But suppose she married him?
That set him back. He loved her, but he couldn’t marry her. His family would never allow it.
She dropped the matter. There was too much she did not yet understand.
So it continued for several more days, as the colony got built and the convicts settled into the routine. Rebel now had a fair vocabulary, but the way the words were put together was more of a challenge, and some of the background concepts, such as Class and Money were more difficult yet. But these challenges meant that she still required George’s full attention. She gave him sex often, and was beginning to enjoy it herself, as she got to know and like him better. He was so very, very appreciative!
She learned that the Governor wanted her to become a liaison with her people, able to translate between the two languages. She was increasingly competent to do that. But what did the Governor want of her people? The two groups had little in common.
Then one day as she went alone to the lavatory trench, Bub sprang out and grabbed her. He had been lurking, waiting to catch her alone. He clapped a hand over her mouth to stop her from screaming. That was his mistake.
She bit the hand, hard. He let go, cursing. “God Damn!” They were not supposed to speak the name of their deity in a bad manner; that was why it was a curse.
Then he threw her to the ground. He drew a knife and menaced her with it. If she screamed or fought, he would kill her.
She did neither. Instead she scrambled to her feet and fled. Bub pursued. He was about to catch her, when he grunted and fell.
She turned. There was Hero, with a club. He had knocked Bub on the head, hard, and he was dead.
“I knew you were watching,” she said.
“You left your anklet. So I checked. You seemed to be handling it, in your fashion.”
“Yes. Harbinger should marry Haven, and get a child.”
He nodded. “It is your choice.”
Then another man appeared. Hero whirled, lifting his club.
“No!” Rebel cried. “That’s George!”
“The man you’re handling,” he agreed. Of course he had seen their trysts too.
“He’s nice. I’m learning their language. I’m hardly a captive anymore.”
Then George came up. “What’s this?” he demanded.
“This is my brother, Hero,” Rebel said in his language. “Bub tried to rape me, so Hero killed him. Does this mean I must flee?”
George paused, assessing the situation. “Do you want to flee?”
“No.”
“Then let’s call it self-defense, or defense of you, a pardonable offense. The man was scum; the colony is better off without him. But your brother should disappear; he must remain unknown. And you must get away from here, quickly, so no one knows you were involved.”
Rebel translated quickly for Hero. He nodded and faded into the brush. Then Rebel returned quietly to the main camp. George returned separately.
Soon thereafter the body was discovered by another convict. He raised a Hue and Cry, and many people came to see. They realized that a native, a Savage, must have done it. No one was very much grieved; Bub had not been popular.
Neither George nor Rebel said anything. The matter had been dealt with. But she gave him extra-special sex at the first opportunity thereafter.
Unfortunately that matter was not over. Soon the colonists realized that if one of their number could be killed by a native, others could follow. They did not realize that Bub had brought it on himself by trying to rape Rebel. They thought it was the beginning of a campaign against them. And neither Rebel nor George dared to set them straight, lest they bring suspicion on themselves.
Too soon it happened anyway. “That hussy Savage!” a women said. “She’s one of them!”
“And George is keeping her company,” a man agreed. “He’s a savage-lover!”
Before long word reached the Governor. They were summoned to appear before him. “What do you know of this?” he demanded of George.
Rebel could have lied to the man. But George was young and innocent, and he feared the Governor. “Nothing,” he said insincerely.
The Governor considered briefly. “You’re a good man with the illustrations. I don’t want to lose you. But I shall have to, if it turns out that you had anything to do with this. Anything at all.”
George quailed visibly.
“So I shall address the woman,” the Governor continued after a meaningful pause. “You, Rebel—you understand me well enough, don’t you?”
She had to answer. “Yes, Governor.”
“One of your countrymen did this thing.”
If she lied, he would have it out of George instead. The Governor knew she understood that. “Yes.”
“Why? Is it an attack?”
“No.”
“Then why?”
He surely had already fathomed the answer. She had to tell. She knew she did not have perfect syntax, but she could put the words in place. “Man—Bub—try sex me. Me brother kill he.”
The Governor nodded. “He was watching you. You are an attractive woman. He got what he deserved. But I am not in a position to publicize that. A man of my colony has been killed, and that cannot be countenanced.”
Rebel looked blank. There were too many unfamiliar words.
The Governor glanced at George. George spoke, clarifying it by using words he knew she understood. “He know. But he leader. He must avenge dead tribe man.”
Oh. That did make sense. Tribe came before all else. “Yes,” she agreed, fearing what it meant.
The Governor almost smiled. “I want no war on my hands. We have other things to accomplish. Go tell your people to vacate the premises and not to harass us further. Rejoin your tribe; there is no place for you here, after this episode, much as I regret the loss of a potential translator.”
George had to translate again. “Tell Family go away. You go too. No return.”
“But I don’t want to leave you!” she protested. It was not that she loved him, but he represented her best chance to do what she needed to do, and she did like him well enough, and was sure she could make him happy.
The Governor spoke to George. “I surely misheard. It can’t be that she has any attachment to you, or you to her. She should be glad to return to her people.”
Rebel suffered a flash of further understanding. The Governor knew how things were between them, and didn’t like it. He wanted to get rid of her so that his illustrator would not be distracted. This was how.
Would George stand up to the Governor? If he did, she would stay with him, come what might. But she feared he would not.
She was right. “She. . . wants to be a translator,” George said. “To learn more words. She can’t do that if she leaves.”
“Unfortunately that is no longer feasible. She must go. You will surely be grateful to be relieved of this chore, so you can return your full attention to your illustrations.”
“Uh, yes,” George agreed weakly.
He was simply not man enough to stand up for himself, even to secure the woman he loved. She had no choice but to do as the Governor wanted. That, at least, would leave George clear of this mess.
“I go,” she agreed. She drew off her shirt, as it was really not hers, and stood bare-breasted. She was going native. Then she turned and walked away from them.
The men of the colony stared, but the governor snapped a warning that anchored them in place. All they could do was look. She made no effort to moderate her stride to reduce the bouncing of her breasts. Let them know what they were losing.
George made no protest. He really understood what he was losing.
When she was safely in the forest, Hero joined her. “They don’t like their man getting killed,” she explained. “But they will leave us alone if we go away and leave them alone.”
“We can do that,” he agreed. He knew, as she did, that they were nomadic. Traveling was their nature. Not only would it not be difficult to leave this hunti
ng ground, it was natural. “But what of Harbinger?”
She sighed. “He is stuck with me a while longer.”
“He will not be displeased.”
Then they both laughed. It was not an ideal resolution, but it would have to do.
The colony near Botany Bay suffered lean times, as the terrain was not suitable for conventional farming despite an early report. Their cattle and sheep soon died. Their food had to be rationed. But they endured, and more convicts arrived year by year. Yes, there was an illustrator who was a midshipman named George, and the governor was Phillip.
There was indeed some trouble with the Aborigines, and a man was killed, though perhaps not for the reason described here. They also had trouble getting the convicts to work, as they were hardly motivated. The women had nothing to do, and existed at first in complete idleness. Somehow their clothing had been left behind, so they had to make do with substitutes. I doubt they were pleased. But in time the colony took hold and expanded. The natives were pushed back, and suffered grievously from the white man’s diseases of smallpox, measles, and others. Their numbers were decimated. Their stone-age culture could not compete with modern organization and weapons.
The new nation continent of Australia was coming into being.
17
THE VISION
Times were hard for the Xhosa in the nineteenth century. They joined with their former enemies the Kat River Khoikhoi to rebel against the British. But in 1853 the British rallied and defeated the rebellion. In 1854 a disease spread through the Xhosa cattle, the “lung sickness,” and they suspected it had started with cattle owned by European Settlers, or that it was caused by ubuthi, or witchcraft. Either way, they wanted to be rid of the oppressive foreign presence.
Then something amazing happened. The time is May 1856, by the mouth of the Gxarha River.
Hero knew immediately that the matter was serious. He had seldom seen Rebel as grave and doubtful as now. She was no fainting flower. So he set aside his incidental business and gave her his full attention. “What is it, my sister?”
“You will not like this,” she said.
“Whatever it is you want, surely you can have it. I trust your judgment absolutely.”
“It is not what I want,” she said, frowning. At age thirty-one she remained a lovely woman, in significant part because she had never borne children or been tied to sedentary chores. Even her frowns were appealing.
“I want what you want: the greatest benefit for the family. We are doing well, considering these troubled times.” Then he had an idea. “Are you going to leave us? Have you found a man to marry?” For she had liked Harbinger, but he had married her older sister Haven. Hero knew Rebel hurt because of that, yet supported it, because Haven was able to bear children.
She smiled, a trifle wearily. “No such fortune. This concerns our brother Keeper.”
“He remains invaluable. He is the main reason we prosper: his expertise with cattle and crops. He wants to marry?”
“He should, but he won’t. He still loves Crenelle.”
Who was Hero’s wife. That had always been a subtle difficulty between them, but Crenelle had chosen Hero, and Keeper honored that, just as Hero would have honored it had she chosen Craft or Keeper. So Keeper remained single, devoting himself to the welfare of the family. “I have no concern about my brother and my wife.”
“Nor should you,” she agreed. “But this also concerns your daughter.”
“What does Tourette have to do with it?” he asked. That was the private name they called her, rather than her formal name Nongqawuse. It was part of the layered protection the family extended her, because of her malady. “She’s a fine and lovely girl, even if I do let my pride show.”
“Agreed. But a troubled one.”
“There is nothing wrong with her that the right man could not fix. One who can accept her as she is.”
“Exactly.”
He gazed at her, confused. But already the matter was clarifying in an ugly manner. “Tourette. . . and Keeper,” he said heavily.
“Yes. We have seen it coming. Now it must be dealt with.”
He tried to dismiss it. “Because she flirts with her uncle? He’s a responsible man.”
“Indeed. That is why he came to me. We are close.”
That was an understatement. Rebel loved her sister’s husband, and Keeper loved his brother’s wife. They had common emotional ground. Sometimes strangers had taken them for lovers rather than siblings, though there had never been anything like that between them. It was that they shared everything with each other, knowing their mutual understanding. “He came to you,” Hero repeated.
“Try to understand, Hero. Tourette is vulnerable and impetuous and more than lovely. She turns male heads.”
“She’s a child!”
“She’s a woman.”
“She’s only fifteen!”
“A young beauty. I could take any man I wanted; you know that.”
“I know that,” he agreed.
“So could she, and more readily, because she is younger and prettier. But she resembles me in a more subtle respect: she desires only one man, and he is not available.”
“Keeper,” he said. “But that crush will pass. She knows it is futile.”
“She knows intellectually. He is Family. But she does not entirely accept it emotionally. He is her ideal.”
“What are you saying?” he demanded, knowing well what it was, but wanting to make her say it—or back off. She had been correct when she said he would not like what she had to say.
“Understand, she is inexperienced, with strong emotion. She wants to love, to give herself to her ideal man, as any nascent woman does. And that man is Keeper.” Rebel shook her head. “And were he not her uncle, he would indeed be perfect for her. He knows her fully, and likes her for what she is. He doesn’t have to pretend not to notice her sieges.” She gave Hero a serious look. “And that’s the crux: they are right for each other, maybe regardless.”
Hero was appalled. “You are speaking of incest!”
“I suppose I am. It is not unknown, when other factors are conducive. Which would be better, objectively: a perfect match within the Family, or imperfect matches outside it?”
“How can you even think of such a thing?”
“I had a Vision. It was vague, no specifics, just a feeling that there was a looming choice between a small evil and a great one. Tolerating a quiet affair was the small one.”
“An affair!”
“What, really, would be wrong with it?”
“He’s her uncle!”
“Apart from that?”
“There is no ‘apart from that.’ It can’t be. And I’m sure Keeper knows it.”
“He does. But he is under pressure.”
He stared at her. “He can’t be considering it!”
She sighed. “I see I must be more graphic. Here is what he told me. Picture it in your mind.”
“Never!”
She put her hand on his arm. “Hero, please. You need to make the effort. Put yourself in his place. Feel his feelings.”
This was unlike her. Rebel was well versed in sex, but had never urged anything like this before. What was truly on her mind? “I will try,” he said gruffly.
Then she told him what their brother had told her.
They were in a secluded mountain pass, chill but bearable, camping for the night while the dogs made sure the cattle did not stray from the valley below. The grazing was good, and a few more days here would put some good weight on the cows. Tourette got along well with the dogs, and had been a real help moving the cattle here. Now they could rest.
Keeper tended to natural functions, then lay down, wrapped himself in his blanket, and settled for sleep, expecting Tourette to do the same nearby. Instead she joined him under his blanket. “What?” he asked, surprised.
“I had a dream,” she said.
“A bad dream? Tell me, and that should deplete its power.”
br /> “A good dream. I seduced you.”
Had he misheard? Oh, she must be teasing him, as sometimes she did, flirtatiously. “Never, you naughty girl.”
She snuggled close, and he realized that she was naked. “Truly. Now I want to do it really.”
This was more than flirtation. “Tourette—”
“I love you.”
“And I love—but it’s not the same. Don’t think that—”
“I can keep a secret.”
“That’s not the point! You can’t—”
“No one need ever know, but just the two of us. Our secret. Don’t you find me interesting?”
“No! Not in that way.”
She kissed him lingeringly. “Are you sure?”
“Yes I’m sure! I’m your uncle.”
Her hand snaked into his trousers, finding his erect member. “Are you sure?” she asked again.
She had given him the lie. Her passion and her lovely body were arousing him. “Tourette, this can’t be. You have to know that.”
“I do know it,” she agreed. “But my body doesn’t.”
“Go sleep by yourself. You are embarrassing me.”
“Keeper, please! I love you. I know we can’t marry. I know it must always be secret. But I beg you to take me. It is all I ever wanted.”
“Tourette, I can’t do it! It would violate our whole relationship.”
“Please, I beg you,” she said.
He steeled himself. “No.”
She froze against him. “I’m so ashamed.” She scrambled from under the blanket and hurled herself to her own blanket. “You must be revolted!”
He heard her quietly sobbing, and felt awful. Then he heard her yipping and snorting as the fit came on her. He couldn’t let her go that way.
He got up, wearing the blanket like a cloak, and kneeled beside her. “Tourette, I’m not revolted. I know it’s no demon in you, just a. . . a loose wheel in your body.”
Her fit eased, as it normally did. “But suppose we did it, and it happened then? Wouldn’t you be disgusted?”