What ever would I do without you, Dr Twenty-man-jones? she asked quietly.
I suspect that you would get along very well on your own, Mrs Courtney, but I'm glad I could help. He dragged Annalisa from the room and they heard the whirr of the Daimler's engine.
Centaine's expression hardened again and she turned back to Shasa.
He fidgeted under her scrutiny.
You've been disobedient, she told him. I warned you away from that little poule. Yes, Mater. She's been with half the men on the mine. We'll have to take you to a doctor when we get back to Windhoek. He shuddered and glanced down at himself involuntarily at the thought of a host of disgusting microbes crawling over his most intimate flesh.
Disobedience is bad enough, but what have you done that is truly unforgivable? she demanded.
Shasa could think of at least a dozen trespasses without really extending himself.
You've been stupid, Centaine said. You've been stupid enough to get caught out. That is the worst sin. You've made a laughing stock of yourself with everybody on the mine.
How will you ever be able to lead and command when you cheapen yourself like this? I didn't think of that, Mater. I didn't think of anything much. It just all sort of happened. Well, think of it now, she told him. While you are taking a long hot bath with half a bottle of Lysol in it, think hard about it. Goodnight. Goodnight, Mater. He came to her and after a moment she offered her cheek. I'm sorry, Mater. He kissed her cheek. I'm sorry I made you ashamed of me. She wanted to throw her arms around him and pull his beautiful beloved head to her and hold him hard and tell him that she would never be ashamed of him.
Goodnight, Shasa, she said, standing cool and erect until he left the room and she heard his footsteps drag disconsolately down the passage. Then her shoulders slumped.
Oh, my darling, oh my baby, she whispered. Suddenly, for the first time in many years, she felt the need for an opiate. She crossed quickly to the massive stinkwood cabinet and poured cognac from one of the heavy decanters and took a mouthful. The spirit was peppery on her tongue and the fumes brought tears to her eyes. She swallowed it down and set the glass aside.
That isn't going to help much, she decided, and crossed to her desk. She sat down in the wingbacked buttoned leather chair and she felt small and frail and vulnerable. For Centaine, it was an alien emotion and it frightened her.
It's happened, she whispered. He is becoming a man. Suddenly she hated the girl. The dirty little harlot. He isn't ready for that yet. Too early she has let the demon out, the demon of his de Thiry blood. She was intimate with that same demon, for it had plagued her all her life. That wild A passionate de Thiry blood.
Oh my darling. She was going to lose some part of him now, had already lost it, she realized. Loneliness came to her like a ravening beast that had lain in ambush for her all these years.
There had only been two men who might have assuaged that loneliness. Shasa's father had died in his frail machine of canvas and wood while she had stood by helplessly and watched him blacken and burn. The other man had placed himself beyond her reach for ever with one brutal senseless act. Michael Courtney and Lothar De La Rey, both dead to her now.
Since then there had been lovers, many lovers, brief transient affairs experienced only at the level of the flesh, a mere antidote for the boil of her blood. None of them had been allowed to pass into that deep place of her soul. But now the beast of loneliness burst through those guarded portals and laid waste her secret places. 1A If only there was someone, she lamented as she had done only once before in her life, when she lay upon the child-bed on which she have given birth to Lothar De La Rey's goldheaded bastard. if only there was somebody I could love and who would love me in return. She leaned forward in the big leather chair and picked up the silver-framed photograph, the photograph that she carried with her wherever she travelled, and studied the face of the young man in the centre of the group of fliers.
For the
first time she realized that over the years the picture had faded and yellowed and the features of Michael Courtney, Shasa's father, had blurred. She stared at the handsome young face and tried desperately to make the picture clearer and crisper in her own memory, but it seemed to smear and recede even further from her.
Oh Michael! she whispered. It was all so long ago. Forgive me. Please forgive me. I have tried to be strong and brave.
I've tried for your sake and the sake of your son, but She set the frame back upon the desk and crossed to the window. She stared out into the darkness. I'm going to lose my baby, she thought. And then one day I will be alone and old and ugly, and I'm afraid. She found she was shivering, hugging her own arms, but then her reaction was swift and unequivocal.
There is no time for weakness and self-pity on the journey that you have chosen. She steeled herself, standing small and erect and alone in the silent darkened house. You have to go on. There is no turning back, no faltering, you have to go on to the end. Where is Stoffel Botha? Shasa demanded of the mill house supervisor when the mine hooter blew to signal the beginning of the lunch hour. Why isn't he here? Who knows? The supervisor shrugged. I had a note from the main office saying he wasn't coming. They didn't tell me why. Perhaps he has been fired. I don't know. I don't care, he was a cocky little bastard, anyway. And for the rest of the shift Shasa tried to suppress his feeling of guilt by concentrating on the run of ore through the thundering rollers.
When the final hooter blew, and the cry of Shahile! It has struck! was shouted from one gang of black labourers to the next, Shasa mounted Prester John and turned his head towards the avenue of cottages in which Annalisa's family lived. He knew he was risking his mother's wrath, but a defiant sense of chivalry urged him on. He had to find out how much damage and unhappiness he had caused.
However, at the gates of the mill house he was distracted.
Moses, the boss-boy from the weathering grounds, stepped in front of Prester John and took his head.
I see you, Good Water, he greeted Shasa in his soft deep voice.
Oh Moses. Shasa smiled with pleasure, his other troubles forgotten for the moment. I was going to visit you. I have brought your book. The Ovambo handed the thick copy of History of England up to him.
You couldn't possibly have read it, Shasa protested. Not so soon. it took even me months. I will never read it, Good Water. I am leaving the H'ani Mine. I go with the trucks to Windhoek tomorrow morning. Oh no! Shasa swung down out of the saddle and gripped his arm. Why do you want to go, Moses? Shasa feigned ignorance out of a sense of his guilt and complicity.
It is not for me to want or not to want. The tall boss-boy shrugged. Many men are leaving on the trucks tomorrow.
Doctela has chosen them, and the lady your mother has explained the reason and given us a month's wages. A man like me does not ask questions, Good Water. He smiled, a sad bitter grimace. Here is your book. Keep it. Shasa pushed it back. It is my gift to you. Very well, Good Water. I will keep it to remind me of you. Stay in peace. He turned away.
Moses Shasa called him back and then could find 1, nothing to say. He thrust out his hand impulsively and the Ovambo stepped back from it. A white man and a black man did not shake hands.
Go in peace, Shasa insisted, and Moses glanced around almost furtively before he accepted the grip. His skin was strangely cool. Shasa wondered if all black skin was like that.
We are friends, Shasa said, prolonging the contact. We are, aren't we? I do not know.
What do you mean? I do not know if it is possible for us to be friends. Gently he freed his hand and turned away. He did not look back at Shasa as he skirted the security fence and went down to the compound.