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Authors: H. N. Quinnen

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BOOK: Starlight in the Ring
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However, her forehead creases slightly as she blinks rapidly to hold her tears; and then, a faint smile vanishes from her face completely. Extreme sadness replaces it as she remembers my paternal grandfather, Mvula Nkomo (meaning Rain Cow), a farm labourer for Baas Jimmie’s dad, Walter Douglas.

Walter struggled to call my granddad with his indigenous names. So, he gave him the Caucasian name, Baker; he was often seen carrying his baking pot, baking his own bread. That’s how my dad became Benjamin Baker, the names he cherished. This is a common trend in South Africa.

Born and bred in Skoonfontein, my father resembles his dad in every way possible, his six foot height, baldness, short temper, and above all loyalty to his master, Jimmie. His body is well-built like an athlete’s. His farm jobs require such a physique. There’s a lot of running around, carrying heavy bags of cement or crops, and he is always rushing. Often he is dressed in his filthy, sweat-smelling patched blue overalls and black Wellington boots: my father works night and day.

He has little time for himself and the family, often on stand-by for availability for as long as Baas Jimmie needs him. One can tell this from his cracked, hard dirty hands, eyes clogged with sleep, and scruffy long beard. I sometimes wonder how he managed to have the two of us. My dad is compassionate when unprovoked, and likes to have other children around helping us with these unending farm errands.

Being the youngest in our family, I often wonder why my appearance is different from my parents’ and my sister’s. They are all brown skinned, yet mine’s very light. I’m referred to as ‘a goat among the sheep’, in addition to other names. My family has
black coarse hair, and mine is a bit thin, wavy, long and brown. There’s no doubt, I have mixed-race features in me. I have a slim body with brownish eyes and protruding nose, more like a European’s.

I could easily be classified as ‘a Cape-coloured’, an official term for people born from natives and European ‘parents’. However, as both my mum and dad are natives, I can’t get this identity. How I bear such features is still the mystery to be resolved. Rita, my cousin, joined my family from the age of two. We are often together in whatever we do.

On this day

We’re out collecting cattle from the field. It’s our turn. We set off earlier due to the day’s unpredictable weather. We run all along, competing against each other until we reach the camp.

“The person who reaches the bridge last will marry Brother Bravo,” I say, taking the lead. When we reach the place, the next person says the same and names the place. This game, ‘Brother Bravo’s wife’ speeds us up, and I love it. In reality, there is no person called Brother Bravo. He could be a character from a book. We get there without feeling the tiredness that usually follows a long walk.

The grazing fields are quite a distance from home, and it takes some time to gather the cattle. Strangely, today when we get to our field, there are no cattle. The field is ring-fenced, and the gate is properly shut as usual.

We walk around the fence trying to establish how they might have escaped. We come to a gorge. The fence seems to have been deliberately cut.
Who could do this awful thing? And what would be the motive behind it?
I think of many things. However, I couldn’t be certain my guesses were right. Baas always says, “Be vigilant – we have enemies around here.” At the same time, he never reveals who they are. So, ‘our enemies’ did it, perhaps.

As we stand there wondering what to do next, the lightning flashes, and the rumbling thunder follows. The rain pours heavily. We walk around, foolishly not knowing what to do. We carry on searching, ignoring the rain for a little while. It gets heavier, making it difficult for me to see the way. The water starts dripping from my clothes. Feeling soaked from head to toe, I struggle, dragging myself, trying to speed up. I brush off the rain from my eyes with my hands, to be able to see the way. Different thoughts cross my mind.

If we return home now, Baas Jimmie Douglas will be extremely annoyed with us. “Where is my herd of cattle, Betty?” he will ask aggressively. He might lash out; I know him. What shall I say to calm him down? He can be a monster, demanding things to be done his way throughout.

Jimmie, with his wife Theodora, and their only son, Mark, own this farm. They inherited it from Jimmie’s parents. Jimmie, the giant with big, blue eyes and grey moustache is frightening. He has a distinctly loud, hostile voice, and never laughs with farm labourers. He is short-tempered, and very unpredictable. He maintains his dignity in that scary, intimidating way. He wears clothes according to seasons. Two things that make him special – he hates lazy people, and swears a lot. He never enjoys seeing people sitting down or sleeping, except at night when all the jobs are completed and the animals are asleep. However, I still believe he is a really nice man, generally. Where would I be, should he not have given me and my family a home, made of bricks, instead of just shacks like houses for labourers in other farms?

I imagine the conflict, if we return home without finding the cattle. I can’t provoke him. I dislike hearing him swear when he is angry. Though no one ever challenges his behaviour, he shouts non-stop, calling all the bad names he thinks of. He usually leaves me emotionally scarred after a conflict. I have to live with these scars as I cannot erase them.

“Where have the cattle gone, Rita?”

“I don’t know,” Rita replies, clenching her lips, eyes opening widely, and shrugging her shoulders.

“Huh, we’re in great trouble today,” I suggest, feeling uneasy, confused and frightened with wobbly knees, shivering from cold.

“No, I don’t think so,” Rita replies hesitantly, with her eyes gazing about, searching. Our pace slows down for a while, and then gradually improves.

“For goodness’ sake, we must find his cattle, Rita. That will cheer him up. We can’t get away with it.” Feeling heartbroken and dismayed, I shout loudly at the top of my voice:

“Betsy!”


Betsy.
’ I merely hear a faint echo.

“Buttercup!” I call as loud as I possibly can.


Buttercup.
’ I hear an echo again.

I stand on the riverbank, looking down and across the river, hoping to find clues for missing cattle. My eyes look between the bushes, under the dancing leaves of the willow trees, towards the cliffs, and at the foot of the mountain. I wonder why Baas’ cattle can’t respond to my voice today, and come to me running. “Stanford, beautiful Stanford, come to me!” I plead, in desperation, with my whimpering voice, and with tears in my eyes.

“Ferdinand! It’s time to return home!” I say, running out of words, and getting tired of screaming. My head starts pounding.

There’s no sign of the herd of cattle. I always call once or twice before they recognise me, and then come running and bellowing. However, not today – all I can hear is my echo. Suddenly, Rita and I plunge into the dirty deep water swimming across the river. We reach the other side, force our way through the wet thorn trees. We walk across the barns, towards the rocks, expecting to find the herd of cattle.

“Ouch!” I scream, as a thorn pricks my face, tearing my skin deeply diagonally. The blood flows down my left cheek, just
below my eye. I wipe it off with the back of my hand, feeling very hurt without imagining the bruise I have. It would have been worse if it had pierced my eyeball.

I lean over the fence, exhausted and confused. My heart throbbing loudly, I fear the worst. “I’m responsible. What will I tell Baas?” I say to Rita, who is also panting from tiredness. “Shall we go home, and continue searching tomorrow?” I’m deeply stressed and confused. It’s hard for me to make a firm decision and stick to it, as a similar memory bombards my thoughts.

“No, we can’t go home without them. Where will I run to?” I’ve tried very hard to forget about this terrible incident over the past three years, but it is impossible. It’s stuck to my mind. Whenever I think about Baas’ reaction when angry, I remember what he did to my friend, Raymond Barton. Then, sadness and fear engulf me. Tears start flowing, and I weep uncontrollably.

On that day, Baas Jimmie waited until we put out our lamps, leaving our house dark. He was certain we were all asleep. However, he was wrong. I wasn’t. Lying still, with my head covered with only a small opening left just for my eye to see what he was doing, I watched every move he made.

Trying to be still by breathing gently was difficult. I couldn’t continue for any longer. It got better when I opened my mouth. However, the more I tried to suppress my breathing the louder my heart pounded. Could he tell I was awake? Just in case he looked at me, I lay motionless like the dead, giving him no chance to be suspicious. I was like the other children in the room.

My Baas trod carefully in silence, trying to locate Ray, the oldest of us all at that time. This task seemed difficult for him. There were many children sleeping on the hay mattresses on the floor. Someone was snoring loudly. Baas uncovered their heads simultaneously. He stood above Ray’s head calling, “Ray! Ray! Get up… now!”

“Hmm?” Ray replied in a slurred tone, clearly still in deep sleep, turning over to face the other side. I felt a chill slip down
my spine. Afraid to move, I held my breath. My eyes blurred with tears. To gain visibility, I wiped them off gently with the corner of my blanket that I held tightly onto.

“Bloody hell!…Why are you here when my Daisy isn’t? You’re happy to enjoy your sleep, at my loss? No boy, you can’t, get up!”

There was silence for a moment. Ray delayed, probably still recollecting his mind from the deep sleep. And then he tried explaining, “I’m sorry, my Baas. I went all over, searching…” Before he finished his sentence, Baas Jimmie interrupted him, completely ignoring his lengthy explanation.

“Shut up, lazy boy… ignorant boy!” shouted Baas Jimmie.

Ray, complying with the order, kept quiet for a while, and sat up, holding on to the blanket.

“I’m sorry, Baas!” he bleated eventually, staring at Baas Jimmie, caught up in a trap. Baas uncovered his blankets, leaving him naked.

Poor Ray had no clothes on, but I couldn’t tell at first, as it was usual for all of us children to sleep half-naked or naked. I heard the whip-sound as he whacked him - one lash - two lashes - and three lashes, all on his bare body. He resisted for a while. It must have been difficult to endure such pain.

“Aaargh, my Baas!” Ray finally screamed in agony, staring at him motionlessly, with his tearful eyes.

“Silly boy!”

Baas Jimmie yelled, waking my parents and other children up. His loud noise disturbed the whole house. My parents put their lamp on, illuminating the living room brighter than his bouncing flimsy torch-light. I saw them standing by their bedroom door, my mum hiding slightly behind my dad, with nothing to say or do. They couldn’t dare to challenge Baas Jimmie, not even in their ‘own’ home. They were just helpless poor labourers, in need of a roof over their heads, and food to feed us and themselves.

Ray couldn’t take it anymore. He leaped out of the door like
the football goalkeeper diving to intercept a score. My heart sank. Trying to hold tears and control my breath was difficult for me.

“Hey, Ray! Get back here!” Baas Jimmie screamed, attempting to catch him. Fortunately, he missed him, but dropped his torch, instead. He delayed picking it up; and then a chase started. This time he was extremely angry, hissing like a snake. He left our house, slamming the door behind so loudly.

My parents stood there for a while before returning to their bedroom. My soft-hearted mum wiped her eyes, and blew her nose with her flannelette nightdress sleeve every so often. I knew she was crying. My heart, filled with sadness, really ached. I couldn’t tolerate seeing my mum cry. Under my blankets, hopeless, I felt angry and frustrated with what I witnessed. My eyes filled up with tears. I wiped them off, this time with the hem of my blanket. Soon, it became wet also, and I pulled another dry corner of my blanket to wipe my cheeks. I sobbed quietly. The pain I felt was so unbearable. However, when my tears stopped flowing, I pretended to be asleep.

Firstly, I heard the running footsteps outside - a chase was on…and then they disappeared in silence. I was trembling under my blankets, wondering what Baas would do to all of us on his return. With my eyes soaked in tears again, my hands sweating and my body shivering, I heard my heartbeat pumping louder than usual. I felt pity for Ray, and disgusted with Baas Jimmie. However, I preferred him compared to his son, Mark Douglas - the ‘small Baas,’ who would never say a word to me. I found his presence intimidating. He would stare, making me feel uncomfortable.

My parents returned to the dining room whispering between themselves. I could hear the sound of my dad’s deep voice, though. They stood there probably confused and feared for their lives. My mum’s right hand moved across her face every so often. I guessed she couldn’t stop crying. I sat up saying, “It’s all right, Mama.” I got up, stood by her side, whispering and comforting
her from the distress she displayed. “We’ll be a successful family one day.”

“Shh, Betty,” my mum mumbled, with eyes opened wide, tapping her index finger on her lips.

“Mama, I hate this,” I said softly trying to sound persuasive. “It’s unfair.”

I know how she felt about Ray. She has always cared about people generally, especially the orphans. The hurt she portrayed in her voice and appearance broke my heart. My parents returned to their bedroom talking softly to each other. I went back to my mattress to lie down. Our house was dark again. Without realising, I fell asleep.

The first thing I did the following morning was to look around for Ray’s clothes. His brown pair of trousers was lying by the door. The white t-shirt he wore that afternoon was on his pillow. It seemed he tried to grab some of his clothes, but he couldn’t manage it before escaping. He was under too much pressure.

I looked on the floor, and noticed some dry bloodstains. I followed this blood-trail outside, and behind our house. The grass was long. I couldn’t guess which way he escaped. I thought he could go for ever, and never return. These thoughts triggered the pain I felt when I heard him cry. I returned home, weeping, but hoping to hear Ray knocking at the door, calling my name.

BOOK: Starlight in the Ring
10.09Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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