Edge of the Rain

by Beverley Harper

  Pru jumped to her feet. ‘I don’t have to listen to this.’ She turned to go.

  ‘Sit!’ Marv barked the command as if he was speaking to a dog.

  ‘I will not. Who do you think you are?’

  Marv groaned and lumbered to his feet. He put his hands on her shoulders and made her sit down, then stood over her. ‘Jesus, lady, I’m just a man who’d like to know you better. Do you have to make it so hard?’

  Pru went wordless again.

  Alex and Chrissy spoke together, trying to fill the awkward silence, stopped when each of them realised the other was speaking, started together again and finally fell silent themselves.

  Alex realised suddenly that his friend found Pru attractive but wasn’t sure how to get through the protective barriers she had erected, but Marv was having an inspirational night. He cut straight to the bone. ‘You are beautiful, intelligent and, when you’re not acting like a bloody spoilt brat, very nice. Give us all a break and just be yourself.’

  Pru’s mouth formed a perfect O.

  Chrissy said quickly, ‘I guess what Marv’s trying to say is you’re amongst friends. You’re way out in the African bush, under the stars, surrounded by space. There ain’t no-one here but us and we all like you au naturel.’

  Pru stood up suddenly.

  ‘Where are you going now?’ Marv demanded.

  ‘Inside.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘To get a bottle of wine. I brought some with me.’ She glared at Marv. ‘If that’s okay with you of course.’

  ‘Bring four glasses.’

  ‘Get them yourself.’

  Shaking his head, Marv followed her into the hut.

  Alex went to speak but Chrissy raised a finger to her lips. ‘She’s taking it in, it’s having an effect on her,’ she whispered.

  ‘How can you tell?’ he whispered back.

  She grinned. ‘He’s still alive isn’t he?’

  They could hear Marv and Pru in the kitchen. ‘I don’t suppose you have anything as useful as a corkscrew?’

  ‘Swiss army knife do? Or is that too basic for you?’

  ‘Don’t just stand there, open the bloody wine.’

  ‘Yes ma’ am.’

  They came back outside bickering. Marv poured the wine and handed out the glasses. ‘French,’ he said briefly, having tasted his.

  ‘Daddy says . . .’ She stopped abruptly. ‘It’s from Bellet. Locals swear by it. Travels well.’

  ‘You brought it all this way?’

  ‘No I did not. I found it in a wine shop in Johannesburg. I thought Chrissy might like some decent wine for a change.’

  ‘What’s wrong with South African wine?’ Marv asked, stung.

  ‘Nothing.’ She hesitated, then added, ‘If you like vinegar.’

  ‘South Africa has some excellent wines,’ Marv protested.

  ‘Really,’ Pru said coolly. ‘They must keep them well hidden.’

  The barbs kept coming. Finally Alex and Chrissy could take it no longer, said goodnight and left them to it. ‘They’re worse than children,’ Alex said once they were inside the hut. ‘I don’t know how much more of this Marv will stand for.’

  ‘She’s warming to him, trust me on this,’ Chrissy grinned at him. ‘No-one has ever stood up to her before.’

  The two of them were still arguing outside when Alex drifted off to sleep. At some stage during the night he was woken by a crash and a giggle. Marv and Pru were at the refrigerator getting another bottle of wine, whispering so as not to wake Alex and Chrissy. But, like most people when their sensibilities have been overruled by the intake of far too much alcohol, their whispered conversation sounded rather like they were using microphones. Alex turned over and went back to sleep. At least they’d stopped arguing.

  What seemed like seconds later he was jerked awake again by the most hideous noise. It took him some time to realise that Pru and Marv were lustily, and with no regard for the fact that neither of them could carry a tune, murdering ‘Poor Little Buttercup’. If the composers of Pirates of Penzance, and many other excellent operettas, had heard them, Alex doubted they would have recognised it as their own.

  Chrissy and Pru returned to Gaberones the next day. By the time they left, it was clear some kind of chemistry was happening between Marv and Pru.

  Twice, she started to say something about her parents but, with a look from Marv, she changed her mind.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Alex asked Chrissy.

  ‘At a guess, Marv’s directness has sliced straight through to Pru’s soul,’ Chrissy told him. ‘He could be exactly what she needs.’ She waved her hand at four empty wine bottles. ‘I think she could do without the hangover though.’

  Alex laughed. ‘Did you hear them?’

  ‘Hear them!’ She pulled a face. ‘They probably heard them in Gabs.’

  ‘It was Gilbert and Sullivan wasn’t it?’

  ‘God knows!’

  ‘Well I think it’s great. I’ve never seen two people less suited to each other, yet look at them. She could be exactly what he needs too,’ Alex replied. ‘Marv is reaching out to the hurt in her. She’s appealing to the mother in him.’

  ‘She’s appealing to a bit more than that,’ Chrissy grinned. ‘Get a load of the body language.’

  !Ka had indicated they should be searching an area further southwest from where they found the first diamond. It was land they had not considered suitable and, as far as Alex knew, was beyond the Molepolole chief’s area of tribal land.

  Alex surveyed the landscape doubtfully. ‘If we find anything I’ll probably have to go to Mafeking to find out who owns the place.’ They had set off to find the area as soon as the girls left.

  Marv looked sour. He was suffering horribly from a hangover. ‘Do that. It’d be nice to know we’re not going to be arrested for trespassing.’

  This was different country. Not desert, not grassy grazing land, somewhere in the middle. The ground was white, not the sandy yellow of further east. It looked like powdered chalk. And it was as hard as !Ka had promised.

  ‘Jesus!’ The pick hit rock and stopped dead, sending reverberations along Alex’s arms. ‘I hope !Ka’s wrong. I’m not sure I want to find anything here.’

  ‘You’d better hope we do, we’re running out of money.’

  Diamonds, at the best of times, are very hard to find. Geologists, using their knowledge of how the earth’s crust and mantle formed, of the Cretaceous period eighty million years ago when a weakness in the crust caused such pressure in the mantle to build up against seams in the crust that molten rock was forced towards the surface, know what they’re looking for. Despite the added benefit of technology, exploration budgets, aerial surveys and heavy equipment, they are not always successful. The carrot shaped kimberlite pipes, only a few of which carry diamonds with them, are inclined to be reticent about revealing their presence.

  Not encumbered with this knowledge, Alex and Marv were just plain lucky.

  On the third day, after two days of backbreaking nothing, vultures circling told them of a dead or dying animal. They found the ostrich, dead from a cause they did not bother to identify, a mile from where they had been working. Slitting open the gizzard, they sifted through its contents. And there they were. Not one, not two but six stones, the largest the size of a pea.

  Returning to where they had been working Alex realised that, between there and the ostrich, the ground rose slightly. He stopped and looked around. In an oval of perhaps a hundred feet, the ground had a curious yellow tinge. ‘Marv.’

  Marv stopped walking and turned back.

  ‘Is it me, or is this ground a different colour?’

  Marv squinted around him. ‘Maybe.’ He shaded his eyes. ‘Yes it is. It goes in a sort of circle.’

  They looked at each other. ‘This could be it,’ Alex whispered.

  ‘There aren’t any trees. I thought you said the vegetation . . .’

  ‘Nothing would grow on this ground, Marv.’
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br />   Marv’s face split into a grin. ‘What are we waiting for then?’

  ‘You go and get the Land Rover. I’ll stay here. We must have walked over this place several times and not noticed it. I don’t want to lose it now.’

  They worked the yellow ground for three days. While it was hardly diamond studded they found enough stones to keep them there. There were no anthills, no indicators, nothing textbook about the land but they found diamonds. They didn’t even have to dig. Once they had found a few their eyes grew used to seeing the distinctive shape. ‘I’d have walked straight past this,’ Marv said. They were averaging fourteen stones a day, although nothing as big as the diamond they found on the ridge where Nightmare had been. Most were hardly bigger than a pinhead. The ground was so hard they discovered the best way to search was to use their stiff brushes, sweep the top layer of dirt into a pile then scoop the pile into the fine mesh sieve. Marv swept and scooped. Alex sieved. After three days Alex decided it was time to find out who the land belonged to.

  Marv said he’d stay and keep looking. Alex took their precious store of stones with him. He wanted to know they were tucked away in a safe deposit box. There was no time to see Chrissy. He only just had time to organise a safe place for the diamonds and nearly missed the train. He called her from the railway station in Gaberones just before boarding the train for Mafeking. ‘I’ll be back day after tomorrow. See you then.’

  ‘What are you doing? Why are you going down to South Africa? Can you stay for a while?’

  ‘Don’t think so. I’ll tell you about it when I get back. Have you got a cold? Your voice sounds funny. Gotta go, train’s about to leave. Love you.’

  ‘Love you too. Bye,’ she croaked, sniffing.

  Discovering who owned the land proved impossible. As the administrative centre for Bechuanaland, Mafeking was responsible for maintaining and storing all legal documents, even though Mafeking itself was in neighbouring South Africa.

  ‘Sorry,’ the clerk said. ‘Since the District Commissioner’s Report seems to confirm that the people of Bechuanaland want independence, London has told us to be ready for a transfer of all records. We’ve already started crating. Land deeds were among the first since we figured land was hardly going to change hands while everything was up in the air. I’m afraid you’ll just have to wait.’

  ‘Until when?’

  ‘That depends on when Britain finally accepts the new constitution. Rumours are the move could take place as early as next February.’

  ‘Next February! That’s ten months away.’

  ‘Sorry, sir. There’s nothing I can do. I understand your frustration but please try to see our point of view. We’ve got records going back to 1895. If we left everything until the last minute it’d be one hell of a mess. As it is, we’re up against the clock. We still have to keep the show rolling. It’s not just a matter of packing up and labelling every damned thing that’s been documented for the last seventy years.’ The man waved his arm at his overflowing desk. ‘That includes births, deaths, weddings, prison records, land ownership, court matters . . .’ he took a deep breath.

  ‘Yes, yes,’ Alex said hastily to interrupt the flow. ‘Thank you for your time.’

  ‘I’d wait if I were you, especially if you want to buy land. The system’s likely to change. It’s going to be a black man’s country. Not much point in you buying something if the new government takes it off you is there?’ The clerk looked smug. ‘You whites will be sorry, you mark my words. Those bloody kaffirs will take it all back. All the hard work you’ve done will be for nothing. Those lazy buggers will just sit under the trees. I’m telling you, man, give them ten years and it’ll be like you were never there.’

  His attitude annoyed Alex. ‘That won’t affect me, I was born there. Besides,’ he added, to get the man’s goat, ‘I’m not white. My father was reclassified in this country. I’m coloured.’ For the first time in his life he could understand why his parents fled into Bechuanaland. The clerk made it plain that in South Africa white was right and black was the most undesirable thing since smallpox.

  The man was staring at him aghast. Alex stared back, unblinking. Finally, ‘You’re having me on. You’re not coloured, no way. Still,’ he frowned severely, like a displeased headmaster, ‘if you are coloured you’ve come through the wrong door. Blacks have to use the other entrance.’

  Alex looked to where he pointed. The two entrances were side by side. Once inside the building, a flimsy partition split the enquiries area in half. But anyone wanting to be served had to go to the same counter. They were served by the same staff. All the partition appeared to achieve was to prevent black customers from distressing white customers by being visible.

  He looked back at the clerk who was nervously watching him. ‘I’m sorry, baas. I didn’t see the other door.’ He turned to leave.

  ‘Hey!’

  Alex stifled a grin and turned back. ‘Yes, baas.’

  ‘You stop that, you hear. It might seem funny but if the police get ahold of you it won’t be funny. No, sir. They don’t take too kindly to that sort of thing.’

  Defeated, Alex returned to Gaberones. ‘Why don’t you ask Jacob?’ Chrissy suggested. ‘After all, the land is close to his. Maybe he knows.’

  He asked Chrissy about her cold but she said it had gone. Pru was out on a one-day tour of surrounding districts. ‘She’s a bit taken with Marv,’ Chrissy said. ‘She’s talking about staying here and finding a job.’

  ‘I’ll tell Marv. He hasn’t said a word about her but I think he’ll be pleased.’

  It was late afternoon and they were lying in bed. He had a bottle of beer on his chest and his arm under her neck. Chrissy was making suggestive movements on the bottle, encircling the neck and running her long tapered fingers down to the base. She was not touching him at all but the effect was the same.

  ‘You’re a witch.’ He watched her fingers. ‘I can feel that.’

  She laughed, throaty and languid. ‘How does this feel?’ She put the palm of her hand on the bottle opening and slowly rubbed in a circular movement. ‘Or this?’ She licked her fingertips and ran them very slowly down the neck of the bottle.

  Alex groaned. ‘I’ve made a tent.’

  Her fingers stroked the bottle. ‘Is it as strong as this?’

  He removed the bottle and leaned over her. ‘Better. Want to see?’

  The next morning he drove to Molepolole. He could have telephoned Jacob but he needed to show him on a map exactly where the land was. Jacob had a cavalier approach to land, especially if it bordered with his. Alex wanted to do this right. No slip-ups, no misunderstandings. There was too much at stake.

  Jacob did know who owned the land. ‘You plurry fool. Should have asked me first. That land belongs to the Chief.’

  ‘Does he use it?’ Alex knew that the Chief of an area had extraordinary powers. It was up to him to apportion land. If the land where he found the diamonds belonged to the Chief, depending on the nature of the Chief, it might short-circuit months of negotiating. It all hinged on whether the land was being used. If it wasn’t, Chief or not, others could ask for the right to use it.

  Jacob knew this too. ‘Have you seen cattle on it?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘He was using it last year.’

  ‘Where do I find him?’

  Jacob pointed. ‘See that big hut over there, that’s where he lives.’ Then, as Alex turned to go, ‘Wait, jong. Tch. You young people. Just wait up. There’s a kgotla meeting on at the moment. You can’t just bust into that.’

  The kgotla was the most important of all the Chief’s functions. It was during this time, seated inside a crescent of poles and surrounded by villagers, that he attended to all the administrative and tribal law matters affecting his village. He also had to arbitrate in the most serious of family disagreements. Only the most insurmountable problems were brought to the attention of the Chief. The kgotla was like the High Court. Alex knew better than to interrupt.

&n
bsp; Curbing his impatience he agreed to let Jacob get word to the Chief that Alex had something of importance to discuss with him. He returned to Gaberones to wait. It was three days before the Chief sent word that he could see him.

  He used the time to enjoy privacy with Chrissy. Although they had been seeing each other for nearly three months, Marv had always been with them. Pru was hardly ever there—she seemed to have an insatiable thirst for knowledge about Bechuanaland which took her out and about every day. When she was in their company she treated Alex with indifference as before but it seemed that her life was being filled by all the new things she was discovering and she hardly ever mentioned her parents. Alex was pleased for her. He was also pleased to see the back of her each day.

  With Pru out of the flat, they slept late, wandered naked around the place, bathed together, read the papers from South Africa passing sections back and forth, cooked breakfast together and made love often. Chrissy’s company was a constant delight. She had a quick mind and sparred verbally with him, topping his puns with her own, telling funny stories, letting him into her past life so that, although he had grown to know her very well, within those few days, he felt he had always known her.

  She came from Stirling in Scotland. ‘It’s like an overgrown country town,’ she told him. ‘Stirling castle dominates the city. You can see it for miles. It’s a lovely sight, especially on a summer’s night. There’s a wonderful statue of Sir William Wallace who led an important battle against the English in the thirteenth century. Stirling is full of history.’

  He loved to hear her speak. Her soft Scottish burr was like a song, lilting and calm. Calm was how he thought of her. He doubted she had ever questioned who or what she was. The serenity within her was a constant balm, delighting him with its soothing warmth.

  On Monday, while she was at work, Jacob telephoned. ‘The Chief can see you this morning. Eleven-thirty.’

  He looked at his watch. It was an hour’s drive to Molepolole and it was already after ten. To keep the Chief waiting would be an insult, resulting, more than likely, in a rejection. He rushed out of the flat, not stopping to write Chrissy a note. He knew she would understand.