The Sound of Thunder (7 page)

“It has been a long time, Nkosi.- Mbejane had seen the expression on his face as Sean looked towards Theuniskraal and remembered those things from the past that were better forgotten.

“Yes. ” Sean roused himself, and straightened in the saddle.

“A long road and many years. But now we are home again.”

He looked back towards the village, searching the quarter beyond the main street and the hotel for the roof of that little cottage on Protea Street. As he found it, showing through the tall, fluffy blue gum bees, there was a lift in his mood, a new excitement. Did she live there still? How would she look-a little grey surely; had her fifty years marked her deeply, or had they treated her with the same consideration which she showed all those with whom she came in contact?

Had she forgiven him for leaving without a farewells Had she forgiven Ins long years of silence since then? Did she understand the reasons why he had never written-no word or message, except that anonymous gift of ten thousand pounds he had transferred to her bank account. Ten thousand miserable little pounds, which he had hardly noticed among all the millions he had won and lost in those days long ago when he was one of the lords of the Witwatersrand gold fields

Again the sense of guilt closed in upon him. As he knew with utter certainty that she had understood, that she had forgiven.

For that was Ada, the woman who was his stepmother-and whom he loved beyond the natural love one owes their own full blooded mother.

“Let’s go down,” he said and kicked his horse to a canter.

“Is this home, Pa?” Dirk shouted as he rode beside him.

“Yes, my boy. This is home.”

“Will Granma be here?”

“I hope so,” Sean answered, and then softly,

“Beyond all other things, I hope that she will.

Over the bridge above the Baboon Stroom, past the cattle pens along the fine of rail, past the old wood and iron station buildings with the sign, white and black faded to grey,

“Ladyburg. Altitude 2,256 it.

above sea level, ” swinging left into the dusty main street which was wide enough to turn a full span of oxen, and down to Protea Street rode Sean and Dirk, with Mbejane and the pack-mule trailing far behind.

At the corner Sean checked his mount to a walk, drawing out the last few minutes of anticipation until they stopped outside the wicket fence of white that encompassed the cottage.

The garden was neat and green, gay with beds of Barberton daisies and blue rhododendrons. The cottage had been enlarged, a new room built on the far side, and it was crisp-looking in a coat of new whitewash. A sign at the gate said in gold letters on a green ground, “Maison Ada.

High-class Costumier” Sean grinned. “The old girl’s gone all French, by God.

Then to Dirk,

“Stay here!”

He swung down from his horse, handed the reins to Dirk and went through the gate. At the door he paused selfconsciously and adjusted his cravat. He glanced down at the severe dark broadcloth suit and new boots which he had purchased in Pietermaritzburg, slapped the dust from his breeches, stroked his newly trimmed beard into place, gave his moustache a twirl and knocked on the door.

It was opened at last by a young lady. Sean did not recognize her. But the girl reacted immediately, flushing slightly, attempting to pat her hair into place without drawing attention to its disarray, tying to dispose of the sewing in her hands, and exhibiting all the signs of confusion peculiar to the unmarried female who finds herself suddenly and unexpectedly in the presence of a large, well-dressed and attractive male. But Sean felt a twinge of pity as he looked at her scarred face, ugly with the purple cicatrice of acne.

Sean lifted his hat. “Is Mrs. Courtney here?

“She’s in the workroom, sir. Who shall I tell her is calling?

“Don’t tell her anything-it’s a surprise. ” Sean smiled at her, and she lifted her hands selfconsciously in an attempt to mask the ruin of her face.

“Won’t you come in, sir? ” She turned her head aside, shyly as though to hide it.

“Who is it, Mary? ” Sean started at the voice from the depths of the cottage, it hadn’t changed at all-and the years dropped away.

“It’s a gentleman, Aunt Ada. He wants to see you.

“I’m coming. Ask him to sit down, and please bring us coffee, Mary. “Mary escaped thankfully and left Sean standing alone in the small sitting-room, twisting his hat in big brown hands, staring up at the daguerreotype print of Waite Courtney above the mantel. Although he did not recognize the fact, the face of his father in the picture was almost his own-the same eyes under heavy black brows, the same arrogance about the mouth, even the identical thrust of stubbornness in the jaw beneath the thick spade-shaped beard-and the big, hooked Courtney nose.

The door from the workroom opened and Sean swung quickly to face it. Ada Courtney came through it smiling, until she saw him, then she stopped and the smile died on her lips and she paled. Uncertainly her hand lifted to her throat and she made a small choking sound.

“Dear God,” she whispered.

“Ma.” Sean fidgeted his feet awkwardly. “Hello, Ma. It’s good to see you. ” “Sean.” The colour flooded back in her cheeks. “For a moment I thought-you’re grown so much like your father. Oh, Sean! ” And she ran to him. He tossed his hat on to the sofa and caught her around the waist as she came.

“I’ve waited for you. I knew you’d come.”

Sean scooped her up and kissed her into a concision of joy and laughter, swinging her while he did it, laughing himself.

“Put me down,” Ada gasped at last, and when he did she clung to him.

“I knew you’d come back. At first there were bits in the newspaper about you, and the people told me things-but these last years there has been nothing, nothing at all.

“I’m sorry. ” Sean sobered.

“You’re a bad boy. ” She was sparkling with excitement, her hair had escaped from its bun and a wisp of it hung down her cheek. “But it’s so good to have you back-” and suddenly she was crying.

“Don’t, Ma. Please don’t. ” He had never seen her cry before.

“It’s just that … It’s the surprise. ” She brushed impatiently at her tears. “It’s nothing. ” Desperately Sean sought something to distract her. “Hey!”

he exclaimed with relief,

“I’ve another surprise for you.

“Later, ” she protested. “One at a time.”

“This won’t wait.” He led her to the door and out on to the front stoep with his arm around her shoulders.

“Dirk,” he shouted. “Come here.”

He felt her standing very still as they watched Dirk coming up the garden walk.

“This is your Gran’a. ” He introduced them.

“Why is she crying? ” Dirk eyed her with frank curiosity.

Later they sat at the table in the kitchen while Ada and Mary plied them with food. Ada Courtney believed that the first thing to do with a man was feed him.

Mary was almost as excited as Ada, she had taken full advantage of the few minutes she had been alone, and now her hair was freshly brushed and she wore a gay new apron, but the powder with which she had tried to cover the terrible disfiguration of the skin served only to call attention to it. In sympathy Sean refrained from looking at her, and Mary noticed. Shyly she devoted herself to winning Dirk’s attention. She fussed over him quietly-and Dirk accepted this as the natural order of things.

While they ate Sean filled in the missing years for Ada with a brief outline of his activities, glossing over the death of Dirk’s mother, and other things of which he had no reason to be proud.

He came to the end of it.

“And so here we are.

“Home is the sailor, home from the sea, And the hunter home from the hill.” Dirk, don’t put so much in your mouth and keep it closed when YOU chew.

“How long will you stay? Mary, see if there are any cream puffs in the jar-Dirk is still hungry,” said Ada.

“You’ll make him sick. I don’t know; not long though-there’s a war on. ” “You’re going to join?”

“Yes. ” “Oh, Sean. Must you?” Knowing that he must. While he selected a cheroot from his case Sean studied her closely for the first time. There was grey now as he had known there would be, almost as much grey as black; long streaks of it across her temples and the texture of her skin had altered, losing the moisture of youth, drying out so that it creased around the eyes and stretched tight across her hands to show the knuckles more prominently and the blueness of veins beneath it. She was plumper also, her bosom was full and round, each breast having lost its separate identity in the whole.

Yet the other qualities whose memories he had treasured so long ago still persisted, seemed indeed to have grown stronger; the composure which showed in the stiffness of her hands and body, yet was given the he by the humour that hovered around her lips; the eyes whose depths held compassion and a sure understanding of those things they looked upon. But mostly it was the indefinable aura of goodness about her-looking at her, he sensed again that behind those eyes no destructive thought could live for long.

Sean lit a cheroot and spoke while the smoke masked his face.

“Yes, Ma. I must go.”

And Ada, whose husband had ridden to war also, and not ridden home, could not prevent the sadness showing for an instant in her eyes.

“Yes, I suppose you must. Garry has gone already-and Michael has been agitating to follow him.

“Michael?” Sean fired the question.

“Garry’s son-he was born a short while after-after you left Ladyburg. He will be eighteen this winter.”

“What’s he look like?” Sean’s voice was too eager. Michael-so that is what my son is named. My firstborn. By God, my firstborn, and I didn’t even know his name until he was almost grown. Ada was looking at him with her own question unasked in her eyes.

“Mary, take Dirk through to the bathroom please. Try and get a little of that food from around his mouth. ” When they had gone she answered Sean’s question.

“He’s a tall boy, tall and lean. Dark like his mother, but a serious lad. He doesn’t laugh much. Always top of his class. I like him very much. He comes here often.” She was silent for a moment, then,

“Sean… ” Quickly Sean cut in. “And how is Garry?” He sensed what she was going to ask.

“Garry has not changed very much. He has had a run of bad luck Poor Garry, things have been bad on the farm. The rinderpest ravaged his herds, he had to borrow money from the bank. She hesitated an instant. “And he is drinking a lot these days. I can’t be sure of it-he never visits the hotel and I have never seen him take a drink.

But it must be that.

“I’ll find out where he is when I go up to Colenso.

“You’ll have no difficulty finding him. Garry is a lieutenant-colonel on the General’s staff. He was given promotion from major last week, and he has been awarded the Distinguished Service Order to go with his Victoria Cross. He is in charge of liaison between the Imperial and the Colonial troops.

“Good God!” Sean was stunned. “Garry a colonel!”

“General Buller ads very highly of him. “The General is also a holder of the Victoria Cross.

“But,” Sean protested. “You know how Garry got that decoration.

It was a mistake. If Garry is on the General’s staff then Lord have mercy on the British Army! ” “Sean, you mustn’t talk about your brother that way.

“Colonel Garrick Courtney. ” Sean laughed out loud.

“I don’t know what there is between you and Garry. But it’s something very nasty-and I don’t want any of it in this house.

Ada’s tone was fierce and Sean stopped laughing.

“I’M sorry.”

“Before we close the subject, I want to warn you. Please be very careful how you handle Garry. Whatever happened between you two-and I don’t want to know what it is-Garry still hates you. Once or twice he started talking about you but I stopped him. Yet I know it from Michael,-the boy has picked it up from his father. It’s almost an obsession with him. Be careful of Garry.

Ada stood up. “And now about Dirk. What a lovely child he is, Sean. But I’m afraid you’ve spoiled him a little.

“He’s a tiger,” Sean admitted.

“What schooling has he been given?”

“Well, he can read a little-” “You’ll leave him here with me.

I’ll enrol him when the school term begins.”

“I was going to ask. I’ll leave money with you.

“Ten years ago there was a very large and mysterious deposit to my bank account. It wasn’t mine-so I placed it out at interest. ” She smiled at him and Sean looked guilty. “We can use that. ” “No,” he said.

“Yes,” she contradicted. “And now tell me when you are leaving.

“Soon.”

“How soon?”

“Tomorrow.

Since climbing the World’s View road out of Pietermaritzburg, Sean and Mbejane had travelled in sunshine and in companionship. The feelings between them were solid, compacted by time and the pressure of trouble and shared laughter into a shield of affection-so that now they were happy as only men can be together. The jokes were old jokes, and the responses almost automatic-but the excitement between them was new, in the same way that each day’s sun is new. For they were riding to war, to another meeting with death, so that everything else lost significance. Sean felt free, the thoughts and relationships with other people which had weighed him down over the past months slipped away. Like a ship clear for action he hurried with a new lightness to meet his chance.

At the same time he could stand aside from himself and grin tolerantly at his own immaturity. By God, we’re like a couple of kids sneaking out of school. Then, following the thought further-he was suddenly thankful. Thankful that this was so; thankful that there was still this capacity to forget everything else and approach the moment in childlike anticipation. For a while this new habit of self-appraisal asserted itself, I am no longer young and I have learned much, gathered it brick by brick along the way and, trimmed each brick and cemented it into the wall. The fortress of my manhood is not yet completed, but what I have built so far is strong, Yet the purpose of a fortress is to protect and hold safely those things the are precious; if, during the building, a man loses and expends those things which he wishes to protect, then the finished fortress is a mockery. I have not lost it all, a little I have used in barter. I have traded a little faith for the knowledge of evil; exchanged a little laughter for the understanding of death; a measure of freedom for two sons (and this was a good trade)-but I know there is still something left.