The Sound of Thunder (40 page)

Only a thin wooden partition separated them. Ada’s cottage had not been designed as a workshop and hostel for her girls. She had solved the problem by enclosing the wide, back veranda and dividing it into cubicles each large enough to hold a bed, a cupboard and a washstand.

One of these was Mary’s and tonight Dirk was in the cubicle next to hers.

For an hour she lay and listened to him weep, praying quietly that he would exhaust himself and fall asleep. Twice she thought he had done so, but each time after a silence of only a few minutes the tear, muffled sobs started again. Each of them drove needles of physical pain deep into her chest, so that she lay rigid in her bed with her fists clenched until they ached.

Dirk had become the central theme of her existence. He was the one bright tower in the desolation. She loved him with obsessive devotion, for he was so beautiful, so young and clean and straight.

She loved the feel of his skin and the springy silk of his hair.

When she looked at Dirk her own face did not matter. Her own scarred ruin of a face did not matter.

The months she had been separated from him had been an agony and a dark lonely time. But now he was back and once again he needed her comfort. She slipped from her bed and stood taut with her love, her whole attitude portraying her compassion. The moonlight that filtered in through the mosquito screened window treated her with the same compassion. It toned down the mottled cicatrice that coarsened the planes of her face and it showed them as they might have been. Her twenty, year old body beneath the thin nightgown was slender but full breasted, innocent Of the marks that marred her face. A young body, a soft body clad in moon, luminous white like that of an angel.

Dirk sobbed again and she went to him.

“Dirk,” she whispered as she knelt beside his bed. “Dirk, please don’t cry, please, my darling.

Dirk gulped explosively and rolled away from her, folding his arms across his face.

“Shh! my darling. It’s all right now. ” She began to stroke his hair. Her touch evoked a fresh outburst of grief from him, liquid choking grief that spluttered and throbbed in the darkness.

“Oh Dirk, please. And she went into his bed. The sheets were warm and moist where he had lain. She gathered him, held his hot body to her bosom and began to rock him in her arms.

Her own loneliness at last overwhelmed her. Her voice took on a husky quality as she whispered to him. She strained to him, her need growing much greater than his.

One last convulsive sob and Dirk was silent. She felt the tension go out of his back and out of his hard round buttocks that were pressed into her stomach. Straining him even closer, her fingers moved down across his cheek to caress his throat.

Dirk turned towards her, turning within the circle of her arms.

She felt his chest heave and subside as he sighed, and his voice stifled with misery.

“He doesn’t love me. He went away and left me.”

“I love you, Dirk,” she whispered. “I love you, we all love you, darling.” And she kissed his eyes and his cheeks and his mouth. The taste of his tears was hot salt.

Dirk sighed again and bowed his head until it was on her bosom.

She felt his face nuzzling into the softness and her hands went to the back of his head and drew it closer.

“Dirkie. Her voice dried up in the strange new heat within her. In the morning Dirk woke slowly, but with a feeling of wonder. He lay a while and thought about it, unable at first to place the formless shimmering sense of well, being that possessed him.

Then he heard Mary moving about behind the partition of her cubicle. The gurgle and splash of water poured from jug to basin, the rustle of’ cloth. Finally, the sound of her door, softly opened and closed, and her steps moving away towards the kitchen.

The events of the previous evening came back to him, crisp and stark in every detail. Not fully understood, but looming large to overshadow all else in his mind.

He threw the sheets aside and lifted himself on both elbows, drew up his nightshirt and contemplated his body as though he had never seen it before.

He heard footsteps approaching. Quickly he covered himself, pulled the bedclothes over and feigned sleep.

Mary came in quietly and placed a cup of coffee, with a rusk in the saucer, on the bedside table.

Dirk opened his eyes and looked at her.

“You’re awake,” she said.

“Yes.” “Dirk , . . ” she started, and then she blushed. It mottled the puckered skin of her cheeks , Her voice fell to a whisper, scratchy with her shame. “You mustn’t ever tell anybody. You must forget about … what happened.

Dirk did not reply.

“Promise me, Dirkie. Please promise me.”

He nodded slowly. Not trusting himself to speak, his throat filled with a knowledge of domination over her.

“It was wrong, Dirkie. It was a terrible thing. We mustn’t even think about it again.

She walked to the door.

“Mary.

“Yes.” She stopped without turning, her whole body poised like a bird on the point of flight.

“I won’t tell anyone, if you come again tonight.”

“No,” she hissed violently.

“Then, I’ll tell Granny.

“No. Oh, Dirkie. You wouldn’t. ” She was beside the bed and kneeling, reaching for his hand. “You mustn’t, you mustn’t. You promised me.

“Will you come?” he asked softly. She peered into his face, into the serene perfection of warm brown skin and green eyes with the black silk of his hair curling on to the forehead.

“I can’t, it’s a terrible, terrible thing that. we did.”

“Then I’ll tell,” he said.

She stood up and walked slowly out of the cubicle, her shoulders slumped forward in the attitude Of surrender, He knew she would come.

In a hired carriage Sean arrived punctually at the Goldberg residence. He arrived like a column of wise men from the east.

The seats of the carriage were piled with fancy wrapped packages. However, Sean’s limited knowledge of a three, year, old female’s tastes were reflected in his choice of gifts , Every single package contained a doll. There were large china dolls that closed their eyes when reclining, smart dolls with blonde hair and squawked when its stomach was squeezed, , a doll that passed water, dolls in a dozen national costumes and dolls in swaddling clothes.

Mbejane followed the carriage leading the gift which Sean considered a master stroke of originality. It was a piebald Shetland pony, complete with a hand, fashioned English saddle and a tiny martingale and reins.

The gravel drive was crowded with carriages. Sean was forced to walk the last hundred yards, his arms filled with presents.

Under these circumstances navigation was a little difficult. He took a fix on the hideously ornamented roof of the mansion, he could just see over the top of his load, and set off blind across the lawns. He was aware of the continuous and piercing shrieking which grew louder as he proceeded, and finally of an insistent tugging on his right trouser leg. He stopped.

“Are those my presents? ” a voice from somewhere above the level of his knee asked. He craned his head out to one side and looked down into the upturned face of a miniature Madonna.

Large shining eyes in an oval of innocent purity framed with shiny dark curls. Sean’s heart flipped over.

“That depends what your name is,” he hedged.

“My name is Miss Storm Friedman of The Golds, Chase Valley, Pietermaritzburg.

Now are they my presents?

Sean bent his knees until he squatted with his face almost on a level with that of the Madonna.

, Many happy returns of the day, Miss Friedman,” he said.

, Oh, goody!” She fell on the packages, trembling with excitement while from the mass of fifty children who ringed them in the shrieking continued unabated.

Storm demolished the wrappings in very short order, using her teeth when her fingers were inadequate for the task. One of her small guests attempted to assist her, but she flew at him like a panther kitten with a cry of

“They’re my presents! ” He retired hastily.

At last she sat in a litter of wrappings and dolls and pointed at the single remaining package in Sean’s hands.

“That one?” she asked.

Sean shook his head. “No, that one is for your Mummy. But if you look behind you, you might find something else. ” Mbejane, grinning widely, was holding the Shedland. For seconds Storm was too overcome to speak and then with a sound like a steam, whistle she flew to her feet. Deserting her newly adopted children, she ran to the pony.

Behind her a flock of small girls descended on the dolls, vultures when a lion leaves the kill.

“Lift me! Lift me!” Storm was hopping with delirious impatience.

Sean took her up and the warm, wriggling little body in his hands made his heart flip again. Gently he set her on the saddle, handed her the reins and led the pony towards the house.

A queen riding in state, followed by an army of her attendants, Storm reached the upper terrace.

Ruth was standing beside the delicacy, laden trestle table with the parents of Storm’s guests. Sean handed the lead rein to Mbejane.

“Look after her well,” and he crossed the terrace, very conscious of the many adult eyes upon him, thankful for the hour he had spent that morning at the barber’s shop, and for the care he had taken with his attire, a brand, new suit of expensive English broadcloth, boots burnished to gloss, solid gold watch a chain across his belly and a white carnation in his buttonhole.

He stopped in front of Ruth and removed his hat. She held out her hand, palm downwards. Sean knew that he was not expected to shake that hand.

“Sean, how good of you to come.”

Sean took her hand. It was a measure of his feelings; that he bowed to touch it with his lips, a gesture which he considered French, foppish and undignified.

“It was good of you to ask me, Ruth.”

He produced the box from under his arm and held it out to her.

She opened it without a word and her cheeks flushed with pleasure when she saw the long, stemmed roses it contained. .

“Oh, how sweet of you!” And Sean’s heart did its trick again as she smiled full into his eyes, then slipped her hand into the crook of his arm.

“I’d like you to meet some friends of mine.

That evening when the other guests had left and Storm, prostrated with nervous and physical exhaustion, had been put to bed, Sean stayed on to dinner with the Goldbergs. By now both Ma and Pa Goldberg were fully aware that Sean’s interest in Ruth was not on account of his previous friendship with Saul .

All afternoon Sean had followed Ruth around the lawns like a huge St. Bernard behind a dainty poodle.

During dinner Sean, who was extremely pleased with himself, the Goldbergs and life in general, was able to endear himself to Ma Goldberg and also dull Ben Goldberg’s suspicions that he was a penniless adventurer. Over brandy and cigars Sean and Ben discussed the ventures on Lion Kop and Mahobo’s Kloof. Sean was completely frank about the financial tightrope which he was walking, and Ben was impressed with the magnitude of the gamble and Sean’s cold appraisal of the odds. It was just such a coup as this that had put Ben Goldberg where he was today. It made him feel nostalgic and vaguely sentimental of the old days, so that when they went through to join the ladies he patted Sean’s arm and called him

“My boy.”

On the front steps, while he was preparing to leave, Sean asked, “May I call on you again, Ruth?” and she answered,

“I’d like that very much.

Now began what was for Sean . a novel form of courtship.

To his surprise he found he rather enjoyed it. Every Friday night he would entrain for Pieterniaritzburg and install himself in the White Horse Hotel. From this base he conducted his campaign.

There were dinner parties, either at The Golds or with Ruth’s friends or at one of the local hostelries where Sean played host.

There were balls and dances, days at the races picnics and rides over the surrounding hills with Storm on her Shetland bouncing along between them. During Sean’s absences from Ladyburg, Dirk moved into the cottage on Protea Street and Sean was relieved that he seemed to accept it with better grace.

The time arrived when at last the first blOcks of wattle were ready for the axe. Sean determined to use this as an excuse to inveigle Ruth away to Ladyburg. The Goldbergs froze up solid at the suggestion and Only thawed when Sean produced a written invitation from Ada for Ruth to be her guest for the week. Sean went on to explain that it was to be a celebration of his first cutting of bark, which would begin at the end of the week, and that thereafter he could not leave Ladyburg for months.

Ma Goldberg, who was secretly delighted at having Storm all to herself for a whole week, exerted a subtle influence on Ben, and very grudgingly he gave his approval.

Sean decided that Ruth would be treated like visiting Royalty, the grand climax to his suit.

As one of the biggest landowners in the district and because of his war honours, Sean ranked high in the complicated social structure of Ladyburg. Therefore, preparations for Ruth’s visit produced an epidemic of excitement and curiosity that affected the entire Ladyburg district. The flood of invitations he released sent women to their wardrobes and sewing, baskets, while the outlying farmers begged accommodation from relatives and friends nearer town. Other leading members of the community, jealous of their social status, rode out to Lion Kop with others to provide entertainment on those three days of the week which Sean had left empty. Reluctantly Sean agreed, he had private Plans for those three days.

Ada and her girls were inundated with orders for new clothing, but they still made one afternoon free and came up to the Lion Kop homestead armed with brooms and dusters and tins of polish. Sean and Dirk were driven from the house. They spent that afternoon riding over Sean’s estate, looking for the best place to hold the big bush, buck shoot which would be the climax of the week.

With a gang of his Zulus, Mbejane hacked down the jungle of undergrowth around the homestead and dug the barbecue pits.