones open day and night while we fought the smallpox in the grass country. While he was waiting for the call, he put his head down on his arms, but he was not asleep but thinking, not of the smallpox sickness but of his own. Therefore he heard the captain come into his room, and because of his misery, pretended he was asleep. And the captain put his hand on the lieutenant’s shoulder, and shook him gently, and said, Pieter, it’s time you went home.
Now the captain never called him by this name, nor did he ever touch a man. Therefore when the captain called him by his name and touched him, as some fathers touch their grown sons and as some do not, and because he was weary unto death and full of misery, therefore he was moved in some deep place within and something welled up within him that if not mastered could have burst out of his throat and mouth, making him a girl or child. Therefore he could not speak nor lift his head nor stand.
And the captain, seeing he was awake, and seeing he was unmanned, and thinking it was the weariness, turned away from him and went and stood in front of the map of the grass country.
Then the lieutenant stood and said, I’m waiting for Pretoria, sir.
— I’ll wait for Pretoria. Go home.
The captain went and sat in the lieutenant’s chair, and picked up a piece of paper from the table.
— Are these the things you want?
— Yes, sir.
— Go home then. You’ve done enough for twenty men.
Therefore the thing welled up again within him, as though it were something that would not be denied, as though it were commanding him, speak and speak and speak.
— There’s something I ought to tell you, sir.
The captain held up the paper and said, something to do with this?
— No, sir.
— Then, said the captain with authority, it can wait till tomorrow.
Then the telephone rang, and he raised his hand in a farewell salute, and took up the telephone. When the call was done, he was filled with a vague disquiet, and went out into the passage and through the front office as far as the street. But the whole town was dark and quiet, save for the sound that the wind makes in trees.
Therefore the thing was never spoken, and when the morrow came, the lieutenant told him some quite other thing.
I REMEMBER THE DAY OF THE PICNIC. I shall remember it till I die.
Seven of us went, my brother and his wife, and Pieter and Nella and the two children, and I myself; for Martha had gone to Rusfontein to watch the young dominee play. My brother sat in front with his son and grandson, and we packed him in with rugs, for he was still weak from the influenza; and from the heart too, but that he did not know. It was like packing a lion into a car, for he growled and threw his head about just as a lion does, and you do not know if it is pleased or will suddenly bite off your head.
Ah but the day was beautiful, with the sun shining as though it would shine for ever, and not a cloud in the blue bowl of the sky, and the grass country turning to the yellow of winter, and the grandfather talking to his grandson, and holding the small hand for pleasure, so that the fancy came to me that he was in truth talking to his son. For it is true of all good men, that life makes them more gentle in the end.
The two men left us at the Long Kloof, where the hills fall down in krantzes to the low country, and drove away to the pan.
There they drove the car quietly into the group of trees that grew there, and got out themselves quietly, with their glasses and the book, and a chair for my brother to sit on. There for an hour or more they stayed in hiding and watched the birds; it is not a thing that I understand, being myself but an ordinary lover of God’s creatures, but if it grows into a madness, then you can watch for ever, and catch pneumonia like Japie Louw, and nearly die. But I know that they saw the grey heron and the hamerkop, and in the grass near the pan the kiewietjies, the ordinary one and the one the English call the blacksmith, because it makes a noise like a hammer on an anvil; also the secretary bird that walks delicate and solemn over the veld, looking for a snake; and on the pan itself the white-faced bleshoender, the yellowbill duck, and the little duikertjie, that seems to spend more time below than above.
Then suddenly my brother said in a low voice, look!
— Where, father?
— There.
Then because the son could not see, the father went and stood behind him, rested his arm on the son’s shoulder, and pointed at the bird. But the son could see no bird, for he was again moved in some deep place within, and something welled up within him that if not mastered could have bu
rst out of his throat and mouth, making him a girl or child. Therefore he could neither see nor speak.
Then his father said in excitement, look, son, it runs.
But when his son made no answer, he said, can’t you see?
And the son said in a low voice, I cannot see.
My brother said, it’s the young men that are going blind, and he went and sat down in disgust, but really because he was weary.
The son moved away from him, and took out his glasses and wiped his eyes and was recovered; then he too said in excitement, Yes, I see.
My brother was up in a moment and he said, do you still think it’s a ruitertjie? Have you ever seen a ruitertjie with so white a head?
— No, it’s not a ruitertjie.
— What is it then?
— It’s a phalarope. It must be a phalarope.
My brother sat down.
— Of course it’s a phalarope, he said. The Englishman was wrong.
He chuckled.
— Sybrand will have to apologise, he said. He said I mustn’t argue with such learned men.
He stood up again and had another long look through his glasses at the phalarope. Then he sighed and said, Ja, nee, we’d better get back for lunch.
Then they came back to us at the Long Kloof, and we sat there in the sun and ate our food. The father began to doze in his chair, and the son went off wandering into the Long Kloof, silent and grave, to walk among the ferns and the flowers, and the sounds of birds and waters, and the ghosts of childhood, and the memories of that innocence that can never come back again.
When it was time for our tea, I went to look for him, but could not find him. I climbed down over the rocks of the krantz, and looked down at the low country far below, where are the rocks and thorns and the hot red flowers. And while I stood there I saw a movement below, and it was a man’s arms stretched out in front of him on a rock, not in the trees of the kloof, but amongst the grass and stones of the krantz. And I knew he was praying out of some distress. Therefore I climbed down over the rocks, and came to him, and he turned to watch me come.
— My child, my child, I said.
And he said to me with coldness, what do you want?
And I said to him, you were praying?
— Can’t I pray?
— And I know what you were praying.
— You do, do you? That would please you, to know even what your favourite prayed. Then you could still more possess him. How you would love to possess him. Then you could say to his mother and father, his wife and his children, it is I that possess him. For when he was a child, I desired to possess him. And now he is a man, I still desire to possess him. In God’s name, have you no pride? Or must you be taught again?
Then he turned and left me, and climbed out of the rocks of the krantz, and went back to the others. And when at last I returned, I do not know if he looked at me, for I did not look at him.
So we drove back to Venterspan when the sun was almost down, and the world was filled with beauty and terror. And darkness came over the grass country, and over the continent of Africa, and over man’s home and the earth, and over us all. And the sun went down, and never rose again.
THEN THE CAPTAIN WENT ON LEAVE, and took his mother to Cape Town, a thousand miles away. And the new captain, Captain Jooste, came to take his place, and he was a red-faced and jolly man. And Sergeant Steyn returned from his holiday in Natal, and his daughter brought back with her the box with the small coloured shells.
And Pa Griesel died, suddenly. And his sons and daughters came and buried him, and took their mother away, so that the house stood sorrowful and empty. And the girl Stephanie was again without work. I went to Japie Grobler and said to him again, can’t you get the girl away? And he said to me, under what law?
Then he tried to get her another job, but he had no great heart for it, for he said to me with petulance, the case is getting me down.
And one day the girl Stephanie was in the street, and saw the lieutenant. And because she was not a man and did not wear a hat, she put her hand up to her brow, with the palm facing outwards, to show her respect.
And she said, Baas.
And the lieutenant stopped, and though his heart was beating and his soul was troubled, there was no real cause for fear, for it is nothing that such a girl should speak in such a way to such a man. And the street was safe and sure, with the people all about, and the cars moving, and the sun shining.
— What is it, Stephanie?
— Baas, I am out of work.
And he could no longer say to her, why don’t you go to Baas Grobler?
So he said to her, I have heard it.
— What shall I do, baas?
And while he considered it, having no answer, she said to him, if I make liquor, they will send me to prison, and take away my child.
— Have you money, he said.
— Baas, only a pound is left.
— I’ll help you, he said. Then he said to her in a low voice, I can’t give it to you here.
He looked at her unwillingly, and she looked at him with the great respect, with her open hand still held against her brow.
— I’ll bring it tonight, he said.
— Thank you, baas.
So she left him and went on her way with a kind of walk that is not quite walking and not quite dancing, and it is a common thing, and has no great meaning in it, and it is nothing to see it in an open street, where all is safe and sure.
And the lieutenant went on, and Sergeant Steyn saluted him stiffly there in the street. Now the world has eyes for a thousand things, but the prisoner for only one; and the prisoner of hate has one purpose and one alone, and that is to destroy what he hates. Therefore to the Sergeant, under the sun and in the open day, in a street safe and sure, with the cars and the people moving, came the one thought of the thousand, not as knowledge, but as a thing that might be so, so that all others would pass it by, except the one who has the hatred in his heart.
And that night the lieutenant took three pounds to the vacant ground and gave it to her, and did not break the law, but remembered his vow. And whether he did it out of his misery or what strange thing he did it out of, God knows, I do not know. But I cannot write down here that it was of God’s mercy, nor of anything of God at all. Therefore I write, God knows, I do not know.
And the girl took her money humbly and with thanks, and he waited there as he had waited before, with fear. Then he came out of that place, and went through the dark streets to his house.
I HAVE been to the great Falls in Rhodesia with my brother and his wife, and we have been on the great river, the Zambesi, in a boat. There are islands there, and quiet waters, and trees that hang down into them, and coloured birds calling and crying in the peace. Then the great river quickens and shudders, and goes streaming away before you green and foaming, and the boat quickens and shudders too, for you are drawing near to the great fall of smoke and thunder. And the captain turns the boat, so that it draws back from the brink, and you return to the islands and the safety and the peace.
And if we were to draw back from the brink and not go down to the great fall, then it was time to turn. But the captain was in Cape Town, a thousand miles away.
AND I COULD NOT GO TO JAPIE and say to him, in God’s name Japie, you must do this and you must do that, before it is too late to turn, in God’s name before it is too late to turn. Therefore I did not go.
And the other could not go to Japie and say, in God’s name Japie, you must find a job, surely there must be a job, in God’s name find a job. Therefore he did not go.
Therefore because there was no job, and because she was not sent away, she made more liquor, and was brought before the magistrate. And my sister-in-law and I were there, having been asked to be there by the magistrate. But the lieutenant was not there.
She did not stand there smiling and frowning, nor did she play with her fingers, but she stood there silent and watchful, till the magistrate asked her if she had
anything to say.
— The magistrate said I must work, she said.
— Yes.
— So I got work with Baas Willemse.
— Yes.
— Then they heard I had been in prison, so they sent me away.
— Yes.
She turned and looked at Japie.
— Then the baas got work for me.
— Yes.
— And the Oubaas died.
— Yes.
— So I lost that work also.
— Yes.
Then she was silent, having no more to say.
— Then you did no work.
— No.
— You made more liquor.
— Yes.
— Therefore I must sentence you to two weeks in prison.
— What about the child?
— We will tell you about that when you come out of prison.
— I could get no work, she said.
Then when the magistrate made no answer, she said to him, I cannot lose the child.
And the magistrate said, fortunately or unfortunately, that will not be for you to say.
So she said to him again, I cannot lose the child.
Then they took her away, and I saw that she was like a tigress for the child, and it filled me with fear, though just of what I could not say. Then the magistrate sent a message to us, that he would like to see us in his office. I did not want to go, but my sister-in-law asked me to come with her, and I went. Japie was there also, and he did not tell the magistrate that he had no more heart for the case, but he told him that it was almost impossible to get a job for the girl in Venterspan.
Then I said, in a manner as though the idea had just come to me, could she not be sent away? And if the magistrate had not been there, Japie would have said to me, under what law? But the magistrate said, whether she is sent away or not, there is still the matter of the child. So he looked at my sister-in-law, because she was the President of the Women’s Welfare Society, and I looked at her too, not because she was the President, but because I was afraid to speak, as a man is afraid to speak or move or turn when he knows he is in some danger, and does not know what it is, nor when or whence it will strike.