When the Lion Feeds

An hour after dark Kandhla came to the wagon with a pot of steaming liquid and a cup. Sean's nose wrinkled as he caught the smell of it. What the hell is that?

I have stewed the bark from a maiden's breast tree...

the Nkosikazi must drink it It had the same musty smell as boiling hops and Sean hesitated. He knew the tree. It grew on high ground, it had a diseased-looking lumpy bark and each lump was the size and shape of a breast surmounted by a thorn. Where did you get it? I have seen none of these trees near the river. Sean was marking time while he decided whether to make Katrina drink the brew. He knew these Zulu remedies, what they didn't kill they sometimes cured.

Ifflubi went back to the hills where we camped four days ago... be brought the bark into the camp an hour ago. A thirty-mile round journey in something under six hours, even in his distress Sean could smile. Tell Hlubi the Nkosikazi will drink his medicine. Kandhla held her head and Sean forced the evil-smelling liquid between her lips, he made her finish the whole potful. The juice of the bark seemed to relieve the congestion of her kidneys; four times before morning she passed frothy black water. Each time Sean held her gently, cushioning her body from any movement that might have killed her. Gradually her delirium became coma; she lay huddled and still in the cot, shaken only by the brief fits of shivering. When the morning sun hit the wagon canvas and lit the interior, Sean saw her face, and he knew that she was dying. Her skin was an opaque yellowish white, her hair had lost its glow and was lifeless as dry grass.

Kandbla brought another pot of the medicine and they fed it to her. When the pot was empty Kandhla said, Nkosi, let me lay a mattress on the floor beside the Nkosikazi's bed. You must sleep and I will stay here with you and wake you if the Nkosikazi stirs Sean looked at him with haunted eyes. There will be time to sleep later, my friend. He looked down at Katrina and went on softly. Perhaps, very soon there will be time.

Suddenly Katrina's body stiffened and Sean dropped on his knees beside her cot. Kandhla hovered anxiously behind him. It took Sean a while to understand what was happening and then he looked up at Kandbla. Go! go quickly! he said and the suffering in his voice sent Kandhla stumbling blindly from the wagon. Sean's second son was born that morning and while Kandhla watched over Katrina Sean wrapped the child in a blanket, took him into the veld and buried him. Then he went back to Katrina and stayed with her while days and nights blended together into a hopeless muddle of grief. As near as Katrina was to death, that near was Sean to insanity.

He never moved out of the wagon, he squatted on the mattress next to her cot, wiping the perspiration from her face, holding a cup to her lips or just sitting and watching her. He had lost his child and before his eyes Katrina was turning into a wasted yellow skeleton. Dirk saved him.

Mbejane brought the boy to him and he romped on the mattress, crawling into Sean's lap and pulling his beard.

It was the one small glimmer of light in the darkness.

Katrina survived. She came back slowly from the motionless coma that precedes death and with her hesitant return sean's despair changed to hope and then to a wonderful relief.

Her water was no longer black but dark pink and thick with sediment. She was aware of him now and, although she was so weak that she could not lift her head off the pillow, her eyes followed him as he moved about the wagon. It was another week before she learned about the baby. She asked him, her voice a tired whisper, and Sean told her with all the gentleness of which he was capable. She did not have the strength for any great show of emotion; she laid quietly staring up at the canvas above her head and her tears slid down across her yellow cheeks.

The damage that the fever had done to her body was hardly credible. Her limbs were so thin that Sean could completely encircle her thigh with one hand. Her skin hung in loose yellow folds from her face and body and pink blood still stained her water. This was not all. the fever had sucked all the strength from her mind. She had nothing left to resist the sorrow of her baby's death, and the sorrow encased her in a shell through which neither Sean nor Dirk could reach her. Sean struggled to bring her back to life, to repair the terrible damage to her mind and body. Every minute of his time he employed in her service.

He and the servants scoured the veld for thirty miles around the laager to find delicacies to tempt her appetite, wild fruits, honey, giraffe marrows, the flesh of a dozen animals: kabobs of elephant heart and duiker liver, roasted iguana had as white and tender as a plump pullet, golden fillets of the yellow -mouthed bream from the river. Katrina picked at them listlessly then turned away and lay staring at the canvas wall of the cot.

Sean sat beside her and talked about the farm they would buy, trying vainly to draw her into a discussion of the house they would build. He read to her from Duff's

books and the only reaction he received was a small quivering of her lips when he read the words death or child.

He talked about the days on the Witwatersrand, searching his mind for stories that might amuse her. He broughtDirk to her and let him play about the wagon. Dirk was walking now, his dark hair had started to curl and his eyes were green. Dirk, however, could not be too long confined in the wagon. There was too much to do, too much to explore. Before long he would stagger to the entrance and issue the imperial summons: IBejaan!

Bejaan! Almost immediately Mbejane's head would appear in the opening and he would glance at Sean for permission. All right, take him out then... but tell Kandhla not to stuff him full of food. Quickly, before Sean changed his mind, Mbejane would lift Dirk down and lead him away. Dirk had nearly two dozen Zulus to spoil him. They competed hotly for his affections, no effort was too much, dignified Mbejane down on his hands and knees being ridden mercilessly in and out among the wagons, Hlubi scratching himself under the arms and gibbering insanely in his celebrated imitation of a baboon while Dirk squealed with delight, fat Kandhla raiding Katrina's store of fruit preserves to make sure Dirk was properly fed and the others keeping in the background, anxious to join the worship but fearful of incurring the jealousy of Mbejane and Hlubi. Sean knew what was happening but he was powerless to prevent it. His time was completely devoted to Katrina.

For the first time in his LIFE Sean was giving more than just a superficial part of himself to another human being.

It was not an isolated sacrifice: it went on throughout the months it took for Katrina to regain sufficient of her strength to enable her to sit up in bed without assistance; it continued through the months that she needed before Sean judged it safe to resume the trek towards the south.

They built a litter for her. Sean would not risk the jarring of the wagon, and the first day's trek lasted two hours.

Four of the servants carried the litter and Katrina lay in it, protected from the sun by a strip of canvas spread above her head. Despite the gentleness with which the Zulus handled her, at the end of the two hours Katrina was exhausted. Her back ached and she was sweating in small beads from her yellow skin. The next week they travelled two hours daily and then gradually increased the time until they were making a full day's journey.

They were halfway to the Magahesberg, camped at a muddy waterhole in the thorn flats, when Mbejane came to Sean. There is still one wagon empty of ivory, Nkosi. The others are full Sean pointed out. Four hours, march from this place there is enough ivory buried to fill those wagons. Sean's mouth twisted with pain. He looked away towards the south-east and he spoke softly. Mbejane, I am still a young man and yet already I have stored UP enough ugly memories to make my old age sad. Would you have me steal from a friend not only his life but his share of ivory also?

Mbejane shook his head. I asked, that is all. And I have answered, Mbejane. It is his... let it he.

They crossed the Magaliesberg and turned west along the mountain range. Then, two months after they had left the Limpopo river, they reached the Boer settlement at Louis Trichardt. Sean left MbeJane to outspan the wagons on the open square in front of the church and he went to search for a doctor. There was only one in the district, Sean found him in his surgery above the general dealer's store and took him to the wagons. Sean carried his bag for him and the doctor, a grey-beard and unused to such hardships, trotted to keep up with Sean. He was panting and pouring sweat by the time they arrived. Sean waited outside while the doctor completed his examination and when he finally made his descent from the wagon Sean fell on him impatiently. What do you think, man? I think, meneer, that you should give hourly thanks to your Maker. The doctor shook his head in amazement. It seems hardly possible that your wife could have survived both the fever and the loss of the childShe is safe then, there's no chance of a relapse? Sean asked.

She is safe now... but she is still a very sick woman.

It may take a year before her body is fully mended. There is no medicine I can give you. She must be kept quiet, feed her well and wait for time to cure her. The doctor hesitated. There is other damage - he tapped his forehead with his forefinger. Grief is a terrible destroyer. She will need love and gentleness and after another six months she will need a baby to fill the emptiness left by the one she lost. Give her those three things, meneer, but most of all give her love. The doctor hauled his watch from his waistcoat and looked at it. Time! there is so little time. I must go, there are others who need me. He held out his hand to Sean. Go with God, meneer. Sean shook his hand. How much do I owe you? The doctor smiled, he had a brown face and his eyes were pale blue; when he smiled he looked like a boy. I make no charge for words. I wish I could have done more. He hurried away across the square and when he walked you could see that his smile lied, he was an old man.

Mbejane! said Sean. Get a big tusk out of the wagon and take it to the doctor's room above the store. Katrina and Sean went to the morning service in the church next day. Katrina could not stand through the hymns. She sat quietly in her pew, watching the altar, her lips forming the words of the hymn and her eyes full of her sorrow.

They stayed on for three more days in Louis Trichardt and they were made welcome. Men came to drink coffee with them and see the ivory and the women brought them eggs and fresh vegetables, but Sean was anxious to move south. So on the third day they started the last stage of their trek.

Katrina regained her strength rapidly now. She took over the management of Dirk from the servants, to their ill-concealed disappointment, and soon she left her litter and rode on the -box seat of the lead wagon again. Heir body filled out and there was colour showing once more through the yellow skin of her cheeks. Despite the improvement to her body the depression of her mind still persisted and there was nothing that Sean could do to lift it.

A month before the Christmas of 1895 Sean's wagon train climbed the low range of hills above the city and they looked down into Pretoria. The jacaranda trees that filled every garden were in bloom, masses of purple and the busy streets spoke well of the prosperity of the Transvaal Republic. Sean outspanned on the outskirts of the city, simply pulling the wagons off the road and camping beside it, and once the camp was established and Sean had made certain that Katrina no longer needed his help he put on his one good suit and called for his horse. His suit had been cut to the fashion of four years previously and had been made to encompass the belly he had acquired on the Witwatersrand. Now it hung loosely down his body but bunched tightly around his thickened arms. His face was burnt black by the sun and his beard bushed down onto his chest and concealed the fact that the stiff collar of his shirt could no longer close around his neck. His boots were scuffed almost through the uppers, there was not a suspicion of polish on them and they had completely lost their shape. Sweat had soaked through his hat around the level of the hand and left dark greasy marks; the brim drooped down over his eyes so he had to wear it pushed onto the back of his head. There was, therefore, some excuse for the curious glances that followed him that afternoon as he rode down Church Street with a great muscular savage trotting at his one stirrup and an overgrown brindle hound at the other. They pushed their way between the wagons that cluttered the wide street; they passed the Raadsaal of the Republican Parliament, passed the houses standing back from the road in their spacious purple and green gardens and came at last to the business area of the city that crowded round the railway station. Sean and Duff had bought their supplies at a certain general dealer's stores and now Sean went back to it. It was hardly changed, the signboard in front had faded a little but still declared that Goldberg, Importer and Exporter, Dealer in Mining Machinery, Merchant and Wholesaler, was prepared to consider the purchase of gold, precious stone, hides and skins, ivory and other natural produce. Sean swung down from the saddle and tossed his reins to Mbejane. Unsaddle, Mbejane. This may take time. Sean stepped up onto the sidewalk, lifted his hat to two passing ladies and went through into the building where Mr Goldberg conducted his diverse activities. one of the assistants hurried to meet him, but Sean shook his head and the man went back behind the counter. He had seen Mr Goldberg with two customers at the far end of the store. He was -- content to wait. He browsed around among the loaded shelves of merchandise, feeling the quality of a shirt, sniffing at a box of cigars, examining an axe, lifting a rifle down off the rack and sighting at a spot on the wall, until Mr Goldberg bowed his customers through the door and turned to Sean. Mr Goldberg was short and fat.

His hair was cropped short and his neck bulged over the top of his collar. He looked at Sean and his eyes were expressionless while he riffled through the index cards of his memory for the name. Then he beamed like a brilliant burst of sunlight. Mr Courtney, isn't it? Sean grinned. That's right. How are you, Izzy? They shook hands. How's business?

Mr Goldberg's face fell. Terrible, terrible, Mr Courtney.

I'm a worried man. You look well enough on it, Sean prodded his stomach. You've put on weight! You can joke, Mr Courtney, but I'm telling you it's terrible. Taxes and worry, taxes and worry. Mr Goldberg sighed, and now there's talk of war. What's this? Sean frowned. War, Mr Courtney, war between Britain and the Republic. Sean's frown dissolved and he laughed. Nonsense, man, not even Kruger could be such a bloody fool! Get me a cup of coffee and a cigar and we'll go through to your office and talk business. Mr Goldberg's face went blank and his eyelids drooped almost sleepily. Business, Mr Courtney? That's right, Izzy, this time I'm selling and you're buying. What are you selling, Mr Courtney? Ivory. Ivory? ? lTwelve wagon loads of it Mr Goldberg sighed sadly. Ivory's no good now, the bottom's fallen out of it. You can hardly give it away. It was very well done; if Sean had not been told the ruling prices two days before he might have been convinced. I'm sorry to hear that, he said. If you're not interested, I'll see if I can find someone else. Come along to my office anyway, said Mr Goldberg. We can talk about it. Talk costs nothing. Two days later they were still talking about it. Sean had fetched his wagons and had off-loaded the ivory in the back yard of the store. Mr Goldberg had personally weighed each tusk and written the weights down on a sheet of paper. He and Sean had added the columns of figures and agreed on the total. Now they were in the last stages of agreeing the price. Come on, Izzy, we've wasted two days already. That's a fair price and you know it... let's get it over with, Sean growled. I'll lose money on this, protested Mr Goldberg. I've got to make a living, every man's got to live. Come on, Sean held out his right hand. Let's call it a deal. Mr Goldberg hesitated a second longer, then he put his pudgy hand in Sean's fist and they grinned at each other, both well satisfied. One of Mr Goldberg's assistants counted out the sovereigns, stacking them in piles of fifty along the counter, then Sean and Mr Goldberg checked them and agreed once more. Sean filled two canvas bags with the gold, slapped Mr Goldberg's back, helped himself to another cigar and headed heavily laden for the bank. When are you going into the veld again? Mr Goldberg called after him.

Soon! said Sean.

Don't forget to get your supplies here. I'll be back, Sean assured him.

Mbejane carried one of the bags and Sean the other.

Sean was smiling and streamers of cigar smoke swirled back from his head as he strode along the sidewalk.

There's something in the weight of a sack of gold that makes the man who holds it stand eight feet tall.

That night as they lay together in the darkness of the wagon Katrina asked him. Have we enough money to buy the farm yet, Sean? Yes, said Sean. We've got enough for the finest farm in the whole Cape peninsular... and, after one more trip, we'll have enough to build the house and the barns, buy the cattle, lay out the vineyard and still have some left over. Katrina was silent for a moment then, So we are going back into the bushveld again? One more trip, said Sean. Another two years and then we'll go down to the Cape. He gave her a hug. You don't mind, do you? No, she said. I think I'd like that. When will we leave? Not just yet awhile, Sean laughed. First we're going to have some fun. He hugged her again, her body was still painfully thin; he could feel the bones of her hips pressed against him. Some pretty clothes for you, my fancy, and a suit for me that doesn't look like a fancy dress. Then we'll go out and see what this burg has to offer in the way of entertainment, He stopped as the idea swelled up in his mind. Damn it! I know what we'll do. We'll hire a carriage and go across to Johannesburg. We'll take a suite at the Grand National Hotel and do some living. Bath in a china bath, sleep in a real bed; you can have your hair prettiedup and I'll have my beard trimmed by a barber. We'll eat crayfish and penguin eggs... I can't remember when I last tasted pork or mutton... we'll wash it down with the old bubbling wine and waltz to a good band - Sean raced on and when he stopped for breath Katrina asked softly, Isn't the waltz a very sinful dance, Sean?

Sean smiled in the darkness. It certainly is! I'd like to be sinful just once, -, not too much, just a little with you to see what it's like. We will be, said Sean as wicked as hell The next day Sean took Katrina to the most exclusive ladies shop in Pretoria. He chose the material of half a dozen dresses. One of them was to be a ball gown in canary-yellow silk. It was extravagance and he knew it, but he didn't care once he saw the flash of guilty delight in Katrina's cheeks and the old green sparkle in her eyes.

For the first time since the fever she was living again.

He spilled out his sovereigns with thankful abandon. The sales girls were delighted with him, they crowded round him with trays of feminine accessories. A dozen of those, said Sean and, yes, those will do. Then a flash of green on the racks across the room caught his eye, it was Katrina's green.

What's that? He pointed and two sales girls nearly knocked each other down in the rush to get it for him.

The winner carried the shawl back to him and Sean took it and placed it around Katrina's shoulders. It was a beautiful thing.

We'll take it, said Sean and Katrina's lips quivered then suddenly she was crying, sobbing brokenly. The excitement had been too much. There was immediate consternation among the shop assistants, they flapped around Sean like hens at feeding time while he picked Katrina up and carried her out to the hired carriage. At the door he paused and spoke over his shoulder.

I want those dresses finished by tomorrow evening.

Can you- do it? They'll be ready, Mr Courtney, even if my girls have to work all night on them. He took Katrina back to the wagons and laid her on her cot. Please forgive me, Sean, I've never done that in my life beforeIt's all right, my fancy, I understand. Now you just go to sleep The following day Katrina stayed at the camp resting, while Sean went to see Mr Goldberg again and buy from him the stores they would need for the next expedition. it took another day to load the wagons and by then Katrina seemed well enough to make the trip to Johannesburg.

They left in the early afternoon. Mbejane driving, Sean and Katrina sitting close together on the back seat holding hands under the travelling rug and Dirk bouncing round the interior of the carriage, pausing now and then to flatten his face against a window and keeping up a flow of comment in the peculiar mixture of English, Dutch and Zulu that Sean called Dirkese. They reached Johannesburg long before Sean -expected to. In four years the town had doubled its size and had spread out into the veld to meet them. They followed the main road through the new areas and came to the centre. There were changes here as well but it was, in the main, the way he remembered it.

They threaded their way through the babble of Eloff Street, and around them, millOwing with the crowds on the sidewalks, were the ghosts of the past. He heard Duff laugh and twisted quickly in his seat to place the sound; a dandy in a boater hat with gold fillings in his teeth laughed again from a passing carriage and Sean heard that it was not Duff's laugh. Very close, but not the same. All of it was like that, similar but subtly changed, nostalgic but sad with the knowledge of loss. The past was lost and he knew then that you can never go back. Nothing is the same, for reality can exist at one time only and in one place only. Then it dies and you have lost it and you must go on to find it at another time and in another place.

They took a suite at the Grand National, with a sittingroom and two bedrooms, a private bathroom and a balcony that looked out over the street, over the rooftops to where the headgears and white dumps stood along the ridge. Katrina was exhausted. They had supper sent up to the room early and when they had eaten Katrina went to bed and Sean went down alone to drink a nightcap at the bar. The bar-room was crowded. Sean found a seat in the corner and sat silently in the jabber of conversation. In it, but no longer a part of it.

They had changed the picture above the bar, it used to be a hunting print; but now it was a red-coated general, impressively splattered with blood, taking leave of his staff in the middle of a battlefield. The staff looked bored.

Sean let his eyes wander on along the dark panelled walls.

He remembered, there was so much to remember! Suddenly he blinked.

Near the side door was a star-shaped crack in the wooden panelling. Sean started to grin and put down his glass and massaged the knuckles of his right hand. If Oakie Henderson hadn't ducked under that punch it would have taken his head off.

Sean signalled to the barman. Another brandy, please. While the man was pouring Sean asked, What happened to that panel near the door? The man glanced up and then back at the bottle. Some fellow put his fist through it in the old days. Boss left it like that, sort of souvenir, you know. He must have been quite a fellow... that wood's an inch thick. Who was he! Sean asked expectantly.

The man shrugged. One of the drifters. They come and they go. Make a few pounds, piss it against the wall and then go back where they came from. He looked at Sean with bored eyes. That'll be half a dollar, mate. Sean drank the brandy slowly, turning the glass in his hands between sips and watching the liquor cling to its sides like thin oil. By a cracked panel in a bar-room they shall remember you.

And now I shall go to bed, he decided, this is no longer my world. My world is upstairs sleeping, I hope! He smiled a little to himself and finished the brandy in his glass.

Sean? a voice at his ear and a hand on his shoulder as be turned to leave. My God, Sean, is it really you?

Sean stared at the man beside him. He did not recognize the neatly clipped beard and the big sun-burned nose with the skin peeling off the tip, but suddenly he knew the eyes.

Dennis, you old rogue. Dennis Petersen from Lady-burg.

That's right isn't it? You didn't recognize me! laughed Dennis. So much for our friendship, you disappear without a word and ten years later you don't even know me!

Now they were both laughing. I thought they would have hanged you long ago. Sean defended himself. What on earth are you doing in Johannesburg? Selling beef, I'm on the committee of the Beef Growers Association.

There was pride in Dennis's voice. I have been up here negotiating the renewal of our contracts. When are you going back? My train leaves in an hour. Well, there's time for a drink before you go, what will it be? I'll have a small brandy, thanks Sean ordered the drinks and they took them up and stood, suddenly awkward in the awareness that ten years were between their once complete accord. so, what have you been doing with yourself? Dennis ended the pause. This and that, you know, a bit of mining, just come back from the bushveld. Nothing very exciting. Well, it's good to see you again anyway. Your health. And yours, said Sean, and then suddenly he realized that here was news of his family, news he had been without for many years. How's everyone at Lady-burg, your sisters? Both married, so am I with four sons, and the pride was in Dennis's voice again.

Anyone I know? asked Sean. Audrey, you know old Pye's daughter. No! Sean ripped out the word, and then quickly, That's wonderful, Dennis. I'm pleased for you, she was a lovely girl. The best, agreed Dennis complacently. He had the sleek well-fed, well-cared for look of a married mann, fatter in the face and his stomach starting to show. I wonder if I have it yet, Sean thought. Of course, old man Pye's dead now, that's one creditor he couldn't buy off. Ronnie's taken over the bank and the store. The bat-eared bush rat, said Sean and knew immediately that he had said the wrong thing. Dennis frowned slightly. He's family now, Sean. A very decent chap really - and a clever business man. I'm sorry, I was joking. How's my mother? Sean changed the subject by asking the question that had been in the forefront of his mind and he had picked the right topic. Dennis's expression softened immediately, you could see the warmth in his eyes. The same as ever. She's got a dress shop now, next door to Ronnie's store. It's a gold mine, no one would think of buying anywhere else but at Aunt Ada's. She's godmother to my two eldest, I guess she's godmother to half the kids in the districts and then his expression hardened again, The least you could have done was write to her sometime, Sean. You can't imagine the pain you have caused her. There were circumstances. Sean dropped his eyes to his glass.

That's no excuse, you have a duty which you neglected. There is no excuse for it. You little man Sean lifted his head and looked at him without trying to disguise his annoyance. You pompous, preaching little man peering out at the world one-eyed through the keyhole of your own self-importance. Dennis had not noticed Sean's reaction and he continued. That's a lesson a men must learn before he grows up, we all have our responsibilities and our duties. A man grows up when he faces those duties, when he accepts the burdens that society places on him. Take my own case: despite the vast amount of work I have on the farms, I now own Mahobals Kloof as well, and despite the demands made on me by my family, yet I have time to represent the district on the committee of the Beef Growers Association, I am a member of the Church Council and the village management board, and I have every reason to believe that next month I will be asked to accept the office of mayor. Then he looked steadily at Sean, What have you done with your life so far? I've lived it, Sean answered, and Dennis looked a little perplexed, then he gathered himself. Are you married yet? I was, but I sold her to the Arab slavers up north. You did whatV Well, I grinned Sean, she was an old wife and the price was good! that's a joke, hey? Ha, ha! You couldn't fool good old Dennis, Sean laughed out loud. This unbelievable little man!

Have a drink, Dennis, he suggested. Two is my limit, thanks Sean. Dennis pulled the goldhunter from his waistcoat pocket and inspected it. Time to 90, I'm afraid. Nice seeing you again-Wait, Sean stopped him. My brother, how's Garry? Poor old Garry. Dennis shook his head solemnly.

What's wrong with him? Sean's voice was sharp with his sense of dread. Nothing, Dennis reassured him quickly. well, I mean nothing more than ever was. Why did you say "poor old Garry" then? I don't really know, except that everybody says it. It's habit, I suppose, he's just one of those people you say poor old in front of. Sean suppressed his irritation, he wanted to know. He had to know. You haven't answered me, how is he?

Dennis made a significant gesture with his right hand. Looking into the bottle quite a bit these days, not that I blame him with that woman he married. You were well out of it there if I may say so, Sean. You may, Sean acquiesced, but is he well? How are things at Theunis Kraal? We all took a bit of a beating with the rindepest, but Garry, well, he lost over half of his herds. Poor old Garry, everything happens to him. My God, fifty percent! Yes, but, of course, Ronnie helped him out. Gave him a mortgage on the farm to tide him over. Theunis Kraal bonded again, groaned Sean. Oh Garry, Garry. Yes, well, Dennis coughed uneasily. Well, I think I'd better be going. Totsiens, Sean. He held out his hand. Shall I tell them I saw you? No, said Sean quickly.

Just leave it stand. Very well then. Dennis hesitated. Are you all right, Sean? I mean', he coughed again, are you all right for money? Sean felt his unhappiness dissolve a little; this pompous little man was going to offer him a loan. That's very good of you, Dennis. But I've got a couple of pounds saved up enough to eat on for a few days, he spoke seriously. All right then. Dennis looked mightily relieved. All right then, totsiens, Sean, and he turned and walked quickly out of the bar. As he left the room so he went out of Sean's mind, and Sean was thinking of his brother again.

Then suddenly Sean decided. I will go back to Lady-burg when this next trip is over. The dream farm outside Paarl would not lose anything in being transplanted to Natal and he suddenly longed to sit in the panelled study at Theunis Kraal again, and to feel the mist come cold down the escarpment in the mornings, and see the spray blowing off the white falls in the wind. He wanted to hear Ada's voice again and to explain to her, knowing she would understand and forgive.

But more, much more it was Garry, poor old Garry. I must go back to him, ten years is a long time and he will have lost the bitterness. I must go, back to him, for his sake and for Theunis Kraal. With the decision made, Sean finished his drink and went up the stairs to his suite.

Katrina was breathing softly in her sleep, the dark mass of her hair spread out on the pillow. While he undressed he watched her and slowly the melancholy dissolved.

Gently he pulled back the blankets on his side of the bed and just then Dirk whimpered from the next room. Sean went through to him. All right, what's the trouble? Dirk blinked owlishly and searched for an excuse, then the relief flooded into his face and he produced the one that creaked with age. I want a drink a water. The delay while Sean went through to the bathroom gave Dirk an opportunity to rally his forces and when Sean came back he opened the offensive in earnest.

Tell me a story, Daddy. He was sitting up now, brighteyed.

I'll tell you a story about Jack and a Nary - said Sean. Not that one- protested Dirk. The saga of Jack and his brother lasted five seconds and Dirk knew it. Sean sat down on the edge of the bed and held the glass for him. How about this one? There once was a king who had everything in the world... but when he lost it he found out that he had never had anything and that he now had more than he ever had before Dirk looked stunned.

That's not a very good one, he gave his opinion at last. No, said Sean. It isn't... is it? But I think we should be charitable and admit that it's not too bad for this time of night Sean woke feeling happy. Katrina was sitting up in bed filling cups from a pewter coffee pot and Dirk was hammering at the door to be let in. Katrina smiled at him. Good morning, meneer. Sean sat up and kissed her. How did you sleep, fancy? Well, thank you, but there were dark rings under her eyes. Sean went across to the bedroom door.

Prepare to receive cavalry, he said and swung it open.

Dirk's charge carried him onto the bed and Sean dived after him. When two men are evenly matched, weight will usually decide and within seconds Dirk had straddled Sean's chest, pinning him helplessly and Sean was pleading for quarter.

After breakfast Mbejane brought the carriage round to the front of the hotel. When the three of them were settled in it, Sean opened the small window behind the driver's seat and told Mbejane, To the office first. Then we have to be at the Exchange by ten o'clock Mbejane grinned at him. Yes, Nkosi, then lunch at the Big House. Mbejane had never been able to master the word Xanadu.

They went to all the old places. Sean and Mbejane laughing and reminiscing at each other through the window.

There was a panic at the Exchange, crowds on the pavement outside. The offices on Eloff Street had been refaced and a brass plate beside the front door carried the roll of the subsidiaries of Central Rand Consolidated. Mbejane stopped the carriage outside and Sean boasted to Katrina.

She sat silently and listened to him, suddenly feeling inadequate for a man who had done so much. She misinterpreted Sean's enthusiasm and thought he regretted the past and wished he were back. Mbejane, take us up to the Candy Deep, Sean called at last. Let's see what's happening there. The last five hundred yards of the road was overgrown and pitted with disuse. The administration block had been demolished and grass grew thick over the foundations. There were new buildings and headgears half a mile farther along the ridge, but here the reef had been worked out and abandoned. Mbejane pulled up the horses in the circular drive in front of where the offices had stood. He jumped down and held their heads while Sean helped Katrina out of the carriage. Sean lifted Dirk and sat him on his shoulder and they picked their way through the waist-high grass and piles of bricks and rubbish towards the Candy Deep Number Three Shaft.

The bare white concrete blocks that had held the machinery formed a neat geometrical pattern in the grass.

Beyond them reared the white mine dump; some mineral in the powdered rock had leaked out in long yellow stains down its sides. Duff had once had the mineral identified.

It was of little commercial value, used occasionally in the ceramics industry. Sean had forgotten the name of it;

it sounded like the name of a star, Uranus perhaps.

They came to the shaft. The edges of it had crumbled and the grass hung into it, the way an unkempt mustache hangs into an old man's mouth. The headgear was gone and only a rusty barbed-wire fence ringed the shaft.

Sean bent his knees: keeping his back straight for Dirk still sat on his shoulder, he picked up a lump of rock the size of a man's fist and tossed it over the fence. They stood quietly and listened to it clatter against the sides as it fell. It fell for a long time and when at last it hit the bottom the echo rang faintly up from a thousand feet below. Throw more! commanded Dirk, but Katrina stopped him. No, Sean, let's go. It's an evil place She shuddered slightly. It looks like a grave. It very nearly was, said Sean softly, remembering the darkness and the rock pressing down upon him. Let's go, she said again, and they went back to where Mbejane waited with the carriage.

Sean was gay at lunch, he drank a small bottle of wine, but Katrina was tired and more miserable than she had been since they left Louis Trichardt. She had begun to realize the type of life he had led before she met him and she was frightened that now he wanted to return to it.

She had only known the bush and the life of the Trek.

Boer, she knew she could never learn to live like this. She watched as he laughed and joked during the meal, she watched the easy assurance with which he commanded the white head waiter, the way he picked his way through the maze of cutlery that was spread out on the table before them and at last she could hold it in no longer. Let's go away, let's go back into the bush Sean stopped with a loaded fork halfway to his mouth.

What? Please, Sean, the sooner we go the sooner we'll be able to buy the farm Sean chuckled. A day or two more won't make any difference. We're starting to have fun. Tonight I'll take you dancing, we were going to be sinful, remember? Who will look after Dirk? she asked weakly.

Mbejane will! - Sean looked at her closely. You have a good sleep this afternoon and tonight we'll go out and tie the dog loose. He grinned at the memories that expression invoked.

When Katrina woke from her rest that evening she found the other part of the reason for her depression. For the first time since the baby, her periodic bleeding had started again, the tides of her body and mind were at their lowest ebb. She said nothing to Sean, but bathed and put on the yellow gown. She brushed her hair furiously, dragging the brush through it until her scalp tingled, but still it hung dull and lifeless, as dull as the eyes that looked back at her out of the yellow face in the mirror.

Sean came up behind her and leaned over her to kiss her cheek. You look, said he, like a stack of gold bars five-and-a-half feet high. But he realized that the yellow gown had been a mistake: it matched too closely the fever colour of her skin. Mbejane was waiting in the sittingroom when they went through.

We may be late before we return, Sean told him. That is of no account, Nkosi, Mbenjane's face was as impassive as ever, but Sean caught a sparkle of anticipation in his eyes and realized that Mbejane could hardly wait to get Dirk to himself.

You are not to go into his room, Sean warned. What if he cries, Nkosi? He won't... but if he does? see what he wants, give it to him then leave him to sleep.

Mbejane's face registered his protest. I'm warning you, Mbejane, if I come home at midnight and find him riding you round the room I'll have both your hides for a kaross.

, His sleep shall be unspoiled, Nkosi, lied Mbejane.

In the hotel lobby Sean spoke to the receptionist.

Where can we find the best food in this town? he asked. Two blocks down, sir, the Golden Guinea. You can't miss it. It sounds like a gin palace, Sean was dubious. I assure you, sir, that you'll have no complaint when you get there. Everyone goes there. Mr Rhodes dines there when he's in town, Mr Barnato, Mr Hradsky --Dick Turpin, Cesare Borgla, Benedict Arnold, Sean continued for him. All right, you have convinced me. I'll take a chance on having my throat cut. Sean went out through the front entrance with Katrina on his arm. The splendour of the Golden Guinea subdued even Sean a little. A waiter with a uniform like a majorgeneral's led them down a marble staircase, across the wide meadow of carpet between the group of elegant men and women to a table that even in the soft light dazzled with its bright silver and snowy linen. Chandeliers of crystal hung from the vaulted ceiling, the band was good, and the air was rich with the fragrance of perfume and expensive cigars.

Katrina stared helplessly at the menu until Sean came to her rescue and ordered the meat in a French accent that impressed her but not the waiter. The wine came and with it Sean's high spirits returned. Katrina sat quietly opposite him and listened. She tried to think of something witty to answer him with; in their wagon or alone in the veld they could talk for hours at a time but here she was dumb. Shall we dance? Sean leaned across the table and squeezed her hand. She shook her head.

Sean, I couldn't. Not with all these people watching.

I'd only make a fool of myself. Come on, I'll show you how... it's easy. No, I couldn't, truly I couldn't.

And to himself Sean had to admit that the dance floor of the Golden Guinea on a Saturday night was not the best place for a waltz lesson. The waiter brought the food, great steaming dishes of it. Sean addressed himself to it and the one-sided conversation wilted. Katrina watched him, picking at the too rich food herself, acutely conscious of the laughter and voices around them, feeling out of place and desperately miserable. Come on, Katrina, Sean smiled at her. You've hardly touched your glass. Be a devil and get a little of that in you to warm you up. Obediently she sipped the champagne. She didn't like the taste. Sean finished the last of his crayfish thermidor and leaning back in his chair glowing with wine and good food said, Man... I only pray the chef can keep the rest of the meal up to that standard. He belched softly behind his fingers and ran his eyes contentedly round the room. Duff used to say that a well-cooked crayfish was proof that, Sean stopped abruptly. He was staring at the head of the marble staircase, a party of three had appeared there.

Two men in evening dress hovering attentively on each side of a woman. The woman was Candy Rautenbach.

Candy with her blonde hair piled on top of her head.

Candy with diamonds in her ears and at her throat, her bosom overflowing her gown as white as the frothy head on a beer tankard. Candy with bright blue eyes above a red mouth, Candy poised and lovely. Laughing, she glanced towards him and her eyes met his across the room. She stared in open disbelief, the laughter frozen on her lips, then suddenly her poise was gone and she was running down the stairs towards him, holding her skirts up to her knees, her escorts cantering after her in alarm, waiters scattering out of her path and every head in the room turning to watch her. Sean pushed back his chair, stood up to meet her and Candy reached him and jumped up to throw her arms around his neck. There was a long incoherent exchange of greetings and at last Sean prised her loose from his neck and turned her to face Katrina.

Candy was flushed and panting with excitement; with every breath her bosom threatened to spring out of her bodice, and she was still holding on to Sean's arm. Candy, I want you to meet my wife, Katrina. My dear, this is Candy Rautenbach. How do you do. Katrina smiled uncertainly and Candy said the wrong thing. Sean, you're joking! You married? Katrina's smile faded. Candy noticed the change and went on quickly, But I must applaud your choice. I am so pleased to meet you, Katrina. We must get together sometime and I'll tell you all about Sean's terrible past. Candy was still holding Sean's arm and Katrina was watching her hand, the long tapered fingers against the dark cloth of Sean's suit. Sean saw the direction of Katrina's eyes and tried tactfully to disengage himself but Candy held on. Sean, these are my two current beaux. They were standing to heel behind her like welltrained gundogs. They are both so nice I can't make up my mind about them. Harry Lategaan and Derek Goodman. Boys, this is Sean Courtney. You've heard lots about him They shook hands all round.

Do you mind if we join you? asked Derek Goodman. I'd be upset if you didn't! said Sean. The men spread out to find chairs while Candy and Katrina studied each other. Is this your first visit to Johannesburg Mrs Courtney? Candy smiled sweetly. I wonder where Sean found her, she's thin as a stick and that complexion! that accent! he could have done better for himself, he could have had his pick.

Yes, we won't be here very long though. She's a harlot.

She must be, her breasts half-naked and the paint on her face and they way she touches Sean. She must have been his mistress. if she touches him again I'll, I'll kill her.

Sean came back to the table carrying a chair and set it down for Candy. Candy's one of my old friends, my dear, I'm sure you two will like each otherI'm sure we will, said Candy but Katrina didn't answer and Candy turned back to him. Sean, how wonderful it is to see you again. You look so well... as sunburnt and handsome as the first time I met you. Do you remember that day you and Duff came to eat at the Hotel? A shadow fell across Sean's face at the mention of Duff's name. Yes, I remember. He looked round and snapped his fingers for the waiter. Let's have some more champagne. I'll get it, Candy's escorts cut in simultaneously and then started wrangling good-naturedly as to whose turn it was.

Is Duff with you tonight, Sean? Candy asked.

, candy, didn't Derek get the drinks last time? It's my turn now. Harry sought her support. Candy ignored them and looked at Sean for a reply but he turned and went round the table to the seat beside Katrina.

I say, old girl, can I have the first dance? asked Derek. I'll spin you for it Derek, winner pays but getsfirst dance Harry suggested. You're on. Sean, I said is Duff here tonight? I Candy looked at him across the table, No, he's not. Listen, you two, how about letting me in on this. Sean avoided her eyes and joined in the haggle with Harry and Derek. Candy bit her lip, she wanted to press Sean further. She wanted to know about Duff, then suddenly she turned on her smile again. She wasn't going to plead with him.

What is this? She tapped Harry's shoulder with her fan. Am I going to be the prize in a game of chance!

Derek will pay for the wine and Sean gets first dance. I say old girl, that's a bit rough, you know. But Candy was already standing up. Come on, Sean, let's see if you can still tread a stately tneasure.

Sean glanced at Katrina. You don't mind, do you...

just one dance!

Katrina shook her head.

I hate her. She's a harlot. Katrina had never in her life spoken the word out loud, she had seen it only in her Bible, but now it gave her a fierce pleasure to think it.

She watched Sean and Candy walk arm-in-arm to the dance floor.

Would you care to dance, Mrs Courtney? said Derek.

Katrina shook her head again without looking at him. She was staring at Sean and Candy. She saw Sean take her in his arms and a cold lump settled in her stomach. Candy was looking up into Sean's face, laughing at him, her arm on his shoulder, her hand in his.

She's a harlot. Katrina felt her tears very near the surface and thinking that word held them back. Sean swirled Candy into a turn, Katrina stiffened in her chair, her hands clenching in her lap, their legs were touching, she saw Candy arch her back slightly and press her thighs against Sean. Katrina felt as though she were suffocating, jealousy had spread up cold and tight through her chest.

I could go and pull him away, she thought. I could stop him doing that, He has no right. It's as though the two of them are doing, doing it together. I know they have before, I know it now, Oh God, make them stop it.

Please make them stop.

At last Sean and Candy came back to the table. They were laughing together and when he reached her chair Sean dropped his hand on Katrina's shoulder, She moved away from it but Sean seemed not to notice. Everybody was having a good time. Everybody except Katrina. Harry and Derek were jostling for position. Sean's big laugh kept booming out and Candy was sparkling like the diamonds she wore. Every few minutes Sean turned to Katrina and tried to draw her into the conversation but Katrina stubbornly refused to be drawn. She sat there hating them and Hating even Sean an, for the first time she was unsure of him, jealous and frightened for him. She stared down at her hands on the tablecloth in front of her and saw how bony they were, chapped and reddened by the sun and wind, ugly compared to Candy's. She pulled them quickly into her lap and leaned across towards Sean. Please, I want to go back to the hotel. I don't feel well.

Sean stopped in the middle of a story and looked at her with a mixture of concern and dismay. He didn't want to leave and yet he knew she was still sick. He hesitated one second and then he said, Of course, my fancy, I'm sorry.

I didn't realize, He turned to the others. We'll have to be going... my wife's not too strong... she's just had one hell of a go of blackwater. Oh, Sean, must you? Candy couldn't hide her disappointment. There's still so much to talk about! I'm afraid so. We'll get together another night. $Yes, agreed Katrina quickly, next time we come to Johannesburg we'll see you. Oh, I don't know.. , perhaps before we go, Sean demurred. "Some night next week. How about Monday? Before Candy could answer Katrina interrupted.

Please, Sean, can we go now. I'm very tired. She started towards the stairs but looked back to see Candy jump up and take Sean's arm, hold her lips close to his ear and whisper a question. Sean answered her tersely and Candy turned back to the table and sat down. When they were out on the street Katrina asked, What did she say to you? She just said goodbye, muttered Sean and Katrina knew he was lying. They didn't talk again on the way back to the hotel. Katrina was preoccupied with her jealousy and Sean was thinking about what Candy had asked and what he had answered. Sean, where's Duff? You must tell me. He's dead, Candy. The second before she turned back to the table Sean had seen her eyes.

Sean woke with a headache and Dirk's jumping on his chest did not help to ease it at all. Sean had to bribe him off with the promise of sweets. Dirk, sensing his advantage, raised his price to a packet of bull's eyes and two lollipops, the kind with red stripes, before he allowed Katrina to lead him away to the bathroom. Sean sighed and settled back under the blankets. The pain moved up and crouched just behind his eyes. He could taste stale champagne on his own breath and his skin smelt of cigar smoke. He drowsed back in half sleep and the ache faded a little. Sean, it's Sunday you know. Are you coming to church with us? Katrina asked coldly from the bedroom door.

Sean squeezed his eyelids closed.

Sean! No answer.

Sean! He opened one eye. Are you going to get up? I don't feel very well, he croaked. I think I have a touch of malaria Are you coming? Katrina demanded remorselessly.

Her feelings towards him had not softened during the night. I don't feel up to it this morning, truly I don't. I'm sure the Good Lord will understand. , Thou shalt not take the Lord's name in vain Katrina warned him with ice in her voice. I'm sorry. Sean pulled the blankets up to his chin defensively. But truly, fancy, I can't get up for another couple of hours. My head would burst. Katrina turned back into the sitting-room and Sean heard her speak to Dirk in a voice purposely pitched to reach him. Your father's not coming with us. We will have to go down to breakfast by ourselves. Then we will have to go to church on our own. But, Dirk pointed out, he's going to buy me a packet of bull's eyes and two lollipops with red stripes. In Dirk's opinion that levelled the score. Sean heard the door of the suite close and Dirk's voice receded down the passage.

Sean relaxed slowly and waited for the ache behind his eyes to diminish. After a while he became aware of the coffee tray on the table beside the bed and he weighed the additional pain that the effort of sitting up would involve against the beneficial effect of a large cup of coffee. It was a difficult decision but in the end he carefully raised his body to a sitting position and poured a cupful. There was a small jug of fresh cream on the tray, he took it in his right hand and was just about to add a little to the cup when there was a knock on the sitting-room door. Come in! called Sean. He supposed it was the waiter coming to collect the tray. Sean searched his mind for a really scathing remark to send him on his way. He heard the sitting-room door open. Who is it! he asked. There were quick footsteps and then Sean started so violently that the cream slopped out of the jug onto his sheets and his new nightshirt. Good God, Candy, you shouldn't have come here. Sean was in a frenzy of agitation. He put the jug back on the tray with nervous haste and wiped ineffectually at the mess on his nightshirt with his hands. If my wife...

Did anyone see you? You mustn't stay. If Katrina knows you've been here she'll... well I mean, she won't understand. Candy's eyes were puffy and Trimmed with red. She looked as though she hadn't slept. It's all right, Sean, I waited across the street until I saw your wife leave. One of my servants followed her, she went to the Dutch church on Commissioner Street and there the service lasts about fifty years She came into the room and sat down on the edge of his bed. I had to talk to you alone. I couldn't let you go without knowing about Duff. I want you to tell me about it...

everything about it. I promise not to cry, I know how you hate it Candy, let's not torture ourselves with it. He's dead.

Let's remember him alive. Sean had forgotten his headache for its place had been taken by pity for her and worry at the position in which she had placed him. Tell me, please. Now. I'd never rest again if I didn't, she said quietly. Candy, don't you see that it doesn't matter? The way in which he went is not important. All that you need to know is he's gone. Sean's voice faded but went on softly, almost to himself, He's gone, that is the only thing that matters, he's gone and left us richer for knowing him and a little poorer for having lost him. Tell me, she said again and they looked at each other, their emotions locked behind expressionless faces. Then Sean told her, his words limping at first, then faster and stronger as the horror of it came back to him. When he had finished she said nothing. She sat on the edge of the bed staring down at the patterned carpet. Sean moved closer to her and put his arm around her. There is nothing we can do. That's the thing about death, there is nothing you can do to make it change its mind. She leaned against him, against the comfort of his big body and they sat silently until suddenly Candy pulled away from him and smiled her gay brittle smile. And now tell me about you. Are you happy? Was that your son with Katrina? He's a lovely child With relief Sean followed her away from the memory Of Duff. They talked about each other, filling in the blanks from the time they had last met until suddenly Sean returned to reality. Good God, Candy, we've been talking for ages. Katrina will be back at any moment. You had better run. At the door she turned, buried her fingers in his beard and tugged his head from side to side. If she ever throws you out, you magnificent brute, here's somebody who'll have a place for you. She stood up on her toes and kissed him. Be happy, she commanded and the door closed softly behind her.

Sean rubbed his chin, then he pulled off his nightshirt, screwed it into a ball, tossed it through the open door of the bedroom and went to the bathroom. He was towelling himself and whistling the waltz that the band had played the night before, sweating a little in the steamy warmth of the bathroom when he heard the front door open. Is that you, Fancy? Daddy! Daddy! Mummy got sweets for me. Dirk hammered on the bathroom door, and Sean wrapped the towel round his waist before opening it. Look! Look at all my sweets, gloated Dirk. Do you want one, Pa? Thank you, Dirk, Sean put one of the huge striped humbugs in his mouth, moved it to one side and spoke around it.

where's your Mummy? There. Dirk pointed at the bedroom. He closed the sweet packet carefully. I'll keep some for Bejaan, he announced. He'll like that, Sean said and went across to the bedroom. Katrina lay on the bed, as soon as he saw her he knew something was desperately wrong. She lay staring up at the ceiling, her eyes unseeing, her face as yellow and set as that of a corpse. Two quick strides carried him to her. He touched her cheek with his fingers and the sense of dread settled on him again, heavily, darkly. Katrina? There was no response. She lay still without a flicker of life in her eyes. Sean swung round and ran out of the suite, down the corridor to the head of the stairs.

There were people in the lobby below him and he yelled over their heads to the clerk behind the desk. Get a doctor! run! an as fast as you can... my wife, is dying The man stared UP at him blankly. He had a neck too thin for his high stiff collar and his black hair was parted down the centre and polished with grease.

Hurry, you stupid bastard, get moving, roared Sean.

Everybody in the lobby was looking at him. He still wore only a small towel around his waist and, heavy with water, his hair hung down over his forehead.

Move, man! Move! Sean was dancing with impatience.

There was a heavy stone vase on the banister at Sean's side, he picked it up threateningly and the clerk jerked out of his trance and scuttled for the front door. Sean ran back to the suite.

Dirk was standing by Katrina's bed, his face distorted by the humbug it contained and his eyes large with curiosity.

Sean snatched him up, carried him through to the other bedroom and locked the door on his outraged howls. Dirk was unused to being handled in that manner. Sean went back to Katrina and knelt beside her bed. He was still kneeling there when the doctor arrived. Tersely Sean explained about the blackwater, and the doctor listened then sent him to wait in the sitting-room. It was a long wait before the doctor came through to him and Sean sensed that behind his professional poker face the man was puzzled.

Is it a relapse? Sean demanded. No, I don't think so. I've given her a sedativeWhat's wrong with her?

What is it? - Sean pursued him and the doctor hedged. Has your wife had some sort of shock... some bad news, something that could have alarmed her? Has she been under nervous strain? No... she's just come back from church. Why? What's wrong? Sean caught the doctor's lapels and shook him in his agitation. It appears to be some sort of paralytic hysteria. I've given her laudanum. She'll sleep now and I'll come back to see her this evening. The doctor was trying to loosen Sean's hands from his jacket. Sean let him go and pushed past him to the bedroom.

The doctor called again just before dark, Sean had undressed Katrina and put her into the bed, but apart from that she had not moved. Her breathing was shallow and fast despite the drug she had been given. The doctor was baffled.

I can't understand it, Mr Courtney. There is nothing I can find wrong with her apart from her general run-down condition. I think we'll just have to wait and see, I don't want to give her any more drugs. Sean knew the man could be of no more help to him and he hardly noticed when he left with a promise to come again in the morning. Mbejane gave Dirk his bath, fed him and put him to bed and then he slipped quietly out of the suite and left Sean alone with Katrina. The afternoon of worry had tired Sean. He left the gas burning in the sitting-room and stretched out on his own bed.

After a while he slept.

When the rhythm of Ins breathing changed Katrina looked across at him. Sean lay fully clothed on top of his blankets, one thickly muscled arm thrown above his head and his tension betrayed by the twitching of his lips and the frown that puckered his face. Katrina stood up and moved across to stand over him, lonely as she had never been in the solitude of the bush, hurt beyond the limits of physical pain and with everything that she believed in destroyed in those few minutes that it had taken for her to discover the truth.

She looked down at Sean and with surprise realized that she still loved him, but now the security that she had found with him was gone. The walls of her castle had proved paper. She had felt the first cold draughts blowing in through them as she watched him reliving his past and regretting it. She had felt the walls tremble and the wind howl stronger outside when he danced with that woman - then, they had collapsed into rain around her. Standing in the half-darkened room, watching the man she trusted so completely and who just as completely had betrayed her, she went carefully over the ground again to make sure there was no mistake.

That morning, she and Dirk had stopped at the sweet shop on the way back from church. It was almost opposite the hotel. it had taken Dirk a long time to select his tuppenny worth.

The profusion of wares on display unmanned him and reduced him to a state of dithering indecision. Finally, with the assistance of the proprietor and a little prompting from Katrina his purchases were made and packed into a brown paper bag. They were just about to go when Katrina looked out through the large front window of the shop and saw Candy Rautenbach leaving the hotel. She came quickly down the front steps, glanced about her, crossed the street to a waiting carriage and her coachman whisked her away. Katrina had stopped the instant she caught sight of her. A pang of last night's jealousy returned, for Candy looked very lovely even in the morning sunlight. It was not until Candy's carriage disappeared that Katrina began to question her presence at their hotel at eleven o'clock on a Sunday morning. Her jealousy was a bayonet thrust up under her ribs: it made her catch her breath. Vividly she remembered Candy's whispered question as they left the Golden Guinea the previous night. She remembered the way Sean had answered and the way he had lied about it afterwards.

Sean knew that Katrina would go to church that morning.

How simple it all was! Sean had arranged to meet her, he had refused to accompany Katrina and while Katrina was out of the way that harlot had gone to him.Mummy, you're hurting me. Unconsciously she had tightened her grip on Dirk's hand. She hurried out of the shop, dragging Dirk with her. She almost ran across the hotel lobby, up the stairs and along the passage. The door was closed. She opened it and the smell of Candy's perfume met her.

Her nostrils flared at it. There was no mistaking it, she remembered it from the previous evening the smell of fresh violets. She heard Sean call from the bathroom, Dirk ran across the room and hammered on the door. Daddy! Daddy! Mummy got sweets for me. She put her Bible down on top of the writing desk and moved across the thick carpet with the smell of violets all around her. She stood in the doorway of the bedroom.

Sean's nightshirt lay on the floor, there were still damp stains on it. She felt her legs begin to tremble. She looked up and saw the stains on the bed, grey on the white sheets.

She felt giddy, her cheeks burned; she only just managed to reach her own bed.

She knew there was no mistake. Sean had taken that woman in such a casually blatant manner, in their own bedroom, almost before her eyes, that his rejection of her could hardly have been more final if he had slapped her face and thrown her into the street. Weakened by fever, depressed by the loss of her child and the phase of her cycle, she had not the resilience to fight against it. She had loved him but she had proved insufficient for him.

She could not stay with him: the stubborn pride of her race would not allow it. There was only one alternative.

Timidly she bent over him and as she kissed him she smelt the warm man-smell of his body and felt his beard brush her cheek. Her determination wavered; she wanted to throw herself across his chest, lock her arms around his neck and plead with him. She wanted to ask for another chance. If he could tell her how she had failed him she could try to change, if only he could show her what she had done wrong. Perhaps if they went back into the bush again, She dragged herself away from his bed. She pressed her knuckles hard against her lips. It was no use. He had decided and even if she begged him to take her back there would always be this thing between them. She had lived in a castle and she would not change it now for a mud hut. Driven by the trek whip of her pride she moved quickly across to the wardrobe. She put on a coat and buttoned it, it reached to her ankles and covered her nightdress; she spread the green shawl over her head, winding the loose end around her throat. once more she looked across at Sean. He slept with his big body sprawled and the frown still on his face.

In the sitting-room. she stopped beside the writing desk. -Her Bible lay where she had left it. She opened the front cover, dipped the pen and wrote. She closed the book and went to the door. There she hesitated once more and looked back at Dirk's bedroom. She could not trust herself to see him again. She lifted an end of the shawl to cover her mouth, then she went out into the passage and closed the door softly behind her.

Sean was surprised to find himself fully dressed and lying on top of his bed when he woke next morning. It was still half dark outside the hotel windows and the room was cold. He propped himself up on one elbow and rubbed at his eyes with the back of a clenched fist. Then he remembered and he swung his legs off the bed and looked at Katrina's bed. The blankets were thrown back and it was empty. Sean's first feeling was relief, she had recovered enough to get up on her own. He went through to the bathroom, stumbling a little from the stiffness of uneasy sleep. He tapped on the closed door.

Katrina? he questioned and then again louder. Katrina, are you in there? The handle turned when he tried it and the door swung open without resistance. He blinked at the empty room, white tiles reflecting the uncertain light, a towel thrown across a chair where he had left it. He felt the first twinge of alarm. Dirk's room, the door was still locked, the key on the outside. He flung it open. Dirk sat up in bed, his face flushed, his curls standing up like the leaves of a sisal bush. Sean ran out into the passage, along it and looked down into the lobby. There was a light burning behind the reception desk. The clerk slept with his head on his arms, sitting forward on his chair snoring Sean went down the stairs three at a time. He shook the clerk. Has anybody been out through here during the night?

Sean demanded. I... I don't know. Is that door locked? Sean pointed at the front door. No, sir, there's a night latch on it. You can get out but not in. Sean ran out onto the pavement. Which way, which way to search for her? Which way had she gone? Back to Pretoria to the wagons? Sean thought not. She would need transport and she had no money to hire it. Why should she leave without waking him, leave Dirk, leave her clothing and disappear into the night. She must have been unbalanced by the drugs the doctor had given her. Perhaps there was something in his theory that she had suffered a shock, perhaps she was wandering in her nightdress through the streets with no memory, perhaps, Sean stood in the cold grey Transvaal morning, the city starting to murmur into wakefulness around him, the questions crowding into his head and finding there no answers with which to mate.

He turned and ran back through the hotel, out of the rear door into the stable yard. Mbejane, he shouted, Mbejane, where the hell are you? Mbejane appeared quickly from the stall where he was currying one of the hired horses. Nkosi? Have you seen the Nkosikazi?

Mbejane's face creased into a puzzled frown. Yesterday, - No, man, shouted Sean. Today, last night... have you seen her?

Mbejane's expression was sufficient reply.

Sean brushed impatiently past him and ran into the stable. He snatched a saddle off the rack and threw it onto the back of the nearest horse. While he clinched the girth and forced a bit between its teeth he spoke to Mbejane. The Nkosikazi is sick. She has left during the night. It is possible that she walks as one who still sleeps. Go quickly among your friends and tell them to search for her, tell them that there's ten pounds in gold for the one who finds her. Then come back here and care for Dirk until I return. Sean led the horse from the stable and Mbejane hurried off to spread the word. Sean knew that within minutes half the Zulus in Johannesburg would be looking for Katrina, tribal loyalty and ten pounds in gold were strong incentives. He swung up onto the horse and galloped out of the yard. He tried the Pretoria road first. Three miles out of town a native herd boy grazing sheep beside the road convinced him that Katrina did not passed that way.

He turned back. He paid a visit to the police station at Marshal Square. The Kommandant remembered him from the old days; Sean could rely on his cooperation.

Sean left him and rode fast through the streets that were starting to fill with the bustle of a working day. He hitched his horse outside the hotel and took the front steps three at a time. The clerk had no news for him. He ran up the stairs and along the passage to his suite. Mbejane was feeding Dirk his breakfast. Dirk beamed at Sean through a faceful of egg and spread his arms to be picked up but Sean had no time for him. Has she come back?

Mbejane shook his head. They will find her, Nkosi.

Fifty men are searching for her now. Stay with the child, said Sean and went down to his horse. He stood beside it ready to mount but not knowing which way to go. Where the hell has she got to? he demanded aloud. In her night clothes with no money, where the hell had she gone?

He mounted and rode with aimless urgency through the streets, searching the faces of the people along the sidewalks, turning down the sanitary lanes and peering into backyards and vacant plots. By midday he had tired his horse and worked himself into a ferment of worry and bad temper. He had searched every street in Johannesburg, made a nuisance of himself at the police station and sworn at the hotel clerk, but there was still no sign of Katrina. He was riding down Jeppe Street for the fifth time when the imposing double-storey of Candy's Hotel registered through his preoccupation. Candy, he whispered. She can help. He found her in her office among Persian rugs and Ot furniture, walls covered with pink and blue patterned wallpaper, a mirrored ceiling hung with six crystal waterfalls of chandeliers and a desk with an Indian mosaic top.

Sean pushed aside the little man in the black alpaca coat who tried to stop him entering and burst into the room.

Candy looked up and her small frown of -annoyance smoothed as she saw who it was. Sean... oh, how nice to see you She came round from behind the desk, the bell tent of her skirts covering the movement of her legs so she seemed to float. Her skin was smooth white and her eyes were happy blue. She held out her hand to him, but hesitated as she saw his face. What is it, Sean? He told her in a rush and she listened and when he had finished she rang the bell on her desk. There's brandy in the cabinet by the fireplace, she said, I expect you are in need of one. The little man in the alpaca coat came quickly to the bell. Sean poured himself a large brandy and listened to Candy giving orders. Check the railway station. Telegraph the coach stages on each of the main roads. Send someone up to the hospital. Check the registers of every hotel and boarding-house in town. Very well, madame. The little man bobbed his head as he acknowledged each instruction and then he was gone.

Candy turned back to Sean. You can pour a drink for me also and then sit down and simmer down. You're behaving just the way she wanted you to What do you mean? demanded Sean. You are being given a little bit of wifely discipline, my dear. Surely you have been married long enough to recognize thatV Sean carried the glass across to her and Candy patted the sofa next to her. Sit down, she said. We'll find your little Cinderella for youWhat do you mean wifely discipline? he demanded again. Punishment for bad behaviour. You may have eaten with your mouth open, answered back, taken more than your share of the blankets, not said good morning with the right inflection or committed one of the other mortal sins of matrimony, but -- Candy sipped her drink and gasped slightly, I see that time has not given you a lighter hand with the brandy bottle. One Courtney tot always did equal an imperial gallon... but, as I was saying, my guess is that little Katy is having an acute attack of jealousy.

Probably her first, seeing that the two of you have spent your whole married life out in the deep sticks and she has never had an opportunity of watching the Courtney charm work on any other female before. Nonsense, said Sean. Who's she got to be jealous of? Me, said Candy. Every time she looked at me the other night I felt as though I'd been hit in the chest with an axe Candy touched her magnificent bosom with her fingertips, skilfully drawing Sean's attention to it. Sean looked at it. It was deeply cleft and smelt of fresh violets.

He shifted restlessly and looked away. Nonsense, he said again. We're just old friends, almost like - he hesitated. I hope, my dear, that you weren't going to say "brother and sister"... I'll not be party to any incestuous relationship... or had you forgotten about that?

Sean had not forgotten. Every detail of it was still clear.

He blushed and stood up. I'd better be going, he said. I'm going to keep looking for her. Thanks for your help, Candy, and for the drink. Whatever I have is yours, sir, she murmured, lifting an eyebrow at him, enjoying the way he blushed. I'll let you know as soon as we hear anything. The assurance that Candy had given him wore thinner as the afternoon went by with no news of Katrina. By nightfall Sean was again wild with worry, it had completely swamped his bad temper and even anaesthetized his fatigue. One by one Mbejane's tribesmen came in to report a blank score, one by one the avenues Candy's men were exploring proved empty, and long before midnight Sean was the only hunter left. He rode hunched in the saddle, a lantern in his hand, riding the ground that had already been covered a dozen times, visiting the mining camps along the ridge, stopping to question late travellers he met along the network of roads between the mines.

But the answer was always the same. Some thought he was joking: they laughed until they saw that his face was haunted and dark-eyed in the lantern light, then they stopped laughing and moved hurriedly on. Others had heard about the missing woman; they started to question him, but as soon as Sean realized they could not help him, he pushed past them and went on searching. At dawn he was back at the hotel. Mbejane was waiting for him.

Nkosi I have had food ready for you since last night.

Eat now and sleep a little. I will send the men out to search again today, they will find her. Tell them, I will give one hundred pounds to the one who finds her. Sean passed his hand wearily across his face. Tell them to hunt the open veld beyond the ridges, she may not have followed a road. I will tell them... but now you must eat.

Sean blinked his eyes, they were red-veined and each had a little lump of yellow mucus in the corner.

Dirk? he asked. He is well, Nkosi, I have stayed with him all the while Mbejane took Sean firmly by the arm. There is food ready. You must eat. Saddle me another horse, said Sean. I will eat while you do it.

Without sleep, unsteady in the saddle as the day wore on, Sean widened the circle of his search until he was out into the treeless veld and the mine headgears, were small spidery triangles on the horizon.

A dozen times he met Zulus from the city, big black men in loin cloths, moving at their businesslike trot, hunting the ground like hounds. There was a concealed sympathy behind their greetings. Mbejane has told us, Nkosi. We will find her. And Sean left them and rode on alone, more alone than he had ever been in his LIFE before. After dark he rode back into Johannesburg, the faint flutter of hope inside him stilled as he limped stiffly into the gas-lit lobby, of the hotel and saw the pity in the reception clerk's face. No word, I'm afraid, Mr Courtney Sean nodded. Thanks anyway. is my son all right? Your servant has taken good care of him, sir. I sent dinner up to him an hour ago The stairs seemed endless as he climbed them. By God, he was tired, sick-tired and sick with worry. He pushed open the door of his suite and Candy stood up from a chair across the room. The hope flared up in him again Have you he started eagerly. No, she said quickly. No, Sean, I'm sorry. He flopped into one of the chairs and Candy poured a drink for him from a decanter that was waiting on the writing desk. He smiled his thanks and took a big gulp at the glass. Candy lifted his legs one at a time and pulled off his boots, ignoring his faint protest. Then she took up her own glass and went to sit across the room from him.

I'm sorry I joked yesterday, she apologized softly. I don't think I realized how much you love her. She lifted her glass to him. Here's a speedy end to the search.

Sean drank again, half a glass at a swallow.

You do love her, don't you? Candy asked.

Sean answered her sharply. She's my wife. But it's not only that, Candy went on recklessly, knowing his anger was just below the surface of his fatigue. Yes, I love her. I'm just learning how much, I love her as I'll never be able to love again. He drained his glass and stared at it, his face grey under the frown and his eyes dark with unhappiness. Love! he said. love? mouthing the word, weighing it. They've dirtied that word...

they sell love at the Opera House... they have used that word so much that now when I want to say "I love Katrina" it doesn't sound what I mean. Sean hurled the glass against the far wall, it shattered with a crack and a tingle and Dirk stirred in the bedroom. Sean dropped his voice to a fierce whisper. I love her so it screws my gut, I love her so that to think of losing her now is like thinking of dying.

He clenched his fists and leaned forward in his chair. I'll not lose her now, by Christ, I'll find her and when I do I'll tell her this. I'll tell her just like I'm telling you. He stopped and frowned. I don't think I've ever said to her "I love you. " I've never liked using that word. I've said "Marry me" and "You're my fancy, " but I've never said it straight before. Perhaps that's part of the reason she ran away, Sean, perhaps because you never said it she thought you never felt it. Candy was watching him with a strange expression, pity and understanding and a litlle.. - yearning. I'll find her, said Sean, and this time I'll tell her... if it's not too late. You'll find her and it won't be too late. The earth can't have swallowed her, and she'll be glad to hear you say it. Candy stood up. You must rest now, you have a hard day ahead of you.

Sean slept fully dressed in the chair in the sitting-room.

He slept brokenly, his mind struggling and kicking him back to half wakefulness every few minutes. Candy had turned the gas low before she left and its light fell in a soft pool onto the writing desk beneath it. Katrina's Bible lay Where she had left it and each time Sean started awake the fat, leather-covered book caught his eye. Some time before dawn he woke for the last time and knew he could not sleep again.

He stood up and his body still ached and his eyes felt gritty. He moved across to the gas lamp and turned it up high, he let his hand drop from the lamp onto the Bible.

its leather was cool and softly polished beneath his fingers. He opened the front cover and caught his breath with a hiss.

Beneath Katrina's name, in her carefully rounded writing, the ink still freshly blue, she had filled in the date of death.

The page magnified slowly in front of his eyes until it filled the whole field of his vision. There was a rushing sound in his ears, the sound of a river in flood, but above it he heard voices, different voices.

Let's go, Sean, it looks like a grave! But more than anything she needs love The earth can't have swallowed her.

And his own voice, If it's not too late, if it's not too late The morning light was gathering strength as he reached the ruins of the old Candy Deep office block. He left his horse and ran through the grass towards the mine dump.

The wind was small and cold; it moved the tops of the grass and went on to where Katrina's green shawl was caught on the barbed wire fence that ringed the shaft. In the wind the shawl flapped its wings like a big green bird of prey.

Sean reached the fence and looked down into the mouth of the shaft. At one place the grass had been torn away from the edge as though someone had snatched at it as they fell.

Sean loosed the shawl from the spikes of the barbed wire, he balled the heavy material in his fists, then he held it out over the shaft and let it drop. It spread out as it floated down into the blackness, and it was the bright green of Katrina's eyes. Why? whispered Sean. rWhy have you done this to us, my fancy? He turned away and walked back to his horse, stumbling carelessly in the rough footing.

Mbejane was waiting for him in the hotel suite.

Get the carriage, Sean told him. The Nkosikazi -TGet the carriage, Sean repeated.

Sean carried Dirk downstairs. He paid his bill at the reception desk and went out to where MbeJane had the carriage ready. He climbed up into it and held Dirk on his lap.

Drive back to Pretoria, Sean said.

Where's Mummy? Dirk demanded. She's not coming with us. Are we going alone? Dirk insisted and Sean nodded wearily. Yes, Dirk, we are going alone. Is Mummy coming just now? No, Dirk. No, she's not. It was finished, Sean thought. It was all over, all the dreams and the laughter and the love, He was too numbed to feel the pain yet, it would come later. Why are you squeezing me so hard, Daddy? Sean slackened his grip and looked down at the child on his lap. it was not finished, he realized; it was only a new beginning.

But first I must have time for this to heal. time, and a quiet place to he up with this wound. The wagons are waiting and I must go back into the wilderness.

Perhaps after another year I will have healed sufficiently to start again, to go back to Lady-burg with my son, back to Lady-burg, and to Ada and to Garry, he thought. Then suddenly and sickeningly he felt the pain again, and the deep raw ache of it frightened him. Please God, prayed Sean who had never prayed before, please God give me the strength to endure it. Are you going to cry, Daddy? You look like you're going to cry. Dirk was watching Sean's face with solemn curiosity. Sean pulled the child's head gently against his shoulder and held it there.

If tears could pay both our debts, thought Sean, if with my tears I could buy for you an indulgence from all pain, if by weeping now I could do all your weeping for you then I would cry until my eyes were washed away. No, Dirk, he answered. I am not going to cry, crying never helps very much. And Mbejane took them to where the wagons waited at Pretoria.

The End

Wilbur Smith was born in Central Africa in 1933. He was educated at Michaelhouse and Rhodes University.

He became a full-time writer in 1964 after the successful publication of When the Lion Feeds, and has since written twenty novels, meticulously researched on his numerous expeditions worldwide.

He normally travels from November to February, often spending a month skiing in Switzerland, and visiting Australia and New Zealand for sea fishing. During his summer break, he visits environments as diverse as Alaska and the dwindling wilderness of the African interior. He has an abiding concern for the peoples and wildlife of his native continent, an interest strongly reflected in his novels.

He is married to Danielle, to whom his last nineteen books have been dedicated.

The End