‘Hello.’
He looked up. He had not seen her approaching. ‘Madison!’ He rose hastily. ‘Care to join us?’
She shook her head and silky hair bobbed and settled. It had always fascinated him. ‘No. I saw you and wanted to . . .’ She bit her lip. ‘Look,’ she said, almost angrily. ‘I’m really sorry for the things I said that night.’
He could see what the apology cost her. ‘It’s okay, Madison, let’s forget it.’
He had said the wrong thing as usual. ‘That’s the trouble with you, you bury unpleasantness and refuse to discuss it.’ She calmed herself with an effort. ‘Some of us need to talk things through, Alex.’ She hesitated, then blurted out, ‘We need to talk, you and I.’
Chrissy was coming out of the ladies’ room. She smiled and waved and stopped at a table to speak to several people.
Madison followed his gaze. ‘Who’s she?’
As always, Madison’s presence felt like a challenge. Alex constantly had the feeling that he was on his back foot with her, especially when they were discussing her father. Chrissy was making her way across the room, a question in her eyes. ‘Chrissy?’ Alex said, loud enough for Chrissy to hear. ‘She’s the girl I’m going to marry.’
He hadn’t meant to say it. He wanted to let Madison know that she wasn’t the only girl who mattered, that was all. He was stunned by the sudden pain on her face.
‘Well . . . con . . . congratulations,’ she stuttered.
Chrissy reached them, her eyes shining. She had heard his words. He introduced her, wondering as he did what was wrong with Madison. ‘Can you join us?’ Chrissy asked her.
Madison backed away, shaking her head. ‘No. I’m with friends. Just stopped to say hello. Must fly.’ She practically ran from their table.
Alex watched her go, troubled. He would never deliberately have hurt her but he could not shake off the feeling that he had. But how? She didn’t like him, he was sure of it. He simply could not fathom her.
‘Who was she?’ Chrissy picked up on his confusion.
‘I used to work for her father.’
‘The one who beat you up?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you have feelings for her, Alex?’
Well. Do I?
Chrissy was waiting for his answer. He knew she deserved his honesty. He put his hands on her shoulders and looked deeply into her eyes. ‘I used to think so,’ he said sincerely, believing it. ‘Then I met you.’
She searched his face for the truth and found it. ‘Thank you,’ she said softly.
Then Marv was coming back with the beers and saying, ‘I thought I’d take Pru out to look for that lioness with cubs. What do you think, Chrissy? Would she enjoy that?’
He and Chrissy discussed ways to keep Pru amused and Alex listened to them but his heart was uneasy, especially when he caught sight of Madison driving rapidly away from the club. He knew she was hurt and angry and he knew it was his fault. All he didn’t know was why. With an effort he put it out of his mind. Seated beside him was the girl he had just declared he would marry. It was a new thought but the mere idea of it made him happy.
Marv was saying, ‘. . . so all you have to do is enjoy yourself. I can take care of Pru, you’ll see.’
Chrissy admitted to Alex later, ‘It’s Marv I’m worried about. Pru could eat him for breakfast and spit out the pips. I don’t want his feelings hurt.’
And the disquiet came back into Alex’s heart because he had hurt Madison. The more he thought about it, the less he understood it. He concluded finally that she believed he had used her to get at her father and that it was her pride he had hurt. ‘She’ll get over it,’ he told himself.
When Alex and Chrissy left to find !Ka the following week she was still troubled. ‘Pru must be some piece of work,’ Alex commented. ‘I’ve never seen you so worried.’
‘Wait till you meet her, you’ll know why.’
‘Marv’s a big boy. Anyway, we might be back by the time she arrives.’
‘God, I hope so,’ Chrissy said with feeling.
TWELVE
!Ka and his people were camped at the place near where they first found the baby Alex. In the way of things with the San people, they had returned to this spot only twice since that time, giving the land a chance to recover. There had been a dancing the night before and !Ka told Be in the morning, ‘The little beetle is not far.’ She did not question this, or ask how he knew. But the news circulated and, when the Land Rover drove into their camp, every cooking pot held extra food in anticipation of !ebili’s return.
Alex, too, had sensed they were close to finding the clan. The season was #obe, the time after the summer rains but before the cold weather of !gum. He knew the smaller pans would be drying up and the clan would have moved to one of the main pans or permanent springs so they would have access to water through the long dry winter. !Ka and his clan would be living mainly on mongongo nuts, berries and summer melons. Hunting and snaring activities, while it still went on, rarely yielded much meat. The animals the clan hunted could still find water over a wide area and so locating them, an easy task when water was short, would be too difficult.
Alex knew of eight different camp sites the clan used during #obe. He discounted three, knowing it was too soon for them to return. That left five. They had to be at one of them.
The camp was invisible until they were almost on top of it. In fact, even though Alex knew what to look for, he nearly missed it. Children playing with a zani stick gave its presence away. Alex felt a rush of affection when he saw them. He had played the game with them when he was sixteen. It was a simple toy, a length of hollow reed with small soft guinea fowl feathers stuck to one end, a short strip of leather weighted with acacia gum fastened with sinew to the other, and a large feather bound to the centre. It provided hours of fun. If properly made, when tossed into the air it would float and spin back down, slowly drifting on the breeze. The object of the game was to be in a position to catch it on the point of a stick and toss it in the air again.
He slowed the Land Rover and watched but the presence of white people had all the children staring at the vehicle in fascination, the zani falling to earth, forgotten. Alex opened the door and got out. ‘It is me, !Oma, child of the Moon, !ebili,’ he called.
After some excited conversation and nervous giggling, one of the boys raced over. ‘Come, !ebili, come and play the game with us.’
Alex took the proffered stick. Another boy handed him the zani and Alex tried to throw it into the air but it bellyflopped to earth. The watching children laughed so hard a couple of younger ones fell over. The zani was thrown up by one of them and all the children positioned themselves politely out of reach to give Alex a chance to catch it. He missed.
Shaking his head and laughing with them at himself, he got back behind the wheel and drove the last hundred yards with the children running alongside. ‘They seem to have known we were coming. Those kids were waiting for us.’ Chrissy was astonished.
‘They would have known.’ He did not know how but, many times, he had seen the clan anticipate visitors.
‘They weren’t afraid of you. What did you say to them?’
‘I told them my name.’
‘But they’re too young to remember you.’
‘They don’t have to. !Oma is a clan name, it immediately tells them I am one of them. They all know the story of how !Ka found the little beetle and they’ve all been told I have the mark of the Moon on my body. As far as they’re concerned, I’m family. Besides, they probably heard the adults say I was coming.’ He stopped the Land Rover outside the circle of huts. ‘There they are,’ he said softly, love and affection making his voice husky. ‘My second parents.’
Be hobbled to him, her tiny wrinkled features stretched wide in a smile. !Ka rose with dignity and walked to the vehicle. The children danced and shrieked around them. ‘Welcome !Oma, little beetle, child of the Moon.’ Be and !Ka had aged. Their life was a hard one. It would not be too
long before they would be unable to keep up with the wandering clan. For as long as they could, their age would guarantee the respect of the others. But as soon as they became a burden they would be left behind, in a hut, with as many supplies as the clan could spare. Lions would probably end their lives. It was something they accepted.
They sat in the shade of some trees, visited continually by others. Chrissy’s bright red hair was a source of great amazement to the clan, especially the women, and they hovered around her, touching it continually.
‘They are saying your hair is like a fire at night.’
‘Is that good?’
Alex smiled at her. ‘They say mine is like the Moon. They asked if you are my wife. They said the Moon and the fire make a good combination but they warn the fire must not burn the Moon and the Moon must not let the fire go out.’
‘Tell them I will never burn their precious Moon and if the Moon lets me go out I’ll beat him around the ears.’
‘I will tell them nothing of the sort. You are a woman. You have no opinions on important matters.’
‘I’ll get you for that.’
The Bushmen had politely listened to this exchange. Alex spoke to !Ka who laughed gently. He turned back to Chrissy. ‘I told him the Moon’s light and the fire’s light should produce many bright children.’
The anthropologist in Chrissy found the clan fascinating. Despite not speaking the language, and with no-one in the clan able to speak English, she left Alex with the men and went with Be to watch her prepare some melons for roasting. Her trained eye took in the simplicity of Be’s ‘kitchen’ and cooking utensils. A small fire, an iron pot, several spoons carved from wood and a couple of bones sharpened at the tip. Smooth stones of varying sizes were stacked against the hut. Be saw Chrissy’s interest and picked up two of them. Taking an unappetising looking root, she placed it on the larger stone. Then, with short, sharp movements, shredded the tuber.
Squatting next to Be, Chrissy observed that although the root was tough and the utensils rudimentary, the San woman’s actions were economical, designed to conserve energy. She supposed this to be due to the extreme heat in which these people lived and worked. She would dearly have loved to try shredding the food herself and held out her hands, hoping Be would understand. But Be, with a small, almost apologetic smile, put the stones back where they came from.
Chrissy had no idea what had just taken place, although her training and instincts told her it would be unwise to pursue the matter. Rubbing and grinding stones were of such personal importance to San women that, when they died, they were buried with them. Be’s polite refusal to let Chrissy touch the stones was a measure of her depth of feeling for Alex. She could see that the little beetle had fondness in his heart for this girl with fire in her hair. Instead of being angry at the breach of etiquette, something she would very quickly have become normally, she had stepped briefly outside her own world to make allowances for Chrissy’s ignorance.
As if to make amends, she showed Chrissy her mortar and pestle and encouraged her to handle it. Feeling the glass-like surface of the pestle, Chrissy wondered how many hands, over how many years, had worn the wood to form such a slippery and rock hard utensil.
Her knees were aching from squatting. She knew that Be could squat for hours. She tried to get more comfortable but her western style jeans would not allow her knees to rest against her shoulders like Be. Smiling, she stood up and stretched.
Be stood as well. Chrissy felt a rough hand on her arm. Shyly, Be traced her fingers down both arms, holding each wrist firmly for several seconds. When Chrissy looked at the San woman she was startled to see tears in her eyes. Be’s finger ran along the veins in Chrissy’s hands. Quite suddenly, with an exclamation which sounded almost like disgust, Be broke the contact and went back to her cooking fire.
Chrissy sensed that something unusual had happened. She would like to have asked Alex to explain but he was deep in conversation with the men. Another woman beckoned for Chrissy to sample some food. She was quickly absorbed by a demonstration some young girls gave her on making a necklace with ostrich egg shell and the strange incident with Be was forgotten.
That night they ate roasted melons, then a stew made up mainly of tubers which Alex found delicious. Chrissy ate tentatively, refusing a second helping, explaining that the melons had filled her up. Feeling unusually tired, she excused herself and went off to the hut which the Bushmen had erected especially for their visitors. The strangeness of these people, the fresh desert air, the different sights and sounds had worn her out.
Alex sat and talked to the men far into the night, drawing pictures on the sand of places the clan knew well, until they understood where he was looking for diamonds. !Ka nodded. ‘I have seen the bright stones sometimes in this place.’
He drew deeply on his pipe. Alex had brought tobacco knowing the San loved nothing better than to smoke and talk. Finally !Ka spoke. ‘When I was a boy the land was different. The seasons change it. In some places the wind has blown the sand so much the ground is as hard as our cooking pots. In other places the sand has gathered and become very tall. In these places you will have to dig very far to find what you seek.’
‘How far will I have to dig?’
!Ka pointed his pipe at the hut, some thirty feet away, where Chrissy slept. ‘As far as that. Maybe more.’ He puffed on the pipe again, enjoyment evident on his face. ‘I have not seen stones in this place for many seasons. But I have not visited where the ground is hard since I was a young man.’ !Ka smiled at him. ‘You know—for you have learned well—how useless such land is to us. The Mantis has seen fit to move the sands. Who knows! Perhaps he blows it away for a reason. You might know this reason, !Oma, for you have the mark of the Moon on you.’
‘Indeed, my father. I will seek both the hard land and the deep sand when I return.’
‘Go to the hard land first. When I was a boy I saw many such stones there. If you do not find your stones then go to the place where the Mantis sends the sand. It will not be too far. Follow the direction of the wind, my son. Stop where the sand is so tall you cannot find the land underneath.’ He shook his head. ‘I hope it will be worth such hard work.’
Alex smiled. ‘I know you have no use for such things but the white man desires them very much.’
‘What use does the white man find for these stones?’
‘He makes ornaments for his women.’
!Ka was impressed. ‘He must be very clever. We cannot use them, they are too hard for us to work.’
‘He has made special tools to work the stones.’
!Ka sighed. ‘He seems a clever fellow then. It has always been so, ever since he tricked us to give him our share of the animals. He is . . .’ !Ka struggled to find the right words, ‘. . . he must be a restless man, for only restless men seek those things not readily available.’ !Ka did not actually use a word for restless—the word didn’t exist in the San vocabulary. The way he put it, a combination of words and sounds, took several minutes and described the antics of foraging ants, the wind and the seemingly pointless actions of the jackal who is hardly ever still.
Alex nodded. ‘You are right. The white man is restless, like the jackal.’
‘Restless men are not easily satisfied. Nor is the clever old man jackal.’
‘No.’
‘Are all white men like this?’
Alex smiled. ‘Most of them.’
‘Is this not foolish? Do they not take time to sit and talk? What is it that makes them so restless?’ As with all Bushmen, and despite his belief that the jackal was a clever hunter, !Ka held the restlessness of this animal in the utmost contempt. His belief, that the distinctive black, white, cream and tan markings on the jackal’s back had not been put there by the Great God, but burned there when !Ka’s own ancestors had thrown the contents of a cooking pot over the animal when they could stand his agitated actions no longer, was deeply entrenched and never questioned. It was not the animal itself the San despis
ed, just his constant motion.
‘To answer your question is hard,’ Alex said. ‘The San do not understand the white man’s heart, just as the white man does not understand the heart of the San.’
‘That is very true,’ !Ka said quietly. ‘Is !ebili going to try and make us understand?’
Alex hesitated, collecting his thoughts. Then, ‘When the white man is a child he is taught to be better than all the rest. He is encouraged to run faster, be stronger, be more clever than everyone else. This is where it starts. By the time he is a man he has learned to be restless because he is always seeking that which is just out of reach. He needs to show the others how clever he is. It is something he cannot help.’ The men were listening intently. Alex knew his words would be repeated again and again. ‘Your people say it is wrong to fight or boast or be selfish. You believe it is pointless to want more than you need. The white man does not believe it is wrong or pointless. To him, these things make him strong. Do you understand?’
!Ka shook his head. ‘Then tell us this, !Oma. Where will the white man go when he can go no further?’
Alex knew he had reached the extremity of !Ka’s understanding. And he knew to speak of space exploration or new technology would not be believed and the men would be insulted to think he would lie to them. So he said, ‘I think when the white man can go no further he will become so dissatisfied he will destroy himself.’
!Ka clapped his hands softly. ‘Then, !Oma, the white man is not as clever as the jackal. Would it not be better for you to seek these stones slowly. If you find them as a young man, where will you go then?’
Alex stared into the fire a long time before he answered. No-one else spoke. They politely waited for him to find his words. ‘I have but one life,’ he said finally. ‘I seek these stones so I can live my life according to my heart’s wishes. You see, you have taught me your ways and yet I have learned the white man ways too. If I have these stones I can live both ways. I must do this for I have both ways inside me.’ He paused again, wondering if he could make them understand. ‘When the Great God created himself he said, “I am Chidole, no-one can command me,” and he then made the food and the water so all men could live.’
Edge of the Rain Page 20
