Edge of the Rain

by Beverley Harper

  ‘Chrissy, Chrissy, Chrissy,’ he whispered into her hair. ‘I felt this coming at the farm.’

  ‘I did too,’ she whispered back. ‘I felt as if I’d known you for a very long time.’

  He held her from him and looked into her face. ‘This isn’t casual.’

  ‘No,’ she said slowly. ‘It’s more than that.’

  The way she made him feel took him by surprise. ‘I want to know you very well, Chrissy Cameron. Can you deal with that?’

  They talked for hours. There were so many things to say. She had her job in Gaberones, he was about to go into the desert. They had to find a way to see each other. For now, it could only be at weekends. They made plans. They told secrets. She was twenty-four, he was nineteen. It didn’t matter to him. She was university educated, he had left school at sixteen. It didn’t matter to her. Her father was headmaster at one of Scotland’s finest private schools. His father was a farmer scratching a living in a far-flung outpost in Africa. It didn’t matter to either of them.

  They made love again. Tender, caring, kissing, touching love. He had never known anything like it. It gave the term love-making an entirely new meaning. It was more than simple physical desire which made him want to touch her. It was a need to share his entire personal psyche with another, to trust another so deeply that his very soul was safe with her, to take to his heart her own eternal being and to nurture and protect it, never hurt or harm it. When he looked into her eyes he saw his own soul mirrored there. Leaving her was the hardest thing he had ever done.

  He promised to return to Gaberones the weekend after next. She would visit him once he had set up somewhere to stay. As he drove away from her flat he felt a sense of loss, more deeply even than the loss he felt when he first went away from Shakawe to school. Coming so soon after his one night with Madison he was puzzled by his feelings. He had always held Madison in a kind of gut fluttering awe.

  ‘Maybe that’s it,’ he thought. ‘Madison was the unattainable dream. Chrissy is real.’

  In bed, before drifting off to sleep through what was left of the night, he did what he often did and opened his soul to let his feelings flow. It came as no surprise when all thoughts of Chrissy left him warm, secure and happy, while confusion and hurt were all that came to him when he thought of Madison. Satisfied, he let sleep take him away.

  He and Marv drove to Molepolole the next morning. Old Jacob van Zyl was delighted to see him again, he could tell by his greeting. ‘I don’t have any work, you young skellum. Clear off before I set the dogs on you.’ As he spoke he was thumping Alex between the shoulders and his lined and weathered face was creased with smiles.

  He raised his voice and called through to the back of the shop, ‘Mother, come see who’s here,’ then, turning to Alex, ‘you keep your eyes off her, jong. She’s my woman. I know what you young-uns are like.’

  Marthe van Zyl heard him as she side-stepped her considerable bulk through the door. ‘Alex!’ She beamed at him in pleasure. ‘You come here and give me a kiss.’

  ‘Now you watch it, Mother. Too much excitement will stop your heart.’

  Alex laughed at both of them. ‘You two haven’t changed.’

  Marthe waddled over, wiping her hands on her apron. ‘Ach, silly old man. I don’t know why I stay with him.’

  Marv was prowling around the shop. ‘What are you looking for?’ Jacob yelled. ‘You don’t work here any more, remember? You resigned Friday.’

  ‘Supplies,’ Marv replied mildly. ‘Of course if you’d rather we bought them somewhere else . . .’

  ‘All right, all right. Grab what you want. I suppose you expect a discount.’

  ‘With the mark-up you put on everything you can afford it.’ Marv winked at Alex. ‘About twenty per cent should do it.’

  Jacob pretended not to hear. ‘How long you planning to be out there?’

  ‘Don’t know,’ Alex said cheerfully. ‘Till we find the diamonds.’

  ‘Ach! There are no diamonds in that godforsaken place.’

  ‘We’re still going to look.’

  ‘You’re mad in the head that’s what you are. Ach! What’s the use. You young people don’t want to listen to an old man. Listen, jong . . .’ he thrust his face into Alex’s, ‘. . . you’ll come to no good out there. Them plurry Bushmen and them plurry lions, between them you’ll come to no good I’m telling you true, man.’

  ‘Leave the boy alone, you silly old man. Come on through to the back and have a beer. You too.’ She beckoned Marv whose head shot up at the mention of beer. ‘Are you coming, Jacob?’

  He went to the front door and shut it. ‘No point in leaving the shop open for them plurry blacks to rob a man blind.’ The bolts shot home. ‘I’m coming, I’m coming, hold that tongue of yours, woman.’

  Jacob, once he’d stopped grumbling, offered them the use of his cattle post as a base. ‘It’s about a hundred miles west,’ he said. ‘I get out there every few months. You’re welcome to use it. Place is open. There’s nothing to steal that’s worth stealing. Probably crawling with snakes,’ he added, happily gloomy. ‘You’ll need to take cooking things, I don’t keep them there.’

  They still had some work to do on the Land Rovers. Finally, after two days of salvaging more bits from some and cannibalising parts from others, the two vehicles worked reasonably well. Marv did most of it, he appeared to be able to think like an engine while he worked. Jacob van Zyl, who had spent the three days encouraging them—‘here, use this, it comes out of that one but it should do the trick’—waved them goodbye grumbling, ‘Man must be mad. Letting those two hooligans take my best vehicles. Should have charged them.’

  And Marthe, waving a chubby arm which wobbled and jiggled, said, ‘Ach, put a pipe in it, Jacob. Those boys are all right.’

  Alex felt wonderful. He had a partner. They had two vehicles. They were kitted up. Chrissy was in Gaberones. He was going back to the desert. They were going to be rich.

  ELEVEN

  It took nearly three hours to reach the cattle post. They travelled along sandy tracks which were barely there and which managed to conceal wheel-wrenching outcrops of hard white calcrete. Jacob had said, ‘You’ll know when you’re on my place, there’s a white rock at the turnoff.’ He forgot to mention the calcrete. He also forgot to tell them there were dozens of game trails and sandy turnoffs, unsignposted, branching off the main track like legs on a centipede. Driving the front vehicle, Alex could only guess the way. Several times he was certain they had reached Jacob’s turnoff, only to find the track petered out or returned them to the main one. They had been driving more than two hours when they pulled up at yet another white stone to confer.

  Marv was getting worried. ‘What if we can’t find it? Do we go back to Molepolole?’

  ‘We’ll camp out.’

  ‘What? Out here? Not bloody likely. What about lions?’

  ‘What’s wrong with you? You must have camped when you worked for the safari company.’

  ‘That’s different.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Cover,’ Marv said. ‘I mean, look at it. No real trees, no water, no hills.’

  ‘Well at least you’ll see them coming.’

  ‘Who? See who coming?’

  ‘The lion, the hyena, the jackals or whatever the hell else it is you’re worried about. What’s the matter with you anyway?’

  Marv snarled at a fly. ‘I dunno,’ he said, waving his hand irritably at the persistent creature, ‘this seems so exposed.’

  ‘Marv,’ Alex said patiently, ‘that’s because it is exposed. It’s semi-desert. What did you expect, main roads and hotels?’

  ‘Course not.’ Marv looked injured. ‘There’s just so much of it,’ he added lamely. ‘It goes on and on.’

  Alex gave up, confident he could find the cattle post. They set off again. Half an hour later, they found it.

  Like most farmers with land in this part of the Kalahari, Jacob van Zyl did not actually own the land. He leased it. Technic
ally, the land belonged to the people of the Molepolole area and use of it was granted by the Chief. Not wanting to spend money on a dwelling, Jacob had thrown together little more than a shelter to provide protection from the elements for those times he slept over at his cattle post. He had even laid a concrete floor, a luxury compared to some. Marv had obviously expected more. He pulled up beside Alex and yelled across to him.

  ‘Is that it?’ He was incredulous. The structure was clad entirely in corrugated iron which had clearly seen better days before being put to use here. Windows were holes in the walls with chicken netting wired in place, presumably to keep out the likes of curious lion or jackal. There were stained and faded canvas blinds rolled and secured up near the ceiling to be let down against rain or wind. The metal door had a bolt which could be operated from inside or out with a large padlock closed in such a way that it performed no function whatsoever. Inside, at one end, there were a few shelves, a rusting kerosene refrigerator and a sturdy but severely scratched wooden table. Three chairs, two of which may once have belonged with the table and one metal framed with a red vinyl seat and back, were placed along one side of the table like watching sentinels. Marv shook all three. The vinyl and stainless steel chair held its own, the other two lurched on unsteady legs.

  At the other end of the shack, three iron beds with tortured coiled springs dipping halfway to the floor upon which were mattresses of dubious heritage. Army issue blankets had been folded and placed on each. The pillows, coverless, looked rather like lumpy grey pancakes.

  Outside, a Rhodesian boiler sat over a crude brick fireplace. Plumbed directly into it was an outlet pipe which ran along the ground for a couple of yards before rearing up totally unsupported, to a tap and shower fitting. It looked a bit like a snake charmer’s cobra. Next to this modern outdoor convenience, a sparkling white porcelain toilet bowl with no lid, connected to nothing. It just sat there, gleaming white and unusable. Between the shack and the shower, a few bricks had been placed to form a braai, although judging by the signs of previous cooking fires, Jacob preferred to barbecue his food in a more traditional way, in a semi-circle of stones. Old corrugated iron tanks, thorn-ripped tyres, engine blocks and all manner of broken things mechanical lay all over the yard.

  ‘Does Jacob ever intend to use this stuff?’ Marv kicked his foot against a heap of irrigation pipes which were lying alongside a large and relatively new bulldozer. ‘And what the hell is this doing here?’ he added, slapping his hand on the cab of the machine.

  But Alex thought it was brilliant. ‘This is great. Water. A roof over our heads and a hot shower. What more can we ask?’

  ‘I could think of a couple of things,’ Marv murmured. He peered into the toilet. ‘Surely he doesn’t use this? Where do we go?’

  Alex waved his arm towards the surrounding country. ‘Use the cat box.’

  Marv snorted that it was the biggest bloody cat box he’d ever seen.

  They carried their equipment and food inside. Marv went to one of the blinds and let it down to see if it would work. Half a dozen large scorpions fell onto the floor and scurried away. ‘Jesus Christ!’ He let all the blinds down and spent the next half hour flushing out scorpions and jumping on them. Alex ignored him.

  At Marv’s insistence, they gave the shack a thorough cleanout. Alex had to admit, it was better once they finished.

  ‘What now?’ Marv asked.

  ‘We should get some wood.’

  They looked at the surrounding landscape. Sand, scrub grasses and stunted bushes of acacia thorn. But Alex knew there would be dead and fallen trees in the area. They took one of the vehicles and, sure enough, ten minutes later, found some ideal firewood. They chained the whole tree to the bumper and towed it back.

  While Alex cut the wood into manageable lengths, Marv fired up the Rhodesian boiler and started a cooking fire. ‘What’s for dinner?’ Alex called, swinging the axe. He was having the time of his life.

  ‘Might as well eat these steaks before they go off.’

  Soon the aroma of cooking meat was wafting around them. Alex lit a hurricane lamp and hung it on a peg on the outside wall of the shack. ‘Want a drink?’

  ‘Good thinking.’

  He got two beers from the refrigerator which had obliged them by starting immediately, and had gurgled its way to almost freezing within two hours.

  Food, and a couple of beers mellowed Marv out. He manhandled the thick trunk of the tree, which Alex had not bothered to cut, and stuck one end of it into the fire. The other end lay in the sand, pointing towards them. The log was about six foot long and nearly two foot wide. Marv sat back, satisfied.

  ‘How do we start?’ he asked.

  Alex had been anticipating this question and also dreading it. For all his enthusiasm, he really knew next to nothing about how to find diamonds. Marv would expect him to know more. After all, he had lived in the desert for nearly two years. Maybe, Alex acknowledged guiltily to himself, he had displayed a bit too much confidence. But now he had to come clean. All he really had to go on were two stones, one of which he lost as a baby, the other found by !Ka. Both had been discovered in a dead ostrich’s digestive system. Added to that, !Ka had told him he had seen similar stones in the area. He had also read a little about the subject during his free time when he worked for Jacob. Not a lot, it was true, there was very little literature available, but enough to get them started. They could learn as they went. More than anything else, Alex had an unshakeable belief that under the hot sand lay wealth beyond his wildest dreams.

  The desert held no terrors for Alex. Sitting on Pa’s verandah it seemed simple enough. Go into the desert and look for diamonds. But he knew his knowledge was sketchy, to say the least.

  Marv was watching him suspiciously. ‘Anyone at home?’ he asked heavily.

  ‘Sorry. I was thinking.’

  ‘You planning to answer the question?’

  He decided to keep it simple. ‘Uh Marv, if we see any dead ostrich . . .’

  Marv wasn’t that easy. He narrowed his eyes. ‘. . . that just happen to be lying around?’

  Okay, simple didn’t work. ‘Rocks,’ Alex said desperately. ‘Rock formations,’ he amended.

  Marv breathed loudly. ‘It took us three hours to get here, right?’

  Alex nodded.

  ‘That’s about a hundred miles, right?’

  Nod, nod.

  ‘Did you see any rock formations?’

  Shake, shake.

  ‘Apart from the bloody calcrete I sure as hell didn’t see any rocks. No, sir. Oceans of sand. Not one real rock. Not so much as a fucking pebble.’ He took a deep breath. ‘In fact, now I come to think of it, I didn’t see any fucking ostrich either.’ He stared Alex down. ‘Is there any danger you might say something soon or am I having this conversation with myself?’

  Alex didn’t know it but he looked as shifty as hell. ‘Look, Marv, give me a break. The diamonds are here, I know they are. !Ka confirmed it. All we have to do. . .’

  ‘. . . is trudge around this oversized kitty litter box until we stub our toes on sparklies? Is that it?’

  ‘I’ve read some books . . .’

  ‘That’s nice.’ Marv’s face was benign. He looked like a trusting child—Alex should have known better. Foolishly, he relaxed. Marv let fly. ‘While you were at it, it’s a pity you didn’t take a fucking geology degree.’ He shook his head. ‘Jesus! Talk about optimism. You don’t have the faintest idea, do you? Where do we start? Out there. What do we do? We look. What do we look for? Something that sparkles. Christ, Alex, we’d stand a better chance—’ He stared at the fire suddenly. ‘Holy shit!’ He jumped to his feet. ‘Will you just look at that.’

  A family of scorpions had been using the thick trunk of the tree as a nest. Flushed out by the smoke and heat, the scorpions had made a mad dash for one end and found their escape cut off by fire. They had then clambered on top of the log and were running up and down seeking a way off but the log was well alight and they w
ere unable to get past the flames so they could run to the other end to safety. With a look of deep loathing on his face for the scurrying arachnids Marv put the kettle of water on top of the log, tilting it forward so that when the water boiled it would bubble out of the spout, scalding them. If they jumped, they would burn up in the fire. Either way, they were doomed.

  ‘That’s not very nice.’ Alex had no problem with scorpions. In his experience, unless you were very unlucky, they left you alone. Besides, right now he was pleased to see them. Marv had been warming up to what Alex knew from previous experience could be a scathing and lengthy attack on him. The appearance of the scorpions was a welcome diversion.

  Marv sat back satisfied the scorpions could not get to him. ‘Ever hear about that vet up in Maun?’

  Alex shook his head.

  ‘Packed his suitcase to go to a wedding in Johannesburg. Before he shut it, a scorpion crawled into his case and cosied up in his good trousers. The scorpion must have liked it there, all nice and soft and dark, and it stayed in his trousers. The guy had no idea it was there. Next day he got dressed and went to the wedding. Halfway through the ceremony the bloody thing bit him on the balls. It happened just as the priest asked the congregation if anyone knew of a good reason why these two should not be joined in holy matrimony would they please speak now. This guy suddenly let out a howl that nearly brought the roof down. The priest jumped out of his skin. The bride burst into tears. The poor bastard was leaping up and down trying to get his trousers off.’

  Alex was laughing. ‘What happened to him?’

  ‘He was rushed to hospital and given anti-venom. He didn’t die but it took three months for his balls to get back to their original size.’ Marv looked soberly at the dancing scorpions. ‘And that’s why these guys have to go. We don’t have any anti-venom.’

  Alex suddenly thought so too. His own balls felt tingly.

  ‘Six weeks,’ Marv said suddenly. ‘If we don’t find anything by then, we quit. Agreed?’