Shooting Butterflies (8 page)

‘Ah, your mum will most likely sell it. I know Mr Potgieter has approached her already.'

‘He can't have our farm! It's not right!' Tara said. ‘He's horrid. Whenever I have seen him he always has on the same grass-green suit that looks like he'd split the seams at any moment. Gabe, it's the same colour as baby poop when they get diarrhoea. And his thick legs always in his green knee-high socks, and his safari shorts always ending just above his hairy knees.'

‘Don't be nasty about his lack of clothes sense. That look was in vogue a few years back.' Gabe smiled.

Tara grinned. ‘Did you see how his bushy beard sticks out at all angles, and he strokes it like it might be a cat. But it doesn't smooth down, it bounces up and curls around his hand as if it were snakes. Like Medusa from my Greek mythology book, except the hair is
on his face, not his head. And did you notice that his beady grey eyes are the same as his pit-bull terrier? Like those of a pig, slit and untrustworthy.'

‘Now you are just being nasty, Tara. You can have a problem with him, but you can't go around saying things like that—'

‘Only to you. I wouldn't dare to anyone one else, Gabe. But I don't want him to have our farm. I don't want anyone to have Whispering Winds, or anything that is ours, except us.'

Gabe smoothed a stray hair off her forehead. ‘Sometimes in life it's not what's right that happens, it's more like dumb blind luck. Come on, here comes your aunt and before she gets up at you again, let's get you on your feet and back with your mum.'

‘Thanks, Gabe,' Tara said. ‘I'm so glad I have a cousin like you.'

‘Me too,' he said.

Three weeks after the funeral, Gabe strode through the door of the house Maggie and the girls were renting in Bulawayo. It was so much smaller than the farmhouse that their furniture dominated the rooms. But Maggie had insisted that the girls complete their year of school, and she had moved the family to the city where the girls could continue as day scholars for the rest of the year.

‘Maggie, I'm here to take Tara to say goodbye to the horses. I'll bring her back on Sunday night.'

‘I still think it's a bad idea. I just wish she didn't need to go back there and that the two of you weren't so adamant to do this without me.'

‘It's not that we don't want you there, it's just that it's Tara's goodbye. You've had yours. The girls were still at boarding school when we packed up the farmhouse and moved you into the city. And when you left, you said you'd seen the last of Whispering Winds.'

‘I did. And I signed the papers to sell it to Buffel Potgieter last Monday. We don't own it anymore. The bank and everything has been dealt with. I told Mauve this when she called.'

‘I know, Mum did tell me. So I called Buffel, and I told him that we wanted to say goodbye, that we need closure. I've already let
him know we're there till Sunday, and he said it was fine. Just that we were not to shoot any of the animals.' He turned to Tara. ‘You packed?'

‘She packed on Tuesday,' Maggie said.

Tara was already standing next to Gabriel with her suitcase.

Together they walked out the door.

Gabe opened the door of his mother's car and made sure Tara was inside. He put her small suitcase in at her feet.

‘It's
chockers
in the back, this will have to travel here,' he said before he closed her door, walked around and climbed into the driver seat.

‘It's almost like being collected on a Friday from boarding school,' Tara said. ‘Going home for the weekend.'

‘Almost, except this will be the last time we drive out to Whispering Winds.'

‘I know …' Tara said as her voice cracked. ‘And thank you for this, Gabe.'

He grinned at her as he started the car. ‘Don't thank me until we've survived the weekend's cooking duties together. You know, without a cookboy employed in the farm house anymore, we are going to have to cook our own meals.'

‘
Braai
every meal?' Tara asked.

‘You bet. Except we can stop for a hot pie and warm bread at the station just as we get onto the Vic Falls road. And I did pack a crate of Coke.'

‘We can't drink only Coke all weekend,' Tara said, settling back into the seat as Gabe stuck his head out the window to reverse out the driveway, the camping gear filling the back seat to the ceiling blocking his view.

Once he was out on the road and moving forwards again, he wound up his window with the handle. ‘Who says? It's just us. We can do as we please.'

‘Can't wait!' Tara said, grinning.

Still grinning after a night of sleeping on a roll-up mattress on the floor in her old bedroom, Tara was woken by Gabe bringing her tea in a tin mug. ‘Come on, sleepy head. It's time to get moving.'

‘Where we going?' she asked.

‘Everywhere and nowhere. We can just ride around the farm, say goodbye and think of all the fun we've had all over this place.'

‘Okay,' Tara said. ‘I don't want to go near the river.'

‘Oh, we're going there. You need to say goodbye to your dad.'

Tara stilled and looked at Gabe. ‘I'm not sure I want to go there …'

‘You must, Tara. It's just a place. You need to see that your dad isn't there any longer. Now it's just bush, like everywhere else. Besides, I already asked Buffel Potgieter if he was okay with us visiting there. I told him that I'd spoken to the Member In Charge at the police station, and that he had said it was a good idea that we were coming out to say goodbye.'

‘You went to the police?'

‘No. I lied. I just told Buffel that so he wouldn't try to stop us going down there. We might never know who shot your dad and Jacob, but we can go say our own goodbye.' Gabe looked at Tara intently. ‘I don't know what happened that day. You have been really quiet with the details, and I haven't pushed you to tell me anything. But you can, when the time is right. I know the police tracked the shooter to where he climbed into a
bakkie
, and tracked the spoor of the
bakkie
all the way to the tar road. Then they lost it.'

‘Gabe, can I trust you?'

‘You know you can. Spill …'

‘It's so hard … I don't know who killed them, but if I tell about it all, someone who might know, they may die too. I'm not a killer, Gabe, and neither is he. He saved me, he opened the gate. So I made a promise not to tell.'

‘You know that could mean your father and uncle's murderer will always be out there?'

She nodded. ‘They will get justice when I'm older. Dad always said that justice comes in many different ways, and at many different times.'

‘Oh Tara, how is that you're only twelve and yet you understand so much in that head of yours?'

‘Maybe because I've got smarts!' She laughed at her cousin and knew that he'd never tell her secret. It was safe.

‘So much has changed so fast, Gabe,' she whispered. ‘It's all happening too fast.'

‘Changes aren't all bad.'

‘So far they are. Mum selling the farm, us moving into the city, and then us moving countries so fast. Going to South Africa will be horrid.'

‘Hey, South Africa isn't that bad. I'm twenty, and until I started university there two years ago, I had never even been out of Zimbabwe! Treat it as an adventure. Something new. Something different. I felt like that when I started at university. It was so big, so different.'

‘That doesn't count. You come home for holidays, and then we see you. Your university is in Stellenbosch and my mum's family is in Durban. When will we ever see you? I don't want to go live anywhere else, I want to live here, Gabe. I just want to stay here.'

‘I know, but your mum can't manage this farm alone. That's why she sold it.'

‘She
chose
not to manage it. She did most of the work when Dad was working in the city every day, and when he was in the army. I don't understand why she suddenly can't do it anymore.'

‘I don't know. Sometimes adults do these weird things.'

‘She sold everything without even talking to me and Dela. She never even asked if I wanted to keep anything from here. I have nothing, Gabe. Nothing that belonged to Dad or to Uncle Jacob. She took it all and sold it. My dad wasn't dead for two weeks and she'd sold everything. She couldn't wait to wash her hands of Whispering Winds. To get rid of every memory of Dad.'

Gabe gently placed his hand on the back of her head. ‘There are so many things here that I want to take home too, but they don't belong to your family anymore. They are Potgieter's now.'

‘My horse – she sold my Elliana and Dad's Apache without even seeing if we could keep them in the city somewhere, like at the showgrounds, or on someone else's place. Or take them to South
Africa with us. What am I supposed to do in South Africa, Gabe? I can't even speak Afrikaans!'

‘There are people there who speak English too. I don't know her reasons for not asking you about what you wanted. I think this weekend is her way of saying sorry, that she was wrong. At least she let you come out here with me. It's our weekend to say goodbye to your dad and Uncle Jacob, to the farm and the horses, and also to each other, because I don't know when next I'll see you in South Africa. I promise that we can stay in touch by letters and by phone.'

‘Promise me you'll never turn weird like my mum, Gabe!'

‘Oh
Imbodla
, I promise,' he said, and he hugged her to him.

She wrapped her arms around his strong shoulders and hugged him back.

‘You know what, Gabe? Life without my dad is so not fair. It's crap.'

‘I agree with you, but we have to go on living and make it better. Come on, I'm going to get the weapons out of the wall safe. At least your mum didn't sell them with the farm so I could bring them with us this weekend. I know you were unarmed on the day your dad died, but you won't be today. As much as I hate guns, we'll carry them just in case. You need to feel safe while saying goodbye.'

‘Gabriel,' Tara said. ‘Thank you for understanding me.'

‘Sure, kid,' he said as he walked out of the room.

Bomani had saddled Apache and Ziona for them.

‘Saddle Elliana as well, Bomani,' Gabe said. ‘You can ride with us today.'

Apache stood ready, his coat glossy from brushing and his hooves shining from their recent brushing with linseed oil. His eyes followed Tara's every move. She noticed that Bomani had put her saddle on the stallion.

‘But he's Dad's,' Tara said as she turned to Gabe.

‘Your dad would want you to take him to say goodbye. Bomani is taking Elliana, so she'll be there too. You can ride both horses.' Gabe looked at Elliana and Apache, standing saddled side by side,
as they had been so many times before. ‘Let their last ride together be a memorable one with us.' Gabe smiled. ‘But Bomani will have to walk Apache if you ride Elee, or he'll be thrown.'

‘I guess,' she said, lost in thought about how her father's horse wouldn't let anyone else on him, only her dad, and now her, as she led him over to the corral-style fence so she could climb up on onto the saddle. She remembered when they'd built the horse corral. They had cut down the huge gum trees. And, so that no horse would get hurt, they cleared the stumps from the area. Now the ground was smooth and compacted with just soft sand on the top. Her dad. Her uncle. Gabe. Bomani and the farmboys and her. She ran her hand over the railing where it showed wear from her stepping on it to get onto the horses.

‘I don't know why we never got a step of any sort here, you know that? I've seen you clamber up that fence for so many years, getting on horses that were too big for you, yet we never got a block of wood or anything.'

‘That's okay, me and the fence are old friends,' Tara said as she slipped her leg over Apache's back and put her feet into her stirrups. They were perfect, no one had changed her saddle. She smiled at that thought, and then frowned.

‘She didn't keep my tack, Gabe. I don't even get to keep my saddle Dad gave me for Christmas. It was mine and she sold it.'

‘You know, I think if we snuck it into the city Potgieter wouldn't notice. We can hide it at my house, so your mum doesn't know, then when the removal people come to pack your house, we can put it in your garage so it moves with you to South Africa. I know we can't take it all, but we can take your saddle and your dad's if you want. Just because those were special.'

‘I'd like that. But Potgieter might come looking for it and I really don't want to see him, Gabe.'

‘I bet he hasn't been here yet. Bomani, has
Baas
Potgieter been to look at the horse shed?'

‘No. He hasn't been through the gate at all,' Bomani said as he tightened Elliana's girth.

‘See, he won't know.'

Tara grinned.

‘I won't tell,' Bomani said. ‘I will rearrange the tack room so you can't see it's missing.'

‘Oh thank you, Bomani!' Tara said. ‘Thank you!'

Bomani's white teeth showed in his wide grin. She knew she was going to miss that smile, his gentle touch with the horses, the hours he'd ride with her searching for and picking the sweet donkeyberries when they were in season. Finding the Kaffir oranges that she loved so much, the sweet juicy insides a reward for breaking into the thick yellow exterior. Even when she wasn't out with him, he'd bring some back to her as a gift, because he knew she liked the wild fruit, almost as much as the wild figs that he would bring home too. She smiled as she remembered the amount of times Bomani had ridden with her to collect the ripe prickly pears at the top end of the farm, and would ensure the bucket didn't fall on the way home so they could have the fruit, icy cold from the fridge, with thick cream from the dairy as dessert after dinner. Bomani had always been with her. He wasn't just her horse boy, he was her friend. She just had never realised it before.