The Sound of Thunder (55 page)

The lying alone in the darkening room. Waiting for Garry to come.

Now she turned away from the window and looked down at Garry, triumphantly, knowing he could never escape again.

I have kept my oath, she thought, and crossed to the chair.

“Poor Garry.” She forced her voice to croon gently, and she stroked the hair back from his forehead. He looked up at her, surprised, but eager for affection. “Poor Garry. Tomorrow we’ll go home to Theuniskraal.

She moved the bottle on the side table closer to his hand.

Then she kissed his cheek lightly, and went on into the bedroom of the suite-smiling again, secure and safe in his weakness.

Four months passed quickly. Sean, distracted by the responsibilities of his office, the mountains of correspondence, the meetings and sessions, the petitioners and the schemers-offered only a token resistance to Michael’s sugar plans. Michael went off to the coast, purchased the land, and became deeply involved with the seller’s eldest daughter. This young lady had the dubious distinction of being one of the few divorcees in Natal. When the scandal reached his ears, Sean, secretly pleased that Michael’s chastity was at last shed, boarded the Rolls and went off on a flying mission of rescue. He returned to Ladyburg with a penitent Michael in tow. Two weeks later the young lady married a travelling salesman and moved from Tongaat to Durban, whereupon Michael was allowed to return to Tongaat and begin the development of the sugar estate.

Ruth no longer accompanied Sean on all of his absences from Ladyburg. Her swiftly increasing girth and a mild malady which assailed her in the mornings kept her at Lion Kop, where she and Ada spent much time in the design and fabrication of baby wear In this Storm rendered assistance. The matinee jacket, which took three months to knit, was certain to fit the infant perfectly-provided it was a hunchback with its one arm twice as long as the other.

Kept busy from early morning to nightfall in the capacity of overseer on Mahobo’s Kloof, Dirk found little time for distraction.

Ladyburg was now well covered by Sean’s espionage system, and Dirk’s few visits were reported in detail.

But on the far side of Ladyburg, derelict and shabby from want of love, brooded the great homestead of Theuniskraal, In the night a single window showed a pale yellow square of light as Garry Courtney sat alone at his desk. In front of him lay a pathetically thin sheaf of papers. Hour after hour he stared at it-but no longer seeing it.

He was dry inside, deprived of the juice of life and seeking its substitute in the bottle, which was always near him.

The days drifted into weeks, and they in turn became months-and he drifted with them.

Each afternoon he would go down to the paddocks, then leaning against the heavy wooden paling, he would watch Ins blood stock Hour after hour he stood unmoving and it seemed that, in time, he left his own body and lived within those richly gleaming skins, as though his own hooves drove deep into the turf as he ran, as though his own voice squealed and his muscles bunched and moved in the savage mating of heaving bodies.

Ronny Pye found him there one afternoon; without Garry being aware of his presence, he came up silently and stood beside him, studying the pale intense face with the chisel-marks of pain and doubt and terrible yearning sculptured deep around the mouth and below the pale blue eyes.

“Hello, Garry. ” He spoke softly, but recognizing the pity in his own voice he thrust it aside. There was no room for softness now, and ruthlessly he hardened his resolve.

“Ronny. ” Vaguely, Garry turned to him, and when he smiled it was shyly. “Business or social?”

“Business, Garry.”

“The bond?”

“Yes.

“What do you want me to do?”

“How about coming into town-we can go over things in my office.

“Now?

“Yes, please.”

“Very well.” Garry straightened up slowly. “I’ll come with you.

They rode together over the crest of ground and down towards the concrete bridge over the Baboon Stroom. Both of them silent, Garry because there was nothing in him, nothing to give voice to; Ronny Pye because of his sense of shame for the thing he was about to do. He was going to take a mans home from him and turn him loose upon a world in which he would have no chance of survival.

At the bridge they stopped automatically to rest their horses, and they sat without speaking, an incongruous pair. One man sitting quietly, slim and wasted, his clothing slightly rumpled, his face austere with suffering; the other plump, red-faced below bright ginger hair, dressed in expensive cloth, fidgeting in the saddle.

There was little sign of life across the river. A long, fired smear of smoke from the wattle factory stack rising straight into the still hot air, a black boy moving cattle down to drink at the river, the huff and clatter and clang of a locomotive shunting in the goods-yards-but otherwise the town of Ladyburg lay slumbering in the heat of a summer afternoon.

Then on the open grassy plain below the escarpment, urgent movement caught Ronny’s eye, and he focused his attention upon it with relief.

A horseman riding fast, and even at this distance Ronny recognized him.

“Young Dirk,” he grunted, and Garry roused himself and peered out across the river. Horse and rider blended into one unit, seeming to touch the earth so lightly they were bound to it only be a pale feather of dust that drifted low behind them.

“My God, that little bastard can ride.” In reluctant admiration Ronny shook his head solemnly and a drop of perspiration broke from his hairtme and slid down his cheek. The horse reached the road and pivoted neatly, flattening into the increased speed of its run.

Movement of such rhythmic grace and power that the watchers were stirred.

“Look at him go!” whistled Ronny. “Don’t reckon there’s anything to catch that horse in the whole of Natal. ” “You think so?” Garry’s voice was suddenly alive, and his lips were pursed in anger.

“I’m damned certain of it.”

“Mine. My colt-Grey Weather. Over a point-to-point course, I’d match him against any of Sean Courtney’s stud.”

And those words gave Ronny Pye the idea. He turned it over in his mind while with slightly narrowed eyes he watched Dirk Courtney race Sun Dancer down towards the wattle factory.

When horse and rider had disappeared through the tall gates, Ronny spoke softly: “Would you back your colt with money?”

“Id back him with my life.” There was savagery in Garry’s voice.

Yes, thought Ronny, this way at least I will give him a chance.

This way the fates will make the decision, there will be no blame to my account.

“Would you back him with The Uniskraal? he asked, and the silence drew out.

“How do you mean?” whispered Garry.

“If you win, the bond on Theuniskraal is set aside.

“And if I lose?”

“You lose the farm.”

“No,” snapped Garry. “Christ, That’s too much.

Ronny shrugged indifferently. “It was just an idea-you’re probably wise. You wouldn’t have much of a chance against Sean. ” Garry gasped sharply, that challenge had wounded deep as a lance. Made it a direct competition between Sean and himself, to ignore it would be to admit he could never win.

“I’ll take the bet.

“The whole bet? You’ll cover my money with what you have left of Theuniskraal?

“Yes, damn you. Yes. I’ll show you how much chance I have against him.

“We’d better get it down in writing, Ronny suggested gently.

“Then I’ll see if I can arrange it with Sean.” He touched his mount with his spurs and they moved forward across the bridge.

“By the way, I think it best we tell nobody about our little bet.

We’ll pretend it’s just an honour match. ” Garry nodded his agreement. But that night when he wrote to Michael he told him about it, then went on to plead with Michael to ride Grey Weather in the race.

Two days before the competition Michael confided in his grandmother. Ada went out to Theuniskraal to try and dissuade Garry from this reckless gamble, without success. Garry was almost fanatical in his determination. The stake meant nothing to him-it was the prospect of winning.

And now he had Grey Weather and Michael to run for him.

This time he would win. This time!

down the lane to the stables In the dark Sean walked with Dirk The clouds banked along the escarpment were fired red by the hidden sun and the wind fretted through the plantations, so that the wattle moaned and shook.

“North wind,” grunted Sean. “It’ll rain before nightfall.”

“Sun Dancer loves the rain, Dirk answered him tensely, and Sean glanced at him.

“Dirk-if you lose today he started, but Dirk cut him short.

“I wont lose,” and again as though it were a vow,

“I won’t lose!

” “If you’d only show as much determination in other things the more important.

“Important! Pa, this is important. This is the most important thing I’ve ever done. ” Dirk stopped and turned to his father. He caught Sean’s sleeve, clinging to him. “Pa, I’m doing this for you-for you, Pa! ” Sean looked down and what he saw in his son’s face, in that beautiful face, silenced the retort that he was about to make.

Where did I go wrong with you, he asked himself with love stained by loathing. Where did you get this blood, why are you this way, demanded his pride and his contempt.

“Thanks,” he said dryly, freed his arm and walked on towards the stables.

Sightless in his deep preoccupation with Dirk, Sean was into the stable yard before he noticed Mbenjane.

“Nkosi. I see you.” Mbejane rose solemnly from the hand carved stool on which he sat.

“I see you also,” Sean cried with pleasure, and then controlled himself. A display of emotion in front of lesser persons would embarrass Mbenjane. “You are well?” he asked gravely, and restrained the desire to prod the swelling dignity of Mbenjane’s stomach, reminding himself that Mbejane’s abundant flesh and fat had been carefully cultivated as a sign to the rest of the world of his prosperity.

“I am well,” Mbeiane assured him.

“That you have come gives me pleasure.

“Nkosi, on a day of importance it is right that we should be together-as it was before.” And Mbejane allowed himself to smile for the first time, a smile that within seconds became a mischievous grin that Sean gave back to him. He should have guessed that Mbejane would never miss a fight, or a hunt, or a contest.

Then Mbejane turned to Dirk.

“Do us honour today,” he commanded, as though he spoke to one of his own sons. “Your father and I will be watching you.” He placed a huge black hand upon Dirk’s shoulder as though in benediction, then he turned to gesture with his fly whisk at the stable-boys waiting behind him.

“Bring the horse!”

TWo of them led her out, her hooves ringing on the paving of the yard as she danced a little. Head up, moving greyhoundI bellied, pricking her ears forward and back, she saw Dirk and wrinkled the soft velvet of her nostrils as she whickered.

“Hey, girl!” Dirk walked towards her. At his approach she rolled her eyes until the whites showed and her small dainty ears flattened wickedly against her neck.

“Stop that nonsense,” Dirk admonished, and she bared yellow teeth menacingly and reached with her slender snakelike neck. He put out his hand to her and she took his fingers between those terrible teeth and nibbled them tenderly. Then, finished with pretence, she snorted, pricked her ears and nuzzled his chest and neck.

“Where is her blanket’? Has she eaten? Put the saddle and bridle in the car.” Dirk snapped a chain of questions and instructions at the stable-boys as he caressed Sun Dancer’s face with the gentle hands of a lover.

So many contradictions in one person. Sean watched his son with sadness heavy upon him, oppressive as this red dawn Where did I go wrong?

“Nkosi, I will walk down with the horse.” Mbejane sensed his mood and sought to end it.

“Better that a man of your station should ride with me in the motor-car, ” Sean demurred, and took a fiendish pleasure in the shifty glance that Mbejane cast at the great gleaming Rolls parked at the far end of the yard. It has eyes like a monster, thought Mbejane and looked quickly away.

“I will walk with the horse and see that it comes to no harm,” he announced.

“As you wish,” Sean agreed. The small procession set off towards Ladyburg. The two grooms leading Sun Dancer in her red tartan blanket, and Mbejane following sedately with his small black sons carrying his carved stool and his spears behind him.

Two hours later Sean drove the Rolls into the field behind the stockyards. Staring straight ahead, both hands gripping the wheel so that the knuckles of his hands gleamed white-Sean did not hear the shouted greetings nor see the gala crowds and the bunting until the Rolls bumped to a halt in the grass and his hands unfroze from the wheel. Then he exhaled gently and the rigid muscles of his face softened into a grin of uncertain triumph.

“Well, we made it! ” He spoke as if he were not quite certain.

“You did very well, my dear.” Ruth’s voice was also a little scratchy and she relaxed her protective hold on Storm.

“You should let me drive, Pa.” Dirk was lounging against the saddlery on the back seat. Sean turned furiously upon him, but Dirk was too quick. He flung open the door and was absorbed into the crowd that had gathered around the Rolls before Sean could assemble his words. Sean glowered after him.

“Hello, Sean. Nice to see you. ” Dennis Petersen had opened the door at his elbow and Sean hastily rearranged his features into a smile.

“Hello, Dennis. Nice turnout.”

“Everybody in the district,” Dennis assured him, as they shook hands, and then looked with satisfaction around the field.

There were at least fifty carriages parked haphazard along the stockyard fence, an open wagon had been arranged as a refreshment stall with silver urns of coffee and piles of cakes laid out upon it. A dog fight was in progress near the gate, while small boys in already wilted church clothes shrieked and whooped and chased each other through the crowd.

“Who’s responsible for the decorations?” Sean asked, surveying the flags and bunting that fluttered from the poles that marked the finishing line and from the wide roped-off lane that led up to them.