Edge of the Rain

by Beverley Harper

  ‘I hate this. Why did I come?’ Pat, like the rest of them, was filthy.

  ‘You say that every year about now.’

  ‘Well why doesn’t someone remind me?’

  ‘We did,’ Bob and Willie yelled at him. Tempers were at boiling point.

  They were camped in the middle of nothing. The cattle had had no water and nothing to eat for two days. The horses were handfed and watered, they had to work. By pushing ahead tomorrow, with luck, they would reach the holding pen just outside Kang. It was unlikely there would be much grass but the water had always been good. From then, the terrain became more friendly. Most of the cattle were holding up well but Bob was worried about a dozen or so who were about to calf.

  ‘It’s tough on them,’ he said to Alex. ‘They’re already weak. We put the new calves into the wagon but the mothers get frantic. It’s against the natural way they do things.’

  ‘Why don’t you run them in winter?’ Kel looked sourly at him. He had barely said two words since they left Ghanzi and always made sure he was riding somewhere other than where Alex rode. At night, around the fire, he seldom joined their conversation. Whenever he did open his mouth, it was to complain. ‘Surely that would be better for the cattle and the men.’

  Bob answered patiently. ‘Less water, practically no grass and, believe it or not, it’s so cold out here in winter the calves could freeze to death.’

  Freeze to death! Bloody hell! It didn’t seem possible.

  The sand had even got into his bedroll.

  The next day he was glad he had taken his turn at the back and side. He was even more relieved when a Land Rover appeared on the road ahead. Grinning, he turned to Pat. ‘How’s he getting through?’

  ‘With great difficulty, boyo,’ Pat grinned back. ‘The boys will have their work cut out. Getting around a vehicle on this track is not easy.’

  ‘Do we help?’

  ‘Love to, boyo, love to.’ Pat laughed. ‘But someone has to stay at the front.’

  They cantered ahead to greet the driver who stopped and got out, looking at the swirling tidal wave of 2,000 head of cattle making straight for him. He was watching the approaching herd with disbelief.

  Pat tipped his hat back. ‘Just sit tight, boyo. They’ll go on round you.’

  ‘They will?’ The vehicle had South African numberplates and was loaded with camping equipment and supplies. Tourists. The man shrugged and reached into the back of the cab. ‘Well, if I can’t go anywhere I might as well have a beer. Care to join me?’

  Pat and Alex looked at each other. Then they looked at the beer which he had just taken from an ice chest, beaded with cold moisture. Alex thought briefly of the men working at the back. But only briefly. ‘Would we ever.’

  The girl in the passenger seat had long blonde hair, tiny short shorts and knee length brown boots. ‘I’ll open them.’ She hopped out and flipped open the bottles using the bumper. Alex and Pat took a long, long look at her legs and arse. ‘How long will this take?’ she asked, handing them a bottle each. She walked around the vehicle arching her back.

  ‘Not long enough,’ Pat muttered to Alex. Then out loud, ‘About two hours.’

  ‘God!’ she laughed. ‘Could be well and truly drunk by then.’

  The cattle were several hundred yards from them. ‘We’d best be off.’ Pat drained his beer in two long swallows and handed the bottle back to the driver. ‘Keep your windows up and sit tight. Thanks for the beer.’

  The holding pen in Kang was geared for men and beasts making the trip south. Water troughs were plentiful. ‘This is where the fun starts, boyo.’ They had cantered ahead and were waiting for the cattle.

  Alex watched them come. A cloud of white dust with heads at the front and no legs. It was an amazing sight.

  The cattle at the front caught the smell of water. The pen, five miles long and two miles wide, had no gates. A gap had been left in the fence, some 200 yards wide. Alex took his position on one side, Pat the other. He had never seen a stampede but, watching the effect of 2,000 thirst-crazed cattle with their first whiff of water in three days, figured he was about to come close. Nightmare did the only thing a self-respecting nervous horse could do. She bucked.

  He hit the ground crawling. The ground was shaking. Eight thousand hooves created an earthquake under his hands and knees. He crawled for safety, thirty miles an hour. Cattle on the outside flank jumped him. He kept crawling. The fence caved in. Two hundred yards was not wide enough. He kept crawling.

  Later, about a hundred years later, Pat told him he thought he had intended to crawl to Angola. That was after he had pawed his entire body checking for damage.

  Alex had been lucky. As Willie said, ‘Cattle don’t like squishy things between their toes.’

  Nightmare looked suitably embarrassed when he found her. But he wasn’t having any. ‘Bad horse.’ She was so embarrassed she forgot to snap at his backside when he mounted up.

  The wagon had gone on into Kang to the trading store, bought cartons of cold beer from their coldroom and returned to the holding pen. The men’s stampede almost matched that of the cattle.

  Alex floated in a cement water trough, naked, an icy cold beer in his hand. The water was filthy but he didn’t care. Neither did the others. A shower had been rigged from a water tank on stilts. He would wash the dirt off later. For now it was enough to get the grit out of his pores. Besides, he and Pat were to shower last. Their punishment for accepting beer from the tourists.

  Kang had had some rain. There was a little grass in the holding pen. The driver of the wagon had been told there was good grass further south. ‘That’s the worst of it, boyo. From here on in it’s a milk run.’

  ‘Shaddup. Every time you say that we hit trouble.’ Willie splashed water at Pat. ‘You say that every year in Kang. Last year Perce had his appendix burst. Year before the trail flooded and we were stuck for a week. Then Ken had that bloody trouble with lions and damned near lost a leg.’

  ‘Just trying to make it interesting,’ Pat said mildly, wiping his face. He grinned at Alex. ‘Don’t listen to him, boyo, nothing’s going to happen.’

  Bob was immersed in water up to his neck with a fat cigar clenched between his teeth. ‘Always wanted to ask you this, Pat: Why do you say “boyo”? It’s Welsh.’

  ‘So?’ Pat looked aggrieved. ‘Can’t a man be a little international?’

  Alex loved these men again. In the space of a few weeks they had become his family, especially Pat. Now the worst of the trip was over, good humour had been restored.

  ‘It’s because he’s always taking a leak,’ Willie offered. Bob and Pat pushed him under the water.

  The wagon had escaped the worst of the gritty sand. Each man had a complete change of clothes wrapped in plastic. After a shower, the luxury of pulling on something clean made Alex groan with pleasure. He left his boots with everyone else’s. That night, the men treated their feet to fresh air. The driver, who everyone considered had a cushy job, had to wash their clothes. He had to change the water five times before the worst of the dirt came out.

  Alex ran his hand through his hair. It was getting long and starting to curl. The sun had bleached the top layer white. He’d get it cut in Gaberones after they left the cattle at Jeff’s farm.

  The next morning he and Kel had to stay behind until the last of the cattle had left. It was their job to repair where the cattle had gone through the fence. They had only just started when an aeroplane roared overhead, dipped its wing at them before turning towards Kang. ‘That’s Jeff’s plane,’ Alex said, surprised.

  Kel looked up briefly. ‘Must be checking up on us.’

  ‘I guess I would too if I had so many cattle.’

  ‘Yeah, well you’ll never know. Hand me the pliers and stop yabbering.’

  They worked in silence for fifteen minutes. Then they heard a vehicle. It raced up to them over the bumpy ground. Jeff Carter jumped out. ‘Show me your boots.’

  A greeting died on Alex’s
lips. Jeff looked furious. He stuck out his foot.

  ‘The underside, you idiot.’

  Alex turned and lifted his foot. Kel did the same.

  The little San bootmaker in Ghanzi, with his old fashioned tools and basic knowledge of shoes, produced plain leather soles. All the boots were the same. Alex had rubber soles on his boots which had a wavy lined pattern on them.

  ‘You perving little bastard!’ Jeff’s fist crashed into his ear. With his back turned, he had not seen it coming.

  He spun around, his ear burning. ‘Jeff, what . . .’ Jeff’s fist crashed into his mouth. He felt his teeth move.

  ‘Spying on my daughter. I’ll teach you a lesson, you little creep. Climbing a tree to watch her through the window. I saw your boot prints.’ Jeff was beside himself with rage.

  ‘I didn’t . . .’

  ‘Don’t lie about it, you bastard.’ Jeff swung and his fist bounced off his shoulder.

  Alex jumped backwards. ‘Wait, Jeff . . . I didn’t . . .’

  Jeff came for him. Alex hesitated. He did not want to fight him. After Kel, he never wanted to fight again. Besides, Jeff had it all wrong. In the split second he hesitated, Jeff was all over him. Blows rained down on his head, his arms, his chest, his stomach. He fell to his knees. He was hurting, really hurting. Jeff kept hitting him. A hard blow to his kidneys made him cry out with pain. He toppled over onto the sand. ‘Get up, you bloody animal.’

  His body felt as though it were on fire. He could taste blood in his mouth. Perspiration stung the cuts on his face.

  ‘Boss, I think . . .’ Kel sounded scared.

  ‘Shaddup,’ Jeff snarled. ‘C’mon, get up.’

  He groaned and curled his body, trying to find the strength to move. But his body wouldn’t work.

  ‘Piss on you,’ Jeff spat. ‘You’re out of here, kid. Don’t ever try to come near me or my family again. I’ll fucking kill you if you do.’

  He felt fingers fumbling with his shirt pocket. ‘What are you doing?’ Jeff’s voice.

  ‘If you’re going to leave him here he won’t need this.’ Kel held up his money.

  ‘Put it back.’

  ‘But boss . . .’

  ‘Put it back. Next to perverts I don’t like thieves. Put it back.’

  The money was put back. Alex rolled up onto his hands and knees. He felt he was going to be sick. He tried to speak but his voice was a whispered croak. He heard the Land Rover start up and drive away. Kel bent over him and took the money from his pocket. ‘Silly to waste this. You’re not going to need it.’ He did not have the strength to stop him. He fell on his side again.

  ‘See ya, kid.’

  Nightmare whinnied and he heard Kel snap her reins. ‘Come here, you fucking bitch.’

  He heard the creak of leather as Kel mounted his own horse.

  He lay in the hot sand hurting all over. ‘Pat will come back for me,’ he thought. Then he lost consciousness.

  When he opened his eyes the sun was high in the sky and shadows formed perfect circles around the short trees. Water. He needed water. Crawling and retching he reached the tank where, last night, he had showered. He pulled himself up. His whole body was aching. Leaning against the tank stand he took off his clothes. Every movement hurt. Standing under the cascade of lukewarm water he felt the inside of his mouth with his tongue. Several teeth were loose. His mouth felt bruised and water stung a cut on his lip. He explored his face with his fingers. A gash on one eyebrow, one eye felt puffy and half closed. His chest and ribs were on fire but, after gingerly pushing against them, he decided nothing was broken. A sharp stinging pain shot through his kidneys.

  Jeff had been thorough. Alex’s head felt fuzzy and he was unable to focus. But the water helped. He saw Nightmare standing ten feet away, reins hanging to the ground. Kel had led her away, what was she doing here? Perhaps she bit him? He hoped she bit him. God, the water felt good.

  There was a roaring noise in his head. He was going to pass out again. He turned off the tap, took three steps and fell, face down, into black nothing.

  He had no idea how much later, but a strange whispered clicking cut into his consciousness. Brief memories flashed but he couldn’t place them. He rolled onto his back. His body shrieked with the pain of movement. Then, through eyes which felt as though he were looking under water, he saw a group of tiny Bushmen. They stood bunched together, maybe fifteen feet from him. They were pointing at his nakedness.

  ‘!ebili. He has come back.’ !Ka had seen the brown half melon shape on his left buttock.

  Alex covered his front and reached for his clothes.

  Another man, N!ou, a kinsman of !Oma who had died to save the baby Alex, pointed. ‘See his hair. See if it comes back to the colour of the Moon.’

  ‘It must be the little beetle. How he has grown. But he is hurt. Who could have done such a terrible thing?’

  Like all Bushmen, !Ka abhorred violence of any type. Conflict in the clans, when it arose, was resolved by spirited debate, to be laughed over when the tension dissipated. If an issue could not be satisfactorily talked through, those involved in the dispute usually packed up and left the clan rather than remain and run the risk of physical violence.

  !Ka walked closer to Alex. ‘!ebili is near the end of his strength,’ he said to the others, ready to help if the need arose.

  Dressing under the unwavering gaze of five little Bushmen was difficult. Pain accompanied every move and waves of nausea swept over him constantly. By the time he had gingerly lowered himself to the ground to pull on his boots, his hair was drying. The sun-bleached top hair sprang into curls. Why were they smiling at him like that? Their faces held nothing but gentleness. The one closest approached him, his hand held out, speaking in that strange clicking language. Memories stirred.

  ‘Da,’ said !Ka.

  Alex stared at him.

  The face of a thousand wrinkles creased further into smiles. ‘Da,’ he repeated, holding his hand out and bobbing his head.

  ‘Da,’ Alex said tentatively. He rose with difficulty and held out his own hand.

  ‘Da, da.’ The Bushman was chuckling gently as he grasped Alex’s hand and held it.

  !Ka turned to the others. ‘See, he remembers.’

  N!ou was not so sure. ‘Tell him your name.’

  The Bushman tapped his chest with both his hands. ‘!Ka. !Ka.’

  Alex tilted his head and stared at him. Something was there. Something he should know. But the blows to his head would not let him think. He tried to move towards Nightmare and would have fallen if the Bushman had not jumped forward and held him.

  ‘He is badly hurt. We must take him with us. Be will know what to do.’

  ‘She will be very pleased to see the little beetle again.’ N!ou, like all of their clan, knew how Be had become fond of the child of the Moon. ‘She will make him better.’

  !Ka tugged on Alex’s arm. Pointing out into the desert and smiling, Alex realised the Bushman wanted him to go with them. He felt strangely calm. He had a sense of being saved. He pointed to Nightmare. !Ka nodded he understood. He helped Alex over to the horse. ‘Don’t bite him,’ Alex gritted, through jaws which ached. Nightmare tossed her head. ‘And for God’s sake don’t buck,’ he muttered to himself as !Ka shoved him on her back. Nightmare stood stock still in injured outrage.

  Once in the saddle he slumped over her neck. !Ka took the reins warily. He had never had anything to do with horses and they were big enough to frighten him. However, the animal simply followed along behind him. The others walked on either side, chattering and clicking softly together.

  In this manner they covered eight miles over the desert to where the clan were camped. Once again a child told Be that her husband was bringing in something strange. Once again, when she saw the injured Alex, she cried, ‘Oh, oh, what have you done?’ and once again !Ka had to sternly tell her how he had found the little beetle.

  ‘!ebili?’ she said, staring at Alex’s bent head over the horse’s neck. �
�Is it really the little beetle?’

  ‘He has the mark of the Moon here.’ !Ka tapped his own rump.

  ‘What has happened to him?’

  ‘I do not know. But he is hurt. You will tend him.’

  He was far too big for her to cradle in her arms as she had before but she was waiting beside the horse when he slid, with assistance from !Ka, from the saddle, and her arm went around his waist and she led him, on his rubbery legs, to her hut. ‘Oh, little beetle, what terrible thing has happened?’

  Alex heard her, saw her face, saw her concern. He knew he was safe with these people. Not just safe from harm. He knew they cared for him. He relaxed while her fingers explored his injuries. He did not mind when she removed his clothes. He felt the soothing, tangy tsamma ointment on his skin. Memories stirred again. But he slipped into sleep before they could come to the surface.

  It was pitch dark when he awoke. Outside the hut, the men of the clan were dancing. Alex crawled to the door and looked through. Women were sitting around a fire, clapping and singing. The men were smacking their heels on the ground and shuffling around the women. Several of the men were holding the one in front by the hips. The rattling of their leg adornments added to the singing and clapping. One of the women played a thumb piano, prongs of metal of differing lengths and tension which produced a series of eerily high twangs. The combined sound was one of extraordinary ethereal beauty.

  He had no way of knowing that !Ka and his clan were conducting a curing dance on his behalf. The songs were medicine songs. The dancing men were aiming for a trance, where their spirits would travel outside their bodies to do battle with the spirits of the dead. This would give them the power to draw sickness from his body. Alex sat in the doorway of the flimsy grass hut and listened, enthralled.

  One of the women noticed him and smiled, nudging the woman next to her. She also smiled at him but they did not stop their singing and clapping. They did not dare. To do so would leave the men vulnerable to evil spirits.