Sweet Roots and Honey

by Gwen Westwood

  A large bat was clinging to the iron rail at the bottom of her bed. Perry let out a scream of horror. If there was one thing she hated it was the thought of spending the rest of the night with a bat in the room. She had always had something that amounted almost to a phobia about the creatures. Before she could decide what to do next there was a light tap at the door.

  'Perry, for God's sake, why did you scream? Are you dreaming, or is there something wrong?'

  She flung open the door and hurled herself at Fabian.

  'Take it away, take it away,' she implored. 'There's a huge bat in my room!'

  Fabian laughed. His protective arms tightened around her.

  'A bat? Thank heaven! I thought you'd found a snake in your bed.'

  'But how can I get rid of it?'

  She had recovered a little from her fright and tried to slip from his grasp, but he held her close, still smiling teasingly.

  'We'll turn out the light and let it settle, then I can deal with it.'

  Through the window that faced on to the courtyard they could see the bat flying with wild swoops backwards and forwards across the light.

  'Come and sit on this seat while I turn off the light. We'd better choose a dark corner because the flying ants are out. That's what attracted the bat in the first place, I expect.'

  Termite ants were fluttering around a lamp that had been left alight at the corner of the building, making a rustling sound as they took their nuptial flight with silver wings that they were to lose as soon as they dropped back to the ground.

  'It's a sign that the rains can't be far off,' said Fabian. 'They tell me they had a small shower here yesterday. You may see spring in the desert after all.'

  He drew her down to the seat and seemed in no hurry to go back to deal with the bat. Perry was aware all at once that she had come out of the room with no covering but the scanty halter-necked nightdress, and she shivered. His arm came around her, but firmly she shrugged it away.

  'Fabian, please do something about that horrible creature!'

  'Very well, but it seems a pity. It's much pleasanter sitting here.'

  Alone at last, she sat watching the silver wings of the termites fluttering in gauzy transparency against the light. Fabian probably thought she had acted in a ridiculous fashion. His fleeting approval for her part in yesterday's journey would be cancelled by her cowardice about the bat But she could not help the shudder of repulsion that was aroused at the thought of the weird creature in her room.

  'It's gone,' Fabian said. 'It won't worry you again.'

  She did not ask him what he had done to it - she preferred not to know. He had a hatred of killing wild creatures of whatever kind and she did not want to be blamed for another death. Perhaps he had just let it go. She hoped if he had done this it would not come back. But she did not ask him. He had brought her gown with him and slipped it over her shoulders.

  'Stay a little,' he said, 'and calm down. You were a nervous wreck back there only on account of a poor little bat - and yet you face the hazards of the desert quite bravely,'

  'It seems different somehow here.'

  'Yes, did you find it stuffy sleeping with a roof over your head?' And as she nodded, 'It seems a pity to go in on a warm night. It's much pleasanter out here. Don't you agree?'

  It was pleasant. The warm air was stirred occasionally by a cool breath of wind and the stars hung low. It could not be far from the dawn. But she did not want to be too near to this man with his protective arms that could tighten as if he felt some other kind of emotion.

  'Let's stroll for a while,' she suggested.

  'Stroll?' He grinned as if he saw through her device to get away from the seat where he was sitting so near to her in the darkness.

  'Just along the village street,' she pleaded.

  There was not even a sidewalk and the road was not smooth. It was odd to be walking where there were buildings. Not a soul was stirring. They seemed to be the only wakeful people in the little town. They had not walked very far when she stumbled on the uneven ground. He caught her arm and the next moment what she had been trying to prevent happened. She was in his arms. His head came down and he kissed her in a long hard embrace before she broke away from him. The stars seemed to be spinning overhead and she felt breathless and unsteady. Odd, in Johannesburg she always felt able to deal crisply and certainly with this kind of situation, but with this man she had a feeling of helplessness as if it were he who was in command. She pulled herself away from him, repressing the surprising emotion that had surged up when his firm hands encircled her as if he had placed a golden chain around her waist.

  'We must go back,' she whispered, trembling.

  He was a dark shadow beside her, holding her to him, but he nodded his head and started to walk slowly back the way they had come. When they reached the door of her room he did not attempt to kiss her again as she had feared might happen. He looked down at her with grave grey eyes, for once not teasing or mocking her.

  'Go to bed, Perry, and may there be no more bats or other creepy-crawlies tonight. Mark's plane will be in tomorrow morning. I'm hoping he'll get here quite early.'

  'Mark?' Perry shivered, and this time it was not because of the cold dawn breeze that was already blowing away the stars.

  'Mark Winthrop. He's becoming quite well-known in the wild life field. We're fortunate to get him. I always wanted him to come on this expedition, but he was tied up at the time. Now he's free. He's an excellent man. I've known him since he was a boy.'

  'I too,' said Perry. It had slipped out, this thing that she had meant he should never know.

  'You?' The light from the courtyard was shining on her face and he seemed to detect some expression that she had hoped was hidden. At the same time some kind of realization seemed to dawn on him. He frowned darkly.

  'Why do you look like that?' cried Perry.

  'He's the one - the man that you loved and from whom you were separated. I've thought all along there must have been something of the kind.'

  'Yes,' Perry admitted. Oh, he was clever, this man. He could detect one's innermost feelings even if he had little sympathy for sentiment.

  'But how was it that you were separated?' he asked. 'I would have said you would be very well suited to Mark as I know him. He's a fine man and very clever in his profession. He should go far. Who could have thought you weren't suitable for each other?'

  Perry began to laugh. The varying emotions of the last hour had played upon her nerves as the young Bushman played the taut strings of his guachi.

  'You did,' she said. 'You, Fabian. You separated us from each other. You advised Mark that he was not to marry me, that he was to put his career first. We parted and we've never seen each other since. Yes, you're the man whom I can thank for a life of empty years.'

  CHAPTER NINE

  Next morning when Perry was awakened by a knock on the door, she could not think for a moment where she was. The white-painted walls, the rough beams above her head, were so different from the green gloom of her little tent. Then she remembered.

  'Come in,' she called sleepily.

  A smiling African maid in a blue overall came in bearing a tray of coffee, placed it on the bedside table and silently withdrew. Perry lay there gradually awakening. The events of the night before seemed like a dream. Mark! Could it be true that he was really arriving here today? She raised herself on her elbow and poured the coffee. She had started to sip it when she noticed a slip of paper tucked under the sugar basin. Unfolding the note, she saw black clear handwriting sprawling across the page: 'Dear Perry, By the time you get this I will be on my way to see the Bushman paintings I mentioned yesterday. I've borrowed a smaller vehicle. It isn't far and I should be back in time for a late breakfast, so we can be on our way back to camp today. I thought after last night's conversation that you would welcome the chance to meet Marie alone. Good luck the second time around. Fabian.'

  Oh, heavens, why had he done this? She did not know which would be wor
se, to meet Mark for the first time after all these years conscious of Fabian's mocking gaze, or to meet him alone and try to disguise the emotions she was bound to feel. But as she sipped her coffee she began to feel revived. Of course Fabian was right. It was maddening, but he usually was. It would be wonderful to meet Mark again on her own. He was not expecting to meet her, so she could observe his reaction, for he would not have had time to think about it. A feeling of thrilling dread intermingled with joy filled her whole being. She sprang up and looked in the small mirror of the cheap wooden dressing table. Eyes the colour of amber, in their fringe of dark gold-tipped lashes, stared back at her, distended and anxious. Gold-red hair gleamed in the sunshine that was already creeping in at the window. Had she changed very drastically? She tried to remember the innocent trusting face of the young girl Mark had known and to relate it to the experienced, sophisticated good looks of the career girl she had become. What would he think of her? She would soon know.

  She showered and dressed carefully, regretfully discarding the more glamorous clothes she had worn last night in favour of blue denim jeans and a plain navy blouse. She brushed her hair until it shone and looked with some dissatisfaction at the golden tan that had covered her usually creamy skin. The owner of the hotel met her at the reception desk.

  'Mr. Sinclair asked me to lend you a car to go to the air-strip. It's only an old Ford, but you'll find it easier to drive than the truck. You know the way, don't you? A message came to say that the plane should be in during the next fifteen minutes.'

  She stood there trying not to think, concentrating on the windsock that was distended by the morning breeze, for if she thought that in a few minutes she was to meet Mark, something seemed to happen inside her, a quivering of nerves that she found difficult to control. At last it appeared, a small jet-engined plane, growing swiftly from a small gleam in the sky to a huge bird that filled the heavens with tearing noise. And then it was down and the shrieking engine was silenced. She watched as the plane door opened, unable to move so filled was she with tremulous joy and fear. The man who descended from the plane was shorter and stockier than the Mark who existed in her memory. There was some delay as he bade farewell to the pilot and the plane started to taxi slowly to the hangar. Then he looked around and seeing the car parked some way from the runway he picked up a suitcase and started walking towards it. She had thought when she saw him she would run towards him, but at the last moment she felt shy and confused, almost as if she were the young girl who had parted from him all those years ago.

  Now he was only a few yards away and it was his turn to stand amazed. Then he put down his suitcase and quickened his step. His eyes were still that wonderful blue that had fascinated her as a girl, but his hair seemed darker, crisp and streaked with the sun. The clear skin of the young boy had been replaced by a brown weather-beaten complexion with small crisscross lines around the eyes. But he was a good-looking man - possibly better-looking than she remembered. His smile was still the same as he stood before her and took her hand.

  'Perry, am I dreaming? It can't be you, surely.'

  She nodded, ashamed of the tears that came to her eyes. 'What are you doing here?'

  She explained the situation as she led the way to the car. After that first handshake he had not attempted to touch her, and she was glad of this. He volunteered to drive, and she relinquished the wheel, glad of the opportunity as he examined the gears to wipe away the tears from her eyes without his noticing. For now that this dramatic meeting was over, she was conscious of a feeling of anticlimax. What had she expected? How ridiculous to expect that they would start again by feeling the same emotions they had felt for each other eight years ago. They had both grown older and they had been leading different lives. But somehow she felt let down. Her romantic dream of Mark did not coincide with the reality of the stocky, pleasant-looking man at her side. The terrific thrill that she had felt merely to be with him had gone. But she had scarcely spoken to him. She cast around in her mind for something to say.

  'Did you have a good journey?' she asked.

  'Very pleasant,' he said. 'We ran into a bit of storm, but it was soon over.'

  His voice had changed. When she had known him before it had been the eager young voice of an enthusiastic boy, now it was the voice of a man, pleasant, courteous but indifferent. He turned to give her a swift glance as he negotiated the bumpy road to the little town.

  'This is great to see you again. I never expected it, especially here. We'll have lots to talk about, but we'll save it for when we get to our destination. By the way, where is Fabian? I had expected he would meet me.'

  'He's gone to see some Bushman paintings. It isn't too far away. He said he would be back for a late breakfast.'

  'Trust Fabian to make the most of being here. I should have thought he would have had enough of travelling yesterday. It must have been pretty rough bringing an injured man in. Not the kind of thing I would have imagined you doing, Perry.'

  How did he know, she thought, what kind of thing she would do? He did not know her now.

  'I wouldn't have thought photographing the desert was quite your line of country,' he said when she had explained her role in the expedition. 'You must be a little more rugged than I remember, I've heard occasionally of your work in Johannesburg. Once I saw some of your photographs at an exhibition. They were very good, very sophisticated, indoor stuff, models and soon.'

  So he had thought about her sufficiently to take an interest in her work. Perry was touched. Perhaps after all they would find some common ground. But at the moment she felt she was talking to a stranger. And she felt this even more so as they sat over breakfast. He had said they would find plenty to tell each other, but the inspiration they had always found in each other's company had vanished. Before her was a pleasant enough man, a little taciturn when it came to conversation so that she found herself struggling not to have large gaps of silence. He was different in this respect from Fabian, she thought. However annoying, conversation with Fabian was easy; they always had something to say to each other.

  She began to feel depressed. Was it not possible to experience the emotions again that she had felt when she was a girl? Had love vanished for ever? She had never felt interest in any other man because she had always thought that her feelings could not equal the love she had felt for Mark, and yet here he was sitting at the breakfast table with her and she was wondering what to say to him next. She found herself wishing that Fabian would return. He had said he would not be long and he had been away for some hours having started off in the early part of the morning.

  'How far away are these paintings?' she asked the hotel keeper, unable to conceal her restlessness and eagerness to start back to the encampment.

  'Only a few miles away and very easy to find. Mr. Sinclair must have found them more interesting than likely because I would have thought he would have been back long ago. He said he wanted to start back at eight.'

  It was after nine. If they were to accomplish the journey by daylight, they should be on their way. What could be keeping Fabian?

  'Let's pads the truck and be ready,' said Mark, obviously as eager as she was to get going. 'If he isn't back in another half hour we'll go in search of him. The route there is quite clearly defined, I understand.'

  'There's a trapdoor on to the roof. Perhaps you would like to take the glasses and look over the desert from there. You should be able to see the jeep coming back,' the manager suggested.

  They went up a ladder on to the roof. In the distance lay the desert, mile upon mile. Mark was the first to look through the glasses.

  'Good God!' he exclaimed. Perry felt a twist of fear. 'There are bush fires in several places near the track. I think Fabian may have run into difficulties. I'll take the truck and go after him, perhaps I can collect some Africans to help.'

  'Let me come too,' Perry demanded.

  'I hardly think you need to do that. It would be best if you waited here.'

  'But I unde
rstand the truck. I could drive it if necessary.'

  Perry had seized on the first excuse she could think of. She felt determined to go in search of Fabian. She found she could not stand the idea of being left here alone to wait and wonder what was happening.

  'All right,' said Mark.

  He seemed as if he could not bother to argue with her because he was in such a hurry to get going. He spoke to the manager, who produced a quantity of sacks which they soaked with water, and he himself joined them with a number of the servants from the hotel. He brought some wet towels too, explaining that if they had to go through smoke it would be best to have these available. As they reached the outskirts of the town and came into the open desert, they could see the grey pall of smoke from the fires that were all around and stretching to the horizon.

  'It's the time for fires in this part of the world,' said the hotel manager. 'The driest time of year. Soon the rains will come and we'll be safe for a while longer.'

  They bounced along the rugged track and all the time Perry was hoping desperately that she would see the jeep that Fabian had borrowed coming along in the opposite direction. Why was she so frightened? Fabian was experienced in desert life. He could look after himself. There was no need to feel this desperate confusion, this secret heavy dread that seemed to clutch at her very heart. And now they came to a place where there was an outcrop of rocks towering up rather surprisingly above the neighbouring scrub.

  'There's the jeep,' exclaimed Mark. 'So where's Fabian?'

  As he spoke there was a crackling noise to the right and a burning wall of fire appeared shimmering near to the rocks.