Shadows in the Grass

by Beverley Harper

  Sodden horses and cattle turned their backs to the wind and stood, eyes closed, streaming wet, muscles flinching involuntarily. The storm pounded them for a good twenty minutes before tapering off to a steady rain.

  ‘Well,’ Logan announced cheerfully, his voice louder than necessary in the returning calm, ‘that’s that for tonight. It’ll stop soon and the boys can get a fire going.’

  It did. Abruptly. The weather in Africa, like everything else, didn’t hold back but there was a predictability about it. No pretence. When it rained, it poured. When it stopped, that was it. No coy little afterthoughts or days of dismal drizzle.

  Emerging from cover, Dallas was surprised to see expressions of pure terror on the faces of the Africans as they peered out from shelter. He beckoned Mister David who, with obvious reluctance, crawled from protection and, glancing nervously around, joined Dallas. ‘Tell the boys to start a fire. There’s dry wood in Master Green’s wagon, they can get it going with that.’

  ‘I will tell them, master.’

  Mister David sounded so doubtful that Dallas was quick to reprimand him. ‘If they will not follow your instructions, you are of little use to me.’

  ‘Please, master.’ Mister David cast a fearful look towards the sky. ‘We are not protected. We must wait.’

  It suddenly dawned on Dallas that he might be blundering into an area of superstition or taboo. ‘Get back under cover, Mister David. I will call you in a short while.’

  His driver needed no second bidding.

  Dallas sought explanation from Logan and Will. ‘Could one of you please tell me why the Africans are so scared?’

  Will shrugged. ‘Bloody natives. Any excuse not to work. All their talk of heaven doctors is crazy.’

  ‘No it’s not,’ Logan contradicted. ‘It may be different from what we understand but there’s a lot of commonsense in what they believe.’

  ‘Sure,’ Will sneered. ‘Sap, bird fat and bark smeared on a wooden peg to ward off lightning. That’s quite logical, I suppose.’ He winked at Dallas. ‘Or how about the fat and feathers of a lightning bird? If you’re quick, you’ll find one where lightning strikes the ground.’

  ‘Don’t make fun of what you fail to understand,’ Logan warned. ‘Anyway, you’ve got it wrong. The lightning bird is used to initiate a heaven doctor. It’s not used by him.’

  ‘How pleased I am to have asked the question,’ Dallas cut in with heavy sarcasm. ‘I’ve thoroughly enjoyed listening to the two of you bicker. Thank you.’

  Will snorted. ‘Load of mumbo jumbo, if you ask me.’

  It was Logan who supplied an answer of sorts. ‘Best I keep it simple, old chap. For the moment, it’s enough for you to understand that the Zulus have a variety of medical and magic specialists. I don’t know them all, but there are three main doctors in every village. One is basically a herbalist whose skills are handed down from father to son. By and large these doctors, or inyanga as they’re called, are just like our apothecaries. In fact, I’d go so far as to say most are more knowledgeable.’

  Logan scowled at Will, who was grinning. ‘Laugh if you like. In a lot of cases their medicines are a damned sight more effective than ours.’

  ‘You’re welcome to them,’ Will told him. ‘I’ll take my chances with something more civilised.’

  Logan ignored Will’s comment and went on. ‘The most prestigious inyanga are known as sangoma. They have extensive knowledge of herbs and roots but are essentially diviners who have been, or so the Zulus believe, possessed by spirits. Their function is primarily to read omens and predict the future. The third kind of inyanga is a heaven doctor or heaven herd. He is said to be in sympathy with heaven and can protect animals, individuals or entire villages from severe storms. There are a whole lot of superstitions about thunder and lightning that are deeply entrenched in all Zulus. That’s why our boys are scared. They had not been protected by a heaven herd.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Dallas said sincerely. ‘Your explanation has saved me from making an embarrassing mistake. When can we reasonably expect them to emerge from under the wagons?’

  Will scrambled from cover. ‘They’ll come out now if they know what’s good for them.’

  ‘No!’ Logan’s voice turned sharp. ‘It would be best if we showed by example that it’s quite safe.’

  All three stood together on the sodden and steaming ground. The afternoon air had turned soft and cool. Crickets and tree frogs were in full voice. Black clouds rolled westwards. Above and behind them a late afternoon sun fanned shards of light into a clearing sky. Cattle and horses had spread out to graze hungrily. There was a pungent aroma of wet earth in the tranquil stillness. If the Zulus could be coaxed into starting a cooking fire, Dallas thought everything would be perfect.

  The unexpected appearance of a man on horseback dispelled any feeling of well-being. ‘Will Green! Get this mangy lot off my land or I’ll set the dogs on you.’

  Will offered a sick smile. ‘Nice to see you again, Mr Carruthers.’

  The irate owner’s ferocious expression did not waver as he glared at Will. ‘Go on. Clear off, the lot of you.’

  Dallas approached the horse and rider.

  The farmer shifted his ire to Dallas. ‘And who are you?’ He didn’t wait for a response. ‘How dare you people presume to use my land without permission.’

  Will had a look of injured innocence on his face and was about to object. Dallas just knew that whatever he was about to say would not sit well with this man. Will gasped with pain as the heel of a boot made sharp contact with his ankle. Ignoring him, Dallas smiled up at the farmer. ‘Dallas Granger, at your service, sir. Please accept my apologies for any presumption. I was given to understand that we were welcome to outspan here for the night?’

  The swift kick had not gone unnoticed but Mr Carruthers confined his satisfaction to a grim smile. ‘Then you are very much mistaken, Mr Granger, for I do not need the likes of Will Green anywhere near my land. Last time I allowed that scoundrel to camp here he scarpered without so much as a thank you.’

  ‘In that case, I fully sympathise with your displeasure.’

  Dallas’s quiet voice and manner were getting through to the farmer. ‘Why should I trust him again?’

  ‘Sir, Mr Green is employed by me now. While I cannot vouch for his past debts I will most certainly pay whatever you ask for us to remain here.’

  Disarmed, Mr Carruthers ummed and erred before grudgingly allowing them to stay on condition that Dallas settle in advance. ‘Be gone by first light,’ he warned as a parting shot. ‘I’m not running a charity.’ A finger pointed at Will. ‘You still owe me a pound from last time.’

  ‘I meant to pay, honest. It’s just that we was in a hurry and didn’t know how to find you.’

  ‘That is an outright lie, Green. Do not heap insult on top of dishonesty.’ The farmer scowled at Will. ‘I was here well before sun-up. Such an explanation is unacceptable. You had no intention of honouring our arrangement.’

  Will went to argue but Dallas interrupted. ‘Pay him,’ he ordered.

  ‘But –’

  ‘Pay him, by God, or I’ll take it out of your hide.’

  Grumbling, Will produced a dirty, torn note and reluctantly handed it over.

  The farmer snatched it and examined Will’s offering closely before folding the note and placing it in a pocket.

  ‘Mr Carruthers,’ Dallas addressed the now much placated owner. ‘I do hope that this unfortunate incident has not soured you against future dealings between us. This meadow is most pleasant, for both man and beast.’

  ‘Aye. It’s here for the benefit of travellers. Those that pay, that is. I’m not a greedy man, understand, but neither do I give away good feed, water and shelter. It’s been a pleasure doing business with you, young man. You are welcome to use this place in future. Good day to you, sir.’ Without another glance at Will, Mr Carruthers rode off.

  Dallas closed his eyes in frustrated anger. Where was the end of Will’
s duplicity? He was sick to death of ferreting for the truth in everything the man said. Openly allowing annoyance to show, he spoke coldly. ‘I’m reasonably certain that you have, by now, concocted some kind of feeble excuse. I do not wish to hear it. You, however, will listen to what I have to say. As a man of honour, I do not take kindly to being tarnished by someone else’s knavery. In fact, Will, I won’t tolerate it. Do you understand what I’m saying?’

  ‘I –’

  ‘Is that clear?’ Dallas thundered.

  ‘Yes.’ Will took on the look of a child caught raiding the pantry.

  ‘Good. Please keep this warning at the forefront of your forgetful mind.’ Dallas turned away. ‘If indeed you have one,’ he muttered to himself.

  Damn the man! As he walked over to where a fire now flickered, Dallas had to admit that Will’s little aberrations were not that different from his own past escapades. No malice intended, simply a recurring habit of offending others or things blowing up in his face. The only difference, so far as he could see, was that Will’s conscience and his had taken different forks in the road. No, that was unfair. In his heart of hearts Dallas could see the difference between dodging a fee for the use of private land and . . . The memory of Lord de Iongh’s shocked face came into focus. Was he seriously searching for a favourable comparison for himself?

  A man of honour. His very words to Will. His mother had once said of a guest, ‘The ghastly man speaks so endlessly of his own honour that, I swear, it makes me want to check the silver after he’s gone.’

  Troubled by his thoughts, Dallas went to where Will was examining the surcingle on his saddle.

  Will looked up, wary yet open.

  ‘Can we make a deal?’

  Will nodded.

  ‘No more surprises.’

  Such an idea was obviously alien to the Yorkshireman. ‘Well now, I never meant to mislead you. A man forgets.’

  There was no guile that Dallas could see. ‘You forgot you owed him money?’

  Will shrugged and looked defiant. ‘Course not. With the storm and that, I didn’t think he’d see us. Where was the harm?’

  ‘Dishonesty, Will, especially if you’re on the receiving end, does not make a man your friend. We needed the safe haven. Your previous actions made us unwelcome. Can’t you see the harm in that?’

  ‘Wouldn’t have been none if we’d got away with it. You’d have saved a pound.’ Will looked aggrieved. ‘And so would I.’

  Dallas huffed a breath. ‘Don’t test me,’ he said lamely.

  Logan looked amused when Dallas returned to the fire. ‘You’re wasting your time, old chap. The man’s a rogue.’

  ‘We’re all that, one way or another,’ Dallas reflected flatly. ‘The fact that Will isn’t clever enough to hide his duplicity probably makes him less deceitful than those who can.’

  Logan whistled. ‘That’s profound.’

  Dallas smiled. ‘Must be the open air.’

  Will joined them. ‘I was just thinking . . .’

  Two pairs of eyes skewered him.

  ‘What? What have I said?’

  ‘Old boy, you have just stated the height of impossibility.’

  ‘Well!’ Will was affronted. ‘If you don’t want to hear it . . .’

  ‘I can hardly wait,’ Logan intoned with heavy sarcasm.

  ‘Tomorrow night,’ Will went on with dogged determination. ‘I know this man . . .’ He saw doubt on Dallas’s face. ‘I don’t owe him money. Honest.’

  EIGHT

  Will had spoken the truth. He had, however, omitted to mention a small matter of the man’s sister. As they hastily beat a retreat the next evening, Dallas was imagining all the painful things he’d like to do to his partner. ‘Jeez! How was I to know she thought I’d marry her?’ were very nearly the last words Will ever uttered.

  ‘That’s it,’ Logan fumed once they were out of rifle range. ‘From now on we outspan anywhere but where Will suggests.’

  The route they travelled was much used by hunters and adventurers, hardy individuals in search of wealth or new horizons. Most would trek north-west to the highveld country but it was at Colenso, just over a hundred miles from Durban, where the Thukela seriously began its journey to the Indian Ocean, that Will recommended they turn off and work the two hundred meandering miles back to the river mouth. North of the Thukela lay traditional royal-house-ruled Zululand. While Zulus also lived to the south, in English-governed Natal Province, they were regarded as exiles. Will’s plan, at least in theory, was to find suitable river crossings and trade on both sides. It was Logan who, rather belatedly Dallas thought, pointed out that Thukela actually meant ‘the startling one’ because of its unpredictable habit of rising with no warning. Those they met along the way didn’t add to Dallas’s confidence level. They offered advice and information in abundance but their opinions varied wildly. It soon became obvious that, with very few exceptions, not many could quote first-hand experiences. Most, however, recommended a change of plans. It seemed that everyone knew someone who had ventured into the Thukela river system, never to be seen again.

  Having objected to their intended route from the outset, Logan took each new story seriously and tried, time and again, to have them turn back. Will remained optimistic and would not be swayed. Dallas suspected that most tales told owed their substance to over-vivid imaginations. Seeking practical information from Mister David was a waste of time. His knowledge, or lack of it, also stemmed from hearsay, exacerbated by tales told by other drivers as they sat around the campfire. What Dallas found increasingly and worryingly obvious was that while Will’s suggestion had merit and made practical sense from the point of view of trading, the Yorkshireman didn’t actually have a clue about the country, the people or anything else they might encounter along the way.

  Will’s track record, to date, hadn’t exactly been exemplary. The closer they came to Colenso, the more Logan fretted. Will remained adamant and Dallas had no idea if they were doing the right thing or not.

  Five days into the trip he spoke of his dilemma. Predictably, this set off an argument that, like most others on the same topic, seemed to go around in an endless circle.

  Sick of it, Dallas cut into the bickering. ‘For God’s sake, both of you, shut up.’

  He had their attention.

  ‘We decide. Once and for all. Now! After that, no more dissent. Agreed?’

  ‘Agreed.’

  Dallas glared at Logan. He looked as if he agreed. He turned his eyes to Will. Was it too much to hope for? Will certainly didn’t sound committed when he said, ‘Sure.’

  ‘You’d better be.’ Dallas spat out each word clearly. He’d had enough of these two and made no attempt to hide it.

  Will’s eyes dropped. ‘I am.’

  Logan produced three coins. ‘What about we flip?’

  ‘Flip! This isn’t a bloody game.’

  Logan grinned. It wasn’t a very nice one. More of a snarl, really. ‘What is it, then? You tell me. I’ve never seen a more hit-and-miss enterprise than this. One common-as-muck little crook and a benighted, wet-behind-the-ears doob. Why not toss a coin? It makes as much sense as anything else on this ridiculous venture. Come on. You’re both gambling men. Let’s decide our fate with a little help from Lady Luck. I’m game.’

  Dallas and Will exchanged glances. In the Yorkshireman’s eyes was temptation. Logan was talking his language. Will’s hand went out to accept a coin.

  What the hell? Dallas thought, a strangely daredevil feeling inside him. He put out his own hand.

  ‘Right.’ Logan stood poised to flip. ‘On the count of three. Two or three heads and we carry on. Tails we go back to the coast.’

  ‘Just a minute.’ Will wanted to examine each silver florin.

  ‘Satisfied?’ Logan asked heavily.

  ‘I am now.’

  ‘One, two, three.’ The coins spun high into the air and were left to land on the ground. ‘Heads!’ Will yelled. ‘Two are heads.’

  In d
efeat, Logan was gracious. ‘Very well. You’ll hear no more from me. We go on. I’ll have my money back, Will, if you don’t mind.’

  Will retrieved the coins from his pocket, shrugged, and handed them over with a sheepish smile.

  So they went on. Logan was as good as his word, uttering not one complaint or caution. After a couple of days, however, Dallas came to realise that the man’s face could be more expressive than any stated comment.

  Their decision finally taken, Dallas turned his attention to learning more about his new home. While Logan’s assessment that he was ignorant and inexperienced had hit home, he was damned if the man could accuse him of being uneducated. A doob, indeed! He’d show them.

  He took to sitting on the wagon for a large proportion of each day, using the opportunity to quiz Mister David on matters of Zulu political and social history. It didn’t take long for him to realise that while people like Will and Logan could readily quote facts, their assimilation of them fell woefully short of the mark.

  Sitting around the fire at night, Dallas would hear dramatic tales of past kings and their deeds from his two white companions. The next day, Mister David filled in the details. Will and Logan gave him the shape and colour while the Zulu added contrast and reason.

  ‘Is it wrong to speak of your king?’ Dallas asked his driver, seeking to clarify a comment of Will’s from the previous evening that to even look at a Zulu king the wrong way was courting death.

  Mister David settled himself. A born storyteller, he enjoyed educating this white master. ‘No, but to say his name is considered disrespectful. We call him “our father”. This is so because he is the only one among us who can act for our ancestors.’

  ‘I thought a sangoma could do that.’

  ‘They speak to the ancestors and receive messages from them. Our father is like one of them only he is here with us.’

  Dallas saw an immediate similarity between this man’s position and the Pope. A representative on earth.

  ‘He lives in a big kraal which we call isigodlo. All his wives, children, many soldiers and servants live with him. It is forbidden to enter unless you are summoned.’